by DW Ulsterman
The bear huffed aggressively as it moved to pounce on Mac, its ten inch long front claws ripping into the near frozen dirt beneath it. The rifle lay to the right of the bear, too far for Mac to reach it. That left his always present MK25 holstered at his side, and a short SOG SEAL seven inch survival knife house inside of his right boot.
The bear rose up onto its hind legs, looming over Mac like some roaring, fur covered skyscraper. Mac’s eyes, which had adjusted somewhat to the darkness around him, widened as he took in the beast’s great jaws, noting one of its incisors was partially broken off, its gums diseased and bleeding. Old age had taken its toll on the grizzly, and though it remained a massively powerful creature, time had greatly diminished its ability to survive in the often difficult and deadly Alaskan wilderness.
Mac then noted a darker, wet patch of fur covering the right side of the bear’s chest. Mac’s aim had found its mark at least once. And yet, however weakened by old age and blood loss, the great bear still moved with the kind of speed that seemed impossible for something so large, as its nearly eight hundred pound body dropped onto all fours and then lunged forward toward Mac, who scrambled backwards as his right hand attempted to remove his handgun from its holster.
The animal’s movement proved quicker than even Mac Walker’s draw, its salivating jaws clamping down around Mac’s left foot. Thankfully that foot was encased in a military grade boot that offered just enough initial resistance that prevented the beast from tearing the foot from Mac’s leg.
Mac found himself no longer fearing the bear, his eyes narrowing and his jaw set in determination. It was killing time – and either him or the bear would prove the victor. The former Navy SEAL had never been one to accept defeat, and this bear, however large, strong, and fierce, was not going to find Mac Walker willing to do so now.
Mac unleashed his own savage roar as his right foot, aiming for the bear’s left eye, found its mark, the heel of the boot smashing into the soft, unprotected exterior of the beast’s eyeball. Mac repeated the move again and again as the bear refused to release its grip on Mac’s left foot.
Finally the bear let loose of Mac’s foot as it scrambled backwards several steps, shaking its huge head from side to side in an attempt to clear the pain from its destroyed left eye. This allowed Mac the brief window of opportunity he needed to fire off several close range rounds into the creature from his MK25 handgun.
The grizzly’s screams were loud enough Mac winced from the pain filling his ears as he watched the creature shuffle back into the darkness, leaving a considerable trail of inky dark blood behind it.
That much blood loss, the thing has to be dead.
Mac winced again as he stood back up, a shot of pain gripping his right side. It was not the first time Mac Walker had broken a rib. This pain was followed by yet more pain from his left foot as Mac took a small step toward where the barely visible outline of the Remington rifle lay. While the bear was unable to completely bite through his boot, its efforts were more than enough to tear the cartilage surrounding Mac’s foot.
Gonna be a long, slow walk back to Dominatus.
Mac shuffled back toward the now almost completely extinguished campfire, the Remington rifle resting in his right hand. His eyes and ears still strained for any sign of the grizzly but found none.
Probably crawled off out there somewhere to die.
Mac continued to scan the area around the campfire before slowly easing himself into a sitting position on the ground. He removed the remnants of the short wave transmitter from his right pocket. The thing had been crushed at some point during the bear attack. The trip back to Dominatus would have to wait until the morning. Until then, Mac focused on remaining awake, the rifle at the ready.
Bear has to be dead – but just in case. Just in case…
Mac Walker had hunted many times in his life, though the vast majority of those examples involved the hunting of other armed human beings such as Somali pirates, Eastern European human slave traffickers, Egyptian arms dealers, and Mexican drug cartel members. So his over willingness to believe a wild animal, even one the size of an Alaskan grizzly, to be dead without confirmation of that death, is somewhat understandable.
It was a mistake Mac Walker would never make again in the proceeding twenty years he was to call Dominatus his home.
Mac sensed the bear’s presence just a half second before the beast lunged at him from behind, the animal hoping to kill him in the same manner of attack as it had killed Trevor Pennington days before. Where Pennington had likely panicked when realizing he was facing the great predator of the Alaskan wilderness, Mac’s survival instincts once again re-asserted themselves, pushing aside all fear and returning Mac to full on kill mode.
Mac fell forward as the bear’s jaws snapped shut just inches behind his neck. He attempted to roll to his side and bring the rifle around to fire point blank into the grizzly, but the beast’s great paws ripped the weapon from Mac’s hands, leaving him scrambling to once again unholster his handgun.
The top of the bear’s head smashed into Mac’s chest, throwing him back with his right leg folded painfully underneath him and leaving him staring directly into the outstretched, toothy jaws of the great grizzly. The bear’s breath enveloped Mac’s face as the weight of its upper body pinned the former Navy SEAL to the ground.
“NO! I’M NOT GOING OUT LIKE THIS!”
Mac bellowed the words into the face of the bear while his right hand emerged holding the seven inch SOG SEAL blade which he plunged repeatedly into the side of the bear’s neck and upper body. The now familiar screaming howl of the bear fully encased Mac’s senses, but still he imbedded the knife to the hilt over and over again.
Even as the beast rolled away from him, its breathing labored and shallow, Mac’s blood lust continued unfettered, his right hand a blur of deadly movement that found its mark within the grizzly’s flesh, leaving both Mac and the bear soaked in the blood of the conflict.
Finally Mac’s humanity re-emerged from the depths of his focused chaos as his right hand dropped to his side where it remained, his chest heaving from the effort of the kill, each breath sending another searing line of pain from his broken rib.
Mac placed both of his hands on the grizzly’s body and was amazed to feel the thing’s pulse still beating, though erratically. The bear let out a long, deep sigh as it moved its head slightly in order to stare back at Mac with its remaining eye.
The two alpha males held one another’s gaze for several minutes before the grizzly let out a final breath and then lay completely still.
Years later, sitting alone with the Old Man inside the comfortable, rustic confines of Mac Walker’s own beloved Freedom Tavern, Mac looked out a window into the cold, dark, Alaskan night exterior outside, his thoughts returning to that battle with the grizzly.
By some means of intuition that Alexander Meyer possessed, the Old Man knew what Mac was thinking of.
“You never really spoke of what happened that night Mac – when you killed that bear.”
Mac’s eyes remained fixed on the world just outside Freedom Tavern, though his mind had already returned to those final moments of the great grizzly’s life, when Mac was certain the bear looked back at him with some primordial version of respect. The two had fought, and Mac had won. Such was nature, and the bear seemed somehow aware of that reality, understood it, and accepted it.
Mac Walker straightened in his chair, the dull, aching throb in his left foot that never completely went away, whispering to him again of that brief war between man and beast.
“That bear was just doing what any of us would - trying to survive. It was either him or me. We both understood that. He was long in the tooth, but still had plenty of bite. I hope to be half the fighter he was when my own time comes. No hard feelings between us. Just two warriors doing what comes natural – kill or be killed.”
The Old Man briefly closed his eyes, digesting Mac’s words, and sharing in the
understanding of what those words communicated regarding what really happened between Mac and the bear. Alexander Meyer knew more challenge awaited the residents of Dominatus, far more deadly, and far less honorable, than any natural creature of the wilderness.
Frightful, relentless, ever hungry tyranny was coming for them all…
END.
Chronological Order of the Mac Walker Series of Books:
**MAC WALKER’S BULLET**
(short story)
**MAC WALKER’S REGRET**
(short story)
**MAC WALKER’S BENGHAZI**
(Books 1-3)
**MAC WALKER’S BETRAYAL**
(Books 1-3)
**MAC WALKER’S HUNTED**
**DOMINATUS**
**TUMULTUS**
https://dwulsterman.com
FREE EXCERPT
THE SECOND OLDEST PROFESSION
Book One
Lust. Power. Politics.
Noted bestselling political writer D.W. Ulsterman takes readers into the torrid underbelly of Washington D.C., where powerful figures exist in a world dominated by power and lust, and winning is the only rule that matters.
Colin O'Shea is the young, politically talented new addition to a longtime congressman's D.C. staff. He soon finds himself immersed in dealings of deception and intrigue at the highest levels of national politics, and a too - willing participant in the life of a beautiful and dangerous prostitute.
"This story was hot!!! It's like 50 Shades had a one night stand with C-Span!" -PC
**ADULT CONTENT**
…Cocaine is a hell of a drug. Frank Bennington knew well the feeling of waking up to a head and body aching after a night spent snorting line after line of his longtime medicinal friend. He was an addict – had been for most of his adult life.
Yeah, well who gives a shit? I’m Frank fucking Bennington asshole - politico extraordinaire.
Frank forced his sixty three year old and forty pounds overweight body up from the mattress of his king sized bed, his head blaring out its unhappiness as he did so. He had long ago become accustomed to the morning nausea ritual. The back of his throat burned from the post nasal drip common to the habitual cocaine user. This was accompanied by the crunching upper nasal passage headache that went with his near nightly use of little blue “pecker pills” that allowed Frank to produce and maintain the erection necessary to have a satisfying night of whoring.
Ah…women. Even more than the drugs and alcohol, Frank Bennington loved women above all things. He loved having them around him, drinking, dancing, and fucking - lots and lots of fucking. He loved the texture of their skin, the warmth of their breath, the sound of their laughter, and their appreciation of how hard he worked to please them in bed.
God was a pretentious, uncaring prick – but Frank forgave Him all of that because He gave the world women! White, black, brown, red, tall, short, thin or fat, Frank Bennington’s appetite for all women had been the defining hallmark of his life. After his third failed marriage twelve years ago, he decided to simply enjoy the moments as they came to him, without the ongoing obligations and resulting complications of a legal contract.
Frank stumbled against one of the two dressers in the bedroom of his small Lorin Estates apartment as he walked sans clothing toward the hallway bathroom, causing him to curse under his breath. He glanced back to the bed where the naked form of Silia lay, her dark skin contrasting against the white sheets. In recent months she had become Frank’s regular. Her rates were reasonable, and she appreciated that he allowed her to sleep over afterwards. She was twenty seven years old, having come to America from her home country of Brazil four years ago. Other than that, Frank knew little about her, and didn’t care to know. Too much of that kind of knowledge brought about emotional ties, and he’d had enough of those already. He just wanted somebody to spend a little time with and then fuck, and Silia happily kept to that arrangement.
Am I supposed to meet someone today? Oh – the new guy! The kid from Ohio.
It was almost 10:00 a.m. He’d told the kid to show up by 8:00. Not wanting to appear completely dysfunctional to the newest member of Congressman Latner’s team on the newbie’s first day, Frank called down to the apartment lobby.
“Jose, have my car out front in thirty minutes. Thank you.”
That left no time for a shower, or even a shave. Frank brushed his teeth, washed his face, and combed his thinning hair back from his forehead. A fresh application of deodorant and cologne, followed by putting on one of the ten freshly starched white dress shirts delivered to him every Monday morning from the Asian, family-owned Van’s Dry Cleaning just two blocks from the apartment complex, and his favorite pair of navy blue dress slacks, left Frank almost ready to take on another work day.
In the small single closet of his apartment he kept twenty ties and matching sets of suspenders arranged by color. Yesterday he had worn a dark blue tie and suspenders, so today should be something opposite that. Frank grabbed one of his two pink sets. He had long ago discovered that a man could wear the same clothing one day after the next if all he made certain to do was simply change out his tie and suspenders each time.
Where’s my fucking shoes?
Two years ago during his last check-up, Frank’s doctor explained to him that the ongoing pain in his feet was due to pre-diabetic neuropathy. It was suggested at that time Frank find a pair of shoes that offered ample arch support to lessen the pain. The same doctor also urged him to lose weight, lessen his drinking, and stop using drugs altogether.
Frank ignored every suggestion but the shoes.
Silia still lay sleeping in the bed, the sound of her soft snoring making Frank smile. Beyond the bed, nightstands, and two thrift store dressers, the room was devoid of furnishings. Silia’s clothing lay scattered on the floor, but the only pair of shoes Frank now owned remained hidden.
His headache was getting worse.
Might have left my shoes in the kitchen, along with the coke.
Frank walked down the short hallway to the small kitchen area. His wallet, keys, and Rolex lay on the countertop, as well as a near empty bottle of Wild Turkey, an open, half full bottle of Viagra, and a small plastic bag of cocaine, delivered to him inside one of the Capitol Building bathrooms last week by his longtime supplier Jaxx. Jaxx was the primary hook-up for half the drug users in Congress, which made him a very rich man.
His white running shoes sat on the off white tile of the kitchen floor directly in front of the stainless steel refrigerator. Frank Bennington hadn’t gone running since he was a kid, but the shoes made his feet feel better, so he wore them everywhere he went.
“Frank, you leaving already? You wanna fuck again before you go?”
God I love the sound of that voice!
Frank glanced down at his watch, and then wondered if enough of the Viagra he had taken in the early morning hours the night before remained in his system.
“C’mon back to bed Frank…I know you want to.”
His headache had lessened some as Frank made his way back to the bedroom where Silia lay above the covers of the bed, her arms and legs, and all her other wonderfully dark toned feminine parts beckoning him to join her.
“I’m running late Silia. Christina is gonna be pissed.”
Silia’s plump lips formed a pout as she rose up onto her knees and shook her head, causing the long black strands of her hair to fall over her face and full breasts.
“Won’t take long - I promise.”
Silia stuck a finger into her mouth and looked back at Frank, her dark eyes dancing with seductive mischief.
Frank stood before Silia as she quickly worked the front of his dress slacks loose. He glanced at his watch once again and then placed an appreciative hand behind the Brazilian woman’s head as she expertly began to coax his lower half back to life.
“I hate to have to rush you, but you have just five minutes to get this done.”
Silia grinned back up at Frank before returning to her work.
She didn’t need five minutes…
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