by BJ Bourg
Handing the rifle back to Quentin, Orville picked his way to the alligator and grabbed the rope. “Shit! Did you bring the extra hooks?”
“No,” Quentin said. “He swallowed it?”
A branch snapped in the distance and Orville’s head jerked up. “Where the hell did that come from?”
All three brothers crouched low and scanned the area, eyes wide and mouths agape. Orville pulled the pistol from his holster and cocked it.
“Let’s get out of here,” Norris hissed.
“Not without that gator,” Orville replied. He scanned the forest, trying desperately to penetrate the shadows in search of any sign of life.
“Just cut the line so we can get out of here.” Quentin sounded impatient. “That was probably a deer or a wild boar. Besides, the sun’s coming up and someone might’ve heard the shot, so the longer we stay here the better our chances are of getting busted.”
Orville knew he was right. Although the plastic bottle had stifled the shot, it could still have echoed across the open water on that peaceful morning. The trees were thinner along the lake and they were more exposed than Orville liked. The quicker they got into the dense forest the better. He’d maintained a clean record by being cautious, so without wasting any more time, he whipped the skinning knife from his belt and, with a quick flick of his wrist, freed the alligator from the line. He tossed the line into the water and reached for one of the alligator’s legs. Quentin had slung the rifle over his shoulder and he and Norris joined Orville, each taking a leg.
“Ready?” Orville asked. “On three…one, two, three!”
The muscles in his lower back cried out in pain when he straightened and bore his share of the weight. His legs burned and his shoulders ached as they began dragging the large beast across the rough ground. As they moved closer to their property, they encountered patches of soft marsh and they’d often sink into the mud and stumble forward. They dropped the alligator on more than one occasion. Each time they did, it became a little harder to lift it up again.
“Why don’t we just drive our boat around next time?” Norris asked when they finally crossed onto their own property and stopped for a break. He sat on the alligator’s head and wiped a rivulet of sweat from his face.
Orville leaned his back against a tree and tried to catch his breath. “If we get caught on their side of the lake we’re done,” he explained for the umpteenth time. “Out on the open water, we’d be sitting ducks, but here”—he waved his hand around the thick trees—“we’re well protected. You could hide an army in these trees and no one would know it.”
Quentin was standing a few feet away from Orville and was staring into the direction from which they’d come. His brow was furrowed and he idly shifted the rifle on his shoulder.
“What is it?” Orville asked, his eyes following Quentin’s. “You hear something?”
Quentin shook his head slowly. After nearly a full minute, he finally said, “I keep getting this feeling like we’re being watched—followed, even.”
Norris snorted. “You’re just getting paranoid in your old age.”
“It could be.” Quentin shifted the rifle again and licked his dry lips. Without taking his eyes away from where he was staring, he said, “I think we’d better get the hell out of here and bring those gators home.”
Orville moved beside Quentin and followed his gaze, trying to penetrate the shadows. Fog had formed over the lake and was drifting through the trees toward them, making the swamps look spooky and dangerous. A chill reverberated up and down his spine. Squinting to see better, he asked Quentin if he’d seen or heard anything.
“No, it’s just a feeling I got.” Quentin rubbed his graying beard nervously. “You know how I get those feelings like somebody walked over my grave.”
Orville nodded and watched a patch of fog drift like a ghost through the trees about thirty yards away. Once it passed, visibility in that area improved and he could distinguish one tree from another. Nothing moved and there wasn’t even a peep of sound. What if there’s something to Quentin’s feeling? When they were kids he’d claimed to have had a bad feeling one day, and they later learned their grandfather had disappeared. Even though he’d never been the superstitious type, Orville had never forgotten that incident. Neither had Quentin and he would often remind Orville and Norris that he could feel the future.
Orville couldn’t help but wonder if their luck had finally run out. What if the Boudreaux family had installed hidden cameras on their land and now had evidence proving he and his brothers were illegally hunting on their property? He didn’t want to start a war with them and he couldn’t afford to go to jail, and neither could his brothers. For a brief moment, he thought about bringing the alligators back, maybe leaving them at the edge of the lake like a gift, but quickly dismissed the thought. It had taken them so long to drag the animals across the property that it would be lunchtime before they could get it back. Their chances of getting caught would be greater by that time for sure. Besides, he knew Quentin and Norris would never go for it.
Orville turned his back to the path from which they’d come and bent to grab the alligator leg he’d been using as a handle. “Let’s get out of here before those bastards show up.”
“Yeah, Quentin,” Norris said, grabbing the leg on the opposite side of the alligator. “Stop acting like some crazy voodoo—”
Orville felt a whisper of wind zip through his thick hair and he heard a splat at the exact moment Norris’ voice cut off. When he looked toward his younger brother and saw that the lower half of his jaw was hanging by a piece of torn flesh, he screamed and stumbled backward, losing his balance and crashing onto the knotted ground beneath him.
Gunshots filled the air as Quentin began firing back with the twenty-two, cursing as he did so. Orville’s eyes were glued to Norris’ face for a long moment, and then he rolled over and puked.
CHAPTER 3
The Magnolia Parish Shooting Range…
Jerry was still bitching about having to shoot me when we reached the overhang where Dean and Ray Sevin were waiting near their rifles.
“What are you crying about?” Ray asked in his slow drawl.
Jerry waved him off. “You’ll see soon enough.”
I studied the three snipers as they zipped up their coveralls and pushed plugs into their ears. I was two members short of a six-member team due to the tragic passing of Kenneth Lewis and the resignation of Alvin Reed, but I had a solid group. Dean, Ray, and Jerry would die for their country and the citizens of our parish, and I would put my life in their hands any day of the week.
As for Kenneth, although he passed under a shroud of controversy and his moral character had been called into serious question, he was posthumously cleared of any wrongdoing and later buried with full honors. Alvin had been too disturbed over what happened with Gina—our former sniper coordinator—that he turned in his sniper rifle and his badge. Last I heard, he was swinging a hammer for some construction company up north.
When we were all standing beside each other on the firing line, rifles grounded at our feet, I said, “Dean, you’re going first.”
Dean snatched up his sniper rifle and crouched low, ready to spring into action. “What am I doing?”
“On the command to fire, you’re going to sprint to the hundred yard line, fire one round into each of the three targets from a kneeling position, run back here and fire three rounds into the same targets from the prone.” I paused until he nodded, and then gave him the command.
Dean had lost a lot of weight over the past year and he was more nimble than before. Like a man possessed, he raced to the firing line and dropped to his knee. In one swift motion, he fell into a solid firing position and pulled the rifle to his cheek. As soon as he got his eye on the target, he froze for a split second. He then lifted his head to stare downrange, then turned to glance over his shoulder at me.
“What are you doing?” I hollered. “Turn around and shoot the damn target!”
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nbsp; Dean jerked his head back around and immediately fired off three rounds in rapid succession. He sprang to his feet and sprinted back to where we stood. As soon as he reached us, he dropped to a prone position and fired off three more shots, working the bolt like a piston. When he was done, he rolled onto his back and glared up at me.
“Not a word,” I said. “Ray, you’re next.”
Once Ray was fifty yards down range and approaching the hundred yard line at breakneck speed, Dean turned back to me. “What the hell are we doing this for?”
“We have to prepare mentally to take out every threat,” I explained. “I failed myself in the past, but I won’t fail y’all.”
Dean’s jaw clamped shut and he nodded his understanding.
Once Ray had returned and fired his last three rounds, he rose slowly to his feet. “That’s messed up.”
I started to explain my position to him, but my cell phone interrupted me and I grunted. I’d always preferred ignoring my phone during sniper training, but considering the sniper team was constantly on call, I had to at least check it.
I pulled out my phone and saw that it was a text message. The number looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. The message was brief: Please call me as soon as possible. It’s an emergency.
“As soon as possible,” I said aloud. “I’m in the middle of sniper training, so I guess it’s not possible that I call back now.”
“Who is it?” Jerry asked. “Sally?”
Dean winced. “Too soon, Jerry…too soon.”
I laughed and showed them the message. “Any of y’all recognize the number?”
They shook their heads.
I knew it couldn’t be sniper-related, because all of those calls were routed through our newly-elected sheriff and former detective commander, Corey Chiasson, so it had to be about a case. I considered ignoring the call and continuing with training, but the message did mention in being an emergency. Hoping it was worth the interruption, I reluctantly hit the button to return the call. I heard it pick up on the second ring.
“Hey, London, it’s Dawn Luke. Do you have a minute?” Her voice was soft—even softer than I remembered—but I wasn’t fooled. I’d only met Dawn a few times, but I knew she was a no-nonsense detective who could handle her own in any situation. She worked the southern part of Magnolia Parish, which was a world all its own. Her former partner, Brandon Berger, had been promoted to commander of the police academy after nearly losing his daughter to the job. Since Brandon’s transfer out of detectives, she had elected to work alone and refused to take on a new partner. She solved more cases than any other detective on the force—myself included—so the sheriff was happy to grant her every wish.
In addition to being a good detective and a tough-as-nails cop, she was one of the most beautiful women to ever wear a badge, and I found myself not minding the interruption at all.
“Yes, of course I’ve got a minute,” I said, walking away from the other snipers and cupping the phone with my hand to block out the soft breeze. “What can I do for you?”
“An alligator poacher was shot and killed early this morning. Normally, that wouldn’t seem like a big deal—or even an emergency—but the manner in which he was killed causes some concern.”
“How’s that?”
I could hear her take a deep breath. “It looks like he was sniped.”
I was instantly alert. Not again! “Sniped?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. I mean, the lower half of his jaw was nearly blown off, so I’m guessing it had to be a high-powered rifle.”
“Could it have been an errant round from a hunter?”
“The shot seemed too precise to be an accident, and the witnesses say the shot came from a few hundred yards away.”
“How do they know that?”
“They said they heard the bullet hit their brother a split second before they heard the gunshot.”
Although Dawn couldn’t see me, I nodded. “That is indicative of a distant shot. Still, are you sure it wasn’t a hunting accident?”
“The forest is thick out here, so it would be pretty difficult for a stray bullet to find its way over that distance without hitting a tree. I think the victim might’ve been targeted.”
I mulled it over, not liking it one bit. The last thing we needed was another rogue sniper going around killing people. “What about the witnesses?”
“What about them?”
“What if one of them shot him from close range? Either accidently or intentionally?”
“Not these guys. They’re all brothers and they’re a close-knit family. They’d die for each other and even commit murder for one another, but they’d never turn on their own. Nope, something reached out of the swamps and took their brother’s life, and it scared the shit out of them.”
I knew enough about Dawn to trust her instincts, and I wasn’t at all disappointed about having to work with her. “I’m at the range so it’ll take me a while, but I’m on my way.”
Jerry threw his hands up when I walked back to where they stood listening. “Where in the hell are you going? I thought you were going to shoot me and I was going to shoot you?”
“I’ll have to shoot you later, Jerry.” I grabbed my rifle from the ground and secured it in my drag bag. “Make sure all of y’all take turns shooting each other’s mug until y’all are comfortable with it—and that includes mine.”
Ray was pale. “Damn, London, this is some hardcore shit.”
“Sniping ain’t easy, Ray, and it definitely ain’t for the weak or the cowardly.” I slapped his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “That’s why I’ve got you behind that rifle—because you’re hardcore.” I looked over at Dean and Jerry. “All of y’all are hardcore—the best of the best. Don’t ever forget it.”
“But where are you going?” Jerry asked.
“Dawn Luke needs a hand on a case down south. Looks like someone was—”
“Wait a minute,” Dean said, interrupting me. “The Dawn Luke?”
I nodded and they all whistled.
“Calm down,” I said. “It’s all business.”
“Yeah, she wouldn’t want your ugly ass”—Dean puffed out his chest as he spoke—“when she can have this.”
“You’re married,” Ray pointed out.
Dean shook his head. “I already told my wife I was divorcing her as soon as Junior leaves for the military. Once that happens, I’ll ride in like a white knight and sweep Dawn off—”
“What the hell ever.” Jerry snorted. “Let’s get back to work before someone overhears you and gets a commitment order for your crazy ass.”
CHAPTER 4
When Dawn told me to meet at the Seasville Boat Launch, she failed to mention I’d have to take a thirty minute boat ride to reach the murder scene. She also failed to mention the dozen or so protestors lined up along the pier holding up large cardboard signs. They were chanting at a group of alligator hunters who were unloading their day’s catch. A couple of news vans were parked on the shoulder of the highway and the cameramen were filming the action taking place near the water.
I couldn’t hear what was being said from my parking spot, so I slung my drag bag over one shoulder and my rucksack over the other, then made my way to the pier. Several of the protestors noticed me and one of them pointed, whispering something to her male counterpart. I nodded and asked what was going on. A middle-aged man with shoulder-length red hair and deep wrinkles stepped forward. He wore faded jeans and a blue hoodie that was partially zipped, exposing a dirty green undershirt.
“What’s going on?” he echoed, pulling the gray beanie off of his head and rubbing it across his scruffy beard. “Have you seen the atrocities that have been taking place here? These barbarians are murdering the last of our dinosaur breed. They’ll soon be gone—wiped off the face of this earth—and it’ll forever throw our ecosystem into a tailspin from which it will never recover. It’s one of the greatest disappointments of my lifetime and the most deva
stating failure of mankind.”
There was a chorus of agreement from the protestors milling around, and one of them shouted, “Alligators are people, too, you know!”
“And I guess you’re here to shut us down,” said Scruffy Beard. “To violate our rights like these barbarians are violating the rights of our native lizards.”
I looked him up and down and grinned. “What’s your name?”
“Shannon Reed from the Great State of New York.” He dipped into a low bow and came up with a grin of his own. “And if you think I’m afraid of your iron cage of oppression, think again.”
I shook my head. “As long as you keep it peaceful and don’t interfere with the hunters, you’ll be fine.”
Shannon’s eyes shifted to the oblong bag hanging off of my shoulder. “Tactical drag bag,” he said, grinning his approval. “Are you some kind of sniper?”
“Something like that.”
He slid his grayish tongue over his bottom lip and squinted. “What kind of heat are you packing in that bag? Remington seven hundred?”
I shook my head. “Accuracy International—the AE model.”
Shannon whistled. “That’s a fine piece of British ingenuity. It only comes chambered in three-o-eight, correct?”
“You seem to know your rifles. Are you some kind of shooter yourself?”
“Something like that.” Shannon’s brows furrowed and he puckered his lips. “That’s a lot of firepower for a defenseless old alligator.”
“I don’t hunt alligators…I hunt men.”
“That’s reassuring. Now, let me get back to work.” After bowing in my direction, he turned to his group and hollered, “We must let our voices be heard! We must fight until every alligator is safe from the evils of mankind!”
