— By the way, you happen to find a casing in the woods? Brass. .308. Not common around here. Expensive round.
Victor said nothing. He stood on the porch until the diesel sound faded into the trees. Only then did he go back inside.
The mudroom was quiet. Buddy sat on the straw, leaning against the wall. In his mouth was that same yellow nipple. He wasn’t chewing it, just holding it, like the one thing that still made him feel safe.
Mary stood in the kitchen doorway. Her face had gone pale, and her hands trembled inside the folds of her apron.
— They’re not going to let this go, — she whispered.
Victor walked to the shelf and picked up the empty glass bottle. He looked at it for a long moment. Then, with one sharp practical motion, he swept it into the trash can. The glass shattered with a dry final sound.
— Pack what we need, — he said without turning around. — Tomorrow we head over the ridge. My grandfather had an old hunting cabin up there. They won’t get to it in those vehicles.
He went out to the shed. He needed to get the sled ready and check the fuel supply. But one thought kept circling in his mind: Coleman knew about the casing. Which meant he knew exactly who had pulled the trigger that January night.
This was no longer just about saving an animal. It had become a fight with a system that didn’t like witnesses.
The story broke off with the sound of a sharpening stone as Victor began honing his hunting knife. To be continued…
