The Scarlet Bandit

Chapter Two

Henry reaches to the front of his wagon to grab his beef jerky. He rips open the bag and tosses a piece to Davy.
"Get me my arrow, buddy," Mallard demands his fuzzy companion.
Davy tilts his head in confusion.
"Arrow." He gestures to the shaded woods.
The dog gets up and wags his tail.
"Nevermind." He sighs.
Mallard steps out of the cart and heads over to the tree where the painted target is. Mallard finds the arrow stuck in the bullseye. Never fails.
Henry tugs at the arrow, but it doesn't budge. He tilts his head backward, and he's using all his might when suddenly he sees a rope hanging from the branch above him.
    The arrow finally loosens, sending Henry flying. Davy instantly rushed to his aid, and licks his face, as if that would do anything.
    Mallard looks upward, seeing a rope tied around a large branch.
    Some people lived out in the woods, climbed the trees, and tied themselves to the branches to keep them safe from predators at night. Henry figured that's what the rope is there for. Mallard had never seen anyone setting up camp near his home.
    Then a faint rustle echoes across the woods. The crunch of leaves alerts Henry, and he grabs his bow lying in the grass. Except for he saw camouflage clothing. This wasn't an animal.
    "Hey!" Mallard yells.
    No response.
    "I'm not here to hurt you, in fact, you can live up in that tree all you want!" Henry yells towards the figure.
    The sun was setting, facing Mallard's back. He wondered if he would get a shadow. No shadow.
    Getting tired, he concludes that maybe his imagination got the best of him.
     Davy barks, and then they return to the wagon. This was one of the only times Mallard ever went home early.
    Getting home, he chucks the game in the freezer.
    He kicks his boots off, leaving them at the front door. The sun hadn't even set yet. Henry didn't have a pastime hobby, he would just wait and watch out the window. Occasionally Digs would come over and sometimes his neighbors would provide food for him out of sympathy.
    Most men in Mock Province married early, around the age of 18. Henry was 20, and couldn't cook if his life depended on it.
Henry sat and hummed, watching Davy chew on a bone.
    His parents were alcoholics and would be gone what seemed like every other day. They only came home to get more alcohol. Well, and to feed Henry. If you were seen not caring for your child, you'd be fined and thrown in jail. Therefore, Henry developed at an early age, a hatred for liquor.
Mallard walked to his fridge and pulled out leftovers from last night. Spaghetti and meatballs. His neighbor three homes down was a baker and made bread for him as well. His neighbors next door gave Henry meals in exchange for meat sometimes.
He always had spent nights in solitary, not joining in on the plaza festivities. Mallard didn't have any friends unless you consider Digs and his neighbors.
Henry never really had friends. He's always been an outsider.
     The only time he went to the plaza was to shop for groceries and during the summer festival. The summer festival was the best. Kids would run around, fireworks would shoot everywhere, and everyone would feast and celebrate the heritage of Mock Province.
Mock Province wasn't a province, but the name sounded right, so they left it. The one central government was the Block. Not much was known about the Block, but nobody messed with them. Occasionally there would be a gathering of the five nations by the names of Mock Province, Plumeda Range (but nobody called it that anymore, they all just called it the Smoldering Flats) United Ycehallow, Scaldenn, and Velocicairn.
Shade the Whisper, Weasel Marston, and Newland the Mad didn't even mess with the Block. Maybe it's because their headquarters was legitimately in the sky. Their base was above the Ozone layer, to avoid extraterrestrial and meteor collision. And unwanted intruders.
    Even after the gathering of the nations, the leaders aren't allowed to speak of it, or their nation would be destroyed.
    Davy opens the door, turns the knob, and he goes out to use the restroom. Mallard still hasn't gotten used to the fact that his dog can open doors.
    "Davy!"
   The dog carries on. After about a minute, Davy starts barking.
    Usually, Mallard assumes it's a squirrel or a rabbit, but Davy just continues his noise.
    Setting his meatballs aside, he heads to the door to retrieve his dog. Then a thought crossed his head as he hear a noise.
What is that rustling?
    "Davy, let's go inside." Henry's voice doesn't conceal his fear though, and a quiver breaks through.
    Davy keeps barking at whatever's out there.
    "Davy...now!" Mallard yells.
    His dog starts to whimper, and retreats, walking backward.
    Mallard shuts the door, closes the blinds, heads over his recliner, his rifle in view.
    Davy keeps whimpering and Henry drops the meatballs he was planning to eat and rushes to help the dog.
    "What's wrong boy?"
    Davy scratches his ear, and like magic, is fine.
But what was that?
    Henry made a habit of talking to his dog. Davy moved around, and a splotch of blood was left on his cow skin rug.
Brand new rug.
His dog was a little more important though.
"Heyyyyy buddy. You alright?" Mallard knew full well there'd be no response, but he searched for the wound.
He reached for Davy's belly and pulled his hand back to find it drenched in blood.
"Woah. Uh, roll over?" Henry seemed more confused than shocked.
Davy just continued whimpering.
Mallard rolled him over to find his fur glistening with scarlet blood.
Tape. Mallard thought immediately.
That was the best he had. He didn't ever get injured much surprisingly, so he didn't have anything lying around the cabin.
First, he tried to stop the bleeding, but the wound relentlessly bled.
Davy whimpered once more as Henry applied the tape.
Wiping off his hands, Mallard finally pats Davy on his side.
He'd take him to the vet tomorrow morning.
"All better boy."
But the dog wasn't moving.
Other than a few blinks.
Blink.
Blink.
And a slow rise and fall from his chest.
Rise.
Fall.
Inhale.
Exhale.
His blinking only slowed, and his breathing only stopped.
It took a while for Mallard to finally realize that his dog was dead.
His throat started to sting, and his eyes started to well up with tears.
I really thought tape was going to fix it. Idiot. Mallard thought.
Whatever is out there, I'm going to kill tomorrow.