The Greek Gods and the Apocalypse

Chapter 2 (Edited)

For the last four days, I have taken game from around the tree by the stream but nothing as large as the deer. Today I feel adventurous. I walk past the tree, through the stream, and into a section of the forest I have never been in before.

I hunt all morning heading due south. I have successfully bagged a hawk, a squirrel, and a small raccoon. All are hanging from the stringer on my backpack. The sun is blazing overhead, and I decide this spot is as good as any to have some lunch.

As I am pulling my lunch from my backpack, I notice movement from behind a grouping of evergreen bushes. Instinctively my fingers release from around my lunch sack as I place my pack next to me. Never taking my eyes off where I saw the movement.

Grabbing my bow, I nock an arrow and proceed forward to investigate the movement. Assuming what I will find will become my fourth kill of the day.

Trying to 'jump' whatever animal is using the bushes for cover I walk between the two largest bushes in the middle of the group, rather than walking around the outside of the entire grouping. To my surprise, nothing moved except the bush on my left that I lightly grazed with the lower limb of my bow.

Figuring I was too late to bag whatever game was in hiding, I proceeded past the remaining bushes and came around the backside of the grouping to the left. Heading back the way I came.

I almost immediately noticed a footprint in the dirt that I don't remember seeing a few moments ago. I kneel for a better look and run my fingers lightly over the print. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the print did not come from any boot made in our colony.

Confusion and anxiety take over simultaneously. Instantly the hairs on the back of my neck rise. A rock has replaced my stomach.

Slowly I return to a standing position and begin scouting the area. Looking for whoever made those prints. I search from the treetops to under every bush. I search, bow up; arrow nocked. Whoever made those tracks is long gone already.

With the realization that someone is in this forest that I did not know of I am suddenly uncomfortable in the woods. I scan the area from where I stand. Where I left my backpack. There is nothing to see so I head north for home.

As I walk, I keep my arrow nocked. I am no longer at ease in the woods, my woods. As I'm crossing the creek at the oak tree where I bagged the deer, I notice a strange impression in the ground on the other side of the creek. Almost directly in front of the oak tree, where I shot the deer.

Upon closer inspection, they appear to be bird tracks. I think they are bird tracks. They look like the tracks of an eagle, hawk, or some similar bird of prey. Only one difference, they are huge. Larger than any bird of prey I have ever seen or could imagine. No way they were made by a bird that traditionally would weigh around ten pounds. This bird would have to weigh a thousand pounds at least, probably more.

The rest of the journey home moves more quickly or maybe I am moving more quickly. It is hard for me to tell. I no longer feel like a hunter. I am more like the prey I stalk and kill. I feel hunted or watched or something I can't even describe to myself. I can't shake the feeling that I am the animal being stalked by a predator they cannot find, therefore, there is no way to be sure which way to run for safety.

Finally, I break out of the forest and approach the pavilion. Instead of going straight to the area of the pavilion where I would normally dress out my game, I just take a seat at the nearest table.

I can't stop staring at the southern forest. Wondering if I am being watched or just paranoid. After several minutes pass and nothing emerges from the trees, I walk over to the cleaning station and begin to tend to the game I have returned with.