SCRATCHED

Chapter 7

2020, Edgar Woods.

"See the shot before you make it," he repeated Henric's words, one eye closed, the string stretched.

The arrow flew off into the bushes. He heard the whooshing of its flight, then the strike of its silence. He sighed. That was the fourth one. He couldn't afford to lose another arrow. His uncle would gladly skin him alive.

Aiden brought out another one, feeling his confidence slowly seeping out of him under the awakening morning light. He aimed at the tree, at the center of the red circle Henric had told him to ignore. Baby steps, Aiden.

It flew off, following the previous one past the tree and into the woods, where he was reluctant to go and gather them. But he had only two left. Two shots. He had to get one, or it was dishwashing duty. They had piled up, because Uncle Ben only washed them weekly. And now his uncle had seen the perfect opportunity to lift the task off his shoulders.

He brought out another arrow, frowning at his luck. "Skipping breakfast huh?" he heard Henric's voice from behind.

"Why are you out here?"

Henric smiled mischievously. "Because," he drew out the last arrow, collecting the bow from Aiden. He pulled and released. It went right in the middle of the red circle, "your uncle is smoking."

Henric gave him back the bow. But Aiden didn't collect it. Instead, he sighed and walked towards the wooden flights at the door and sat on one of them. Henric followed.

"What's the point?" Aiden asked, "I thought you guys were going to teach me how to use a gun."

"First, never practice on an empty stomach. And second, you're missing the point. We are teaching you how to aim. When you learn that, you can use any weapon."

Henric sat beside Aiden. From a distance, they would look like brothers having a nice early morning chit-chat. Henric wasn't much older than him, so it was nice to talk to him, someone who had seen the world on its knees, the creatures at their strongest.

"So tell me, how do I aim?"

"It's not about how, it's about why. Once you master the art of weaponry, you'll know that triggers aren't pulled for fun. You kill to survive, not the other way round," Henric patted him on the shoulder, "You coming in?"

Aiden had his eyes fixed on the tree. "Nah," he said, "you go ahead. I'll be in soon."

"All right."

He could smell the stench of those dishes from where he sat. It was similar to the smell of his pride, and his everlasting worry. Would they leave town? Would they stay? If they hadn't received even one out of the thousands of voicemails he had sent then chances were that they had left. But to where?

As the sun moved higher into the morning sky, he thought of Amy and how she would react to the death of her father. He was already blaming himself, angry at himself for deciding to leave Woodland, something he never would've done if he knew things would eventually come to this. He wanted to be there for her, for Camie, for Jay, for Brandon, for Alex. Besides Uncle Ben, they were the only family he had left. He wanted to be there for all of them.

Being there for them when you can't even shoot a goddamn arrow into a tree. Way to go Aiden!

He walked to the tree and drew out the last arrow from the homemade quiver. He breathed, feeling his muscles growing taut, the air around him getting tense. He could feel the little drops of sweat surfacing onto his white skin. One arrow. One shot.

He had seen how Henric did it, with both eyes open, so he kept his open as well. He pulled all the way back. The faster, the better. Uncle Ben had said. It had come to the hard part, keeping his hands from shaking.