John Saul - Nightshade

Matt’s face burned with humiliation at the tone of Bill’s voice but he wasn’t about to back down. “They’re not my guests,” he shot back. “This whole thing was your idea. I didn’t even want to come.”

Bill Hapgood’s jaw tightened. “Be careful, Matt. You’re walking a very thin line. Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t give you the right to talk to your friends or your father — ”

“You’re not my father!” Matt exploded. “I don’t have a father, remember? You’re just the man my mother married!”

“Now just hold on, Matt,” Marty Holmes cut in. “If I were you — ”

“You’re not me,” Matt flared. “None of you are! So why don’t you all just — ”

Pete Arneson grabbed Matt’s arm. “Look!” he whispered excitedly, pointing upward. They were standing on the bank of Granite Creek, a quarter of a mile above the falls for which the town was named. Across the stream a craggy face of stone rose in a steep bluff for nearly forty feet. A seven-point buck gazed down at them from the top of the bluff. “Jeez!” Pete whispered. “Did you ever see one that big before?”

They peered up at the buck, and the enormous animal, feeling their eyes on him, looked back at them for a moment. But as Eric Holmes lifted his rifle to his shoulder, the deer shied away and disappeared.

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Bill Hapgood said as Eric lowered his rifle. “Any buck that’s been around long enough to get that big isn’t going to just stand there and let us shoot him.” The storm between Matt and his friends dying away almost as quickly as it had come up, Bill began issuing orders. “If we’re going to get him, we’ll have to split up. Matt and I will cross the stream and climb the bluff here, and you guys spread out. Marty, you and Eric head downstream toward the falls, while Paul and Pete go the other way.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll meet back here at ten — that gives us a little less than two hours. If none of us have him by then, we’re not going to get him.” His voice dropped. “And just make sure that if you shoot at something, it’s that buck, not one of us.”

“If he’s still up there at all,” Marty Holmes muttered, warily eyeing the steep face of the bluff and wondering how sure the footing might be.

“He’ll be up there somewhere,” Bill replied. “He wants to come down to the river to drink, so he’ll stay close. See you back here at ten.”

The group split up, and as his stepfather picked his way across the shallow stream and began working his way up the bluff, Matt hesitated.

Maybe he should just go home right now.

But that would only make things worse than they already were. And maybe if they were by themselves for a while, he and his dad could straighten things out. Taking a deep breath, Matt made his way across the stream, then slung his rifle over his shoulder and followed his stepfather to the top of the bluff.

Ten minutes later, as they were working their way along the edge of the bluff searching for the deer’s tracks, a flicker of movement caught Matt’s eye.

The buck was standing in a thicket about fifty yards away, its ears flicking rapidly as it searched for sounds that might indicate danger. But as Matt raised his rifle, the deer vanished into the woods.

“He smells us,” Bill said softly. His eyes still fixed on the spot where the deer had been, he tilted his head to the left. “Circle around that way. We’re upwind of him, so if I stay here, he’ll still have my scent. And you can bet that he’s in there somewhere, watching us. But if you circle around so he can’t smell you, you might get close enough to get a good shot.” When Matt made no move to start closing on the prey, Bill’s voice hardened slightly, leaving no room for argument. “Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you’re entitled to do any damn thing you want. It’s time for you to grow up. And it’s time for you to bag your first trophy. Understand?”

Matt’s face burned. All he’d wanted to do was talk to his dad, to try to straighten things out. But —

But the hell with it!

Without a word he disappeared into the woods.

* * *

A QUARTER OF an hour later Matt was on the other side of the thicket. For the last two minutes he thought he could hear the deer moving restlessly in the underbrush, and now, as he moved slowly toward the sound, the big buck came into view.

It was standing about forty yards away, its head up, its ears pricking as it tried to pick up sounds that might indicate danger.

Matt eased his rifle — a brand-new Browning BAR 30–06 with a Bushnell sight — off his shoulder and flicked the clip and chamber open. Putting one shell in the chamber and four more in the clip, he snapped the clip closed and released the safety. His fingers tightening on the satiny maple of the Browning’s stock, he braced its rubber butt firmly against his shoulder. His right forefinger curled around the trigger as his left hand steadied the semiautomatic rifle.

He squinted, peering through the sight.

The deer’s head appeared in the crosshairs.

Matt hesitated.

It was such a magnificent creature — why should he shoot it?

Then, as he gazed at the buck’s uplifted head, he became aware of a strange scent on the morning air: a scent that jerked him out of the brilliant morning light and plunged him back into the depths of last night, when he had wakened in darkness.

The scent grew stronger, and now he heard the voice whispering to him.

“You know what you have to do, Matthew.”

Darkness began to close around him, until all he could see was the head of the deer.

The deer, and something beyond…

“Do it, Matthew,” the voice whispered. “Do it for me… ”

The darkness deepened.

“No,” Matt whispered.

The shroud of darkness tightened, and now he felt the touch, the same touch he’d felt last night, stroking his arms.

Moving over his hands.

Curling around his fingers.

“Do it,” the voice whispered once more. “Do it … ”

A shot sounded.

Then another.

And another.

Matt, lost in the darkness, was utterly unaware that the shots echoing through the morning had come from the weapon in his hands…

* * *

“MATT? HEY, MATT!”

Matt jumped at the sound of Eric Holmes’s voice.

“What’s going on?” Eric asked, approaching and cocking his head as he looked at Matt. “You okay? You look — ”

“I’m fine,” Matt said, the words coming quickly. But he wasn’t fine. He felt strange, almost as if he’d been half asleep and Eric’s voice had jerked him out of a dream. But that didn’t make any sense — he was still standing in the same spot as when he caught sight of the deer a few minutes ago, the Browning still in his hands. And you couldn’t sleep standing up.

Could you?

Of course not! So Eric’s voice must have just caught him by surprise. Except nothing looked quite the way that it had a minute ago. The light filtering through the trees was different, and —

And the sun was higher than it had been.

A lot higher!

“You sure you’re okay?” Eric pressed. “I’ve been looking for you for an hour!”

An hour? What was he talking about? It hadn’t been much more than half an hour since he and his dad had crossed the stream and started up the bluff while Eric and his father headed toward the falls and the Arnesons went farther upstream. So it couldn’t be much later than eight-thirty, maybe quarter to nine. Except when he looked down at his watch he saw that Eric was right — it was almost nine-thirty.

But that was nuts! It couldn’t be that late — it was just a minute or so ago that he’d spotted the deer, and raised his rifle and —