Dave Freedman - Natural Selection

Suddenly an arrow rocketed through the air violently. Before Jason knew what had happened, it rushed past his nose and plunged into a steel trash drum behind him. He didn’t have time to react, much less be frightened. He turned to the drum.

“Jesus.” The arrow hadn’t just pierced the steel, it had ripped a tearing hole through its front and back sides, then settled on the dirt.

Darryl gave him a look. “You think it will do, brother?”

Jason looked at the drum. “Yeah.”

“Enough small talk. Let’s get to it.”

Everyone started moving. To blend in with the forest, they were all wearing the same all-khaki outfits—shirt, pants, and work boots. Like pros, Jason, Phil, and Lisa loaded and locked their rifles. Craig and Monique did the same.

Darryl’s process was slightly more complicated. From a duffel filled with racks of standard twenty-eight-inch aluminum arrows, he removed four dozen projectiles. Rather than carry his arrows in a cumbersome holder, Darryl wore a specially designed, formfitting vest made of thin down. The garment’s key feature was a rear pouch the size of a wastepaper basket, its bottom lined with nonadhesive clay that arrowheads could be jabbed into to prevent movement.

As Darryl finished loading up, Monique and Craig carefully checked the rookies’ work, making sure safeties were on and that everything else looked right.

Then Monique smacked a magazine into her own weapon. “Ready, Darryl?”

Darryl Hollis didn’t respond at first. He turned to the trees. He didn’t know what they were looking for exactly. He refused to believe it was the new order until he saw it with his own two eyes. But whatever it was, he could feel it, he could feel it like a butterfly feels a gentle current of wind. Craig and Monique occasionally made fun of his Indian mysticism, but Darryl Hollis had never found it amusing. It was one of the few things he didn’t have a sense of humor about. They could go to hell if they didn’t believe in him. But that was just his ego talking, and he knew it. None of it mattered now. A very dangerous animal was lurking in the redwoods, an animal that had killed someone and would certainly try to kill him, too.

But Darryl Hollis had no plans on dying. He gave the looming trees a dirty, almost sneering, look. He hadn’t been on a real hunt in years, but all the feelings were rushing back now. Wild animals were dangerous. The notion of “kill or be killed” was a joke for humans, but for animals it was a part of daily life. You had to remember that when you hunted them. But there were no doubts in Darryl’s mind. As sure as the sun rose in the morning, whatever the unseen animal was, he was going to kill it. He turned to his wife, and their eyes locked. The look they shared was not one of love. It was a look that said, Get your fucking game face on and be careful. He eyed Lisa and Craig the same way. He gave special glares to Jason and Phil. No petty garbage, not an ounce. There were nods all around. Then Darryl turned back to the trees. “Yeah, Monique. We’re ready.”

NO WIND at all. That was good. Darryl Hollis wouldn’t have to worry about being upwind of whatever was out there. But it was bad, too. Without wind, there’d be pure silence. The team would be easy to hear and would have to move especially quietly.

As the six of them walked into the woods, Jason noticed Monique and Craig, their eyes moving very slowly, as if they were studying every single pine needle, their heads continually turning—behind, left, right—their rifles always leading the way. Army training, he guessed.

After twenty minutes, Darryl felt a slight temperature drop. He looked up and saw that the fog had thickened. It had gotten quiet, too. No chirping birds. No trickling streams. Nothing. They were getting closer. He glanced behind him. The group’s shape was all wrong. That had to change immediately. He halted.

“OK, we’re gonna get into a hunting circle now. The idea’s that between us, our vision covers three hundred and sixty degrees, so everybody’s relying on everybody else. So, Jason, go stand over there and face out. Monique, you go there. Lisa, there. Craig and Phil, right there.”

They quickly formed a circle.

“What’s critical here is that whatever happens, everyone faces their assigned directions. Phil, you should be facing out.”

Phil turned, and as he did, Darryl trotted into a shrub behind him. Then Darryl shook the plant wildly and screamed.

Phil spun around, his eyes on the shrub. It was surprisingly frightening.

Darryl walked out. “Now that’s what we don’t want happening. Remember, look in your assigned direction. Because you might think you see or hear or smell or just sense something, say, over there….” He waved to his left. “But if what you think is over there is actually over here …” He waved to his right. “Wild animals, especially predators, move very fast, and if just one of us is looking the wrong way, it could strike, and kill all of us. Everybody follow?”

They nodded.

Darryl felt for the bow slung over his shoulder, then went to the front of the circle.

“Everybody’s whose got ‘em, turn on your walkie-talkies, low volume.” He walked forward, scanning everywhere. “And keep your eyes open.”

DEEPER IN the forest, the hunting circled moved slowly. Only Darryl had noticed it, but the air had continued to chill. And the fog above was thickening. Looking up, Jason saw it rolling into the treetops in delicate waves. It was far too thin to hide in, but perhaps that would change.

Fifteen minutes later the fog had thickened considerably. Again Jason looked up, and this time noticed the faint shape of an owl, silently gliding through it.

Forty minutes later the sky was gone. The treetops were gone. Anything above twenty stories was gone. The great redwood trunks stuck out of the mist like toothpicks in ice cream.

Anything could hide up there now, Jason thought. Then he heard something.

They all heard it. Straight ahead. Something near the ground, rushing through the shrubbery. Jason turned to Darryl, but the man simply walked forward, like he hadn’t heard a thing.

There was a loud crashing sound.

Darryl glanced up calmly. “It’s a deer.”

Craig didn’t believe that. The sound was rapidly moving toward them, and from his direction. He aimed his rifle at a mass of shrubs. The sound grew louder. He eased down on the trigger. The sound grew louder still…. A deer sprinted out then stopped, its big brown eyes staring right at Craig. He lowered his weapon.

Then the sounds started again—from something behind the deer.

Darryl didn’t even bother looking this time. “It’s a family.”

Craig had his doubts, but then eight more deer sprinted past a grove of thick redwood trunks and disappeared.

They continued forward. And Jason looked up at the fog.

ABOVE THE treetops, the late-afternoon sun shone down on a squadron of birds, flying in perfect V-formation and heading toward a fog bank. Without hesitation, the birds flew right into the white mist and the sun disappeared. Enshrouded, the tiny fliers continued for several seconds when they felt the slightest of tremors in the air. Instantaneously, the V rose, and the tremor dissipated. They continued when they felt a second, slightly larger tremor. The squadron rose again, and again the tremor dissipated. Then they felt another tremor, only this time it wasn’t a tremor. It was a gargantuan wave. Then a series of gargantuan waves, one crashing on top of the next. Something huge was flying right at them. The birds turned sharply, just as a massive pumping shape sped past below them. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and the birds flew on as if nothing had happened.