Taking Shelter

Jenny puffed out her cheeks and exhaled a long breath. She'd been lying prone for hours and was well past being bored. Parts of her were sore from remaining still for so long and the pressure in her bladder was becoming hard to ignore.

Shifting onto her hip relieved the immediate urge to pee, but it soon returned. Gusts of wind drifted across the plains in patches like cloud, providing similarly brief periods of respite from the heat.

She could feel the sun's rays bombarding her back, they caused shimmering ripples of hot air to rise where they struck the ground.

Pants and a long-sleeved shirt didn’t help with the heat, but experience had taught her that insect bites and sun burn were far more painful, and long lasting, than feeling itchy and sticky for a few hours.

The knowledge didn't comfort her as she fought the urge to scratch the sweat-wet hair under her camouflage cap. Strands of her ponytail were plastered to her neck, tickling her each time she made the smallest movement.

She sighed and another rivulet of sweat ran down her back, causing an exasperated huff. The discomfort and boredom were making her so grouchy that she wanted to shout or throw something, perhaps even beat the ground like some tantruming child.

Instead she tried to imagine how the cool water from their well was going to feel when she dumped a bucket of it over her head. That’s what she planned to do the minute she got home. Her father would shout at her, going on about how much effort it took to draw and how precious a resource it was, but Jenny was past caring. She’d be happy to go fill the bucket again as soon as she'd cooled down.

Pushing her cheek against the stock, Jenny peered through the telescopic sight of the rifle cradled in her arms. Gingerly she flexed her fingers, they were stiff and sore, like the rest of her, having spent so much time bent around the grip. One of her arms had started to go to sleep so she shifted to take the weight off the pressure point.

Scanning the landscape in front of her with slow, steady arcs, she searched for prey, or anything, to alleviate boredom. She’d counted the number of flowers she could see at one point. Another tactic was to place her sight and count the number of blades of grass visible in it.

She was lying on a slight incline overlooking a small watering hole ringed with tall grass, it was barely more than a large puddle after so long without rain. The incline circled the pool, creating a shallow amphitheater, with one side falling away to a forest of bushes.

As with the rest of the plain, the grass and plants were several inches deep, not yet stripped bare by the herds of grazing animals. The occasional spiny bush, things the animals knew to avoid, were all that broke the uniformity.

This was one of her favored hunting spots, the water guaranteed prey and the circular geography allowed her to find a spot down wind no matter which way it was blowing. The elevation also provided a clear shot.

When she’d originally crawled into position beside a particularly dense clump of grass, Jenny didn’t think she’d have to wait long. That had been several hours ago.

The only animals she’d seen in that time had either been too big or too small. She had been hoping for a decent-sized pronghorn antelope, but at this point she was willing to settle for anything big enough to hit and small enough to carry.

There was nothing around the watering hole, so Jenny slid her scope towards the rim of the bowl, hoping to spot inbound prey. Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she swung her rifle round to focus on it.

Something was moving in the bushes at the bottom of the depression. Animals sometimes used the foliage for cover as they approached the water and Jenny held her breath, hoping it was reward for her patience.