Tevun-Krus #58 - Anti-Hero SF

Apex Legacy - A Short Story by @MoonLoop

The truck is parked right in the neck of her driveway. Seven silhouettes, three in the cab and four in the box, sit with shoulders up and heads down. Three bright red pinpoints swing through the shadows around their faces. The cigarette cherries flare, then dull, then swerve sideways, where they flare and dull again. One silhouette stands up, hops off the truck, and onto her property.

"Hey, Dana Crockett." The sounds suspiciously like Bennie Thorn. "Got some beaver pelts for us?" He raises his arms like he's conducting an orchestra, which cues sloppy laughter from the guys on the truck bed.

Bennie's an idiot. Dana doesn't worry about idiots unless they're holding something that's sharp, shoots bullets, or explodes. It's the quiet guys in the cab that draw her attention. At least one of them is sober enough to drive. Assessing her reaction. Testing to see how much she'll tolerate.

She slips her feet into Maddy's worn out moccasins and grabs her rifle. It's a custom-built Jarrett that she keeps by her bedside for nights like this. The bolt is absolutely smooth as she pulls it back. A .416 RM glints within its shadowed gully, longer than her palm and pale brass in the moonlight. One last cartridge sits on her bedside table like a model rocket. She picks it up, absorbs the familiar weight of it, then presses it down into the magazine. Bennie continues his deluge of bullshit as she locks the bolt with a satisfying click.

Dana cracks the window open. Ice splinters along the sill like glass. She holds both buttons on her sight to turn it on and then dials the red dot up. This needs to be seen. She ignores Bennie altogether and drags the bead towards one of the flaring cigarette cherries in the cab. Lets it slide down the man's chest like a caress. Then she thumbs the safety off.

Pleasure thrills up her body. Her finger rests along the trigger guard. One squeeze. Not even a squeeze. A twitch against the trigger. That's all it takes. She cups a stranger's life in her hands and he doesn't even know it. The .416 can drop an elephant. It'll turn a man into a pink milkshake. She's done it before.

It takes a few seconds. She lets the bead move a little to catch his peripheral vision. His head abruptly moves and then he jumps in his seat like someone shoved a live wire up his ass. Bennie looks over his shoulder and sees what's happening. He books it around the other side truck like that would protect him. The coward. She laughs to herself and slides her bead on over to the driver, who takes it better than his passengers. But if he's as smart as he's pretending to be, he knows that nobody can help him.

"All this long pig just for me," she drawls loud enough to echo across the yard. "Don't suppose many people know where you are?"

"You're crazy." Benny pops his head above the box and points at her.

The driver adjusts his side mirror. "Get in the truck, Ben."

"I ain't afraid. C'mon!" He gets up and walks right into her line of sight. "C'mon, bitch!"

The cold air feels electric. Dana automatically turns to line up on his centre of mass. Another trill of pleasure runs up her back as she imagines the shot. Cape buffalo do the same. It's what makes them so dangerous. They don't run. They stand their ground. They charge.

She remembers facing down a bull not unlike this. Except the bull had a will to live backed up by 2,000 pounds of horn and muscle. Ben can't be more than 200 pounds with nothing but booze, sexual frustration, and coke to hold him up. That would certainly explain his optimism in coming out here, but she sees the fear emerging. That bright insulation inside him is shaking loose. She holds her breath and slowly curls her finger into the trigger.