Chapter 1

CRACK! RUMBLE! "Jesus God! That lightning struck not twnety feet away, and the thunder nearly knocked me off Joe Bob. Shit! The weather channel didn't mention a thing about this. God Damn what a downpour. Shit, the hair on my arms is standing up again just like it was just before that last strike."

CRACK...

"Shit-ola! How'd I end up on the ground? That last thunder clap must have blown me right off Joe Bob's back. Shit, I dropped my Marlin too. Man, we never have thunderstorms in November around here."

"Wait. Where is around here now? Has this fucker blown me to Oz?. Where's the trail I was riding along? Where's the buck I was about to shoot? Where in the fuck am I?"

There were plenty of pine trees around me just a minute or two ago. Where'd they go? Hell, I'm right in the middle of an open field. No wonder the lightning is kicking my ass. How'd I get here? Oh great! Here comes the fucking downpour. Shit, those drops are so big they hurt when they hit, and they feel cold as ice even though I know damned well it ain't hail.

Dammit all. Now that is a little bit of hail, and my ass is killing me where I landed on it. I'd better get up and catch hold of Joe Bob's reins before he runs off. He don't like thunder and lightning much either.

Well, at least my ass ain't broken, but it sure hurts. No doubt I've got a big bruise right on my left cheek. Shit, that's gonna leave a mark. Gonna hell! It's already left one. Fuck me running, I can't even shoot a deer now if one comes around to fuck with me in person. The Marlin hit barrel end first right into the dirt. It'll blow up in my face if I fire it. I know my Super Blackhawk 44 mag has plenty of knockdown power for a whitetail but I can't ride around hunting deer in this fucking weather, especially not with a damned old pair of pistols.

What the hell? I didn't think I'd get one first thing today anyhow. At least I've got my cleannig kit with my other shit packed up on my mule, Mose. I'd better climb my ass back up on Joe Bob and ride over to where I was going to camp.

This fucking deluge coulda waited until I had my tent up for fuck's sake. With a start like this one I'd be better off riding back to my truck, putting Joe Bob and Mose back in the trailer and going home. Damn if I will though. I had to sign up for this vacation six months in advance to make sure it started on the first day of the season, and I ain't going home until I get a deer or the season runs out one. That's for damned sure.

I managed to get my foot in the stirrup and swing aboard Joe Bob's saddle. And that's another damned thng. The saddle was rough-out leather and it didn't shed water worth a shit. At least Mose, my pack mule, didn't cut up from the lightning and thunder so close. To tell the truth I don't even remember if Joe Bob panicked from the thunder and pitched me off or if the damned thunder just blew me outta my seat. I don't guess it really matters now, but I sure as hell took the short way off my mount. That old joke about being on the hurricane deck of a horse makes a lot better sense today.

At least I'm up again but where do I ride to. I don't recognize a damned thing anywhere 'round here. Oh well, what's the difference? I recognize pine trees even though I didn't know this many of them grew exactly here. Hell, there sure as hell weren't no tornado and at least it took one of them to send Dorothy off to never-never land, or Oz, or where ever she got blowed to.

This is a real fuckup deluxe. I didn't even get no ruby slippers outta the deal. I've still got my same old boots on my feet and they're still made outta leather. I guess Ruby Cowboy Boots woulda been too much to ask for.

I rode around a little trying to see where the tallest pine near me was. There, that one. Now I'll just move about a hundred feet or so from it and let it be my lightning rod. I can camp under those shorter Loblollies. They kinda spead out a little closer to the ground anyway and they might even shed some of this rain off me.

An hour later I was feeling much better. I had my tent up and I'd even gathered enough big rocks to make a fire circle. Of course that don't mention the bitch it was to get a fire started with the drenched pine squaw wood being all I could find laying around loose.

It's a good thing I'd never been much of a boy scout so I didn't even try to start a campfire with only two matches. Hell, I was a bic man from way back so I grabbed up a bunch of pine needles for kindling and held them over the bic's flame until I got 'em going. I'd a been fucked for shore if I'd tried that with a couple of matches.

I shoulda known it was going to be a shitass day when Sally Jan got her panties in a wad last night about me taking off for a week to go hunting and camping. She just raised hell about how it was going to throw her budget off from the loss of income.

"We'll never have enough saved up to get married in June if you do that. You damned sure better not get fired from the steel mill over this either. Remember, you've gotta save up enough for a down payment on our house too," she'd said, right before she went on into her apartment and didn't even invite me in for a slice of cooter pie.

If there's one thing that makes deer hunting even less comfortable it's a hard dick, especially if you're gonna be riding a horse for the hunting part. I'd sure been planning on relieving the pressure before striking out hunting this morning. I guess it's like I always heard about a woman. It's her way or the highway, along with Do Not Pass Go and Do Not collect a shot of pussy.

Well hell, you can't have everything, and from the way things were going this morning it didn't seem like I was going to have anything. Shit, I even had to leave out before J&L Grill opened up so's I could get breakfast.

Never mind that now though, I'd brought enough stuff to scramble half a dozen eggs and fry half a pound of bacon for breakfast. Hell, with that little oven gizmoe I'd bought off the Internet for going on an open fire I could even whip up some cathead biscuits and naturally I'd bought a brand new tub of Country Crock margarin to slather on the biscuits. Hell, I'd even picked up a quart jar of Mary Hattie's Clover Honey down to Whooper's feed store to sop up with the biscuits. I even remembered to buy a box of salt and a tin of McCormick's black pepper so I could douse my eggs real good.

Things were so fucked up I gave up on hunting and went ahead and cooked the breakfast I'd just been thinking about. Funny thing though. I'd grabbed my portable radio and tried to turn it on so I could listen to the local news while I's cooking and the damned thing wouldn't say shit. I mean I couldn't find a station at all on AM nor FM. Nothing but static anywhere I turned the dial. That just wasn't natural.

At least breakfast was good, even if I did have to cook it myself. I made extra too, to make up for the fucked up way my day was going. After I finished eating I just sat on my ass in the lawn chair I'd brought along and drank up the twenty-cup coffeepot worth of coffee I'd boiled. At least I congratulated myself on bringing the lawn chair along even if it did look silly tied onto Mose's pack saddle.

Mose and Joe Bob looked happy enough hobbled out on the tall grass around here. Trouble was I didn't remember this clearing being here at all. Shit, I'd worry about it later, after I finished my coffee.