The Day I Shot

A Vignette from Riley

I saw it in a dream one night, like I’d envisioned it all before.  Many times.  The mid-60s Chevy hard-top slowly motored down my drive as I scrambled into place with the AR-10. 

The ‘scope was on 6x and I could see five or so inside the vehicle.  I put six rounds of Turkish 308 into the engine compartment, bringing forward progress to a halt.

Silhouettes moved within the car, and I brought them down with the 147 grain loads as they exited.  Pushing 3,000 FPS, the blood sprays against the snow broadcast unmistakably that a rebel vehicle had been bounced.  It was clear in the moon’s light that the time had come to go.

I’d packed long ago, and all the right stuff was there.  I slid off down the hill, mixing my tracks with the deer ones, working down the mountain’s fall.  I had told the Wife the police might come knockin’ on the door.  “Tell ‘em I’m all aged and shit.  No more tolerance for the challenged.  No idea where he’s bound, you know?  Might be loaded?” Good woman.  Kens the men, all right.

So I drift and watch.  I steal people’s shit and eat.  They wonder what hit them.  I’ll never tell.

(c) 2020 Riley Smith