Ever Onward by Wayne Mee

his love of nature to
his only son. Taught him the song of the silent woods, the caress
found in the frosty wind and the magic of flowing water. He’d also
shown him the thrill of the hunt and the triumph of the
kill.
    Josh hadn’t fired the gun since before
his son was born. He’d replaced it with hiking and canoeing; a
sharing of life rather than a taking. The world had slowly changed
since his long ago childhood. Davy Crocket and Daniel Boon had been
eclipsed by Little House on the Prairie, Oprah and Doctor Phill.
Hell, in these days of cell phones, laptop computers, video games
and ‘surfing the net’, any concept around for more than a year or
two was considered ‘ancient history’. To most people in the ‘Modern
World’, the sport of hunting had gone the way of the dinosaur.
Conservation, Green Peace and Save the Whales were ideals Josh
himself strongly agreed with. The Hippies had long since come and
gone, but their motto of ‘make love not war’ lived on --- at least
on the surface.
    But now it seemed that the world had
changed again, only this time not as a slow, gentle movement,
spearheaded by idealistic children with flowers in their hair, but
by nameless, faceless scientists working in their top-secret labs.
Sudden, brutal, total change, leaving only a motherless boy and an
arthritic old man --- and frightened people who shot at you when
you wanted only to be their friend.
    Slowly he unzipped the other case and
stood looking down at the second relic from a bygone age --- an age
suddenly come again. In it lay a bolt action .22target rifle and a
box of hollow point bullets. Josh began to rummage around for
shells to go with the shotgun. He found the heavy cartridge belt
for the 12 gage in an old wicker picnic basket under his workbench.
Its weight felt strangely familiar.
    “What you doing, Dad?”
    Josh turned to see Jessie standing in
the doorway. Feeling suddenly guilty, he smiled at his son. “Just
checking things out, Josh. You ready to go?”
    Jessie came up to stand at his
father’s side. As tall as I am, Josh thought. But still so young!
Will he be alive this time next year? Will any of us? And if we
are, at what cost?
    “Wow! I didn’t know you had
guns!”
    “They were your grandfather’s. Now ---
now they’re ours.”

 
    Chapter 8 : IT BEGINS
    China Lake
    Naval Weapons Center,
    California. June
22
    George ‘The Man’ Sampson stood looking
down at Pussbag kneeling at Jocco’s feet, disgust warring with
disbelief in his bloodshot eyes. “What’s this shit?! And where’d
that ugly skag come from?!”
    Jocco graced him with smile, his gray
eyes however, remained cold. “All in good time, Georgie-boy, but
for now, get my new friend here a chair.”
    George didn’t like taking orders, but
somehow he liked even less the idea of crossing Jocco. He got the
chair.
    “Now,” Jocco said, motioning for
Pussbag to be seated. “Explain again that part about following
me.”
    Pussbag was only too willing to
comply. In a muddled torrent of words he told Jocco all, including
his undying allegiance to the Dark Stranger. When it was over he
fell on his knees again. Jocco left him there.
    “Christ, man!”, George swore. “The
asshole’s not playing with a full deck! If you can’t see that
you’re just as fucking crazy as he is!”
    Suddenly George found his feet swept
out from under him and a blood-covered bayonet pressed against his
throat. Behind the sharp blade, Pussbag’s wild eyes glared down at
him. “You will not speak that way to Him!”
    George the Man all but wet his pants.
“Sure thing, man! Anything you say!”
    Pussbag looked up at Jocco like a
Doberman waiting for its owner’s signal. Kill or set free, all on
the whim of its master.
    Jocco placed a hand on Pussbag’s head,
patting it twice. “Let him up, friend. I believe Georgie-boy has
seen the light.”
    The bayonet disappeared into Pussbag’s
dirty fatigues, yet his wild eyes followed George as he made his
way