Ruthless by Carolyn Lee Adams

one takes no longer. Never in my life has anything tasted as good as these apples. They’re manna from heaven.
    My head is buried in the tub when I hear it.
    A high-powered-rifle shot.
    I sit up tall, like a deer listening for danger.
    Everything inside me stops, and for a split second I live in denial. They’re hunting bear. It’s not for you.
    That denial is destroyed by a bullet. It slides past my left shoulder, a grazing shot that slices my deltoid as elegantly as a scalpel. It is blood and burning and numbness from the shoulder down, but adrenaline hides the pain.
    I run in pure animal panic.
    A third bullet chases my heels, but misses. I dive into the ravines. They give me cover, and the gunshots stop. He must be on a ridge. Still running, I glance up along the ridgeline. There’s nothing to see but trees.
    Stupidly, my first thought is that this isn’t fair. I didn’t know he had a hunting rifle. I never saw it. I only saw the handgun. I didn’t know what I was up against. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.
    â€œLife isn’t fair,” comes the voice of Nana. She has told me that a thousand times. “What matters is how you handle it.”
    I’m going to handle it by winning.
    The sun has hidden itself behind the hills, and in the gloaming my pale skin shines white in the darkness. I might as well have drawn a target on myself.
    Victory is in the details.
    I should have known better.
    Coming upon a boggy spot, I flop down into the mud and roll, roll, roll, until I’m black and green and brown all over. Above meis a rocky outcropping, covered by a downed tree. I slip my way between the rock and the tree, my back against the hillside.
    Time to pause and listen. And there it is. The sound of footsteps crawls into my heart and my lungs, making it hard to breathe, hard to pump blood through my body.
    Leaning my head back, I stare at the ridge above me.
    There he is, silhouetted against what’s left of the daylight. He is a big, black shape, and in his hands I see the sleek outline of a hunting rifle, a powerful scope perched atop it.
    He is coming for me.
    I am naked, without a weapon.
    My one good arm is now wounded.
    I have paid dearly for my meal.

Forty Years Ago
    THE SMALL CABIN IS IMMACULATE in the way only something brand-new can be. The boy, a fifteen-year-old who looks eighteen, sits at attention, happily craning his neck to take in all the details of the place. At his feet are two splotchy-colored hunting dogs. He pets one and then the other, scratching them behind the ears. His uncle Lou is giving him a long-winded spiel about how he built the cabin with his own two hands. Most would find it boring at best, but not the boy. To him this is something close to heaven.
    His uncle pauses, and the boy focuses in on the older man. They look like they could be father and son, instead of just uncle and nephew. The boy senses something important is about to be said.
    â€œI want you to have this cabin after I’m gone, Jerry.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me. I want it to stay in the family, with blood. I suppose Jenny or Marleen could inherit it, but what use would they get out of it? Maybe if they get married, their husbands would come up here, but I don’t want no damn son-in-law having this place. No, when I die, I want you to have it. Already talked to my lawyer, had it added to my will.”
    â€œUncle Lou, I don’t know what to say.”
    â€œYou just say thank you.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. And don’t think I haven’t been watching you. Ever since we came up, you’ve been looking around like a kid in a candy store. I think you might love this place as much as I do.”
    It’s too much for the boy to wrap his mind around, so he just nods emphatically.
    â€œAnd like I’ve said, I’ve been watching you.” Uncle Lou pauses, then says in a low voice, “I see the