Flesh and Blood

I'm pretty mean with the cliffhangers, aren't I? Well, I'm just a mean storyteller. Or perhaps a wannabe... not important.

12
Hope had vanished in an instant. All of Three Finger’s grief, thought by him to be forgotten, had returned, released tenfold into his psyche. The rifle nudged closer into his skull as he bent his neck, staring at the ground in defeat. He was bleeding now, and he suddenly felt incredibly weak. Giving a soundless sigh, he waited for his prey to finish him. The man holding the gun was still speaking, probably immersing himself in his victory.
Congratulations, whoever you are. You’ve killed me. Me and my little one…
The pup moved then. It did not just give its usual kick or nudge. The pup seemed to be turning itself over, or trying to find a way out. Either way, Three Finger felt as though his flesh and blood was trying to get his attention. The feeling made him remember why he was still alive.
His family had left him with the unspoken oath of keeping this pup safe. He was not going to let them down now, and he was never going to let the precious thing within him down either.
He heard the trigger straining behind him and his good arm shot out as he turned. The rifle fired, but missed the target by an inch, flying past Three Finger’s ear as he jumped to his feet and removed his kukri blades. One blade nestled into his enemy’s throat, just below the Adam’s apple, while the other sliced through wrist tendons. The gun fell to the ground from useless fingers and his quarry fell on his back.
Craig Barkley could not scream when the knife finally flew from his throat, slashing vocal chords as the thin metal left the flesh. He opened his eyes in time to see the freak standing above him, grinning madly, reaching under overalls to rub the big gut underneath. In the fiend’s other hand was an axe. Tongue running over swollen gums and distorted teeth, the bastard took the axe in both hands and gave a savage swing.
Three Finger laughed at the perfect cut his axe made. Additionally his aim had been impeccable; the other man’s head had been divided perfectly down the center. He put a hand on his belly again, thanking his pup for saving his life. He could not have taken the big prey down without the little one after all. The pup moved into his touch as though saying “you’re welcome.” The bullet wounds set fire in his chest again and he ignored the fresh corpse laying a few feet from him. He needed to go inside, where it was warm and safe.
Things had been so much easier when the only one he had to worry about getting hurt was One Eye. Three Finger was the one to calm him and help heal his wounds. Now the scrawny man felt insecurity as he sat in his bed, leaning against the adjacent wall. He felt doubt in his ability to heal now that he had someone else to worry about more than himself or One Eye. At least with One Eye he could take care of himself if the occasion demanded such. Otherwise, the big man was not incredibly capable of a great deal.
Sympathy was something his younger brother needed more than anyone else. He did not share the cunning of Three Finger, nor the wisdom of Saw Tooth. He never even had the capability to learn how to drive. Saw Tooth had become frustrated, annoyed, and angry at how stupid his youngest son seemed to be. Sometimes the patriarch would kick or swat at One Eye as though to somehow jog any sort of real sense into place, but it only discouraged his offspring. One Eye was at first a disappointment, but he still earned his place in the family, and Three Finger was thankful that his brother was big and strong enough to hunt and survive as long as he did.
Wrapped in blankets of wool and deer hide, Three Finger gazed at the meat he had left on the table and contemplated the body still outside in the snow. The young boy and man would both be decent meat, and the scrawny hunter considered storing them for the moment when the pup was born, as a celebration. He wondered how they knew one another in life and concluded the older one must have been the boy’s father. Such would explain why the man fought so viciously until his death. Three Finger’s eyes fluttered as he began to fall asleep, the thought of how this man was so ferocious in the struggle, if only to save his boy, who was already dead…
A noise outside made him nod awake, and for a moment he thought he had not killed the man outside, despite his clear memory of cleaving his quarry’s head in two. Still… he had left the rifle outside, and he had no idea what amount of bullets were left in the barrel. What if someone else had found the cabin? In his exhaustion and carelessness, he had also left the axe outside, still wedged into the dead man’s skull. Standing up with some difficulty caused by bullet wounds and his now cumbersome body, he grabbed his long saw blades and guardedly went outside.
The snow muffled all noise, and he could hear nothing as he exited the cabin. Eyes wide, he looked around nervously, his breath like fog in the moonlight. Finally, he saw what had made the noise. Out from behind the chicken coop came a doe, just as jumpy as he was, and she was followed by a fawn. The doe stared, nearly paralyzed with apprehension at the sight of the man. She could most likely smell the blood and death around her as well. Her fawn was also tense now, unsure of what was happening. Both man and deer stared into one another’s dark eyes for a full minute until Three Finger was inspired to jump forward suddenly, making the two animals bolt away into the silent woods.
Amused at how easily frightened the deer were, Three Finger grinned as he looked into the woods, and gazed at his surroundings. The moonlight reflected off of the snow covered land, illuminating things almost as easily as fire could. Shivering in the cold, the man noted his newly killed meat laid out on the now red snow and bent over, grasping one of the motionless ankles. He dragged the cadaver easily through the slick white powder and pushed it back into the chicken coop, behind a pile of wood. He then went back inside, taking another log of kindling with him to add to the fire in the oven.
The deer were clearly another message from Three Finger’s family. They were telling him not to worry about the affairs of those not from the mountain. The father and son were just the same as that doe and fawn, and food was food, either way. One day he was quite sure he would take the doe’s meat, or perhaps the fawn’s. It was all part of how things worked. Sure, the father and son were trying to survive. But so was everything else in these woods, including Three Finger.
He was starting to feel better already, and he fell asleep in no time.