Two Roads

“What’s the sign say?”
“Aspen.”
“This one say’s McKee.”
“Well, which way?”
“How about right on Aspen?”
“I don’t know where Aspen goes. What about left on McKee?”
“I don’t know where McKee goes.”
“Do you have any idea where we are?”
“No, not really.”
“Great. I’ll take McKee, you take Aspen. If I find the truck, I’ll come back to get you. If you find he truck, you come and get me.”
“What if neither of us finds the truck?”
“Then I’d say we’re fucked.” Looking at his watch, he said “It’s going to get dark in a couple hours, we need to get back”. Then he pulled out his wallet and handed over his spare key.
Swallowing, then putting the cap back on a half gone pint of Jim Beam, Bill smiled at him, took the key and said “Well let’s get going”.
“Alright, see ya.”

Jim shifted the Mossburg to his other hand and started walking, looking over his shoulder at Bill he saw him waver a little, then start on up the road on the right without looking back. Jim shook his head and, as he walked he thought how he had been out hunting with Bill since morning. They had hunted together every deer season since they were in high school. Some years they did well, this year they hadn’t. They had seen one buck, a nice twelve point at least. He was an old one; there was a lot of gray in his coat. Bill had taken a shot at him but missed. It was that damn Jim Beam he’s been drinking all day he thought, and maybe its better we didn’t get that one; I’d hate to still be dragging him. He kicked a piece of gravel with his boot as he stated walking; this road was recently paved, the ditches along side were mowed. It must be a county road he thought, also looks like it gets more traffic. If I can’t find the truck, he thought, maybe I can get a ride and come back to get him.

The sun was just beginning to come up when they had parked the truck along a road and went into some woods that Bill said he knew. They had walked for awhile hoping to drive some deer. They saw a couple of scrapes, but no deer, so they sat for awhile. That was when they spotted the buck. They both had heard him coming through some briars that bent then snapped back as he walked. They saw him stop to rub his head on some low hanging branches close to where they were sitting. Bill was sitting closest, so he raised a hand to let him know that he was going to take a shot. The buck had sensed them and stopped almost right in front of them, bent down, then lifted his head, snorted and looked back in the direction he had come from. Bill put the butt of the Remington into his shoulder, clicked off the safety - and then jerked the trigger; he never saw where the slug went. The buck turned and ran leaping over a fallen tree trunk and Jim thought, how in the hell did you miss that shot?
They had sat in the woods awhile longer. Jim had sat and mostly thought about the buck that Bill had missed, knowing he probably wouldn’t see another that day, while Bill had fallen asleep sitting on the ground with his back against a hickory. After a couple of hours it became obvious he was right, they weren’t going to see any more deer. All Jim saw were a couple of squirrels that ran up an oak, and then jumped overhead from branch to branch. He had thought about taking a shot at one of the squirrels, just so he could at least fire one shot today. But, with twelve gauge sabot rounds loaded in the Mossburg; there wouldn’t have been much squirrel left. So he woke up Bill and they started out of the woods. They had walked through the woods, not talking to each other, with Bill in the lead. Jim walked cradling his Mossburg in his arms, watching where he stepped so as not to trip over any fallen branches, occasionally reaching out to push a branch out of his way. Bill just seemed to plod on in front of him, the blaze orange hat on his head bobbing up and down, smiling and looking all around as he took in the late autumn.

Somehow they had become lost. Jim first suspected it when they had come up out of a ravine; there was an outcropping of limestone near the ridge, grey and covered with moss that had begun to turn brown as winter approached. He had thought how he should have noticed that outcropping earlier as they went into the woods, but didn’t. He was walking fast trying to keep up with Bill who seemed to move through the trees as easily as the buck he had shot at earlier. What Jim did notice though was when they came out to the road; his truck wasn’t anywhere to be seen along the road. In fact to Jim, it didn’t even look like the same road. Now here he was, walking down some county with no idea where he was-and he was starting to get cold. He pulled the collar of his hunting jacket a little tighter and shifted the Mossburg to his other hand. He was getting tired of walking; his feet were cold, his ears were cold, and his hands were cold and beginning to turn red. He could see his breath now every time he exhaled as he walked. Where the hell am I he thought, shivering a little.

Jim thought how he used to enjoy hunting more when he was younger. Now every year it seemed like more of a chore than anything else. When he was younger, he would hunt with Bill once or twice every week, now he would only go out once or twice a year. He just didn’t enjoy it as much anymore. He would sit in the woods and think about work, what his wife was doing; not really noticing much around him and thinking about what he had to do when he got home. He did still enjoy telling the guys he worked with about his hunts though. In fact, although he wouldn’t admit it, he seemed to enjoy talking about hunting more than actually going hunting.

As Jim walked, he could see the sun getting lower, closer to the trees along the road. He looked at his watch; five thirty. The sun will go down in about a half hour he thought. He shook his shoulders and shifted the Mossburg back to his other hand. He thought how not one car had come by yet; God, I hope Bill found the truck. His fatigue was starting to get the best of him and he began to lean forward some as he walked. He thought about Bill, it was funny how they had grown up together, and essentially had the same background, but then their lives had taken different paths. He had been successful, he thought, while Bill seemed to be headed further downhill with every year. Now he knew they were as different as two friends could be. He thought about how he had a good job; yeah it was a pain in the ass, but it paid well, a nice house, a new truck-that he couldn’t find now, and a good looking wife. He took a couple of short steps and stomped his feet that were getting cold, and then picked his pace back up. Bill had worked construction and was out of work almost as often as he had a job. He had been divorced twice, drank too much, and drove a ratty, rusted out truck that was parked back at the trailer he lived in; since his last wife had his house. He thought, if the guy doesn’t soon get his act together and grow up, he’ll have a miserable life; why would anyone want to live like that?

Bill figured that he had been walking for over an hour now. He didn’t have a watch, so he couldn’t really be sure. It was cold, but the bottle of Jim Beam in the pocket of his field jacket warmed him a little as it went down. He had almost finished it off a few minutes ago when he had stopped to take a sip, but thought he should save some for later in case he needed it. He shifted the old Remington pump to his other hand and pulled the collar of his jacket a little tighter around his neck as he kept on.

As he walked he kicked a stone off into weeds along the road. He smiled to himself; he loved to be out here. He had got up early, grabbed some coffee and was out the door on his way to Jim’s house by five. It was rare that he got up before nine or ten, but he looked forward to hunting. He liked sitting in the woods; truth is, although he wouldn’t tell Jim, he really didn’t even care that much if he didn’t get a buck. He loved the hunt and the outdoors more than he liked field dressing deer.

The road Bill was on hadn’t been paved in years. Must be a township road he thought, the pavement was cracked and patched, with loose gravel everywhere across the surface; it probably doesn’t get much traffic either. He wasn’t too cold though. He didn’t know if it was the whiskey or the exertion of walking. He felt good, just a little bit of a chill from the wind was all, but that really didn’t bother him. He enjoyed being out here, the cool air felt good and he could smell the late autumn in the air.

He wondered if Jim had found the truck. It will be dark soon he thought, and I really don’t want to be out here all night. He thought about the buck he had seen earlier when they were in the woods. It was a nice buck alright; beautiful rack. He had signaled Jim that he would take it. He had clicked off the safety, slowly lowered the barrel until the bead was on its neck, exhaled, and held his breath out. Then he raised the barrel slightly, and fired the slug right over the buck’s head. He just couldn’t shoot that one he thought as he kept walking. Jim hadn’t said a word. He had just looked at him as if to say “what the fuck?”, and then shook his head. He was probably thinking about all that venison he watched running off through the woods, not slowing a bit as it leaped over a fallen tree.

As he kept walking he thought about Jim. The guy needed to relax and get out here more; all he ever did was work. He knew that Jim must have to work so much because of bills; he had a new truck, a nice house and a wife that seemed to want the best of everything. Bill was breathing a little harder as he was going up a rise in the road, the gravel crunching under his feet. He thought about Jim’s wife, she always seemed kind of snooty to him and he knew she argued a lot with Jim. She might a good lay but, I’d still dump her he thought, oh well, he’s the one that has to live with her. The guy really does need to slow down and learn to relax he thought; why would anyone want to live like that? He stopped and held the Remington under one arm while he finished off the last of the whiskey. He put the cap back on the empty bottle and stuck it back in his pocket. Shifting the shotgun to his other hand, he started off again. It’s not that bad out here now he thought, but one of us had better find that truck soon, it really is getting dark.

Dusk was setting in and Jim had been walking for nearly two hours now. He thought, for a county road, why had not one car come by? It had been an easy walk, the road was smooth and generally flat, but he was cold and tired; he just wanted to get back to the truck. He raised his head and looked up the road; he could see an intersection just up a little further. He picked up his pace; he could see a sign and hoped he would recognize the road.

“Shit.” Jim just couldn’t believe it as he looked up at the sign. He stood there shivering, holding the Mossburg by the end of the barrel with the stock resting on the pavement. He shook his head and looked at the sign again in disbelief, “Shit”. Jim looked at the figure wearing a blaze orange hat and a faded field jacket, holding a shotgun in one hand, smiling as he walked up to him. Jim looked up at the sign again, “Shit, Aspen Rd”.