Fiction

The Dinosaur Hunter

Maybe he won’t see you

Photo by Mac Cervantes on Unsplash

The woods were a funny place.

It’s like the forest knew intrinsically that a hunter was in the area. The sense of danger was palpable and worked its way into the fabric of the glens and meadows around him.

John moved among the trees. He had a bow and arrow, but John was not the predator making the forest quiver in fear.

No, something much larger was doing that.

John had been hunting him for three days, moving deeper and deeper into the woods.

Normally, his village would just hunker down and hope the great beast would move on.

But they weren’t so lucky this time.

So, John, the First Huntsman, had to go into the forest and try to take the creature.

He took a small bag with him. It was old and tattered and it had been with him for many hunts. It was leather once, but now it was more patches than anything else.

He took his gray cloak. The cloak never went inside his small cabin. It lived outside and it smelled like earth and fresh rain. It helped keep his scent covered.

His boots were soft and molded to his feet. They lacked a hard sole and it allowed him to move silently through the woods. Between his soft shoes and cloak he was less a hunter and more a ghost haunting the trails.

He had three more things on him. Three things that at this point were sacred to him.

One was a long knife. Tools were getting less and less common and having a good strong knife helped. It belonged to his grandfather and it was passed down to him. More than once it came in handy.

And there was his bow. It was no ordinary hunting implement. It was made long ago. Some of the villagers had simple wood bows. But John’s was backed by a thick strip of horn and it sent arrows flying at great speeds. John was the only one who could draw it.

And his favorite possession was the claw hanging around his neck on a leather throng.

It was from his best kill. Three years ago he managed to take a raptor. No one had ever managed to do something like that. When the raptors came all the village could do was hope to scare them off with fire.

But John found the pack and waited and waited for the alpha to show up. When he took it the rest scattered and no one had seen the small predators since. He kept the razor sharp claw as a memento.

He was in the woods again stalking his quarry. It’s where he felt most alive. Each step meant life or death, as there were a hundred different things out here that would kill him without hesitating.

He stalked an old trail, keeping to the tree line to stay out of sight.

It was midday when he heard the first sign of the large creature he was out there to hunt. It was a deep rumbling growl.

He picked his way through the shadows and then he saw the giant beast. It was feeding from the carcass of a recent kill.

This was good, John thought. The Rex would be distracted and it would give him a better shot.

He hefted his bow. The hunter took a special arrow from his quiver. He had it specially made by an old man in the village. The Oceanspray shaft was tougher than iron and kept the arrow from breaking on impact. It had tall fletching to keep the arrow true.

But the front of the arrow was the special part. Instead of the small glass, bone, or stone points he usually shot, this arrow had a massive steel blade wider than a man’s hand. It used a good chunk of their precious ore but it made an instrument of death that could bring the king of the forest down.

He looked at the Rex. He couldn’t aim for the usual spots. A long time ago he found a dead one and it told him many things. The heart and lung shot he’d use on smaller animals wouldn’t work as the rib cage was too thick and the organs too deep. A head shot was out too as the brain was too small and hidden in a thick skull. His only chance was to nick the carotid artery in the neck.

He drew the arrow back and as soon as the middle finger on his draw hand hit the corner of his mouth he let the arrow fly.

It launched forward. The arrow found its spot and the great beast roared in pain. It stood up confused. There was a great spurt of blood from the wound. Within a minute the animal was staggering. It fell due to blood loss.

The forest king was dead. Quick and clean just he hoped.

John felt a great sigh of relief, the village would be safe.

He went forward to collect his arrow when the brush behind him stirred.

Predators are quiet. Even the biggest animals can move silently when they want.

John turned and found that to be true. It turned out that the T-rex wasn’t alone. Its mate looked down at him and looked at its fallen mate.

John never even got to raise his bow before the animal’s jaws were on him.