The Last Rakosh

“No. But it’s not some defenseless herbivore that’s going to lay down and die when you empty a couple of shells at it. As of today, guys, you’re no longer at the top of the food chain in the pines.”

“We can handle it,” said the skinny one.

“Really?” Jack said. “When did you ever hunt something that posed the slightest threat to you? I’m just warning you, there’s something in there that fights back and I doubt any of your type can handle that.”

Skinny looked uneasy now. He glanced at the others. “What if he’s right?”

“Oh, shit!” said baldy. “You going pussy on us, Charlie? Gonna let some tree-hugger chase you off with spook stories?”

“Well, no, but-”

The fourth hunter hefted a shiny new Remington over-under.

“The Jersey Devil! I want it! Wouldn’t that be some kind of head to hang over the fireplace?”

They all laughed, and Charlie joined in, back in the fold again as they slapped each other high fives.

Jack shrugged and walked away. He’d tried.

Hunting season. Had to smile. Scar-lip’s presence in the Pine Barrens gave the term a whole new twist. He wondered how these mighty hunters would react when they learned that the season was open on them.

And he wondered if there’d been any truth to those old tales of the Jersey Devil. Most likely hadn’t been a real Jersey Devil before, but there sure as hell was now.