Murder Hornets by Gayne C. Young

Author:Gayne C. Young [Young, Gayne C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Horror
Amazon: B08FQL7SD5
Goodreads: 54895344
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2020-08-11T05:00:00+00:00

17.

“I need a drink.”

Sheriff Sumners took a deep breath to calm himself. He put the truck in gear and drove forward.

Jason sat, still unsure of what to offer, and instead stared at the road ahead. The sheriff drove out of town then down an unpaved stretch of road. They passed a few trailer homes and acreage of scrub before turning onto yet another unpaved road. They followed this over a cattle guard and to an older ranch style home of weathered brick. The sheriff parked his truck in front of the house and exited the vehicle.

“Come on,” the sheriff invited as he walked toward the home.

Jason did as he was told and followed the lawman into the house and into the front living room.

The walls were 1970s wood paneling and adorned with mounts of whitetail deer, feral hogs, several species of bird, and a flat screen TV that had a tangle of exposed wires trailing to the floor. The only furniture to speak of was an old leather recliner and a Yeti cooler littered with empty Miller Lite cans.

The sheriff led Jason through the room and out the sliding glass door to a covered concrete deck. Jason noticed an ancient rust covered refrigerator just as the sheriff pulled two beers from it. He handed one to Jason who gladly accepted the cold beverage then drank nearly a third of his with one tip of his head.

“Have a seat,” the sheriff said, motioning to a pair of mismatched patio chairs. “I gotta get something.”

Jason sat and drank and stared out at what was more ranchland than yard. The sheriff returned with a box in his hand and took a seat.

“I take it this is your house?” Jason asked.

The sheriff nodded and opened the box marked CCI Shot Shell .45 ACP. He took a pistol magazine from his belt, quickly emptied the bullets from it with flicks of his thumb, then loaded it with the shot shell.

“Yeah. My decorator is divorce.”

Jason laughed and took another drink of his beer.

The sheriff stood and drew his pistol. He pulled the magazine from it and replaced it with the one he just loaded. He walked a short distance down the porch to within 15 feet of a hummingbird feeder. A lone bird with green and purple markings hovered close to the feeder. It darted toward the feeder as if hovering on a bolt of electricity, drank, then flew backwards to hover roughly a foot from the acrylic glass source of its food.

The sheriff aimed his gun and shot. The #9 shot tore through the air at 1,100 feet per second and into the bird, turning it into a slurry of feathers, blood, and bone that painted the bushes and lawn behind it. The sheriff smiled at this then searched the unruly twist of honeysuckle vine that grew along the deck. He spotted a bee among the flowers and shot it. The bee was vaporized. The sheriff holstered his pistol, grabbed a second beer, and sat.

“This was only a test,” the sheriff joked in his best Emergency Broadcast System voice.

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