gettysburg, sd

tearing through the countryside i tried a guess at who's safety was not toggled on. my dark burgundy ford explorer lurched again, as i grimaced, and i expected fire. there are many roads in south dakota that a snow plow rarely graces with it's presence. this is a road that no plow has ever known. deeply rutted, the gravel passage hides intermittent layers of ice under a solid two and a half feet of soft, dusty snow. ditches border the sides of the road, but they cannot be seen in their entirety. filled with the milky snowfall, they sit, waiting to swallow my vehicle with unforgiving malice. we are five miles from the nearest farmhouse. the back tires swing to the left and the tip of my remington 870 harshly rapps on the inside of the window. i jerk the wheel to the left and the cold tires find the hidden, rutted pathway once again at a speed higher than might be recommended. justin curses the snow and brushes the newly spilled wintergreen skoal off of his damp jeans. he takes another pinch, and i maintain my direction. who's gun isn't on safety? malone? justin? rog? kevin? me? no, not me. either way, it's unlikely that i'll end up unloading twelve gauge birdshot in my own gray matter. but how can i trust my party? it is a party, and everyone loves to watch the fireworks at a party.

i stop the suv and malone is the first hunter to hit the ground. he brandishes his browning bps with the ease of a man grown accustom to the action of hunting. the snow has blown thin at this point, and wavers for a moment on the icey foundation. the pheasant is nearly out of range, it's darkly feathered head and long tail blurring with sudden quickness. malone fires. the bird wrenches, then tumbles once, hitting the ground with a violence that excites me, and is still yet unfitting of the beautiful bird. it was a headshot, and the bird splashes tiny drops of red on the white snow. i step out from the drivers seat and trace another bird from the sky. adrenaline electrifying my fingers, i sight the winged creature. it is a hen. i don't fire.