The bullet is resting in my right hand. It is a .45 long colt. It is an older style round, with a flat head instead of a hollow one. Like the kind the cowboys would have used. I play with it, rolling the round with my fingers. Despite its size, it carries a bit of weight. The sun beats down hot, and the ground is dry. Nothing but slate rock and dust for miles, interrupted by the occasional cactus. Heat dances in the air, and in the distance a hawk circles. He wavers a bit, wobbling as he makes a survey of the land. I grin, because not even he can escape the rising heat. Serves him right too, because here we all suffer equally. Rabbit, coyote, human, and bird alike. No one is special in the desert.
Well, except for the the wolf spiders. They're very special. And big too.
Never did quite hear the reason why they got so big. Radiation? Science experiment gone wrong? Or maybe God just wanted to see our reaction to seeing a spider the size of a VW bug.
I'm sorry... I'm rambling. I tend to do that. On one thing, and then all of sudden, I am talking about something that doesn't at all relate to what I was originally saying. I guess we all have our quirks.
A cloud moves across the sky. It's shadow bumbles along like a wandering tumble weed. I take the round, and place it between my index and middle finger like a cigarette. My father's rifle is in my left hand. It is a Winchester 1892 Deluxe Takedown. I work the action, pulling the lever down to check to see if it's loaded. Empty. I smile again. Safety was always his thing. I close the breach. I take my lonely round, and load it into the magazine. I take a eight more out of my pocket, and load them into the rifle. I work the action and chamber a round. I place my thumb on the hammer, gently squeeze the trigger, and gingerly lower it.
Why do I have a rifle you ask? Because of the wolf spiders? Well, no not because of them. Sure a 45 L.C. can do some damage. I heard they used to use these rounds to hunt black bear, and they're no bigger than a wolf spider. Or at least the old ones were. Sorry, another tangent.
No, I have the rifle because I am after something. My uncle buried a particularly special item out here. Yes, buried treasure in the desert, how cliche. Don't judge me. Anyway, I could really use the cash. Or gold. Or Micro-neuron chips. Or whatever it is. And besides, I have his map too. They ransacked his piece of shit house and never found it. You know why? Because he gave it to me a long time ago. Even showed me on the map where it is. It's sitting in Hairy Spider gulch under a pile of stones, behind a dead mesquite tree, marked by...
Um... I think I've said too much. But, I will tell you this, whatever is buried out here is valuable. And valuable things are generally sought after. Sometimes by multiple people. Dad's rifle is just a precaution. In case someone tries to start something. And that's all. Honestly.
Sweat spills into my eyes and I wipe it away quickly. My shirt sticks to my back. I pick up my pack, carrying my rifle in my right hand, and head up the hill. Rocks move and slide beneath my feet as if they were alive. I make my way slowly up the hill.
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