When Devils Sing(9)

The oryx went down.

The woods went quiet, absorbing the reverb of the shot, stilling. Through the scope, Reid stared at the animal’s body. A wave of nausea rolled over him. At least he hadn’t eaten earlier—too nervous for their excursion—or he would’ve vomited at his father’s feet.

Reid turned toward his father, attempting to search his face in the spare light of the moon. But his expression was impassive. His father lifted the night-vision goggles to his eyes, fixed on the downed oryx. Without lowering the goggles, he reached behind him for the hunting knife he’d set on the little camp table. “Field dressing. You remember how, don’t you?”

Reid could only manage a nod. He hadn’t expected to field dress the oryx, too. He’d made the shot. He’d thought he was done. His empty stomach clenched.

His father grabbed the electric lantern and another knife, motioning for Reid to follow as he made his way to the carcass. But Reid watched him for a moment, frozen.

There was no refusing his father, not now. He’d already come this far.

Before his father could bark at him to hurry up, Reid followed him out of the blind. In the darkened woods, a chorus of crickets and katydids hummed around them. Animals skittered above in the treetops.

They were miles outside of Langley County. The Oakbill Hunting Range sat on private land, over a sprawling five thousand acres. Gated, well-guarded, and exclusive, it was one of many playgrounds for the residents of Lake Clearwater.

Reid fell into step beside his father as they approached the fallen oryx, their path lit by the dim glow of the lantern light. Their shadows cast elongated shapes on the forest floor. Pine needles crunched beneath their boots. A barred owl hooted overhead. Far in the distance, there was the subtle tang of smoke.

As they neared the oryx, the lantern light began to flicker.

Once.

Twice.

Then it went out, shrouding them in the heavy cloak of night.

“Goddamnit,” his father hissed. He reached into his duffel, searching for a flashlight.

Reid fumbled for his phone in his camo-printed pants. But before he could turn on the flashlight, he paused. He had twenty-three missed calls and a dozen texts, all from his older brother, Jonah. His phone had been on silent. The most recent text, from ten minutes earlier: answer the fucking phone!!

His father cleared his throat. Reid wasn’t supposed to have his phone on him. It made for a more “authentic” hunting experience.

“Uh, my bad,” Reid said, scrolling through the log of missed calls. “Jonah called me, like a lot.”

“It can wait. Come on.”

Even as the words came out of his father’s mouth, the screen lit up with another call.

“Jonah,” Reid answered. “We’re busy. What’s—?”

His brother cut him off. “Give the phone to Dad. Right fucking now. Please.” His voice was frantic, his tone taut like a bowstring about to snap. Reid had never heard him sound so undone.

“I—I did something,” Jonah choked out. “I just need Dad … I need his help.”

The Langley siblings had been born with silver spoons in their mouths. They rarely asked for help because they never needed it. The whole world had been laid at their feet. All they had to do was take it.

“What did you do?” Reid asked, more bewildered than anything.

His father had been observing this whole time. He extended his hand. “Let me talk to him.”

Reid did as he was told. His father took the phone and motioned for Reid to tend to the oryx. He hesitated—ears still pricked with curiosity over what Jonah had gotten himself into.

But with his father, it wouldn’t do to be told twice.

As he made the short trek across the clearing, he slapped the electric lantern a few times, knocking it back on. Reid’s heart began to pound once more in his chest as he neared the oryx. He sidestepped the pool of blood seeping into the damp grass, staining it black.

Even in the dim light, the beauty of the creature humbled Reid. He crouched at its side, marveling at its massive size, the curved horns that could easily impale a man. This was no Georgia buck. How would Russ and his hunting buddies fare against the creature without their rifles and blinds to hide behind?

Reid glanced over his shoulder. He could just make out the silhouette of his father in the dark, but he was too far for Reid to overhear the call. And too far for his father to see Reid’s reluctance.

Reid let out a shaky breath. He placed the knife on the oryx’s stomach, piercing the topmost layer of flesh. But just before he could sink the blade in, he paused. Up close, in the stark, eerie glow of the night, there was the subtle rise and fall of the animal’s rib cage.

The oryx was still alive.

Reid stumbled back on his heels, thumping softly onto the ground.

He’d failed his shot. The oryx was dying slowly in front of him. Suffering.

What were his options? If he shot the animal again, putting it out of its misery, his father would know he’d done the first shot wrong. His father’s way didn’t allow for mistakes. But Reid couldn’t stomach more senseless death.

He glanced at the knife, still embedded in the animal’s heaving side. Dark blood welled up around the edges of the blade. He couldn’t continue field dressing while it was alive, either. That would be cruel beyond comprehension.

And it would bleat, signaling to his father that Reid had messed up.