Yearbook by David Marlow Read Free Book Online Page A

announcement.”
    Everyone looked to the head of the household.
    “I’ve decided to have Guy join tomorrow s duck hunt.”
    Guy was stunned.
    “Him?” sneered Butch. “He can’t even hold a gun!”
    “You think he’s ready?” asked a doubtful Birdie.
    “The time has come,” said Nathan, a high priest offering his child to the sun god. Looking over at Guy he asked, “What can you shoot with?”
    “My camera.”
    “Don’t joke when I’m serious, mister. You can take Butch’s twenty-two. He’ll be on my shotgun anyway.”
    “Yes, sir!” Guy smiled. “Thanks a million, Dad. I hope you’ll be proud of me.”
    Looking to the ceiling, Nathan exhaled. “Me too, son, me too.”
    At four in the morning on Sunday, Nathan flipped on the overhead light in Guy’s room. Outside it was dark, chilly and pouring rain.
    “Rise and shine! Rise and shine!” sang Nathan, walking to the window. He lifted the shade and revealed what looked like the end of the world. “A perfect day to shoot ducks. Up and at ‘em, Guy.”
    A little over an hour and a half later and up to his ass in slimy mud, shoulder-high reeds, gale-force winds and a driving rain, Guy was shivering so hard he could barely keep his twenty-two steady.
    Black skies finally gave way to an overcast, gray morning.
    Two of Nathan’s floor managers, Harry and Ed, were out there too, silently laying low. Shotguns poised, they stood ready to fire at the first flurry of feathers.
    Harry’s two golden retrievers sniffed about.
    Ed tapped Guy and offered him a can of Pabst’s. At five-thirty in the morning? Guy looked around and saw all four of the other soldiers slugging down the brew, Butch draining his with unspeakable gluttony. Although beer was unappetizing at any hour, there he was, after all, in Marlboro country, so what the hell.
    “Thanks,” Guy mouthed, and accepted the can. He then proceeded to gulp it down with what he hoped came off as manly gusto.
    They stood around like that, in silence; pointing, eyeing, sniffling, guzzling for more than an hour as the mini-hurricane raged about them.
    Suddenly the dogs tensed and froze in place, noses to the clouds, as if someone had plugged their tails into an electric socket.
    A lone brown and white duck traversed the sky. A lovely vision, the ideal opening for a documentary on wildlife preservation. Ka-boom!
    Guy’s four hunting companions opened up on the gracefully gliding creature. Strewn with buckshot, its brown and white body splattered across the bleak sky.
    In the next moment hundreds of birds blackened the skies. The troops opened their full assault. Shotgun blasts boomed awake the countryside. Squawking and flapping, the ducks scrambled for their lives.
    By the time Guy raised his gun, preparing to fire, the birds had flown out of range; off to a nearby moor where other hunters stalked in other beer-guzzling vigils.
    Just to get the damn thing out of his system, Guy closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. His weapon fired into an empty, dark sky.
    The dogs set out, soon returning from the battle zone gently carrying in their jaws half a dozen dead ducks.
    Nathan placed a strong, fatherly hand on Guy’s shoulder. “Now that’s what I call a duck shoot!”
    “Me, too!” Guy assured him with vigor.
    “Get anything?”
    “Double pneumonia.” Guy sneezed as he pointed to his smoking rifle barrel. “Shot the tail off one of those goners!”
    Nathan was impressed. “Good for you, son! Hey, fellas! Guy snagged one-a-these mothers!”
    Harry and Ed offered congratulations.
    “Hot shit!” muttered Butch, reloading his shotgun.
    “I think we’ve had enough for one morning,” Nathan said. “What say we get the flock outta here?”
    Ed and Harry cheerfully agreed.
    Butch wasn’t so sure. “You go on. I wanna stake out some more. I’ll hitch back.”
    “Suit yourself/’ said Nathan.
    Their ducks strung together, the woodsmen waded through the downpour, leaving behind in a birdbath of blood,