They usually hunted in packs, so I was surprised to find one wandering alone amongst the foliage.
I knew it hadn’t seen me, I was too good for that. I raised my rifle, gripped it tightly; I’d only have time for one shot.
They told me nobody had ever slain one before. They said it couldn’t be done, that I’d never make it back alive. But I knew better, knew I was better.
That’s when I heard the rustling to my right, and then again behind me.
I quickly realized my mistake: they didn’t usually hunt in packs. They always did.
BIO: Jack Holt Born and raised in Bristol, England, Jack now lives, breathes and writes almost daily from his bunker deep in the Somerset countryside." Jack Holt can also be found online at http://jackkholt.wordpress.com/2012/01/02/past-transgressions/ and http://jackkholt.wordpress.com/2011/12/27/hunted/