Grain Wagon Hunting Blind Novels & Stories

Jack immediately frowned and signaled for someone to take her away. His expression turned gloomy. He pulled Gabriel to the front of my car and forced him to kneel. Then, he grabbed a stick, striking Gabriel hard several times until Gabriel collapsed, whimpering in pain. After that, with a humble and servile attitude, he said, “Mr. Cullen, my brother is truly blind. He failed to recognize who you were. Please calm your anger. Jenkins Construction will cover any damages today. We’ll even buy you a better car.” “If one car isn’t enough, we’ll buy ten. Even a hundred of them. Whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness!

The travel was rough as the road. On the first light, they already met a dozen of Reapers but Gwyn got rid of them with her arrows whose tips were melted from heavenly fire. The wagons forms a long line like a train. Inside was a small lamp that gives enough light for everyone inside to see. The sound of the wheels against the ground was somehow pleasing to hear. Serra find comfort on the sound of crickets, the wind gushing on the tree branches, the squeaks of the birds, and the whispers of the lost souls in the woods.

"And cigarettes. Dad's brand. Marlboro Gold." I watched her. She couldn't see me watching. That's what blind people do—they don't turn their heads toward sound. But her left ear tilted. Just slightly. *She was tracking me.* "Sit," she said. "I'll make tea. You look tired." "I'll do it." "No." Her cane blocked my path. Metal tip cold against my knee. "Guests don't work. You taught me that." Guests. Not sisters. Not twins. I sat.

A single antennae sat on the roof trunk, spinning slowly in the wind. "Is it the suit?" I asked. "No," Martha whispered. "The suit drove a truck. This is a local scout. They dropped spotters along the timber roads before we even hit the train." The driver's door of the silver car opened. A man in a plain brown jacket stepped out onto the gravel lane. He had a pair of heavy binoculars around his neck, but he wasn't looking at the cabin. He was looking down at the dirt driveway, where our wet, bloody boot tracks showed clearly in the soft mud.

"The Eye has cataracts. Blind spots." Jack slid a gold coin across the table. A real one. Stolen from a cartel vault three years ago. "Where are the blind spots?" The woman drew a map in the dust. "The Western Ridge. The winds are high there. Sensors fail. Spirits walk." "Spirits I can handle," Jack said. "Sensors are annoying." "Beware the Mother," the old woman whispered suddenly, grabbing his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "She weaves the web, but she does not eat the fly. She waits."

If they wanted to treat me like a monster, I was done trying to be a saint. I was going to force my way to that table, and everyone who'd tried to bury me was going to answer for it. _________ The night was thick with pine fog. I crouched on the ridge overlooking the pack trade bypass, watching twin headlights cut through the mist below. Behind me, Lucas and ten of our best fighters crouched in the brush. "Eight lorries." Lucas grinned. "Grain, diesel, and ration kits bound straight for the main depot. Exactly like the scout said. We hit the lead truck, choke the narrow pass, clear the drivers, and haul the crates into the trees before the patrols catch the scent."

of year—probably because of the Search and Rescue people. He hoped he and Lauren wouldn’t run into any of them. The calls he’d had Heather make this morning should result in no more untrained volunteers and amateurs out in the woods, at least. He had wanted to limit the Dadmage the rogue wolf might do as best they could. Heather had, at his request, pointed out that the man they were looking for had been missing for too long. They were probably only looking for a body, so there was no sense in risking additional lives. She’d told them about Jack —though she’d blamed a cougar—and pointed out that a storm front was moving in. The few searchers remaining were concentrating their efforts about

Then, there was a flashing sword, the moonlight glinted off the silver blade, followed by an explosion of agony. The pain in Billy’s arm was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. He lay there on the ground amongst the broken cornstalks and watched with a sideways view as the black hearse plowed through the stalks for the two hunters to jump in. Then, it pulled away from the fray toward the graveyard beyond the edge of the cornfield. A few members of the pack followed but were quickly cut down by the spray of automatic gunfire from the car’s back window.

My nerves likely showed and I prayed anything Gray sensed, he would chalk up to adrenaline from the hunt and not the attack. “Your other hunters successful?” I asked. Stella listened to the pack link, and we both smirked as Gray confirmed that the others were still tracking a small herd to the northwest. I wondered if their mange gave off enough stench to warn any deer in the area to run. “You were lucky to find this one lame so close to the house.” I glanced at Ian, who was starting the painful shift back. He writhed on the ground for a moment before covering himself. “Father?”

Then, I felt it—eyes on me, watching me as the hairs at my nape stood on end. I froze completely. I glanced over my shoulder. But I saw no one. Still, that feeling persisted, like a weight pressing down in my back. Someone was definitely watching me. My heart rose to my throat at the possibility that one of my father's men might have followed me here. I held my breath, my eyes darting around as my eyes carefully scanned the dim space. But my gaze moved past face after face in the fairly lit bar until they snagged on a figure right across the room.