A flash fiction challenge, based on the name of a cocktail.
Y'all have to excuse me if this is a bit random. I've had a few Martinis. Likely to have a lot more.
We started years ago hunting in the back woods. A larger group then. Now only a few of us remain.
Seems we were tired of the usual game. Well, it seemed that way at the time.
Fact was, Tim wandered out in the wood drunk one night and found himself one of those creatures in the back wood. He ran for it, when he got back he was all cut up and looked like he'd been stomped by an elephant with a switch blade and put out for bait. A bloody mess. We decided whatever could do that was a worthy hunt.
Since then we meet, go out into the back wood and hunt for that thing. As many times as we have gone we only get a glimpse, maybe a few shots. We thought they were misses.
After the first year we never hunted in groups smaller than three.
Hell after that some of us armed up with .50BMG or .454 with big mags. Seems Alf's .308 only annoyed it and it got even. Ed saw that. After the hits it took I was trying to buy a Ma Duce. The BMG was what could be carried.
Its big, 7 foot long and we know it's not friendly. Did I mention it's damn fast.
Body armor was added too. That happened after the second year when we got a look at it using night vision.
The noise it makes is just something humans can't do.
`Bout every other year we lose someone to the thing, or their nightmares. Hell, last year Fred saw the thing and returned to get seriously liquored up. He ate a 12ga a week later. Ed too, he spotted it and charged it with a .45 after a full clip of '06 from his favorite Garand. We knew it was too fast to outrun. Tough critter.
We're down to three of us after 10 years. We all have nightmares. But we owe it to those we lost, even Mikey in the bughouse, to get this thing.
It's been a long hunt, we got it last night and we had to round up a few locals to help haul it out. I was the lucky one, emptied the Barrett, when I was done 10 rounds of mixed ball, AP, Tracer, a few sabot rounds. I started shooting at about 400 yards, it stopped at pistol range. But it was down and not moving. My shoulder hurts like hell.
Imagine, eyes of a gator. Nearly 350 pounds of claws, fangs, smelly, and most scary, female. There may be more out there. The joke was it was a mother-in-law and genetic experiments gone wrong. We're not so sure it's that far from the truth.
Anywho, I'm putting down my fifth drink I can still see its eyes.
The bar's buying, I'm drinkin' Blood Martinis.
* 1 1/2 ounces Ketel One Citroen Vodka
* 1 ounce Ginger Liqueur
* 1 ounce Dark Grape Juice
* 1/2 ounce Blackberry Syrup
* Blackberries and raspberries for garnish