“What the fuck is going on man?!!” yelled one of the men. They were currently hiding behind one of the trucks that sat just apart from the campsite, which probably made them feel safe considering the direction that the arrows that had killed their two friends had come from. The remaining four men likely didn’t even know about the man Curtis had stuck to a tree upon starting his silent rampage. He could just make out the man that had killed his grandfather, huddled against the side of the truck with his rifle in his hands. No doubt the four men thought that they were safe, and they would have been if Curtis hadn’t already moved, easily making his way around the camp, sticking to the shadows as his footsteps were quiet and undetectable.
“I don’t know,” the man he was after grumbled, daring to peer up and over the bed of the truck into the darkness. “Some little punk ass bitch I guess, firin’ arrows like he’s some damned type Apach-“
He didn’t finish since the arrow now protruding from his throat wouldn’t allow much more than a burble to come out, followed by a gout of blood as he quickly toppled over. Curtis felt as though he should have stopped then, and in fact he found himself wondering why he hadn’t targeted this man first and left the rest alone. As the three remaining hunters turned their rifles in his direction and started firing however he had duck quickly, doing his best to protect his bow as bullets whizzed by on both sides, ricocheting off of trees, chipping bark, and severing smaller branches as they went. As the small hail of bullets stopped Curtis rose, picking another target as he nocked, aimed, and then let fly.
Another of the men dropped, an arrow in his abdomen as he cried out in pain. Curtis was already nocking another arrow, noting that he was down to three, when the other two tried to break and run. Amazingly, one of them tried running around the bed of the truck to reach the front cab, giving him a great shot as Curtis picked him without any trouble, taking the man in the side even as he dimly heard the snap of his arrow as the man’s arm came down on it, eliciting a cry of pain as he dropped to the ground.
The other man wasn’t as easy since he had already reached his vehicle and was in the process of getting in, meaning that there was very tiny window of opportunity that Curtis took, breathing in, then out as he loosed his arrow at a target no more than six inches in width, sailing the arrow through the gap that had been provided as the man opened the truck door. The arrow flew towards its targe and stuck with a wet sound like the packing of meat as it found a home within the man’s rib cage, wiggling obscenely as it sank even deeper with each vibration. The man tried to soldier through the pain, grunting and cursing as he tried to slide into the truck, but it was no use.
Curtis was quick about his business then, dispatching the men that hadn’t passed on yet with brutal efficiency before retrieving his arrows, digging the broken shaft and head out of the man who had snapped his arrow in half. Upon finishing that he stood in the midst of the camp, wondering just what he should do now. He would have to alert the authorities to come and retrieve his grandfather, and he would definitely need to clean his bow and his arrows.
Sitting down to do just that he took one more look at what he’d done and shrugged.