Borderlines

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I bent over, reached out and touched the warm, smooth hide with my fingertips, reminded suddenly of my own losses-real and imagined. If only I’d given warning when I thought none was necessary. I stood up again slowly, anger replacing shock. The location of the wounds indicated that the shots had come from the same side of the road as the deer, but farther south. I began to walk in that direction, cutting diagonally across both lanes of the interstate, my eyes glued to the treeline above the road bank, watching for any movement, listening for any sound. I knew, as if I could actually feel them, that another unseen pair of eyes were watching me come.

I was on the southbound lane’s divider line when I saw it-a flash of fluorescent orange-accompanied by a hunter’s heavy boots crushing the brush underfoot as he moved. “Stop where you are. I’m a police officer.” I began running the rest of the distance to the treeline, straight to where I’d seen that one bright flicker of color.

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