The Tale of Donovan Nevil

OK, so, the title sucks, yes I know... I'll fix that sooner or later...

I haven't posted in quite some time, remedied here. This is my latest concept, and one of my very favorites. Please comment and answer my questions at the end.

Chapter 1

Sweat dripped from his furrowed brow, running a course into his clenched right eye. The wooden stock of his gun stood resolute under the vise grip of this beast of a man.

His heart quickened as the light brown fur of his prey slipped into sight from the very corner of his ever watching eye. He turned ever so slowly to the edge of the tree row where the deer had just appeared, and bore down his sights upon the animal's breast.

Oh, how they had changed from the elder days, he thought, when a .30-06 could pierce their hides. When they were still creatures of beauty, in the long forgotten days of his youth, when his long dead father had taught him to hunt. In the days when the deer had eaten…

His thoughts were interrupted by the solitary sound of a twig snapping on the wet ground behind him. It was a fearful sound to any who knew what it meant, and this man knew. No human was large enough to snap a twig, not into the soft ground, something large, swift, and silent had stalked him here.

All this ran through his mind in half a second, there could be but one creature behind him, and he was in a bad position. He tensed, and drew in a deep breath that could be one of the very few remaining to him. His knife was affixed to the end of his gun, as a bayonet, little use to him now, as he could almost feel the hot breath of his stalker on his back.

And with a half prayer to a god he wasn't sure existed anymore Donovan Nevil spun on his heels, standing as he turned, to face the foe. The suddenness of his move saved him, but only for a moment, the deer jumped back, unsure at the reaction of its prey, but only for a moment. It recovered, and snarled at Donovan, beginning to circled the man, it's teeth dripping with a toxic saliva, the very least, however, of Donovan's worries.

It's antlers gleamed in the rising sun, they were broken in several places, only adding to the dastardly demeanor of the hulking brute. Its eyes glowed with the burning desire for the meal that Donovan presented, its fur seemed ripe with mange, and its legs were bent with the power of a hundred forgotten steam trains.

The deer glanced at Donovan's gun with a sort of sentient understanding of its purpose. Donovan held it slack in his hands, he knew well that the deer would be on him in half an instant should he try to raise it.

The deer bolted, charging across the 20 or 30 yards between it and the man, unable to deny its hunger any longer. The damp grass gave way before the juggernaut, but not the man, he planted his feet squarely, and stabbed his gun at the wall of mangy fur headed in his direction.

Both man and fearsome beast crashed together and fell aside, turned by each other's attack. Donovan gave a bestial growl as he came to his feet, aching across the spread of his back. His knife had turned on the iron like hide of the deer, which was back on its feet just as fast as the man.

Donovan raised his gun and, with a forest shattering boom, let loose one round. The massive slug tore at the left shoulder of the raging beast, pulling away pounds of flesh as it passed. However, nothing short of death would stop the monster, now fully in the throes of bloodlust.

Shreds of bloody muscle hanging from the craterous remains of its left shoulder the deer lowered its head and came in again. Donovan's hand flew to the bolt of his gun as he realized his shot had missed its deadly mark, but not even he could be fast enough. He only just managed to catch the spreading tree of bone with his gun, inches before it would have spitted him.

Man and feral brute held each other for a moment, at arms length, matching each other sinew for sinew, but Donovan's boot held not the traction of the iron shod hooves of the deer, and he fell on his back. The deer was upon him in an instant, and it was all the strength he could muster to hold back the gnashing teeth.

The deer bore all its weight down on Donovan, his arms buckled, and the venomous teeth began to snap at the buttons on his shirt. In another instant he would be dead, but Donovan had one more subconscious effort to employ. He lashed out with his heavy boots, and caught the deer precisely in the gut, producing the effect he needed.

The deer rolled to the side at the sudden concussion of its vital organs, and struggled to clamber to its feet. But it was that short period of time that Donovan needed. He picked up his gun from the ground beside him, and with every sinew in his body bristling he pummeled the deer's skull with the brass-plated butt of his gun. Again and again the brass rose and fell, collapsing the skull upon itself.

Heaving for breath Donovan Nevil stood up straight, throbbing pain coursing through his body. He had won this fight, and come up with more meat than he had expected. The travelers would eat well for a while.

In a Bygone age his fruitless heroics and stalwart stubbornness would have been unknown and needless. The great misfortune of Donovan Nevil, however, was having lived through the bygones which were now but memories, and into what the few remaining even hesitated to dub, "The Reconstruction". A grave misnomer, Donovan knew deep in his heart, because no living man possessed the knowledge, much less the will, to rebuild, not even he.

Copyright © 2008-2009 Robert W. A. Nance
All rights reserved

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Questions, please answer in your comment.

1. What can you tell about the setting?
2. What can you tell about Donovan?
3. Where would you like to see the story head?
4. What Questions would you like answered?

Rexpennae