Being drained from another exhausting day working for Mr Evans in the fields I decide to take a brief nap in a hay stack that has been warming in the sun. I love the deep, restful sleep gained from soaking in the warmth and smell of the hay. Mr Evans is a kind man and turns a blind eye to his men taking a short nap occasionally. I am sure he won’t mind now, as the day is all but over and it is only him and me still here for the day.
Finding a particularly soft section of hay I lay my head down. In the distance, there is the sound of a car approaching. The sound of tyres rolling on gravel, slowly gets louder. I guess another one of Mr Evans clients have arrived. Over the past few days there has been a constant stream of clients coming and going. Since they can not see me, I start to doze, giving myself over to the radiating warmth of the hay. Let Mr Evans worry about this client.
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire rips me from my sleep. Instantly I hear automatic weapon fire and the single shot that I know to be Mr Evans revolver. I am sure the revolver is Mr Evans as it has a very distinctive sound that I have heard many times. Gee, it sounds like a war zone out there. Automatically I tuck myself deeper into the hay pile and lay low. Again I hear the rapid fire of the machine gun, ack ack ack ack ack over and over. I have heard it too many times to ever forget. It echoes in my dreams, and haunts my nightmares. The M16 is going to be taunting my subconscious for years to come. Next is that distinctive bang of Mr Evans firing his revolver. What could have gone wrong? Who is this person firing the M16?
Unable to think and gripped by the battle raging just a short jog from where I lay, I can feel my body tensing up My breath holds longer in my lungs before expelling in one quick release before quickly breathing fresh gulp of warm, humid air. Mr Evans gun releases another bullet with that distinct bang. At the same time I hear the rapid sound of the M16, then silence. Holding my breath for fear of making any noise that can be heard, I listen, and hear nothing.
Whats that? Someone walking on the gravel of the driveway! The sound recedes! Crunch, crunch, crunch crunch. I allow myself to slowly let out the air trapped in my lungs, making sure to keep my ears listening. One set of foot prints is all I hear, and they soon fall quiet again. A sound suddenly rips through the silence! A single, short burst fired from the M16. The sort of single, short burst that signals the end of that particular battle and Mr Evans life. Who is this person? An assassin maybe, or a rival?
The sound of walking again, this time getting closer! I concentrate and keep my head down. By now I am buried deep in the hay. The sound continues to get louder as if this person is walking straight towards me. Then silence, they have either stopped walking or have left the gravel drive. I strain to hear. I hear something, getting closer, foot steps impacting on solid earth. Getting closer still. God, don’t let them see me! My mind races, have I left my foot sticking out of the hay? Can they see me? All I can think of is escaping, bursting from my hiding place and charging for the tree line that I can see off in the distance. But I know that would spell certain death. My mind reasons with itself, surely staying here IS certain death. The sound gets closer, he is right on top of me now. My mind screams at me, RUN it is telling me, run before you too, hear that brief burst of fire. My muscles tense in preparation for my flight. The walking stops. Did he hear me somehow? He must be close, I can smell his stink drifting to me on the breeze mixed with the smell of tobacco burning. He is smoking. I dare not move now.
After what seems like an age a bright but small glowing spot of red sails past me and lands bouncing to the ground. A small trail of smoke rises from it. He has thrown his cigarette away. Thank god he did not throw it into the hay. Suddenly I realize I am wet, my clothes are sticking to me. This nice warm inviting hay pile has turned into an oven, an oven that I am trapped in. I hear a loud click followed by some metallic clanking. Moments later I hear the sound of a fresh magazine slamming home into the M16. Oh god, I think he knows I am here. I tense up further, BANG, another shot, this time deafening. I feel something warm running on my upper leg. Am I hit? Relief engulfs me as I pick up the smell, urine. I have lost control of my bladder like an excited puppy. Although my excitement is of a very different nature! I pray the wind is blowing enough so the person standing nearby can not smell it. Hearing the sound of footfalls on the earth as the person nearby begins walking away I allow myself to relax a little. His footsteps change from the heavy thud of solid earth to the sharp crunch of the gravel. I wait.
The sound gets fainter until it is quite soft. Creeping slowly from the hay I peek around the edge of the pile and catch my first look at this killer. I see a tall, thickly set man wearing heavy boots with cargo pants and a sandy colored dress shirt. His hair is not long but not short, and roughly kempt. He is walking away from me, carrying the M16 by the handle almost casually by his side. In his other hand he holds a Pistol. That must be what he fired near me.
I watch as he enters the homestead. He moves slowly through the house. I break from my hiding place run the distance to the short brick wall that lines the front yard of the homestead. Crouching down to keep from being seen I can see Mr Evans, laying motionless just inside the short wall. Several holes riddle his body, and there is a pool of blood that surrounding his torso. A door bangs inside the homestead and I duck down behind the wall.
My courage soon returns and I lift my head up so that I can see again. Mr Evans has dropped his revolver, which has landed near the wall. Slowly, I crawl along until I am on the opposite side of the short wall where the revolver lies. Listening for any sound, I hear footsteps on the wooden floorboards of the homestead as the man walks through the house. From how loud the walking is I can tell he is at the back of the house. I spring into action jumping from my concealed position. Lunging over the wall I grab the revolver, then return to my position, cowering behind the wall.
Soon, the footsteps on the floorboards get closer! The spring on the front door creaks as the man leaves the house. I check the revolver to find only one round in the chamber. I rotate the chamber back to its position with the round ready to fire. I hear the man’s footsteps getting closer. With one fluid movement I swing my revolver over the top of the wall and take aim, one shot is all I have so make it count. What greets me is the man kneeling on the grass, already aiming his pistol at me. Without hesitation he squeezes the trigger. Bang!
With a jolt I sit bolt upright looking around frantically. Sweat runs down my face! My panic turns to calm realization as I begin to smell the hay I have been laying in. I breathe a great sigh of relief, it was all a dream. I settle back down into the hay to regain my composure. In the distance I hear a car approaching…..