this is some thing im working on and hopeing to get published durring my timein the navy look it over if you have any corrections at all please let me know ide love them thank you
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Late one afternoon a young man named Sam was out for a walk down by the Eagle Eye River; just taking in the sweet wonderful smell of spring, listening to the birds sing, watching the butterflies float through the air effortlessly. just enjoying the sunshine. Trying to clear his mind, working on ways to make things not going so well in his life, finally work.
He heard an odd noise from across the river. He sat puzzled not sure exactly what the noise was but it didn’t sound right. He got up and went slowly across the river down into the green valley, quietly trying to maneuver his way through the tall green ferns to try find out what made that terrible noise. He walked to the bottom of the valley and sat on an old mossy log and listened intently. After a few held breaths, there was an uncontrollable silence, the silence of darkness. Where you can hear your own heart beating rapidly. The spring wind was now somehow different and cold, blowing down his spine and riddling every bone in his body. He felt a sensation that that brought shivers that vibrated the nerves .
Sam had the strong feeling that something was not right, he just could not put his trembling finger on it. Squinting and straining, Sam saw a glint of white behind a large group of bushes, just down the hill a bit further than his eyes would let his see.
At first Sam was not sure if he should go over and see what it was, but he gathered his courage and decided he had to check it out. He cautiously went over and what found he just could not believe. Sam instantly froze with fear, spun around and started sprinting back to his car - leaping carefully over the logs and branches trying not to loose his balance. He was almost out of the valley when he heard an extremely loud crack and then an instant pain that shot through his leg. His leg felt as if it was on fire. Sam went down not knowing what happened.
He peered down to find his leg covered in blood. He looked up with fear and saw a man coming over the hill carrying a pistol. Sam struggled to crawl, dragging his leg behind him, not moving far, but putting every effort into it to survive. But before long, the man had reached him, put a foot on his back and then a silent whoosh. Sam went down with a hard cold thud in a pool of his own blood.
Chapter One--A New Job
Jack eyes half closed praying that the sun would just go back down rolled out of bed to answer the phone. He reached over and answered with a grumble "Hello? Jack here." "Jack this is Roger Billings chief of police we have a special job for you." said Roger.
Now the thing about Jack was he was not a cop at all. Jack considered himself a mercenary. When the police could not get the job done, Jack would go out and do it for them. It made things quite convenient for the police because there always ended up with no evidence and it usually just ended there with no questions asked.
"Alright send me all the info to my PDA I’ll work from there." Jack replied Jack hung up the phone laid in bed for a little while longer just trying to imagine what it was this time. He got up, grumbled some more, went into the kitchen were his computer was, turned it on and started eating his morning breakfast of frosted flakes and a cold beer. Staring out the window watching the humming birds drink from the feeders hover in the air gracefully and fly away. Back and forth seeming to never stop.
He began sifting through the Sunday paper, seeing if he could find anything about what was going on in the city, when he saw an article about two people murdered in Livingston state park, one being a female in her early 20’s and the other a male in his late 30’s. But there was no other information released on the murder except that there were no identified suspects or witnesses. For some reason, Jack had a feeling that this was what Roger was about to have him find out. He pulled open his computer and started looking threw tons of pointless and meaningless info that Roger had sent him that morning. Not quiet sure were to start, he gave up and closed the lap top with a snap. Decided that it was best to find out for himself in person.
Jack got up from the wobbly kitchen table opened the back screen door and slowly walked across the small back yard, smelling the due and enjoying the soft sun kiss his face, while walking over to the old worn down shack.
He walked in and opened his old rustic tool chest and carefully pulled out his barret .50 caliber rifle laying it down as if it were his newborn son, on the dust covered bench. He took a rag from the top shelf and started cleaning it, slowly running the rag back and fourth over the black matte finish of the gun, making sure every moving piece was in perfect operating condition, trying not to drop any of the pieces onto the floor and scratching them. He put every piece on a cloth that was on the work bench in an order that made sense, so he could easily put it back together when he was finished.
Once he was done putting everything back together, he laid the barret aside and grabbed his military edition m4a1 and the desert eagle, the one he got when he was in service a few years ago and cleaned them in the same manner as if they were about to be shot for the first time. Jack was always over-cautious when it came to jobs like this-with no details. He always prepared for the worst, almost to the point that he would be ready for a full scale war.
Jack worked all night in the old shack listening to a Johnny Cash album. Humming along to every word, knowing the songs like he wrote them himself. Finally he decided that he was ready to get on the road. He loaded everything he had to bring into the back of his grey 1976 Monte Carlo and started his ride down to the police station to meet Roger to discuss what they had found at the murder scene.
On his way up to Duluth, he had an irresistible urge to take a look at the murder seen first. Jack jumped on the freeway and headed north. He arrived at the park at about 5 o'clock and decided it was best to wait until dark that way no one would see him go in. After night fall, Jack got out of the car, got his gear from the trunk and started walking down the asphalt bike path and then into the woods where the police had marked off the scene of the where the first victim was murdered, marked by a single strand of red tape. Jack finally got there after an hour or two of walking down the path in the dark.
He sat down for a minute and started fiddling with his red light trying to get it to work after he replaced the batteries in his light he started looking. He always liked the police’s efforts because it made things so much easier to find. Turning over leaves and watching his step so he would not destroy anything the police didn’t see the first time, until he found a 9mm casing tucked away under an above-ground root of an old oak tree. Jack reached down, picked it up and looked it for a moment. The first thing Jack saw was that it wasn’t an American casing at all, but a Russian Makarov 9x18mm, the kind that most countries have acquired after World War II. He brushed it off, carefully looking at the engravings to make sure he was correct about it being Russian and then shoved it in his pocket.
Coming to the conclusion there wasn’t anything else to find at the scene of the first victim, Jack started tracing all of the foot prints over towards the second victim. He had a tough time finding where exactly to go; there wasn’t just one set of tracks, but hundreds from the police walking back in forth earlier in the day. This was common in Jack’s profession mainly because the police didn’t know exactly what was going on. They just walked around and tried to be important so they got out of doing paper work behind their desks for awhile.
Jack’s progress slow and painful. He finally found the red tape marking where the other victim had been, about a mile from the first victim. Jack looked down at his watch, it was already 1 AM. He couldn’t believe how long that it had taken him. Kind of disappointed in himself, Jack started looking around. He couldn’t find anything this time but a single set of footprints leading away from the victim in the opposite direction that he had come. Jack sat a moment trying to determine why there was another set of tracks in that direction so he decided he should go look for himself, maybe there was a clue to the puzzle was just over the next hill.
Jack was curious now. He started trudging through the woods, watching his steps, being careful not to miss anything. After almost an hour of walking, Jack saw the sun coming up over the ridge so he had to stop pull out his guile suite, face paint, and soft skin boots. He first opened up his face paint. Looking in the mirror, he put on a base coat of green, being careful to darken the light spots and lighten the dark spots to break his face up and make it blend in to the hardwood trees around him. He then put his soft skin boots on and pulled the guile pants up, attaching some long grass to the legs and hip areas. After he sat down with his top, he threaded some ferns and some more grass through the fish netting the guile suit was made from.
He didn’t want anyone to see him running around the woods just in case they got a wild hair and decided to call the police on him. That would be the last thing he needed to explain; why exactly he was walking around the woods in sniper fatigues looking like he was back in Vietnam.
Jack started following the tracks again. It seemed he was walking in circles carefully picking his way through the trees, snaking his way down the valleys and across the meadows, taking only a few steps and then stopping to listen to what was around him. Before Jack knew it, he found himself on a high ridge watching the sunset across a big open meadow. Sitting on some old dead timber, he decided that he needed to take a break and get some well needed rest. Jack stood up and went off the trail about 50 yards or so to set up a small camp.
After building a fire he rummaged through his pack and pulled out a can of baked beans, spam, and a bottle of water. While he was eating, he began trying to figure out why the hell he was so far back in the woods and seemed to be getting nowhere fast. Jack pulled out his map and started to triangulate his position by looking around him finding the valleys and the high ridges that corresponded to his map. He came to the conclusion he had traveled roughly only 13 miles from the car.
He then layed down on a rotting stump that made somewhat of a make shift pillow to rest on. All of a sudden he heard a load snap from somewhere behind him. Jack put his hand on his pistol, careful not to make any sudden movements and trying not to breath. He heard another few snaps. He remained still; it seemed to him that the noise was tracking away from him. He figured it must have just been a deer, so he closed his eyes and went to sleep knowing he would have another long day ahead of him.
5 am came fast. Jack got up with a small stumble and rolled up his gear. He started walking again, picking up were he left off with the tracks. The tracks led him down to a creek bottom; Jack bent down to get a drink of water. That’s when he looked up to see a small shimmer of light up in a tree. Not sure what it was, he went over to investigate. Jack walked over to the old birch tree, looked up and saw a black camera. He quickly scanned the tree tops only spotting a few more. He seemed to feel little unnerved, something a mercenary doesn’t feel very often, praying that whatever was watching the woods hadn’t seen him yet.
