And just like that as if Murphy for all of his quirks was on my side tonight, I drifted into a Pass-N-Gas just in time to search for a few liters to feed my fuel-starved Hell Beast of a motorcycle.
No telling how much longer this luck would hold out with the sun going down. With a bit of fear and apprehension, I hurriedly checked the long-abandoned gas pumps for fuel.
A howl nearby alerted me that my motorcycle wasn’t the only hungry critter out late. I couched down pulling my spear free. Normally I wouldn’t kill wolves but with the situation being what it is nowadays, a fresh kill is better than a 5-day old kill. It was him or me, and since I was still in the good graces of Murphy I may have an opportunity to relieve that snapping son of bitch of his fur and much-needed sustenance.
I crept to the side of the station and spotted the wolf silhouetted against the nearby water. I drew the spear up taking aim. With a grunt, I hurled the weapon, and with a yelp, the wolf lurched and with an ill-fated stagger pitched to the ground. I rushed to the downed thrashing wolf with my hunting knife drawn, plunged the blade through its ribs eliciting another desperate yelp the hunter had become the prey.
Strapping the kill to my motorcycle, I mounted and kicked the engine over. By the time I arrived back at the Army post darkness had begun to fall. As the night set in another pair of hungry beast feasted on wolf meat roasted over an open flame.