To No Avail

Patrick Geary moved silently through the underbrush, hardly stirring the bracken that covered most of the forest floor. Years of hunting and war experience had given him a light step and an alert mind. Patrick, as a young boy, had learned from the finest hunting tutors that his families' great wealth could offer. Hunting deer for sport had come naturally to him.

The warm sunlight of early May filtered through the trees, flecking the dead leaves and bracken on the forest floor with gold. The tips of the surrounding trees swayed in the breeze that blew towards Patrick's tanned face that was framed by his shoulder-length, light brown hair. He reached a small clearing in the wood. A cloud passed in front of the sun for a few seconds and when the sky cleared again, Patrick noticed a bush across the clearing shudder. He quickly stepped to the right and partially concealed himself behind a tree as he raised his shotgun and aimed at the bush. A doe stepped gracefully out from behind the bush and looked around nervously, large ears pricked.

Patrick followed her movements with the muzzle of the shotgun and was about to pull the trigger when the sound of a gunshot resonated through the air followed by a scream of pain. The doe fled, but Patrick wasn't concerned about that at all.

As he ran through the woods, not bothering to be quiet, his thoughts turned to his two sons, William and John, who had come with him for their first hunting trip. He had told them to stay nearby a small stream, for they had been making too much noise, and had already scared off three deer that day. William, who had turned twelve years of age just a week before the trip, had just learned to use a gun. John, fourteen, had been using one for a few years, but was a bit quick to shoot. The Geary's were in the middle of the woods. If one of them was wounded badly, there was no hope.

The stream became visible through the thick trunks of the trees, and Patrick ran faster. He reached the edge of the small stream and skidded to a halt. The sight that met his eyes was terrible.

John was on his knees, bending over William's shaking body. William's small deerskin hunting jacket had been taken off and thrown to the side. John ripped open William's bloodstained white shirt and pulled it aside to reveal the left side of his chest. A bullet was lodged just above his heart, blood oozing out of the wound and covering John's hands. Patrick was busy rummaging through his hunting pouch and pulled out a handkerchief. He balled it up and pressed it to the wound, desperate to stop the blood that was pouring out of it. Forcing his voice to be calm and even, Patrick asked, "How did this happen, John?"

"Will's gun... It must be faulty! He tripped and dropped it... Somehow it fired... It got him..." John finished backing away, looking at his younger brother who was panting with the effort of breathing. Patrick removed the wad of bloody cloth and looked into the wound. The wound was bleeding much less than before.

Patrick's eyes, that were filled with tears, widened. Usually, the lack of blood flowing out would mean that he had little left in his body, but Will's face, which was contorted in pain, was no paler than usual. As he watched, the bullet seemed to be rising to the surface of the wound. Working up courage, Patrick plucked the bullet out of his son's chest and John retched at the sight of it. Muscle, then skin, started to reform on the empty hole. Within a minute, the wound was completely healed.

Will's breathing slowed to a normal pace and he opened his eyes. He looked at his father. Patrick reached down and pressed the palm of his hand to Will's cheek, staring at him in awe. Will's shoulder-length, dark brown hair that was like his mother's was dusty from when he was writhing around on the ground. His shirt and bare chest were still covered in blood. Though tired and shaky, Will was fine.

"Will... How?" John sputtered as he crouched by Will's side. John, who looked like a fourteen-year-old twin of his father, was shaking with relief.

"I don't know," Will said, sitting up a little and looking at himself. He reached down to where the hole had been less than a few minutes ago and felt his heart beating steadily.

Patrick stared into his youngest son's face and said quietly, "It's a miracle."

Will, despite being grateful to be alive, felt slightly scared. As his father and brother picked up their belongings, he pinched his arm to make sure that he was really awake. He was.

They set off through the woods in silence, Patrick and John kept shooting nervous glances back at Will, as though they expected to drop down onto the ground dead. I should be dead, Will thought again and again.