Page 127 - Hunter - The Vigil

GU A R DIANS OF THE LAB YR INTH

Guardian Orveau:
I failed. I shouldn’t have. But I did.
I was standing there at the counter, looking at the case of knives and pistols beneath me, the rack of long
rifl es and shotguns along the far wall. The proprietor comes out of the back, carrying something in a blanket
the way a fi reman might carry a wounded child from a burning building. He gently sets the blanket down, unrolls

the fabric.
It’s just what we thought it would be. A Winchester 1886 .45-70, lever action. Walnut stock with ebony
inlay. Octagonal extra-heavy barrel. Nice piece of work, but that’s not what makes this one of a kind, oh no.
Caliber misprinted as .40-82, that’s one. Two, engraved in the butt of the stock where the buttplate should
be is some kind of rune — Atlantean, if you believe Burroughs. Third, and best of all? Engraved into the case
hardened receiver, “xxxx” and then a date: “02/12/2012.” Some say the day the world will end.
I was about to ask the price. Before I could, the proprietor’s head jerked back like he’d just been
punched in the forehead. He choked. I tried to ask him what was wrong and his mouth just opened, and he
coughed up a single black feather. Followed by bile and blood.
He dropped, and the front window shattered.
Next thing I know, the room’s fi lled with birds. I swear, Orveau, I’ve never been that terrifi ed in my life.
They’re just birds, I know. But the wings. The beaks pecking at me. Little claws scraping, all that screech-
ing. At fi rst I thought, well, I’ve got a rifl e here. And this rifl e is purportedly magic, used as it was by some
sorcerer sheriff during days long past, and supposedly the damn thing doesn’t miss. Of course, I don’t have
any bullets for the thing, so I think, I hope this guy’s got a box of these shells sitting around somewhere, but

I never got the chance to fi nd out.
Two witches stepped into the room. Just shadows, really. White faces, but I couldn’t make out any features
behind the whirling birds. Couldn’t even tell if they were men, women, or what.
The bird screeching reached a terrible crescendo. A hand descended from the chaos, and just…gently took
the rifl e away. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. My muscles froze. My thoughts, it’s like someone took my last
dumb thought and forced it to play on repeat for the next fi ve minutes. By the time my muscles unclenched and
my brain started working again, they were gone, the gun was gone, and I had a corpse lying just a few feet
away. Not to mention all the bird droppings and feathers.

It wasn’t a good day.
I’ll get that rifl e. Don’t worry.
Sincerely,
Guardian Ardell

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