Grizzly Season. S W Lauden

      Chapter Six

      “This is bullshit, dude.”

      Marco was talking to himself more than the guard behind him. His bony, hairless chest heaved as he dug his shovel into the ground again. The T-shirt wrapped around his filthy hair was the same one he’d been wearing since he and Greg left to go hiking two months ago. He’d gotten it wet and wrung it out a few times since then, but it was starting to fray and fall apart. Just like him.

      Marco had seen his share of hard times over the years. It was the price he paid to live the life he chose. He had survived beatings from cops, been bitten by dogs, gotten shot at by Mexican drug lords, and fought three drunks at once in a jail cell. But this was the first time he’d ever had to do hard labor. It didn’t sit well with him.

      “You guys want to put up fences so bad, dig the holes yourself.”

      “Shut up and get back to work.”

      The guard sounded half asleep as he spat out the order. It was hot out and none of them had taken a water break for a couple of hours. Marco’s hands were raw and blistered as he kicked the blade deeper into the hard ground.

      “You shut up.”

      There were a couple of other slave laborers right behind Marco. They were waiting to put the post in the ground once he finished digging the hole. He wasn’t sure what they had done to get on Magnus’s bad side. Marco felt like he’d been born there.

      The three of them had been digging since sunrise. They’d made their new camp near a box canyon deep inside the forest where no hikers or campers ever came. There was a natural spring nearby that provided plenty of water, but they had to hunt for most of their food. Marco never thought he would miss bologna and beans so much.

      Magnus and the dozen guards that escaped the raid all slept in the tents they grabbed on the way out of Grizzly Flats. Marco and the rest of his ilk camped outside on a couple of sleeping bags that they shared. He didn’t really mind it, except for the wildlife. A rattlesnake had bitten one of the men on his crew a few days ago; he died in his sleep. Marco discovered the body in the morning, so he got to dig the grave.

      He finished the current hole and leaned on his shovel for a catnap. The guard stuck the barrel of a rifle in his back and escorted him a few yards down to dig the next hole. There were only a few more posts to sink before the fence on this part of the field was complete. Marco guessed that they would move on to clearing the brush and trees next, before they got to planting. It was anybody’s guess if Magnus would let them live beyond that.

      Marco had tried to escape a couple of times since the raid. He’d even gotten a few miles away once, but the overgrown animal trails all looked the same out there. Left, right, or straight-ahead—there was no way to know whether you were headed to civilization or deeper into the wilderness. In the end, he always made a wrong turn and practically walked right back into camp. Magnus usually gave him a slap on the back and an extra helping of venison stew.

      “Welcome back,” he’d say, practically laughing himself out of his chair. “We were starting to worry we’d lost you.”

      Marco was exhausted. He’d had enough for one lifetime.

      “Just shoot me then!”

      “I probably would, but then we’d never see your friend Greg again. You’re the bait in this elaborate mousetrap of mine.”