Hunting Indians - Chapter Two

Chapter One can be found here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-one

1. Chapter Two

'I'm not a bad man.'
Mark told himself this every morning whether he had the time to or not. Some days he wanted to hear it more than others, especially when he wanted to block out that his life was tinged in the blood of others. Today he needed it.
'I have my doubts,' he thought, 'but if I was evil, people would treat me that way, wouldn't they? But they don't, instead I have a house in the suburbs, a beautiful wife, and once a week I go to the block barbecue. This is not the life of a bad person.'
Mark refused to get out of bed, instead he preferred to just lay there under the wife's two hundred dollar greyish blue bed sheets. Getting out of bed would mean having to start his day and that was something he wasn't ready to do just yet. Maybe he was getting old, but at forty-four he knew he had quite a few more years left and he kept himself in relatively good shape.
Or maybe just worn out, at the end of most nights he felt drained from the day but he was starting to notice that he'd wake up that way. It was as if gravity had doubled in strength around just him in particular, everybody else seemed unaffected.
He sighed then decided he couldn't hide in his room forever and shoved off the blankets.

Mark stood shirtless in front of the sink with a healthy coat of shaving cream smeared on his face. His focus was on the sharp edge of the razor blade that he held under the running water. He wondered how people used them to kill themselves; yes they were sharp but surrounded by plastic. Maybe they break them.
He brought it up and started to scrape the whiskers and cream off methodically. Once done he checked to make sure his hair was symmetrical. There was grey at the temples but short enough not to stand out; his attention went to the glint of red that came over his right shoulder. The top of a tattoo he put there when he was twenty-two. He knew without being able to see it that it said 'Indian Killer,' underneath he had the Washington Redskins head done with a line through it. Since then, over the years, he had five more heads drawn out; each one a representation of someone he personally killed. Initially it was a source of pride and a reminder of what he's done but more recently, it was a reminder of what he's become.
"You know how much water you're wasting?" Amanda said as she came into the room, moving to put the plug in the sink. She was the wife he reminded himself that he had, to make himself feel better. Sexy; literally the girl next door, from his teenage years, that grew up into the lean, sultry woman behind him, with long chestnut brown hair.
"Says the woman about to take her fourth shower this week," He said back, noticing the winter robe she wore as she leaned on his shoulder.
"That's not unusual."
"It's Tuesday," He smirked. She smiled back and kissed him on the cheek before moving to the shower.
"I don't have any time for baths, Mark; but putting in a plug doesn't cost you anything." She pulled the curtains aside.
"Comparatively, is all I'm saying. Am I really wasting so much water?" He asked, shutting down the water as he rinsed off the razor.
"Comparatively? Comparatively you can make anything look good by putting it next to something that's bad enough." She turned on the water in the tub, letting it run over her hand as she waited for it to heat up.
"You could," He said more to himself than her.
"But you're still wasting water," She turned back to look at him and noticed that she lost him. "Hello?"
He came out of his daze and looked over at her. "Yeah?"
"You're thinking what now?" She asked.
"You can't even compare it to systematically killing six million Jews," He said as a matter of fact, and she knew that he wasn't talking about the plug anymore.
"No, probably not, but all the same just put in the damn plug, ‘kay?" Amanda said, hitting the switch that flipped the water to the showerhead. She ignored that feeling deep down of wanting to talk about what they both knew, what hanged in the air between them; it was better left alone.

Amanda made up a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast for the two of them. She wished that she had more culinary experience. He needed some sort of pick me up. She considered using sex but she already showered and was dressed in her best suit for work.
Mark came down the stairs a few minutes later also dressed for work, Amanda paused when she saw which suit he was wearing. Mark spent a lot of time working out of the office and had several suits for it; mostly blues and greys depending on how casual he wanted to be. Today he was dressed in black; a black dress shirt with black khakis and before he left he would grab his leather jacket. It's an outfit that he hid in the back of the closet, and there's only one reason he would ever bring it out.
Amanda frowned and moved to intercept him before he reached the front door.
"Hey, I'm making eggs," She said to grab his attention.
"I don't have time, Ryan's waiting on me," He said as he grabbed his jacket.
"Wait, hey, wait."
Mark turned back as she came up on him. "What?"
The sharpness of his question caused her to pull up, but she grabbed his shoulders and moved in to kiss him. It was long and sensual before she pulled back. "Have to redo my lipstick, but well worth it."
"What was that for?" Mark asked after a moment.
"No reason." She smiled.
"Liar."
"Just be home at five," Amanda moved toward the kitchen.
"For more of that?"
"Only if you and my mom have a thing I don't know about." She said to Mark’s disappointment. He wasn't a fan of his mother-in-law, and she would be the last person he had a secret anything with. He considered her a petty and sick woman.
"When again?" He asked.
"Five."
"I'll be lucky if I can get home by six," he lied.
"She's here till eight."
"Perfect," Mark smirked to himself, he paused to take a look at his house; two floors, two garages with wood flooring. It reminded him of the best parts of a Sears catalogue. He considered himself lucky that this was his life, but what he and Amanda avoided saying out loud was what this life cost. And who's paying the most for it?
He headed out the door.

The nearest reserve to Vancouver was three hours east of the city, out where the farmland transformed into mountains and forests. There used to be several reserves around that blended into the city such as The Capilano reserve or The Squamish First Nations but after the first uprisings, the government felt it was too dangerous to have Indians near civilized society.
Jacob remembered when the Government’s Relocation project occurred, he was only five at the time but it's not something easily forgotten. It was seared into his brain. They waited until just after midnight so there would be as few cars on the highway as possible. A convoy of police cruisers came in first with their red and blue lights lighting up the reserve, the trucks hauling the military reserves followed by yellow school buses.
Jacob was already awake watching the lights come through his window, marveling at the colour spectrums. That was when his mother burst through the door shouting, she grabbed his clothes and pushed them into a suitcase. He didn't remember the face of the man following her just that he wore a military uniform and carried a large assault rifle. He told her to pack lite as they were only allowed one case for each family; that didn't leave much room for Jacob, his two sisters and their mother.
They were given ten minutes to put what they could together and then the Soldier, along with two of his friends, escorted their family out onto the road. There they huddled with their cousins, aunts and other family members. The remaining men were moved to their own area away from the women and children. Jacob remembered the men were fewer but had twice as many escorts.
Over the next half hour Jacob and his family were moved slowly toward the buses, along the way someone came by and put tags around their necks with their reserve and status numbers on them. Another person came along with a digital scanner to read the bar codes before moving on.
His mother lifted Jacob as she moved his sisters and herself up the steps onto the bus; their assigned seat was near the back. It was another hour before the 'ok 'was given by the police to move out. The doors closed with several Military Reserve troops still aboard and the engines started. Jacob remembered staring out the window as his bus pulled out onto the highway, as his home disappeared into the distance behind the red and blue flashes of their police escort.
That morning nearly five thousand First Nations people were moved three hundred kilometers east. They were joined by another six thousand throughout the valley on their way to their new home.
It wasn't given a name, people just called it what it was. The Reserve. Twenty years later it was the home to twenty thousand natives on fifteen square kilometers in third world conditions. Electricity was limited, there were no phones or Internet and clean water was literally a pipe dream.
Now twenty-five Jacob lived near the river with his mother and surviving sister. The eldest sister passed away at thirteen from an anti-biotic resistant strain of TB; not that she was given antibiotics. Instead they cut out her lung and sent her home with an open cavity under her right arm with instructions to keep it dry. Over the next four months the doctors would come out to check on her and record their findings, but eventually she succumbed.
So many people died during that outbreak, one that lasted three years. So many bodies were burned...
Their home now was a two bedroom shack that they didn't even bother painting. It was held together only because Jacob learned early to canvas for wood scraps that him and his mother used for repairs.
It was the same with fishing; today he was using the remains of two nets he found on the riverbank that he used to repair the net he had strung up in his yard. An otter had cut the string to get at the salmon inside, allowing every other fish to get out. That was a major set back as Jacob was designated the fisherman for five hungry families.
His stomach dropped when he saw the Lincoln pull up to the front of the house. It was black and shiny in appearance; a sharp contrast to the dirt road. He knew who it was, who else around here would have a car.
Indian Agents.
Mark climbed out of the passenger side as Ryan climbed out from behind the wheel. He was a shorter man than Mark, somewhat weasel looking but still physically dangerous. Both men wore black with dark ray ban sunglasses, a carefully orchestrated look designed to intimidate; not that they needed to now, to everybody on the reserve these men represented only one thing.
Death.
Indian agents worked for the Department of Indian Control, and were assigned to govern over one of the nineteen remaining reserves across the country. Every Indian knew the names of the Agents in charge of them. There were thirty field agents for every reserve and given almost god like powers to control their wards, although their powers depended on the aspect of the job they were assigned. The office back in the city had more, but desk jockeys never visited and that was okay with the Indians; the ones they did see were bad enough.
These two, coming to see Jacob, were given the power over who lived and died.
Jacob tensed up and considered running, but didn't know where he could go; he was also wiry thin with very little in the way of cardio.
"Jacob," Ryan said as they came closer, "Don't run. Save your strength for later when you're going to need it; make this easier for all of us."
Jacob nodded and visually relaxed his body. He took a deep breath to keep his nerves in check.
"Please give me Jacob’s tag." Ryan continued as he pulled out a palm sized scanner.
Mark stepped forward causing Jacob to take a step back, Mark paused and waited for the other to collect himself again; sort of like dealing with a stray dog. Jacob reached behind himself for his wallet but the movement had Mark put his own hand on the Beretta at his hip, but Jacob brought around his tag from his youth.
Mark took it and looked it over. It was deemed too expensive years ago to keep carding Indians over the years so they were required to keep these tags. The years aren't kind to them though, this one was turning yellow and cracked; but it was easy enough to make it the Indian's responsibility to properly care for them.
"Mr. Conner, can you please confirm that Jacob Cardinal has self identified and is of status?" Ryan said as he held out the scanner.
Mark took the device and scanned the old bar code, it pinged and he read the display on the back. "He's Jacob Cardinal."
"Mr. Cardinal, would you please come with us?" Ryan asked.
"No!" The group looked around as Nancy came from the front door of the house, Jacobs' mother was a thin native woman of fifty years in a flowery dress but could summon up a lot of anger. "No!"
Ryan turned back to Jacob as the other stared at him, while Nancy continued coming toward them. Ryan could see as Jacob's feet shifted minutely.
"You're just going to waste..." Ryan stopped when Jacob bolted for the back of the house.
Mark darted after him but Nancy moved in the way, he used his larger frame to shove her out of the way. Nancy hit the ground in instant pain.
Ryan shook his head as he casually reached into his pocket for some plastic straps.
Jacob arched around the back of the house and halfway across the yard when he remembered the wooden fence line. He had to change his direction to head for the open gate, he almost made it too but Mark came up on him quickly. Mark used both hands to shove the other man on the back. Jacob hit the ground hard and rolled as Mark slowed to a stop and turned back.
Jacob scrabbled for his feet but Mark kneeled down on his back.
"No! No! Stop!" Jacob screamed as he clawed at the ground trying to get out from under Mark.
"Alright, alright, calm down...Calm Down!" Mark put Jacob’s arms behind the others back and strapped the wrists together with plastic zip-ties.
"Please...please." Jacob shook uncontrollably, "Mom...Mom!"
With Jacob secured, Mark sat back and wiped the sweat off his lip. He watched the other for a moment before lifting Jacob to his feet.
Ryan looked up as Mark directed Jacob around the side of the house. He had Nancy on the front porch with her hands locked together. Nancy saw Jacob and started to stand but Ryan shoved her back into the sitting position.
"Jacob! Jacob!" Nancy pleaded to Ryan, "Please, let him go! Let him go! He's all we have, please."
Ryan glanced at her and started for the car where Mark was pushing Jacob into the backseat.
"Jacob!" Nancy moved to her feet, "You run! Run! Please, come back to us."
Ryan leaned into the backseat and addressed Jacob, "See, now you're all tired out; you'll have nothing left." Ryan slammed the door and went to the driver's side.
Mark looked over as Nancy dropped to her knees crying too hard to control. He turned away and climbed into the car.

The hunting grounds were another half an hour north from the Reserve across the bridge, and up into the mountains. The area was picked for its seclusion and less congested forest. The trees were close enough for the hunters to feel like they were out in the wilderness but far enough apart they wouldn't get lost.
Mark had Jacob walk four feet in front of him as they headed to the starting point, Mark with his hands in his jacket while Jacob’s were still strapped behind him. Mark had to grab Jacob twice as the other’s fear laden legs wobbled. Once steady they continued on their way.
"Have a seat." Mark said, helping Jacob sit against a Cedar tree. "Try and put your knees to your chest. It'll help with the stomach."
Mark moved a few feet away as Jacob watched and then took the advice. Jacob pulled his knees to his chest to combat the feeling of nausea. Mark looked around at the forest, it was nice day as the sun came through the thin canopy; not too hot either as there was a cool breeze coming through the trees.
Mark wondered if in the right conditions would Jacob have had a chance of survival. That would've be something to see. He pulled out a package of gum and went about getting out a piece, something he was told to do to fight his urge for nicotine.
"If I start talking to you, are you going to take that as permission to beg?" Mark asked. Jacob stared back at him for a few seconds before looking away. "Good, ‘cause everybody does, and they never ask for anything I could give them anyway. Gum, I can give you gum. Did you want gum?"
Mark put the gum piece in his mouth and waited for an answer, when he didn't get one he put the rest of the package back in his pocket. Mark endured the silence for a few minutes. He checked his watch once in awhile before sliding down a tree to sit as well.
"Don't run, "Mark stated after a minute, causing Jacob to look at him, "It's what everybody does, and there's only two places you can go which is where they'll be waiting for you. One way is the river. Can you swim?"
Jacob shook his head. He lived and worked on the river but never expected to fall in.
"You can't get across, the other way is open fields but you're an easy target that way. If you want to live, you stay in the bush, find a place to hide and just wait out your two hours."
"Why are you telling me this?" Jacob asked as a challenge, trying to toughen up so he wouldn't cry.
"I'm not scouting today, what do I care if you die?" Mark answered.
"What's it to your partner? What's he get?"
"I don't know." Mark lied.
"It better be more than a set of steak knives," Jacob said and looked away. Mark chuckled but controlled it. Jacob looked back. "What does he get? What am I worth to him? What's his fuckin’ take?"
"Ten percent instead of five," Mark said, "Hundred grand instead of fifty."
Jacob made a chuckle sound, letting out his air before he hit the back of his head against the tree. "Fuck...god damn."
It was also a lie. The hunting licenses were two hundred grand to five hundred grand depending on the experience you wanted. Mark and Ryan were paid two hundred grand a year simply for being Indian agents, but on hunts they were given a bonus of Twenty-five grand; another twenty-five above that if they scouted. The agents were paid well, they had to be as you needed good incentive to keep the government’s dirty little secret.
It was a harmless lie though. Mark figured, it was never too late to boost someone's self worth. Unfortunately he was worth more dead than alive. If he got away half the hunting fee is refunded.
Mark’s cell phone went off startling Jacob. Mark brought it up to his ear "Hello."
"They're all set," Ryan said on the other end, "Send him off."
"Alright," Mark put the phone away and climbed to his feet. He helped the other up as well and went about cutting the wrist straps. "Remember, don't be afraid to hide."
The snaps came apart and Jacob took a few steps forward, rubbing sensation back into his hands. He stared off into the forest thinking about what he needed to do and looked back at Mark but there wasn't anything more the other could do.
Jacob bolted into the forest.
Mark took his seat against the tree and waited.
Fifteen minutes later he listened to the sound of a high-powered assault rifle, six shots and then nothing. Mark didn't need to be told Jacob decided to run, and he was now dead for it.

Chapter three can be found at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-three