Chapter 2 (Rupp)

Nothing stops tradition. Except a horde of ghouls.

"They're here!" Kreg called out. 

 "Splendid." Rupp said sardonically.

  James "Rupp" Koenig was busy browning two pounds of thick sliced bacon on a huge cast iron skillet while stirring some scrambled eggs in a smaller pan. There was a Hamm's beer close at hand and unignored. 

 "When company is late they're getting an easy breakfast for dinner." the brothers both chided as if on cue.

 It had been a favorite saying of their deceased grandmother: and the company was arriving late. Sans one guest. 

 Rupp's best friend Soren had arrived hours earlier in his usual aloof mood. After a quick bite of some smoked fish and crackers he fiddled with the rabbit ears encased in tin foil until the Law and Order SVU reruns were broadcasting. A filterless cigarette perpetually burning in the ashtray and a  beer perched on his flat stomach. 

 Rupp disregarded the bacon for a minute to add a log to the cast iron stove; all the while taking in his current companions in his usual inquisitive fashion.

 His brother Kreg was 4 years older and married with one small child named Susan that Rupp had never met. Some years back his black haired blue eyed brother had taken a wife of Italian descent. He had met Siena in the environmental consultant company that employed him. She had recently immigrated to America on a work visa. It was a brief whirlwind romance that ultimately led to marriage and then fatherhood. Though they had been close during childhood their relationship had faltered during their adult years. 

 A surprise present from Siena had landed Kreg in his current locale. Family pressure had forced her to send Kreg back to the Wisconsin northwoods from his now home state of Louisiana for a week of deer hunting. It was more of an awkward presence than a gift.

 Kreg turned away from the incoming vehicle and fished some beers from the refrigerator. "Better late and thirsty than early and surly!" he exclaimed to no one in particular. 

  Rupp smiled. That had been another favorite family saying.

 Soren was still passively watching TV while Rupp focused on adding some cheese and Tobasco to the scrambled eggs. It was a little too late to be cooking and Rupp was feeling slightly muffed.

 Soren and himself both worked at a factory that built loading pallets. The hours were long but typically uneventful. Braun Pallet Co. was located on the  muddy banks of a seagull infested brown river. They spent most days building suppressors for their .22 pistols out of Mountain Dew bottles and steel wool wadding. When not grading lumber they were taking suppressed long shots at sea birds. It was a way to make a living but not exactly living.    

 He took his eyes off the cast iron pan and peered out the window just in time to see that Robert "Bobo" Robertson was staggering out of a large SUV; completely greased. Smearing some condensation off the window with a large palm provided him the view of a lanky red bearded man slipping and sliding in the slushy mess that covered nearly every outside horizontal surface. 

 "Bobo!" Kreg yelled excitedly as he flung open the cabin door.

 Kreg and Bobo had been college roommates. While they were tight during those years the current times had been difficult on their relationship. Bobo was a state ecologist at a southern Wisconsin park while Kreg had started working as a consultant for an oil pipeline conglomerate. Despite varying career paths the two were attempting to reconnect. 

 Also in attendance was Derek Hoffman. By amazing coincidence he had graduated high school with Kreg but had met Bobo through work. Derek was a landscape architect employed out of Chicago that had worked for the Wisconsin State Parks Department. Bobo was his chief liaison and after a number of projects the two had become drinking buddies. Most recently hunting partners.

 Kreg stepped through the doorway and embraced Bobo. The lanky ecologist staggered a bit against the embrace then righted himself. Kreg pressed a beer into his hands. "Was he drinking the whole ride up?" Kreg asked while ruffling Bobo's head and sending his signature baseball cap flying.

 "Has he ever not drank on a car ride would be the better question." Derek replied while pushing the group back into the cabin. 

 Kreg tossed Derek a beer in an underhand pitch and the lithe man snagched it out of the air."Cheers." Derek said.

 Kreg toasted him.

 Bobo was ruddy faced and swaying but otherwise clearly happy being incapacitated by Jack Daniels. He ignored Derek's jab and clumsily set his gear down in the rustic kitchen. "The only reason I hang out with this a*****e is because he drives." Bobo mentioned. "And usually buys."

 Derek ignored the comment but seemed pleased. He was after all the most successful of the group. He drove a brand new tricked out Toyota FJ Cruiser. Had a posh flat in North Chicago. And was no stranger to drinking his nights away and successfully womanzing girls 10 to 15 years his junior. He had made a decent living by merely drawing landscape sketches and dictating where people would plant their junipers and build retaining walls. "We all need a pissbag friend to make our own libations seem less severe." he mentioned.

 Either Bobo didn't hear the comment or merely disregarded it.     "Man this is f*****g great!" 

 Kreg and Rupp had no idea what he was referring to but they also felt that sense of wellbeing and boyish anxiousness. 

 "And this cabin is something else. It's great you guys set this up."

 At that statement Kreg became uncomfortable and went to the refrigerator for a round of beers. The "Set Up" as Bobo called it was actually the brainchild of Soren and Rupp. Soren had found the ad for it on Craigslist. 

 It was a 16'x16' kit garage with a small loft that someone had turned into a passable bunkhouse. There was a small kitchen with a hand pump for water. Some cheap cabinetry. A few sporadically placed outlets powered by an aged and temperamental generator. A main communal area featuring a couple of ratty couches and an obsolete 19 inch RCA TV. Against the south wall stood a solitary homemade wood stove. And of course the cramped (but warm) loft with garage sale twin mattresses for sleeping. 

 Also included in the purchase was a mildewed box filled with stag magazines and a yellowed plastic penis pump. The last content of the box was affixed to the wall above the entrance with a few roughly placed drywall screws. All of that sitting on a previously poured, cracked, and discolored slab from a long demolished building.

 This rough building sat on a 2.5 acre site that abutted a few hundred acres of paper mill land that was essentially open to the public. The 2.5 aces itself comprised of only .5 acres of useable land. The rest being lowland tangles of tag alder. Considering that most of the land was a mire of mud and alder tangles it had sold for $17,500. Owner financed with 20% down. Kreg had expressed no interest in the purchase so Rupp and Soren had scraped together what assets they had and bought it.

 While Bobo discovered the box of stag mags and made jovial introductions with Soren the other three men sat down at the crude pine table and opened beers.

  "Tell me about this place." Derek asked.

 Rupp went over the details as Soren left Bobo to the box of pornography to join in the conversation. Within minutes a topographic map was spread out over the table and Rupp was showing the new arrivals  various positions of ground blinds that Soren and himself had erected over the summer. 

 Kreg went to the small stove and started to ladle bacon and eggs onto random thrift store plates. After passing out plates he sat back down.

 "Most of the blinds are completely different so what gun you're using will for the most part dictate what blind you'll be in." Rupp explained as he munched on a piece of crispy bacon. 

 "I'll take this stand by the pine barrens that we passed on the way in." Derek said. 

 "My AR-10 is sighted in at 50 yards. It's pretty open there."

 The men silently acknowledged that and Rupp moved his finger to the next blind. Soren loaded his eggs with more Tabasco and listened thoughtfully.

 "This here stand is a bit thick and in a depression." Rupp explained. 

 "Brush gun spot." Soren volunteered while chewing noisily.

 "I'll take that one. My 30-30 is sighted in short." Kreg said.

 "Perfect." Rupp mentioned while chewing. He moved down the line.

 Soren moved closer and pointed to the next blind. "I was hoping to land this spot. It's a little bottleneck that I cleared some shooting lanes in. My old .303 British will work perfect here. Besides, I planted some clover and turnips. Get your own f*****g spot."

 The boys laughed for a moment then turned their attention to the map once again. "This spot." Rupp said while poking the map with a greasy finger "Is the Drunkard Stand."

 "Bobo!" the men yelled in unison.

 Bobo was nearly passed out but acknowledged the salutation with a slight lift of his whiskey glass. The plate of bacon and eggs teetering on his lap. He was on one of the couches and ignoring the formalities.

 "It's the entrance/exit to the swamp. Bobo mentioned he was using a shotgun this year so it's a win win. Very tight quarters." Soren advised.

 "What about you, Rupp?" Kreg asked.

 "I'm going to place myself as far away from Bobo as possible."

 Everyone chuckled. Bobo was fast asleep.

 The alarms started going off at 3am. Everyone had bunked in the loft with the exception of Bobo who had fallen asleep on the couch. 

 Rupp was the first one down the steps and had bacon frying on top of the small wood stove by the time the others started to shuffle down the steps from the loft. 

 Briefly he stepped outside to urinate off the porch. A few errant snowflakes danced in the wind. It was relaxing to watch them spin and flit.

 When he came back inside his brother was in the kitchen. "Cold outside?" 

 "Bearable." Rupp replied. "Maybe 20 degrees."

 Kreg grunted and started to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Thanks for setting this place up. I'm sorry I didn't pitch in like you asked but it's been rough with the baby and all. S**t, it's not even the baby. It's the way Siena spends money. Everything she makes she spends on her fashion line. It's out of control."

 "Is she any good?" Rupp asked as he poked the bacon.

 "No." Kreg said while laughing.

 "How's the sex?"

"Incredible." Kreg replied.

 They were both silent. Both smiling for a mere moment. 

 "I'm really sorry though. I wish I could have helped out." the older brother mentioned.

 "No you're not. You haven't even bothered hunting with me for what? 10 years? More? Have you even met Soren before tonight? Don't pawn your formalities on me. Frankly I don't give a f**k."

 Kreg grunted again and went to the fridge. He returned with a  couple beers and cracked them open. "I didn't think it would be so hard."

 "What? Being a conceited c**t?" Rupp retorted.

 Kreg ignored the jab.

 "Growing up. This whole scenario. Family life. Kids. Her f*****g fashion line." Kreg laughed bitterly "We started a fashion line in Louisiana."

 "You dug your own grave. You knew what you were getting into." 

 "I know." Kreg said while contemplating.

 "Are you glad you came?" Rupp asked.

 "I'll tell you who didn't cum last night." a voice behind them said.

 Derek had just wandered down the steps and headed straight for the coffee pot. He located a cup, wiped the inside out with his shirt and proceeded to fill it. "Me. Because I'm in the woods surrounded by a******s."

 "You can cum in an a*****e you know." Rupp stated.

 "Don't threaten me with a good time." Derek said. Keeping a straight face while filling his cup.

 "Speaking of a******s you should wake Bobo up." Kreg suggested.

 "I don't want anything to do with that freckled freakshow." Derek replied. "Four hours on the car ride up was enough for me."

 "How does he still have a respectable job with the way he drinks?" Rupp asked.

 "Believe it or not he's astoundingly clever and charming. His appearance leaves a lot to be desired though. Last time I took him out in Chicago he puked in a Raw Bar and nearly got locked up for soliciting a black prostitute. He was wearing knee high logging boots and some Carhart's that were so filthy the vagrants were nearly giving him money. I told the cops that he was drunk and from Wisconsin. After that they entrusted his care to me and turned him loose on the city. Not 5 seconds after being released he screamed to a street walker 'How much for a raw dog f**k?!'. The cop was beside himself with laughter." Derek related.

 Kreg stood up and went into the communal area. As he started to shake Bobo awake his attention wandered to the vintage RCA television. "Reports are coming in that hospitals are filling up and panic is spreading quickly through the Twin Cities region." a stately looking blonde reporter with a great set of tits read.

 "It is imperative that anyone within…."

 Suddenly the lights went dead and the TV blinked off. "Generator." Rupp exclaimed. "Needs gas. I spaced filling it this morning."

 Slamming down his coffee cup Rupp grabbed a Mag-Lite from off the top of the refrigerator and went outside to fuel up the generator.

 Thirty minutes before daylight the hunters were all in  position and preparing for the hunt. Bobo was semi-conscious in his stand. Shotgun leaning against a deadfall while his chest hitched in a dream. 

 Derek was sitting in a small stand of aspen trees near the edge of the pine barrens. His sandy hair sleep pressed and his eyeglasses fogging. The tiny jack pines were bending in the cold November wind. With practiced ease he shouldered his weapon and swept the muzzle over the landscape in an east to west arc. After lighting a long clove cigarette he exhaled and leaned back onto a tree.

 Slightly northwest and within a half mile Kreg huddled back against a small black ash tree and looked into the swamp. While pouring coffee his hands shook and he spilled a fair portion onto his blaze orange overalls. "C**t hairlip f****r!" he whispered to the woods. They did not answer.

 Just arriving at his stand Soren kicked at a few green turnips: amazed at their vibrant color. After slicing a few apples with his hip knife he sauntered over to a small stand of derelict hemlocks and sat down. After racking one into the chamber he simply began to wait. Occasionally the wind would shift and he could smell the apples. 

 After wandering aimlessly for some time Rupp found a small ridge and hunkered down behind an uprooted white pine. After taking off his backpack he fed a magazine into his AR-15. He sat down on a chunk of granite that had been upended by the root system and placed the rifle over his thighs. While pouring a cup of coffee he scanned the bottom of the ridge. The wind  suddenly picked up and his breath fogged and swirled away from him.

 Time marched on. Patience was tested. The morning turned cold.

 By 9am Bobo had shot a spike buck through the neck and the whole group was there to gut and drag it back to the camp. As was expected he had a copper cup full of whiskey and it sloshed about as he reeled while telling of the kill. "Couldn't have been more than 15 yards away." he boasted. "Didn't see me so I raised my shotgun and took the shot!"

 "You're stinking drunk." Soren said as he pulled a steaming handful of viscera from the carcass. "Lucky you even managed to hit it."

 "Luck? Ha! You f*****g hairlip. Where is your spike buck?" Bobo taunted.

 "I'm gutting my buck. Then dragging it home. In your condition I'll be amazed if you can make it back on your own account." Soren said in jest.

 The banter died down as some beers were opened and Kreg started a small fire. As the dry balsam boughs took to the flame the men huddled forward with outstretched hands. 

 "As tradition says the first man to bag a buck buys lunch and drinks." Rupp mentioned.

 "Well that's a s****y tradition. And it's my first time here!" Bobo argued. 

 "Have fun dragging that buck back to the cabin." Kreg remarked as he rubbed his hands together near the small fire.

 "Splendid f*****g tradition! Drinks on me!" exclaimed Bobo.

  

Author's Note

Suggestions are wonderful as are reviews and harsh criticism.