Cattle Thieves

The dogs had just herded the last of the cattle into the barn when I saw a light on the far side of the farm. Damn poachers.

“Come on boys, up you get!” I said as I dropped the tailgate. The dogs hopped up in, excited by the change to their routine. I climbed into the cab and turned the engine on. I revved the engine out of habit, and I could have sworn the light blinked in response, but there’s no way anyone could have heard that sound all the way across the valley.

We bounced and jolted our way over the rough, pot-hole-riddled dirt roads, then splashed through the shallow spot in the river. The dogs were loving it, and kept knocking around in the back as they play-fought each other.

The light was higher up than made sense. There weren’t any trees around, so as we got closer I kept craning my neck, leaning in close to the windshield to see what it was sitting on. It was also strange that it didn’t go out. Maybe it wasn’t poachers after all. The light dipped out of sight as I rounded shoulder of the hill.

I came up and around the other side of the hill and hit the brakes immediately. The light was floating. There was no other way to explain it. I stepped out of the truck, grabbing my shotgun as I slide down to land with a heavy thump on the dirt.

There was a peculiar humming sound. It wasn’t the noise helicopter blades make, it was more like a large generator sitting far off in a basement. I smelled burnt plastic.

I couldn’t bring myself to say the word, but I knew the shape I was looking at. I realized the dogs were all hiding, whimpering in the back of the truck. The plastic smell grew stronger. I leveled my rifle up at the spinning disc, but a single ray of red light dashed out at me. I was dead so fast that I can’t even remember the feeling of it happening.