User:Blitzbaby

Wildfire James
The late November breeze chilled any bones it touched underneath heavy coats and toboggans. A young man waded through the layer of leaves blanketing the ground. James Morgan, the venturer, had spent many of his years wandering these woods. He knew ever rock and blade of grass on the forest floor. Though, this time he had an intention to make this visit besides a simple leisurely stroll he often took. Wild troublemakers had recently been igniting forests all over the area and James intended to protect his stretch. His family watched these trees grow from saplings, his bloodline buried in its center. James was going to catch the arsonists before they ignited his forest. He prepared any means to capture the hooligans; He set up bear traps (a common item in rural Oregon), nets, trip wires. The 19 year old was clever in many ways and he was now using this to his advantage. His determination was a motivation that was a mountain to get over. And so he waited for nightfall, his heavy flannel shirt hung unbuttoned over a dirty white tee. It wasn't easy to ignore the biting frost of a winter past sundown, but he sufficed. James trod heavily through the trees, a double barrel shotgun rested against his back and he fidgeted with its strap that hug across his chest. His light build would be useless if he were to come face to face with the group. It was hours later, perhaps three AM before he heard the first hoots and hollers from the west. James wasn't sure now if the bumps on his arms now were from the bone-nipping cold or the sudden adrenaline of the moment. He moved quickly and stealthily between trees and over rocks. He knew he was close once he heard a dangerous ''snap! ''and a scream echoed through the area. He had gotten one, but how many more were there now? He jogged past the trapped felon, her ankle bleeding severely from the bear trap's clasp on her bones. James followed the chaotic sounds and pulled the gun around his shoulder, loading and cocking it. Nobody was going to destroy his forest. His pace quickened and he sprinted through the dark, gun in hand. He had reached higher ground now, observing the area. It was black as night to the south and east, but as he turned he saw the orange glow of flames cultivating the ancient trees, feasting on their life. He was panting, furious that he let them slip through his fingers as easily as they had. He growled in anger and ran down where the fire was a threat. Everything sped up now as he hunted for the humans who had done this. He had barely noticed the boy he had run up on. His fists were full of matches, the other wielded a lighter. The boy had seen James approach, the shotgun ready to fire in his hands. His heel was nipped, blood trickled slowly down his foot; a bear trap had taken another but failed to hold him steady. Now, he was limping through the woods dropping matches. James paused, panting furiously. He glared at the boy for below bushy blonde bangs. "You did this," he growled through clenched teeth. It was less than a second before he had the barrel of the gun to the trespasser's chest. His finger moved slowly towards the trigger, itching to pull it right then. "Give me the matches," he forced the barrel harder into the boy's torso. Obediently, he dropped the fire starters to the ground with a shaking hand. The toe of James' boot scattered them across the dirt. He looked up again at the boy, "How many more are there?" "Five," he whispered, his focus on the trigger of the weapon against his heart. "Which direction?" he asked again. The only answer he received now was a point, due northeast. James glanced in the direction he was given, and then back into the eyes of his prey. By now, the boy was sobbing, begging for his life. It only took the slightest pull of the trigger for the teenager's body to heave backwards and hit the ground. James sighed out a long, built up breath, never realizing he was holding it in. As well as his intention to kill. He had never shot his father's gun before this night and his hands shook beyond control. He couldn't use this gun again. He couldn't bring himself to kill another human with one of the only connections to his family. He dropped the shotgun at the corpse's cold, dead feet and walked in his destined direction. His only other weapon was the bear trap that lay on the forest floor a few yards away. He picked it up by the chain, holding it in front of him. He grinned for the first time that night; He knew what to do now. He trudged through the familiar forest and followed the sounds of chaos. 783 steps later (he had counted to keep himself composed), he finally saw the other five, all grouped together. One, a boy with bright blue hair, was pouring gasoline everywhere he walked. Two girls were carrying lighters and matches, dropping them and lighting the doused floor. It went up instantly, pasting orange light across each of their faces. James stepped out into light, furious as to what they were doing to his forest. One of the girls noticed the figure emerging from behind the trees and he held something from his tightly balled fists. She bumped the others, getting their attention on the emerging threat. He was threatened by the boys in the group, but was not phased by the comments. He continued walking closer and closer, spinning the bear trap around by the chain. He got a few feet closer before viciously swinging it around towards the biggest boys head. It loudly clamped down on his arm that he used to block the weapon. James pulled the chain, bringing the boy with him, who screamed at the pain of the metal teeth ripping at his flesh as he was dragged. He ruthlessly ripped the trap from his arm, taking blood and skin with it. He swung it again hitting one of the girls in the side of her skull. She hit the ground hard and lay lifeless before her friends. He turned to the other boy (one had fled after James had taken down the first opponent) and swung at him repeatedly, only making one clean hit to his chest. It had only knocked the breath out of him, and he quickly retaliated by tackling James into the raging flames. He pushed his face into the burning ground. He screamed, feeling his skin boil on his skull. He rolled and pushed the boy off of him and picked back up his bear trap, swinging it down onto the boy's head. It hit with a lethal crunch and James stood over the body. His tears mixed the blood falling fiercely from his face. Looking up, re realized the other two teenagers has run. They were nowhere to be seen. He wouldn't be able to catch them in his current state. He knew he would see his face plastered across all news outlets in the state of Oregon in less than 24 hours. He hid away in his secluded cabin, waiting for the news. And when it came, he watched. Very closely, at that. It cut to the girl who had run as she spoke about the violent attack from 'the man who had been lighting wildfires all across the county,' she had lied. She had accused him for something he wouldn't dare do... After a few minutes, his face was shown on the screen. She had identified him. And she needed to go. He observed the area behind her: a blue house with a white porch. It was a home. Her home. He knew the town as well as he knew the woods, and had plans for this house. It was nightfall again, exactly two days after the incident. It was the first time James had emerged from his house since then as well. He carried a bag on his back filled to the brink with nothing more than lighter fluid and a singular match sat waiting in his pocket. Before he knew it (2572 steps), he stood in front of the blue house with the white porch. Dropping the bag, he pulled out the bottles of liquid fire and poured them across the porch and yard. He set 4 or 5 down at the door and pulled out the one match he carried with him. He lit it, staring into the tiny flame before dropping it in the puddle of lighter fluid. He watched as the flames spread like a disease, engulfing the home. "Burn in hell," he growled. He turned away and walked back to his familiar home in the woods. He showed up again on the news the next morning, but was not seen again, unless he was walking away from burning homes across Oregon. Though those witnesses were only found charred in their yards.