From within the Birch wood

Stanley hurried back, across the water channels, over the raised ground of marsh grass, through the small woods and up the muddy road that led to his cottage. The sun was raising quickly, and he knew he wouldn’t have much time.

He barged through the front door and up the stairs, unconcerned by the thick chunks of mud he dropped on the way. He threw on a shirt, some thick socks and a change of underwear and trousers before making his way to the back garden.

The shed stood at the end of the garden. Or maybe, slouched was a better word for it as it leaned against the loose stoned wall that surrounded the garden. Stanley flung open the door. A mouldy, wet stench clung to every inch of the inside. It took him a moment to get used to the gloom.

Once his eyes had adjusted, Stanley saw the gun leaning against the far wall inside. A box of shells also rested on one of the shelves nearby. He hoped they would still work despite the damp, but there was no time to check now. As he made his way out, he also grabbed the shovel that was hanging from some sturdy hooks on the back wall.

He slung the gun over his shoulder but struggled to juggle the shovel and walking stick in his hands, so he left the walking stick leaning inside the shed and used the shovel as a makeshift substitute.

As he rushed back, ignoring the cries of pain from his right leg, he planned his next move. His watch read past 7am. Normally Fobbing and Stapleton would be on the marsh by now, but with Stapleton not showing up, maybe just maybe, Fobbing will be later than usual.

Stanley already had the perfect spot in mind. On the way to where the avocet had made her nest, was a small thicket of birch trees. The trunks were densely packed, and he should be able to hide in their shadow easily enough.

When he reached the spot, he left the muddy path and trudged through the thick layer of leaf litter that had built up over the years. The brown leaves were wet, and their moisture began to soak through Stanley's boots and socks.

About 10 metres in, he stopped and hid himself behind one of the larger trees. As he crouched and waited, hoping that he hadn’t missed Fobbing, he picked at the newly emerging fronds of bracken poking up from the piles of dead leaves.

He didn’t have to wait long. The crunch of footsteps on loose gravel and the slurp of feet in mud could be heard getting closer. Stanley listened intently, trying to ignore the drumming sound of his heartbeat. Soon Fobbing’s rotund form came into view over the marsh grass.

Stanley waited. Not yet he thought. The main path looped around the wood as it headed westwards. If he waited until Fobbing turned the corner, he should have a clearer shot.

After Fobbing walked past, Stanley quietly lowered his weapon, holding his breath. He had the perfect shot, right between Fobbing’s shoulder blades. He squeezed the trigger.

The time between pulling the trigger and discharge seemed interminably long to Stanley. Even though it was a mere split second, it was enough time for him to panic about what he would do if the gun didn’t fire. He had left his walking stick at home. Would the shovel work? He would never find out.

A loud roar echoed through the woods and across the marsh. A flock of dunlin panicked and took to the sky, but there was no need to fear a second shot. The first had done its job.

The early risers in the village heard the sound but thought nothing of it. Gunshots were nothing out of the ordinary to them, so they carried on as usual. The postman pulled out the next letter from his canvas bag, pushing it through a bass letter plate. The milkman dropped of a few bottles in front of a small, terraced house. The young lad, Robert, who helped Stanley with his shopping heard it too. He wondered if Stanley and the others were already searching the marsh before giving a big yawn and continuing towards the shops.

A small puddle on the path turned red as Stanley emerged from the woods. He shuffled up to the body of the old hunter, prodding it with the tip of his shovel. It didn’t move.

Stanley let out a sigh. With that done he hoped the avocet and her eggs would be safe. There were other dangers, but at least the cruel hand of man had been dealt with.

In any case, he still had work to do. He leaned on his shovel as he surveyed the area around him. Now, where would be the best place to dig...