But first, he had to find the damn things. Rabbits loved thickets of tangled underbrush, the more thorns the better, and God had designed their fur with excellent natural camouflage. The trick to finding a rabbit while it was sitting still was to look for its eyes, black marbles surrounded by whites.

Today the little bastards were especially good at hiding. Caleb could have shot fifteen or twenty squirrels by now, and he supposed he could resort to squirrels if he ran out of choices, but he really didn’t much like squirrel meat. Rabbit, on the other hand, was terrific.

Caleb placed his steps carefully as he advanced inches at a time, his rifle up at low ready. If he caught a glimpse, he’d be ready to go. Most important of all, though, he needed to get his first kill before Luke did. Little dickhead had kicked his ass during last year’s deer season, and Caleb was tired of hearing about it.

He stooped down to get closer to the ground, and leaned into the underbrush. Something was here. He sensed it.

“Well, looky here!” a man’s voice boomed from behind him.

Caleb whirled, but before he could turn all the way, a huge shove sent him tumbling into the thorns and tangled branches. He snapped his eyes shut to keep them from getting scratched.

“Hey!” he yelled, and he tried to scramble to his feet. But a kick nailed him in his ribs, and in an instant, all the air was gone from his lungs. He couldn’t get it back.

“I’ll take that plinker,” the man said, and Caleb found himself being stripped of his rifle as someone pulled on the sling to unthread him from it.

Caleb was still trying to figure out up from down, when someone pushed him back into the thorns again. He yelled as the needles dug through his clothes and deeply into his flesh.

The rest happened with startling, ridiculous speed. The man—he still hadn’t gotten a look at his face—grabbed him by the back of his jacket, lifted him and then tossed him face-first onto the ground. His arms were yanked behind his back and a rope was expertly looped around his wrists, taking his hands out of play. He felt like a roped calf.

When it was done, hands grabbed him under his armpits and jerked him upright, and then planted him back on the ground, on his butt.

All of that couldn’t have taken more than ten seconds. Maybe five.

Caleb rattled his head to clear his vision. When he was finally able to focus, he swore that his heart stopped.

Jeffrey Grubbs said, “Your name’s a biblical one, ain’t it?”