A shot rang out from the rifle of an alerted Harvestman, and just as the sound reached Nathaniel’s ears, he felt the hot streak of a bullet pierce his left arm, spattering blood on the ground before him.

From his bedroom window on the Marine Corps Base in Quantico, Nathaniel Dixon watched in awe at the four-ship formation of V-22 Ospreys chewing up the Virginia air with their massive, wingtip-mounted tilt rotors as they made a pass over the flight line. The aircraft grew in his window as they approached the small bungalow he lived in with his mother and father on base. Just before they flew out of sight, Nathaniel clapped his hands together over the window and imagined smashing each Osprey like a dragonfly. Then, he imagined each falling to earth in flames, smashing in a great ball of fire in his backyard.

Something that sounded like an insect droned past Ralph’s ear. He had an idea it was a .45-caliber bug. Better hurry up, sweetheart, Carolyn advised. When bullets hit you on this level they kill you, remember?

If you are hunted then you better find real tree and then they will not find you. They will think that you are a tree so find real tree and you can hunt like a pro. You will never be hunted again.

If I am shot at, I want no man to be in the way of the bullet.

It was so violent that the officers had to flee the train station and drew their guns and shot in the air.