The Hunting Trip

 (no picture)

Chapter 1: Loading Up

The morning sun cast long shadows across the Benson Ranch as Billy Jr. hefted his hunting pack into the back of the mule quad. At fifteen, he stood nearly as tall as his father Josh, but today felt different—today he was heading out as one of the men.

"You boys got everything?" Pops called from the porch, bourbon already warming his coffee despite the early hour. His weathered hands gripped the rail as he watched his great-great-grandson and the three other boys load their gear.

Billy Renzo adjusted the straps on his pack, grinning. "Yes sir, Mr. Benson. Licenses, tags, everything's legal."

Ryan Mattern and Daniel Rodriguez exchanged glances, the excitement barely contained. Four high school juniors with off-road licenses, treated like young adults in Kings County, Texas—this was their weekend.

Rebecca stood near the quad, trying not to let her tears show. Her boy looked so much like Josh at that age, all confidence and barely restrained energy. The other mothers had gathered too, Mary Nelson and the Rodriguez and Mattern families, watching their sons prepare for what everyone understood was a rite of passage.

"Y'all stick together out there," Rebecca managed, her voice catching slightly.

Billy Jr. nodded solemnly. "We will, Mom. Promise."

Jake and Billy—Josh's younger brothers—appeared from the barn, their own hunting days still fresh in memory. "Bring back some meat, boys," Jake called out with a grin. "Don't come home empty-handed."

"And don't do anything we wouldn't do," Billy added, earning a sharp look from Sarah.

As the boys settled into the quad, Billy Jr. felt something solid shift under his seat. His eyes found Pops, who was watching with that familiar knowing smile. The old Vietnam vet gave the slightest nod—their secret safe.

"Alright then," Billy Jr. called out, firing up the engine. "We're burning daylight."

The quad rumbled to life, and the four boys waved to their families, their voices carrying back across the yard as they pulled away toward the thick forest land that bordered the Nelson property.

Pops watched until they disappeared into the tree line, then turned to the gathered families and younger cousins, some showing their own tears now that the boys were gone.

"Well," he said, his voice gravelly with emotion and something that might have been pride, "I'd say this calls for a drink."

He headed inside to fetch the bourbon, knowing full well those four boys were about to discover what being young men in Texas really meant. And everybody had a morning drink, the Texas way.Chapter 2: Wrong Turn

"Holy shit, Billy Jr.!" Billy Renzo's eyes went wide as Billy Jr. lifted the cooler seat and revealed a full case of Lone Star nestled underneath. "Your great-great-granddad is a legend."

"Pops said every man needs provisions for the wilderness," Billy Jr. grinned, popping open four cans. "But if any of y'all tell your parents..."

"Are you kidding? My mom would ground me until I'm thirty," Daniel Rodriguez laughed, taking a long swig. "Speaking of moms, did you see Mrs. Mattern crying when we left? Thought she was gonna chain Ryan to the porch."

Ryan Mattern nearly choked on his beer. "Shut up, man. Your mom was worse. 'Mijo, be careful, mijo, call us every hour.'" He mimicked Mrs. Rodriguez's accent perfectly.

"At least your parents trust you with a rifle," Billy Renzo complained. "My dad still makes me prove I know which end the bullets come out of every single time."

They'd set up camp in a perfect clearing, deep enough in the Nelson forest to feel like real wilderness. The fire crackled between them as they passed around stories and complaints about teachers, parents, and the eternal struggle of being almost-adults trapped in high school.

"Coach Henderson is still pissed about the state playoffs," Ryan said. "Keeps saying if I hadn't fumbled that pass in the fourth quarter..."

"Dude, that was like two months ago," Daniel shook his head. "Let it go."

"Tell that to Coach. He's got me running extra laps until graduation."

Billy Jr. stretched out by the fire, feeling the easy rhythm of friendship that came from years of sleepovers and shared adventures. "My grandpa Josh keeps asking when I'm gonna get serious about ranch work. Like, I'm fifteen, Pop. Give me a minute to figure out algebra first."

"Mrs. Patterson's algebra is impossible anyway," Billy Renzo groaned. "I swear she makes up problems just to watch us suffer."

"You think that's bad? Try AP History with Mr. Garrison. Dude assigns like fifty pages of reading every night. When am I supposed to have a life?"

They talked until the fire burned down to embers—about Anna Nelson and how Billy Jr. was planning to ask her to prom, about Ryan's truck that kept breaking down, about Daniel's little sister who kept trying to follow them around, about whether they'd all end up at Texas A&M or if Billy Renzo would really try for UT like he kept threatening.

Normal stuff. High school stuff. The kind of easy conversation that happens when you've been friends since elementary school and still think the biggest problems in life involve homework and curfews and whether your parents will let you borrow the good truck on Friday night.

By the time they settled into their tent, the beer cans buried in the fire pit and their stories exhausted, they felt like kings of the world. Four boys with hunting licenses and off-road permits, trusted with a weekend of independence in the deep woods.

"Tomorrow we're gonna bag the biggest buck Kings County's ever seen," Billy Renzo announced, already half-asleep in his sleeping bag.

"You couldn't hit a barn from the inside," Daniel Rodriguez shot back, earning muffled laughter from Ryan Mattern.

Billy Jr. lay quiet, listening to his friends' familiar banter. The weight of the radio clipped to his belt felt reassuring. Even out here, miles from home, he was still connected to the network Pops and the others had built. Still part of something bigger.

The attack came at 3 AM.

Billy Jr. woke to rough hands yanking him from his sleeping bag, a flashlight beam blinding him. Voices—men's voices, unfamiliar and harsh with excitement.

"Well, well. Look what we got here."

"Four little rich boys playing camping."

In the chaos of being dragged from the tent, Billy Jr.'s hand found his radio. His fingers hit the emergency button just as boots kicked him in the ribs.

"911 Emergency. 911 Emergency."

The mechanical voice cut through the night air, and everything stopped.

"What the hell was that?" The largest of the three men spun around, wild-eyed.

"Shut it off! Shut it off now!"

Billy Jr. tried to roll away, but a boot caught him in the shoulder. Someone ripped the radio from his belt and smashed it against a tree. The other boys' cell phones followed—Daniel's iPhone, Ryan's Samsung, Billy Renzo's cracked Android—all destroyed in seconds of frantic stomping.

"Goddamn kids got some kind of tracking device," the thin one muttered, rifling through Billy Jr.'s pack until he found the boy's cell phone. "This one's still good. We can use this."

The next few minutes blurred together—rough rope cutting into wrists, duct tape slapped over mouths, the boys dragged and shoved into the back of a rusty pickup truck. Billy Jr. tried to struggle, but his hands were bound behind his back, arms pinned so tight he couldn't move anything but his fingers.

As the truck bounced down an old logging road, Billy Jr. caught glimpses of his friends in the darkness—all of them tied up, all of them gagged, eyes wide with the kind of fear they'd never felt before.

One of the kidnappers was already scrolling through his phone.

"Benson Ranch," the man read aloud, squinting at the contact list. "Well ain't that convenient. Daddy's right there in the favorites."

Billy Jr. closed his eyes and tried to remember everything Pops had taught him about staying calm under pressure. But this wasn't a tornado or a cattle emergency or any of the disasters they'd prepared for.

This was something else entirely.

The truck hit another pothole, and Billy Jr.'s head bounced against the tailgate. Somewhere in the darkness ahead, he could hear one of the men talking about money. About how much four rich ranch boys might be worth.

About how easy this was going to be.Chapter 3: All Hands

The mechanical voice cut through the pre-dawn darkness like a blade.

"911 BILLY Jr. 911 BILLY Jr. 911 BILLY Jr."

At the Benson Ranch, Tom bolted upright in bed, Sarah already reaching for the lamp. The voice repeated the sequence once more before the radio fell silent, leaving only the sound of their racing hearts and the distant rumble of engines starting up across the valley.

"Billy Jr.," Sarah whispered, her face white in the lamplight. "Something's happened to Billy Jr."

Tom was already pulling on jeans, his mind racing through possibilities. Tornado? Accident? The emergency alert system was Pops' design—it only activated for real trouble. And it had specifically identified his son's unit.

By the time Tom made it to the kitchen, headlights were cutting through the darkness outside. Sheriff Wade Nelson's patrol car led the convoy, followed by Robert Beaumont's truck and then the rest of the Nelson clan. The Beaumont family wasn't far behind.

Pops emerged from his room fully dressed, as if he'd been expecting this. In his hand was the master radio unit, still crackling with static.

"Nothing since the alert," he said grimly. "Whatever happened, it happened fast. Billy Jr.'s unit activated at 0200 hours."

Sheriff Wade burst through the front door without knocking, his uniform hastily thrown over pajamas. "Status report. What do we know?"

"Boys hit their emergency button at 0200 hours," Pops replied, falling back into military speak. "Billy Jr.'s radio specifically. No communication since."

Mary Nelson appeared behind her husband, Rebecca close on her heels. The young mother looked stricken. "Where are they? What's happened to Billy Jr.?"

"We don't know yet," Tom said, trying to keep his voice steady. But his hands shook as he picked up his cell phone. "I need to call the other parents."

The next twenty minutes were the longest of Tom's life. Three phone calls, three families jolted from sleep with news no parent ever wants to hear. Your son might be in trouble. We don't know what kind. Get here now.

The Mattern family arrived first—parents and two younger siblings piling out of their sedan, still in pajamas and robes. Mrs. Mattern was crying before she reached the porch.

The Rodriguez family pulled in minutes later, followed by the Renzos. Nine adults and half a dozen younger kids, all crowded into the Benson kitchen at 2:30 in the morning, everyone talking at once.

"Have you called the police?"

"We are the police," Sheriff Wade snapped, then caught himself. "Sorry. We're treating this as a missing persons case until we know more."

"Shouldn't we call the FBI?" Mrs. Rodriguez asked. "If something's happened to four boys..."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Robert Beaumont said quietly. He'd been through enough corporate crises to recognize panic when he saw it. "What do we actually know?"

Pops set the master radio on the kitchen table. "Boys activated emergency protocol at exactly 0200. Billy Jr.'s unit. Radio went dead immediately after. That tells us they were in immediate danger and couldn't maintain communication."

The room fell silent except for the quiet sobbing of some of the mothers.

"We need to start searching," Billy said, appearing in the doorway with Jake and Celeb behind him. All three young men were fully dressed and armed. "They were heading for the Nelson forest land. We can start there."

"I have the three drones of the consortium used for cattle up in the air with the heat sensors flying over the Nelson back woods," Jake added, holding up a tablet. "If they're out there, we'll find them."

Sheriff Wade nodded. "Good. Billy, take your brothers and the Beaumont boy. Start with a grid search from where they were supposed to make camp. I'll coordinate with my deputies."

"What about the state police?" Mr. Renzo asked. "Shouldn't we—"

"Not yet," Pops interrupted, his voice carrying the authority of a man who'd seen real combat. "We handle this ourselves until we know what we're dealing with. Too many outsiders could spook whoever's got our boys."

The families split into action—some heading out with the search teams, others staying behind to man the phones and radios. Rebecca and the other mothers, along with Anna Nelson and Edna Nelson, took charge of the nine younger boys and girls, ages 5 to 12, gathering them in the living room and trying to keep them calm while the adults worked. Sarah and Mary Nelson coordinated the communication center, their voices steady despite their fear.

At 3:15 AM, Tom's cell phone rang.

Unknown number.

The kitchen went dead silent as Tom stared at the screen. Sheriff Wade motioned for him to answer, already signaling for someone to start recording.

Tom's hand trembled as he swiped to accept the call.

"Hello?"

"You Tom Benson?" The voice was rough, unfamiliar, with an edge that made Tom's blood run cold.

"Yes."

"Well, Tom, seems like you got yourself a problem. Got something that belongs to you. Four something's, actually."

The kitchen erupted in gasps and muffled sobs. Sheriff Wade was already on his radio, trying to get a trace started.

"Let me talk to my son," Tom said, surprised by the steadiness in his own voice.

"Boys are fine. For now. But that's gonna depend on you, Tom. You listening real good?"

"I'm listening."

"One hundred thousand. Cash. Each boy. You got twenty-four hours."

The line went dead.

Tom stared at his phone as it buzzed with an incoming text. Four photos. His hands shook as he opened the first one.

Billy Jr., hands tied behind his back, ankles bound and hogtied to his wrists, duct tape across his mouth. His eyes were wide but defiant.

The second photo showed Billy Renzo in the same position. Then Ryan Mattern. Then Daniel Rodriguez. All four boys trussed up like animals, helpless but alive.

Tom held up the phone so everyone could see. The effect was immediate and devastating.

Jake's fist went through the kitchen wall with a sound like thunder. "Those fucking bastards!"

The younger boys in the room started crying, while the 12-year-olds pushed forward. "We can shoot too!" young Tommy Mattern shouted. "Let us come! We want to help get Billy Jr. back!"

"No way in hell," Sheriff Wade barked at the angry 12-year-olds who were reaching toward the gun safe. "Y'all stay put and help your mothers. That's an order."

"But Sheriff Wade, we can handle rifles!" protested little Carlos Rodriguez. "We've been hunting since we were eight!"

"I said NO!" Wade's voice cut through their protests.

Celeb was already moving toward the gun safe, pulling out sidearms and checking magazines while the frustrated 12-year-olds glared at the sheriff.

"Goddamn motherfucking pieces of shit!" Pops roared, his face purple with rage. "I'll skin those cocksuckers alive!"

"Wade," Tom said, his voice deadly quiet. "Fuck your badge. We're taking charge."

Sheriff Wade looked around the room—at the armed young men, at the parents pushed beyond reason, at Pops who looked ready to declare war. He unbuttoned his uniform shirt.

Ray Benson, the family's finance manager, had taken charge of coordination. "I've got teams covering sectors A through D. Billy and Jake's group found something twenty minutes ago."

The radio crackled to life. "Command, this is Team Alpha. We found the quad. Half mile from the original campsite. Signs of a struggle."

"Copy that. What else?"

"Another vehicle was here. Truck by the tire tracks. And Command... there's an old hunting cabin about two clicks north. Chimney's still warm."

Every man in the room was already reaching for weapons.

"Mount up," Pops growled. "Time to bring our boys home."

The convoy that left the Benson Ranch wasn't a search party anymore. It was an army.

Chapter 4: Turning Tables

4:00 AM came with the sound of snoring.

Billy Jr. had been working on his bonds for the better part of an hour, using every trick he and his friends had learned during countless sleepovers playing capture and escape games. The kidnappers had done a thorough job with the rope, but they'd made one critical mistake—they'd underestimated four ranch boys who'd been tying and untying knots since they could walk.

The thin kidnapper was passed out in a chair by the cold fireplace, an empty whiskey bottle at his feet. The big one was snoring on a ratty couch, his rifle propped carelessly against the wall. The third man had wandered outside to take a piss twenty minutes ago and hadn't come back.

Billy Jr. caught Ryan Mattern's eye and nodded toward his hands. Ryan had worked one wrist free and was carefully loosening the rope around his ankles. Daniel Rodriguez was already sitting up, duct tape hanging loose around his neck, working on Billy Renzo's bonds.

They'd done this dance a hundred times in Jake and Billy's room, in the barn, during camping trips. The difference was, this time it wasn't a game.

Billy Jr. slipped his hands free and immediately went for Daniel, who was still struggling with the rope around his ankles. Within minutes, all four boys were loose, crouched behind an overturned table in the corner of the decrepit hunting cabin.

"Weapons first," Billy Jr. whispered, pointing toward the rifles leaning against the far wall.

Ryan Mattern, the lightest and quietest, crept across the room like he was stalking deer. He grabbed two rifles and passed them back, then went for the handgun tucked in the sleeping man's waistband.

The big kidnapper stirred on the couch.

Ryan froze, gun halfway out of the holster.

The man mumbled something and rolled over.

Ryan slipped the pistol free and made it back to the group, grinning despite everything.

"Now what?" Daniel whispered.

"Now we show these assholes what happens when you mess with Kings County boys," Billy Jr. said quietly.

The assault was swift and coordinated. Billy Renzo and Daniel took the sleeping man on the couch, using rope to bind his hands before he was fully awake. Ryan and Billy Jr. handled the thin kidnapper by the fireplace, who came to with Billy Jr.'s rifle barrel pressed against his forehead.

"Move and you die," Billy Jr. said with the kind of cold calm that would have made Pops proud.

The third kidnapper chose that moment to stumble back through the cabin door, zipping up his pants and cursing the cold. He stopped dead when he saw four teenagers pointing weapons at him.

"What the—"

"Shut up," Daniel Rodriguez said, chambering a round. "Get on your knees. Now."

Twenty minutes later, all three kidnappers were trussed up tighter than Christmas turkeys, bound hand and foot with their own rope, duct tape across their mouths. The boys had even hogtied them the same way they'd been tied—a little payback seemed appropriate.

Billy Jr. found his phone in the thin kidnapper's jacket pocket and hit his dad's number.

The phone barely rang once.

"Billy Jr.? Jesus Christ, son, are you—"

"We're fine, Dad. All of us. We got 'em."

Silence on the other end.

"You got them?"

"All three. Tied up like hogs. We're at some old hunting cabin about two miles north of where we were camping. I'm sending you the GPS coordinates now."

Billy Jr. worked his phone, sending the location pin.

"Son," Tom's voice was shaky with relief and something that might have been pride, "are you telling me you boys—"

"Hold on, Dad. Let me put this on speaker. Everyone needs to hear this."

"Wait, Billy Jr. Let me conference in the other families. They're all in separate trucks."

Tom's voice came back a minute later. "Okay, son. I've got the Renzos, Matterns, and Rodriguez families all on the line. You're talking to everybody now."

The phone erupted with voices before any parent could say a word.

"We kicked their asses!" Billy Renzo shouted into the phone. "You should have seen Billy Jr. put that rifle right up against the skinny one's head!"

"And I got the gun right out of the big guy's pants while he was sleeping!" Ryan Mattern added, laughing. "Dude never even knew what hit him!"

"We used all those rope tricks from the frat house!" Daniel Rodriguez chimed in. "These idiots had no idea we knew how to escape!"

"Boys, boys—are you hurt?" Mrs. Rodriguez's worried voice came through from her truck. "Did they hurt you? Are you bleeding? Do you need—"

"Mom, we're fine!" Daniel interrupted, sounding annoyed. "We're warriors! We handled the situation like professionals!"

"Ryan, baby, are you okay?" Mrs. Mattern's voice was shaking. "We were so scared, we thought—"

"Ma, we're not babies anymore!" Ryan cut her off. "We neutralized the threat and secured the area. We're good to go!"

"Billy Renzo, your father wants to know—" Mrs. Renzo started.

"Tell Dad we completed the mission!" Billy Renzo announced in his toughest voice. "No casualties, all objectives achieved!"

"Daniel, mijo, I need to know if you're really okay—" Mrs. Rodriguez tried again.

"Mom, quit worrying! We're Marines now!" Daniel declared. "These losers never had a chance against Kings County boys!"

"BOYS!" Sheriff Wade's voice boomed through the conference call. "Are you hurt? Any injuries at all?"

"Negative, Sheriff!" Billy Jr. responded in military style. "All personnel accounted for and operational. Enemy combatants secured!"

"Billy Jr., son, your mother is crying here—" Tom's voice was strained.

"Tell Mom we're heroes, Dad! Mission accomplished! No prisoners taken, except these three idiots are our prisoners now!"

The sound of clinking beer cans and triumphant laughter filled the phone line.

"I learned from Pops!" Billy Jr. announced proudly. "All that military stuff paid off! We're like a special ops unit!"

Tom finally managed to break through the celebration. "You boys drink your beer. We'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Roger that, Command!" Billy Jr. replied. "We'll maintain security until you arrive!"

"Bring cameras!" Billy Renzo shouted. "We want pictures with these idiots all tied up!"

"And more beer!" Ryan added. "Marines deserve to celebrate!"

The line went quiet for a moment, then erupted in relieved laughter from all the trucks.

Billy Jr. hung up and looked around at his friends, all of whom were grinning like they'd just won the state championship and the lottery on the same day.

"Well," he said, raising his Lone Star, "guess we really are men now. Marines, even."

Outside, three convoys of armed ranchers were racing through the pre-dawn darkness, expecting to find a hostage situation.

Instead, they were about to discover the proudest four teenagers in Kings County, celebrating the greatest victory of their young lives with cold beer and the kind of swagger that comes from knowing you've just outmaneuvered three grown men who thought you were easy prey.

The hunt was over. And the boys had won.

Chapter 5: Heroes' Dawn

The four exhausted heroes collapsed in the frat house still wearing their muddy clothes from the rescue, grinning in their sleep. Downstairs, three families had essentially moved into the Benson house. Parents sprawled across couches and chairs, some still in their tactical gear from the middle-of-the-night rescue mission. The Matterns had claimed the guest room, the Rodriguez family had taken the den, and the Renzos were scattered between the kitchen and living room.

Sheriff Wade was passed out in his patrol car in the driveway, his uniform shirt still unbuttoned from when he'd chosen family over badge.

Around 3 AM, Pops had gathered up all nine younger kids—ages 5 to 12—who were getting restless in the crowded house. "Come on, you little rascals," he'd said. "Let's go sleep in the barn and let everyone rest."

The kids followed him out to the barn, where Pops made beds for them in the sweet-smelling hay. They'd curled up in blankets while Pops settled in nearby, keeping watch over his youngest charges.

At first light, the ranch rooster let out his usual crow from right outside the barn.

"Shut the hell up, you goddamn feathered bastard!" Pops growled from his spot in the hay.

All nine kids erupted in giggles, their sleepy faces lighting up at hearing Pops curse at the rooster.

"Do it again, Pops!" little Tommy Mattern whispered.

"Yeah, tell him off!" Carlos Rodriguez added through his laughter.

"Fuck yourself, bird," Pops muttered, which sent the kids into fresh fits of giggles as they settled back down to sleep.

It wasn't until noon that the smell of bacon finally roused the house. Somehow, despite having maybe three hours of sleep total, Rebecca, Sarah, Mary Nelson, and the other mothers had managed to coordinate the biggest breakfast spread Kings County had ever seen. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, biscuits, and enough coffee to wake the dead.

"How in the world could these ladies make a breakfast?" Billy muttered, stumbling into the kitchen with Jake and Celeb behind him.

"Well, they did," Sarah said, flipping another batch of pancakes with the kind of efficiency that only comes from feeding ranch families for decades.

The four heroes finally made their appearance around 12:30, showered and clean but still high as kites about their experience. Billy Jr. walked different—shoulders back, head up, with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you've been tested and didn't break.

"Gentlemen," Pops announced, standing up with his coffee cup raised after herding the nine kids back from the barn, "I present to you four men. Not boys. Men."

Tom, Josh, and the other fathers nodded solemnly. "They earned it," Tom said quietly. "Every bit of it."

The kids—all the younger ones who'd spent the night giggling at Pops' cursing—went absolutely crazy. The 12-year-olds who'd wanted to grab rifles were suddenly looking at Billy Jr. and his friends like they were war heroes.

"Can we hear the story again?" little Carlos Rodriguez asked for probably the tenth time.

"How'd you get the gun out of his pants?" Tommy Mattern wanted to know.

Billy Jr. and his crew were more than happy to oblige, acting out the whole escape with increasingly dramatic flourishes.

"You know what?" Jake said, grinning at the celebration. "These men need to finish what they started. Hunt's still on. Three o'clock."

"Hell yes!" Billy Jr. whooped. "We came to get buck, and we're getting buck!"

By 3 PM, the four newly minted men were loaded back into the mule quad—this time with Jake, Billy, and Celeb following in their own vehicles, not as babysitters but as hunting partners. Equals.

The ladies spent the afternoon setting up what would go down in Kings County history as the biggest BBQ celebration ever. Grills, tables, decorations, enough food to feed both counties, and beer. Lots of beer.

At 6 PM, the hunting party returned in triumph.

Billy Jr. stepped out of the quad first, dragging behind him a beautiful 8-point buck. Ryan Mattern had his own 8-pointer. So did Daniel Rodriguez. So did Billy Renzo. Four perfect shots, four perfect kills, four young men who'd proven themselves in every way that mattered.

Josh looked at his son—really looked at him—and saw not the boy who'd left yesterday morning, but the man who'd come home. Tom felt the same pride swelling in his chest that his father must have felt watching him grow up.

Jake and Billy couldn't stop grinning. Their little brother Billy Jr. wasn't so little anymore.

"Well," Pops said, surveying the four bucks and the four young men who'd brought them home, "I'd say that calls for a drink."

"Dad," Rebecca said, laughing despite herself, "you say that about everything."

"Damn right I do," Pops replied, already heading for the bourbon. "But this time, these boys drink with us. As men."

The celebration lasted until well past midnight, with four 8-point bucks hanging proud in the barn and four new men holding court in the frat house, telling their story to anyone who'd listen.

It had been, by any measure, the perfect hunting trip.