Chapter 1: The Perfect Spot
Billy Benson downshifted the jeep as they bounced along the rutted dirt road, dust clouds billowing behind them. The Texas sun beat down mercilessly through the open windows, and sweat already soaked through both boys' shirts.
"There," Riley Johnson pointed ahead to a natural clearing near a creek bed. "Pull over by those trees."
Billy cut the engine and they both sat for a moment, surveying the spot. Flat ground, good cover, close to water - perfect for their two-day hunting trip.
"Now this is what I'm talking about," Billy grinned, pulling off his baseball cap to wipe his brow. His hunting license, clipped to the back where game wardens could see it, caught the afternoon light.
"Not bad, Benson. For once you didn't pick a terrible spot." Riley jumped out and immediately headed for the tailgate. "Come on, let's get this gear unloaded before we melt."
They worked in the sweltering heat, hauling out the tent, sleeping bags, cooler, and their hunting rifles. After ten minutes of wrestling with gear, both boys were drenched in sweat.
"Screw this," Billy muttered, peeling off his soaked t-shirt and tossing it over the jeep's tailgate.
Riley followed suit, pulling his shirt over his head. "That's better. Should've done that ten minutes ago."
Shirtless now, they continued setting up camp. Billy grabbed the tent poles while Riley wrestled with the folded nylon, both of them finally able to catch what little breeze there was.
"Dibs on the buck with the most points tomorrow," Billy called out, shaking tent stakes from a bag. "I'm telling you, there's a twelve-pointer out here with my name on it."
"In your dreams," Riley laughed, stretching out the tent fabric. "That trophy's coming home with me. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if it was painted red."
"Just for that, you're hauling water from the creek," Billy shot back, hammering in the first stake.
The good-natured ribbing continued as they set up camp, both boys looking forward to cold beer and planning their morning hunt strategy. Tomorrow would be the first day of hunting season on state land, and they intended to make it count.
Chapter 2: The Ambush
The tent was finally taking shape when Billy heard the crunch of tires on gravel. He looked up, shading his eyes against the sun.
"Expecting company?" Riley asked, following his gaze to the dusty pickup truck pulling into their clearing.
Four men climbed out, all wearing camouflage and baseball caps. The oldest, a bearded man with cold eyes, stepped forward while the others flanked out behind him.
"Well, well," the leader drawled, taking in the sight of the two shirtless boys. "What do we have here?"
Billy straightened up, suddenly aware of their vulnerability. "Hey there. We're just camping for the night. Heading out hunting tomorrow morning."
"Is that right?" The man's voice carried a dangerous edge. "Looks more like you boys are playing house to me."
"What?" Riley's face flushed. "No, man, we're just friends. Hunting buddies."
The four men exchanged knowing looks. "Sure you are," one of the younger ones sneered. "Two pretty boys, all alone in the woods, taking their shirts off together."
"Look, if this is your spot, we'll move," Billy said quickly, raising his hands. "No problem. We didn't know—"
"Too late for that," the leader cut him off. "The Lord sees all, boys. And He don't take kindly to abominations." He nodded to his companions. "Tape 'em up."
Before either boy could react, rough hands grabbed them. Duct tape was slapped over their mouths, then wrapped around their heads. More tape was pressed over their eyes, plunging them into darkness. Their arms were yanked behind them and bound with rope at the wrists, elbows, and shoulders—each level tighter than the last, designed to hurt.
"Romans 1:27," the leader quoted as they worked. "Men abandoning natural relations with women and burning with lust for one another. You know what comes next, boys?"
Billy tried to scream through the tape as a rope was looped around his neck. Riley writhed in agony from the binding cutting into his arms.
"God's wrath," the man continued, checking Billy's baseball cap. His eyebrows raised as he read the hunting license. "Well, I'll be damned. Billy Benson." He looked at his men with a slow smile. "Boys, I think the Lord just blessed us with more than justice today."
They dragged both captives toward their truck. One of the men grabbed the discarded t-shirts from the jeep's tailgate and threw them carelessly on the ground before climbing in.
The campsite was left in shambles—tent half-erected, gear scattered, shirts lying in the dust where searchers would eventually find them.
Chapter 3: The Call
At ten o'clock sharp, Mrs. Johnson tried the radio in Riley's jeep. Static filled the kitchen as she called his call sign twice, then waited. Nothing.
"Maybe they're already asleep," she told her husband, but worry crept into her voice. "Riley always answers the radio check."
Mr. Johnson frowned and reached for the phone. "Let me call Jim Benson. See if Billy's responding."
The conversation was brief. Jim Benson's voice was relaxed, almost amused. "You know how those boys are when they get together, Sarah. Probably cracked open the beer cooler and are planning tomorrow's hunt strategy. They'll be fine."
Both fathers agreed - the boys were best friends, responsible hunters, and likely just enjoying themselves around a campfire.
Fifteen minutes later, both households received the same horrific images on their phones.
The pictures showed Billy and Riley strung up by their ankles, their chests brutally marked with fresh lash wounds, blood from the cuts across their chests and guts flooding down onto their jeans. The accompanying message was typed in all caps:
"LEVITICUS 20:13 - IF A MAN LIES WITH A MALE AS WITH A WOMAN, BOTH OF THEM HAVE COMMITTED AN ABOMINATION. YOUR SONS NEED CORRECTING IN THE EYES OF THE LORD. $500K CASH EACH FAMILY OR THEY MEET GOD'S FINAL JUDGMENT. INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW."
Mrs. Johnson's scream brought her husband running. At the Benson house, Jim Benson's face went white as stone.
By eleven PM, both families had converged at the Benson ranch house. Rebecca, the oldest Benson boy's wife, was already there with their 8-month-old son when her parents arrived. The moment she saw her father walk through the door, she broke down completely, jumping into his arms and crying uncontrollably.
"Daddy, they're going to kill Riley," she sobbed against his chest while her husband stood nearby, bouncing their baby son and looking helpless.
Sarah Johnson and her mother Ellen tried to console Rebecca, but the horror of those photographs had shaken everyone. The four Benson brothers, the three Johnson brothers, and all their wives filled the kitchen and living room. The sheriff was twenty minutes out, his deputies already mobilizing.
The photographs lay printed on Jim Benson's kitchen table, too horrific to look at but impossible to ignore.
Chapter 4: The Search Begins
Sheriff Tom Bradley pushed through the front door at 11:20, his hat in his hands and his face grim. Two deputies flanked him—Deputy Jake Martinez and Deputy Cole Watson, both men who'd grown up with the oldest Benson and Johnson brothers.
"Jim, Sarah," he nodded to the parents. "We've got roadblocks going up now, but we need to talk options."
"Call in the FBI," Luke Johnson said immediately. "State police. Get helicopters out there."
"No." Jim Benson's voice was flat. "You saw that message. These are religious fanatics. They'll kill the boys the second they see a chopper."
"Jim's right," the sheriff agreed. "We keep this local for now. These boys know every inch of this county, and so do we."
The room fell into heated discussion—search grids, manpower, timing. The four Benson brothers—Matt (married to Rebecca), Billy, Chase, and Tyler—huddled with the three Johnson brothers—Luke, Tommy, and Riley. Then Tommy Johnson suddenly straightened.
"Wait," he said. "Riley keeps his phone in his boot. Always. Deep down in that high-top, in case he drops his rifle in water or something."
The room went dead silent.
"You think they missed it?" Sheriff Bradley asked.
"It's worth a shot," Tommy said. "Riley's paranoid about losing contact."
Within minutes, laptops appeared on the kitchen table. Deputy Martinez cracked his knuckles. "I did two years in cyber crimes before coming back home. Let me see what I can find."
Matt Benson pulled up a chair beside him, both men bent over the screen as Martinez's fingers flew over the keyboard.
Fifteen miles away, Billy and Riley lay on their sides in the dirt, finally cut down from the ropes. Their ankles remained bound, their arms still tied behind them, duct tape still sealed over their mouths. The horsewhip cuts across their chests had stopped bleeding, but every breath was agony.
They could only stare at each other through the darkness, both wondering if they'd live to see morning.
Chapter 5: The Hunt
"Got it!" Deputy Martinez suddenly shouted, his face lit by the laptop screen. "Riley's phone is pinging. Weak signal, but it's there."
The kitchen erupted. Sheriff Bradley leaned over Martinez's shoulder, studying the map coordinates. "That's about fifteen miles northeast. Near the old Hartwell property."
"I know that area," Matt Benson said grimly. "Thick woods, lots of ravines. Perfect place to hide."
"We move at first light," Bradley decided. "Give us time to get positioned without stumbling around in the dark."
The next hour was controlled chaos. Gun safes were opened, rifles and shotguns distributed among the brothers. Radios crackled as they tested frequencies. Sheriff Bradley spread a topographical map across the table, dividing the search area into grids.
"Luke, you take the eastern approach with Watson. Matt, Chase, you're with me on the north ridge. Tommy, Tyler, you coordinate with Martinez from the south."
As dawn broke gray and cold over the Texas hills, two columns of vehicles rolled out from the Benson ranch, radios crackling with position reports.
Fifteen miles away, rough hands dragged Billy and Riley from the abandoned barn where they'd spent the night. The morning air bit at their torn, bloodied chests as they were forced to their knees in the dirt.
The bearded leader stood before them, a hunting rifle cradled in his arms. "Boys, the Lord has spoken through the night. Your families' money will provide for His work, but first you must face His judgment."
Billy and Riley looked at each other with terrified eyes, the horror of their situation clear in the morning light. Their mouths remained sealed with tape, arms still bound behind them.
"Leviticus 24:20," the man continued. "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth. You've lived as animals, now you'll die as animals." He smiled coldly. "The Lord has blessed us with His own hunting season. You boys get a ten-minute head start. Use it wisely."
Their ankle bindings were cut, but their arms remained tied behind them, mouths still sealed with tape. The leader checked his watch.
"Your time starts now."
Chapter 6: The Grid
Billy and Riley stumbled forward into the thick woods, their bound arms throwing off their balance with every step. Behind them, the leader's voice echoed through the trees: "Split up. Jake, Randall—take the creek bed south. Me and Earl will circle north. They can't get far."
The boys crashed through underbrush, branches tearing at their already wounded chests. With their mouths taped shut, each breath was a struggle through their noses as panic set in.
Three miles away, Deputy Watson's voice crackled over the radio: "Sheriff, we found it. The campsite's here—tent half up, gear scattered everywhere."
Sheriff Bradley's truck pulled into the clearing moments later, followed by Matt and Chase Benson. The scene told the story: shirts lying in the dust, camping equipment strewn about, Billy's jeep sitting abandoned with the keys still in the ignition.
"Tire tracks," Chase pointed to deep ruts in the dirt. "Big pickup, probably a Ford. Headed northeast."
Bradley coordinated over the radio: "All units, we've got a trail. Tommy, Martinez—sweep the ravines two clicks east of your position. Luke, Watson—work the ridge line. They're on foot now."
The grid search moved methodically through the hills. Twenty minutes later, Luke Johnson's voice exploded over the radio: "Got two of them! Creek bed, quarter mile south of the old Hartwell barn!"
Jake and Randall had been moving carelessly through the shallow water when Luke and Deputy Watson flanked them from both sides. Caught off guard and outnumbered, both men surrendered without a fight.
"Where are the boys?" Luke demanded, his rifle trained on the younger redneck's chest.
"I ain't telling you nothing," Jake spat.
Watson stepped forward, his badge glinting. "Son, you're already looking at kidnapping and assault. Don't make this worse."
Randall's nerve broke first. "They're hunting them! Earl and Marcus went north toward Miller's Ridge. The boys got a ten-minute head start, but that was maybe twenty minutes ago!"
Sheriff Bradley's voice cut through the radio static: "All units converge on Miller's Ridge. Move fast but stay quiet—we don't know if they can hear us coming."
Chapter 7: The End of the Hunt
Billy stumbled first, his legs finally giving out from exhaustion and blood loss. Riley made it another ten yards before collapsing beside a fallen log, both boys gasping for air through their taped mouths.
They could hear boots crashing through the underbrush, getting closer.
Earl and Marcus emerged from the trees, rifles raised, breathing hard from the chase. Earl's face was flushed with excitement as he pointed his barrel at Billy's head.
"Well, well. End of the line, boys." Marcus positioned himself over Riley, pressing the muzzle against his temple. "Lord Jesus, we thank you for delivering these sinners into our hands. May their deaths serve as—"
The first shot cracked through the morning air. Earl's head snapped back in a spray of blood before he hit the ground. Marcus spun toward the sound just as Deputy Watson's second shot dropped him beside his partner.
"This is Watson!" the deputy shouted into his radio, already moving toward the boys. "Miller's Ridge, quarter mile north of the creek! I've got them! Two tangos down, victims alive!"
He knelt beside Billy first, carefully peeling away the duct tape. Billy's terrified sobs filled the air as Watson moved to Riley, freeing his mouth as well.
"You're okay, you're safe now," Watson kept repeating as both boys shook uncontrollably.
Within minutes, the woods filled with voices. Sheriff Bradley, Matt and Chase Benson, Luke and Tommy Johnson all converged on the scene. The moment Matt saw his little brother, he dropped to his knees and pulled Billy into his arms, careful of his wounded chest.
"It's over, Billy. You're safe now," he whispered, his own voice breaking.
Luke did the same with Riley, while Tommy pulled out his knife to cut through the ropes binding their arms. Chase gently helped support Billy as circulation returned to his hands.
"Easy, little brother. We've got you," Chase said softly, rubbing Billy's shoulders as he winced from the pain.
Deputy Martinez arrived with Jake and Randall in zip-tie restraints, pushing them into the back of his patrol car. Through the rear window, both captives stared in horror at their dead accomplices, Earl's and Marcus's faces blown apart by Watson's precise shots.
"Get a medical chopper to that campsite," Bradley barked into his radio. "Two victims, multiple lacerations, severe trauma. We'll have them there in ten minutes."
Sheriff Bradley pulled out his phone. "Sarah? Jim? We got them. Both boys are alive. They're hurt, but they're alive. Chopper's coming."
The relief in his voice carried through the trees as Matt and Luke helped their brothers to their feet, supporting them as they began the walk back to safety.
The nightmare was finally over.
Epilogue: The Invitation
A month later, Sheriff Bradley's voice was warm over the phone as he called both the Johnson and Benson households. The boys had been recovering well—the physical wounds healing faster than the nightmares, but both Billy and Riley were finally sleeping through most nights.
"Jim, I was wondering if we could all get together at your place this Sunday. Nothing fancy—just burgers, beer, you know. Maybe around three o'clock?"
The same call went to the Johnsons, and by Sunday afternoon, the familiar crowd had gathered on the Benson ranch. Matt was flipping burgers on the grill while the brothers cracked open cold beers. Billy and Riley looked almost like their old selves, the angry red marks across their chests now fading to pink scars.
At four o'clock, when everyone had settled into lawn chairs with their plates, Sheriff Bradley stood up and cleared his throat. His wife Linda stood beside him, a knowing smile on her face.
"Well, you all know Linda and I have that spread about four miles north of here—the old cabin, couple thousand acres of good hunting land."
The group nodded. Everyone knew the Bradley property.
"Linda here had an idea," the sheriff continued, his arm around his wife's shoulders. "These boys never did get their hunting trip."
Billy and Riley looked up from their burgers, sudden interest in their eyes.
Linda stepped forward. "So Tom and I want to invite all of you—the whole family, Jake and Cole too—for a long weekend at the cabin. Give Billy and Riley the hunt they were supposed to have."
The reaction was immediate. Both families erupted in surprised laughter and enthusiastic agreement.
"Hell yes!" Deputy Martinez jumped up from his chair. "I've been wanting to get out to that land for years!"
"Count me in," Deputy Watson grinned, raising his beer bottle. "Someone's got to keep you boys honest about the size of your kills."
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Chase Benson laughed, clapping Billy on the back. "That twelve-pointer's still out there waiting for you, little brother."
"Bullshit," Tommy Johnson shot back. "Riley's bringing that trophy home. You couldn't track a wounded elephant."
"Oh, it's on now!" Tyler Benson stood up, pointing at Tommy. "Benson boys are taking home every decent buck on that property."
"Like hell you are," Luke Johnson fired back. "We'll see who comes back empty-handed."
Jim Benson and Mr. Johnson sat back in their chairs, grinning as the chaos escalated around them. Sheriff Bradley shook his head, chuckling as the arguments got louder.
"That's going to be one fuckin' crazy weekend," Mr. Johnson said, raising his bottle.
Jim Benson clinked his beer against it, and Sheriff Bradley joined them with his own bottle. "Cheers to that."
As the families began planning who would bring what and debating hunting strategies, Billy and Riley exchanged a look—the first genuine smiles anyone had seen from them in weeks spreading across their faces.
Some things, it seemed, never changed.
Epilogue: The Cabin
Friday Night
The convoy of pickup trucks arrived at the Bradley cabin just as the sun was setting, and the smell hit them before they'd even cut the engines—the biggest feast anyone had ever imagined. Linda Bradley, Sarah Johnson, and all the wives had been cooking since dawn.
"Jesus Christ," Luke Johnson whistled, surveying the spread laid out on picnic tables. "Did you girls cook for an army?"
"Fried chicken, brisket, ribs, cornbread, mac and cheese, green bean casserole," Linda rattled off, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, and peach cobbler, apple pie, and chocolate cake for dessert."
"Don't forget the cornbread stuffing," Rebecca called out, bouncing her baby son on her hip. "And the sweet potato casserole Ellen made."
"I'm gonna gain twenty pounds this weekend," Deputy Martinez groaned, already loading his plate.
"Good," Ellen Johnson laughed, swatting his arm. "You boys are all skin and bones anyway."
"Speak for yourself," Sarah Johnson grinned at her husband. "Some of us have been sneaking tastes all day."
"That's what happens when you marry the best cook in three counties," Mr. Johnson shot back, pulling his wife close and kissing her cheek.
As darkness fell, they built the biggest bonfire any of them had ever seen, flames licking fifteen feet into the Texas sky. Everyone gathered around in lawn chairs and on blankets, beers and wine glasses in hand.
"Alright, listen up," Sheriff Bradley announced, standing up with his beer. "Tomorrow's hunt. Eight hours, dawn to mid-afternoon. I'm putting fifty bucks on the Johnson boys."
"Fifty?" Tommy Johnson scoffed. "Make it a hundred. Riley's gonna bag the biggest buck on this property."
"Oh please," his wife Lisa rolled her eyes. "Tommy, you couldn't track a wounded elephant through snow."
The group erupted in laughter as Tommy's jaw dropped. "Lisa! You're supposed to be on my side!"
"I am on your side, honey. That's why I'm managing your expectations."
"Damn, Tommy," Luke howled. "Your own wife just called you out!"
"You're all dreaming," Matt Benson shot back. "Billy's been obsessing over that twelve-pointer for months. My money's on the Benson boys."
"Smart money," his wife Katie nodded approvingly. "At least someone has confidence in their family."
"Hey now," Sarah Johnson called out from her chair. "Don't count my boys out yet. Riley's got his daddy's hunting instincts."
"And his mama's stubbornness," Mr. Johnson added with a grin.
Deputy Watson laughed, raising his bottle. "You're all gonna eat crow. Us deputies know this land better than anybody. Tom's been letting us scout here for years."
"Scout, hell," Linda Bradley chimed in. "You boys have been poaching my husband's deer for years and calling it 'patrol work.'"
"Patrol work!" Sheriff Bradley protested, feigning outrage. "Linda, how could you expose our tactical operations like that?"
"Because I've been feeding you 'tactical' venison for five years, Tom Bradley!"
The laughter rolled across the firelight as Deputy Martinez jumped up. "Alright, official betting pool. Watson, get the notepad from the truck. We're making this interesting."
"What are we betting?" Chase Benson asked.
"Biggest rack, most points," Watson called out, returning with a pen. "Winner takes all cash, plus bragging rights for the year."
"And the loser," Rebecca added with a wicked grin, "has to do all the dishes for the entire weekend."
"Now that's serious stakes," Ellen laughed. "Put me down for twenty on my grandson Riley."
"Grandma's getting in on the action!" Riley called out, red-faced from embarrassment and beer.
As the betting got more heated and the fire burned higher, Billy and Riley sat side by side, finally looking like the teenagers they were supposed to be—laughing with family, arguing about hunting, and planning their strategy for tomorrow's dawn hunt.
Saturday
They were up before dawn, coffee steaming in the cold morning air and rifles being checked one last time. The morning hunt belonged entirely to the Bensons—Billy dropped a beautiful ten-pointer at 200 yards, while Matt, Chase, and Tyler each brought home solid eight-pointers.
"Four for four!" Chase whooped as they loaded the tailgates. "Benson boys showing you how it's done!"
"Morning's not over yet," Luke Johnson muttered, but you could see the worry in his eyes.
The afternoon session was pure Johnson redemption. Riley got his twelve-pointer, the one Billy had been bragging about for months. Tommy and Luke each bagged impressive ten-pointers, while their youngest brother got a respectable eight-pointer to round out their haul.
"Four for four right back at you!" Riley laughed, high-fiving his brothers as they returned to camp.
Meanwhile, Deputies Martinez and Watson trudged back empty-handed, their pride bruised and their wallets lighter.
"How the hell do you boys know this land better than us?" Watson grumbled, setting down his unused rifle.
"Maybe because you've been 'patrolling' the wrong sections," Sheriff Bradley chuckled, cracking open a beer.
That night's feast was legendary. Fresh venison steaks sizzled on three different grills while the wives brought out sides that made Friday's dinner look like a snack. The beer coolers were drained and refilled twice as the celebration got louder.
"Alright, boys, come get your victory drinks," Martinez called out, pressing cold bottles into Billy and Riley's hands. "You earned these."
"Jake, they're eighteen," Sarah Johnson said weakly, but she was grinning.
"Ma'am, after what these boys been through, I think they can handle a beer or two," Watson added, handing out bottles to the other teenage cousins. "Besides, we're keeping an eye on 'em."
"Keeping an eye on them?" Ellen Johnson laughed. "You're corrupting them!"
"Consider it part of their education," Martinez winked, teaching Billy how to open a bottle with his belt buckle. "Essential life skills."
As the night wore on and the fire burned higher, the deputies had the teenagers in stitches with hunting stories, most of them probably exaggerated for effect.
"And then Martinez here," Watson was saying, gesturing wildly with his beer, "he's hanging upside down from a tree branch, rifle tangled in the rope, and this eight-point buck just walks up and stares at him like 'what the hell are you doing?'"
"That's not how it happened!" Martinez protested, but he was laughing too hard to sound convincing.
"Dad, are they always like this?" Riley asked his father, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Son," Mr. Johnson replied, "this is them on their best behavior."
By the time they all stumbled off to their cabins and tents, Billy and Riley had learned more colorful language and questionable hunting techniques than their parents probably wanted, but nobody seemed to mind. For the first time in weeks, both boys looked completely, genuinely happy.Sunday - Final Day
The final day started with everybody feeling confident, but the woods had other plans. The Benson and Johnson boys came back dusty and frustrated, empty-handed despite their best efforts.
"Not even a doe," Tyler Benson muttered, setting down his rifle in defeat.
"Same here," Tommy Johnson shook his head. "It's like they all disappeared."
But just as spirits were flagging, the deputies rolled in with four beautiful bucks, whooping and hollering as they dropped their tailgates.
"Would you look at that!" Martinez grinned, admiring his eight-pointer. "Experience beats enthusiasm every time!"
"Four each for Bensons, four each for Johnsons, four for the deputies," Sheriff Bradley tallied up. "Dead even across the board."
That's when they noticed the women emerging from the kitchen with mysterious smiles on their faces, followed by the incredible aroma of something spectacular cooking.
"Where'd you girls disappear to this afternoon?" Jim Benson asked suspiciously.
"Oh, just a little trip to town," Linda Bradley said innocently. "Picked up a few things."
"A few things" turned out to be the most incredible feast any of them had ever seen. Prime rib, honey-glazed ham, grilled venison from the weekend's hunts, enough sides to feed three counties, and desserts that belonged in a magazine.
"Jesus Christ, Linda," Sheriff Bradley whistled. "You girls went all out."
"This is our boys' weekend," Sarah Johnson said simply, wrapping her arms around Riley's shoulders. "We wanted it to be perfect."
As the men started talking about packing up for tomorrow's drive home, Ellen Johnson suddenly stood up with a mischievous grin.
"Actually," she announced, "we're staying one more night."
The group fell silent. "What?" several voices said at once.
"We called ahead and told the babysitters," Linda Bradley added. "The cabin's ours until Tuesday morning."
"Wait, Tom," Jim Benson looked concerned. "Who's covering the county if you and your boys are here?"
Sheriff Bradley grinned and pulled out his radio. "State police owed me a favor. They're handling our calls through Tuesday morning."
The cheering that erupted could probably be heard in the next county.
As the sun set on what was now their extended final evening, they built the biggest bonfire yet. The feast was consumed with gusto, beer bottles were raised in countless toasts, and before the music started, Sheriff Bradley stood up with Jim Benson, Mr. Johnson, Sarah, and Ellen.
"Boys," Sheriff Bradley called out, his voice thick with emotion. "Billy, Riley—get over here."
The crowd quieted as the parents and sheriff stood together. "This whole damn weekend was about you two," Jim said, his arm around his son's shoulders. "We all agreed—you boys get the trophy. The biggest buck of the weekend."
"You're best friends," Sarah added, tears in her eyes. "We know you'll share it together, just like you share everything else."
Ellen nodded. "That's what friendship is about."
Billy and Riley looked at each other, overwhelmed by the gesture, as the entire group cheered their approval.
"Now," Sheriff Bradley called out, settling into his chair with his guitar, "let's make some music!"
Deputy Martinez shouted out, "Coming 'Round the Mountain!" and what followed was the most gloriously drunken disaster anyone had ever heard.
"She'll be comin' 'round the mountain when she comes!" they started strong, but it went downhill fast.
Tommy Johnson was so drunk he sang, "She'll be huntin' 'round the mountain with her gun!"
Deputy Watson completely forgot the words and just started making train sounds: "CHOO-CHOO-WOOOO!"
Riley tried to harmonize but was so plastered he was singing a completely different song: "Old MacDonald had a buck, E-I-E-I-O!"
"She'll be drivin' six white horses when she comes!" Chase attempted, but slurred it so badly it sounded like "She'll be divin' in white sauce when she comes!"
Matt Benson fell off his chair trying to clap along, which made everyone lose it completely.
"Y'all are drunk as skunks!" Linda Bradley laughed, tears streaming down her face.
"CHOO-CHOO!" Watson continued enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the actual song.
"She'll be wearing pink pajamas when she comes!" Billy shouted, which made no sense but had everyone howling.
"That's not even the right verse!" Ellen called out.
"Who cares!" Martinez laughed, strumming wildly on an imaginary guitar since the sheriff had given up trying to keep up.
The fire crackled higher, embers danced toward the stars, and the most beautifully terrible singing echoed across the Texas hills. Even the mistakes were perfect.
