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I ride about five hundred yards out.
I skid to a stop on the quad bike and park it sideways on. I turn off the engine and slide off the bike. My rifle comes off my back and I kneel in the sand. I prop my left elbow on the seat of the bike and bring my eye in behind the telescopic sight. I scan the horizon. Fix on the spot where I dug the holes. Where I left the shovel in the ground as a marker.
I wet a finger and test the wind. I adjust the rifle sight, turning the turret a tiny amount to account for the breeze. It clicks a couple of turns clockwise. I bring my eye away from the sight and look to my far left, noticing a long trail of dust. A grey Chevrolet Impala travelling fast in a straight line. It passes the rock formation. The cactus. And makes a beeline for the meeting point. I
