There were outcroppings in the rock – all of which would impede the path of a bullet.
In other words – cover.
All I had to do was get far enough down that I wasn’t in his direct line of sight.
When I got to the top of the ridge, I crawled on my belly so I wouldn’t be seen as I scoped out the terrain.
On the fort side, the snowdrifts angled down gently to the plateau.
The fort was about 300 feet away. Not great for my archery skills, but good for the skiris not being able to reach me quickly. They would have to wade through a lot of snow to get to me.
Which would give me time.
But first I had to set up my grand escape.
I hid my bow and four quivers of arrows amidst the snow. I wouldn’t be needing them for the next 30 minutes, and having my weapons slip off and tumble into the abyss would pretty much ruin my day.
Then I went back over to the drop side.
First I chose the longest length of rope I had in my backpack: 100 feet.
Then I anchored the rope to the top of the cliff, making sure it was securely in place.
Then I rappelled down the side of the mountain.
When I reached the end of the rope, I was 100 feet from the top of the cliff.
There was nothing around me but open air and a long, long fall to the forest below – about 500 feet.
At that point, I anchored the bottom of the rope very securely to the cliff face.
This part was crucial. The anchor had to be 1000% secure – enough to potentially withstand a fall of 200 feet.
Of course, a fall of 200 feet would break my back – but better that than getting shot in the head by some piece of shit who enslaved women.
I actually tripled up on the anchors, bolting them into a massive crack in the cliff face.
Once that was done, I climbed back up the cliff using my ice axes and crampons.
I reached the top of the ridge, crawled across the rocks and snow to the fort side of ridge… and retrieved my bow and arrows.
Now for the fun part.
The closest skiris was about 150 feet away, down at the base of the sloping snowdrifts.
The fort was another 150 feet beyond that.
And there were a dozen or more skiris in between.
I didn’t care about the monsters – not yet.
No… first, I wanted to get the human’s attention.
The human monster’s attention, to be precise.
I pulled out the arrows from two of the quivers and laid them all in a row. Thirty arrows in all.
I selected one, nocked the bow, and aimed upwards at a 45-degree angle.
When shooting any projectile – arrow, bullet, even throwing a baseball – if all you care about is distance, then 45 degrees is the angle you need.
It’s simple physics. Throw a ball 90 degrees up, and it goes straight up and comes straight back down.
Throw the ball outwards at 0 degrees, and gravity will act to bring it down quickly to the earth.
But aim it at 45 degrees, and you hit the sweet spot between how long it takes gravity to act, and putting as much of your energy into sending the object as far as you can.
It’s the kind of shooting you see in 300 and medieval warfare movies where the archers want to blanket the sky with arrows and rain them down on a distant group of fighters.
Only problem was, I hadn’t practiced this kind of archery nearly as much as shorter-distance, precision shooting. So my aim was probably going to be shit.
Oh well. I had 30 arrows. I figured at least one of them would make it into the fort.
I just had to make sure that I didn’t accidentally hit one of the women in the pens.
I aimed… breathed out… and fired.
FWIP!
The arrow sailed up through the air, a dark streak against the grey, cloudy sky.
Eventually it switched from an upward trajectory to a downward trajectory, and sailed down towards the fort.
I couldn’t hear it land from this distance, but the arrow hit the snow beyond the fort. It overshot.
A skiris about 30 feet away from where the arrow landed looked around, startled. It must have heard the arrow land, but because the arrow had sunk completely into the snow, the skiris had no idea what the hell had just happened.
Alright… don’t shoot QUITE at 45 degrees, Jack.
I nocked my next arrow and aimed at about 40 degrees.
The next arrow undershot the fort by about ten feet.
Getting closer…
Of course, it landed a lot closer to several skiris, who looked around in comical confusion.
The snow around them was hard-packed from getting tromped on all day long, so the arrow only sank halfway into the snow.
The skiris had never seen an arrow before and had no idea what the fuck what it was, so they gathered around the spot on the ground, pointing at the stick sunk halfway into the snow.
Try again.
I nocked the next arrow… aimed… and fired.
This one was perfect.
It sailed right into the fort.
I even heard the impact from this distance as it slammed into the wooden logs making up the side.
THOCK!
Then I heard something else: a human voice. It was distant, but the sound carried through the cold air.
Plus, he was shouting.
“What the FUCK?!”
The skiris certainly didn’t know what an arrow was, but Mr. Human Hunter did.
Time to give him another sample.
I let another arrow fly.
I hit the inside of the fort again, but I didn’t hear an impact. Must’ve hit the snowy ground.
But it still made quite an impression.
“What the FUCK?!” he screamed.
I could see the door of the fort from my position. Suddenly a figure appeared in it, hiding halfway behind the edge of the doorway so he could peer out.
Mr. Hunter.
I flattened myself against the snow. Because of the angle and how much lower down he was in relation to me, I doubted he could see much of me
