The two hunters—no, farmers—sat in the blind, elevated a few feet above the ground by wooden stilts and covered in all sorts of foliage. Freshly drenched mud served as both mortar for the mishmash of branches, thistles, and leaves that made up the blind, as well as a masking agent for the humans’ smell.
To the farmers’ exact east was a chestnut tree, its leaves starting to turn amber and auburn, meaning that it had already littered the ground with its namesakes. The burs looked like the bastard child of moss and a hedgehog: miniature chartreuse landmines filled with dinner rather than explosives.
And speaking of dinner, Luis clicked a button on his bracelet, opening the gate 100 yards north of the chestnut tree, finally giving the sniffing and snorting hogs what they were so desperate for.
The hogs nearly tripped over themselves sprinting to the tree, their coats going from matching the auburn leaves to matching the earthy brown of the blind as they stumbled in the mud. Their curved tusks dug it up, flinging it onto each other as they rushed to tear open the burs. Some used their tusks, others their teeth to get them open. Yet others crushed them under their hooves, ignoring the needles that got stuck inside them as they feasted.
Yet the feast would not last for long. This round only had four hundred or so burs, and there were thirty hogs. Half a pound of chestnuts each could scarcely be enough. The biggest males, still quite small relative to their wild, unhybridized cousins towered over what few burs were left to hoard. Those who had mates and offspring let them eat what remained.
The smaller males countered by ganging up on the larger ones, leaping and attempting to spear them with their tusks, only for most of their blows to be blunted by the larger males’ dense coats and thick skin. One was unlucky enough to have its leg cut open, scarlet red coating the opened burs on the ground around it. The other two slinked off after that, contenting themselves with scraps.
Another group of smaller males had more success, tearing up the second-largest male’s snout and forehead. As he retreated, Luis nodded at Dave, who took the shot. The bullet went right into the open forehead wound, clean through the hog’s head and into the tree bark. It was over in not even a tenth of a second. The shot spooked the remaining hogs, who grabbed what they could in their mouths before sprinting back to their burrows. A couple wounded stragglers received the same merciful end, this time from Luis. They closed the door then trundled over to the three hogs, only wearing light packs, guns folded and slung over their shoulders.
“Vamonos, asshole. Meat’s getting cold.” Dave said as the pair slogged their way through the muddy forest floor, which was flirting with becoming a bog.
“Just trying to keep your self-esteem up, pendejo. Lord knows you need it.” Luis immediately shot back.
Not even ten quips later, they were both at the chestnut tree. Each grabbed a small half-sphere from their pack and attached it to a boar. Dave’s used one roughly the size of his fist on the large boar, whereas Luis used a pair about the same size as his compass.
The mini maglevs got to work the second the switches on their packs were flipped, the boars slowly floating behind them as they made their way back to the blind, stopping at a platform five yards away; it was the loan bit of visible metal in over a dozen acres of bogs, forest, and thickets.
Once they were over the platform, the mini-maglevs automatically gave out, and the platform was lit up by scarlet lights around its total circumference. Within two minutes, some rather larger maglevs had lifted the boars onto a quad-prop drone overhead to take to some slaughter-house (or slaughter-boutique?) Lord knows where.
Not even a minute later, the payment arrived, on time as always; the drone’s internal sensors were really something else. The first entry read: “1x Prime Hybrid Americo, 125 lbs edible meat, Grade AA—$14,375 TEX. PAYMENT TO: David Michael Leach.” The second entry read: “2x Prime Hybrid Americo, 97 & 94 lbs edible meat, Grade A, $161,000 ST.ANA(E). PAYMENT TO: Luis Jose de la Rosa.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Dave laughed and waved at the drone before punching Luis in the shoulder. “Getting paid in Santa Anna, real slick move there buddy.”
“I just couldn’t resist, gringo.” Luis said. “And I really do love doing business with these people, whoever they are. They’re wonderful conversationalists.” Luis laughed.
“Luis, why on Earth would you think they’re people?”