The Last Of The Boyhood Heroes

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The boy carefully steps through the fence making sure not to touch the one wire electrified to keep the cows at bay. He stands tall with his rifle strapped to his back, his knife on his belt, a rough stick about the size of a tomahawk in his hand because it is his tomahawk. His boots press against the earth the only way confidence can. A soaring hawk graces the sky overhead. It is a short walk but careful now, stalking the enemy, the bad guys, will not be as easy as it sounds.
He follows them into the tallest southern oak trees. They stop underneath the canopy along a creek rising from the black soil. The gift of life in the sweltering heat, but they have taken life away and have taken her, and this boy is doing all he can to get her back, to defend his land.

This is love.
This is life.

He remembers the last thing he said to her, "No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you!"

Now, he carefully lowers his rifle from his back. Pulls back the hammer and takes aim. BOOM! Down goes one. The group fires wildly in his direction, but he's already running through the stately trees with his rifle and tomahawk in hand.
They are reloading, and he leaps through the gunpowder smoke like a gliding ghost and swings the rifle as a club at the first in the company. Down goes another. He swings the tomahawk and takes a third to the ground. He is jumped from behind and is thrown to the ground. He spins as a Mohawk club is rising to bash in his head. He throws his tomahawk into the chest of his pursuer before the massive club can be brought down.

One left, holding the girl, a knife to her throat. The boy turns to face them unsheathing his own blade. Her abductor throws the girl down and walks toward the boy. He smirks indignantly as he slashes at the boy. Knives slice through the air and both dodge.
Another swing. A gash on the adversary's thigh. He grimaces but stands tall again with his dagger steadied, aimed. A quick step toward the boy. He thinks he's outmaneuvered it, but the attacker bluffed his position. The boy pulls away, blood trickling from his chest.

The girl grabs one of the fallen's clubs and runs at their foe from behind. He hears her coming and knocks the club out of her hand and throws a punch into her temple. She crumples to the ground, dazed.
The boy regains his composure while seeing the strike to her head and attacks her assaulter. He turns just as the boy is on him. He raises his knife but too late. The boy's blade drives deep into his enemy's chest. His eyes fill with the dread all his victims must have had in their last moments on this Earth. The boy pulls out the knife and stabs again making sure it fills the heart, confirming this man, if you can call him that, never takes a life again.
The adversary's eyes roll back into his head as he falls to the bleeding dirt.

"It's over," the boy says as he walks over to the girl as she lifts her eyes to meet his. "Everything's okay now," he says. She does not say anything. She rises and embraces him. There is nothing left to be said. They walk out of the silent audience of trees into the open vastness. Together. Never to be torn away from each other again.

The boy places the toy rifle on his back, the plastic knife back in his belt, the tomahawk stick in his hand. He stands on the edge of the trees, the creek singing in his ears, fighting for those lost.