Hope (Based on Call of Duty Ghosts) (Final Book of the Faith Trilogy)

Chapter 8- Hidden History

Alec's POV:

"Dad," I whined, jumping for the toy he held up. "Give it back!"

"You have chores to do," he replied in a deep voice. "You'll get it back when you're done."

I pouted and crossed my five-year-old arms in defeat. My father ruffled my hair and then started walking to the separate garage. I watched as he glanced back and then shut the door behind him.

"Mayflower!" I called out to our brown cow as I skipped up to the small barn. "Time for dinner!"

My green eyes noticed her limping back to the barn from her paddock. I tilted my light-brown-haired head and started to walk out to her.

"What's wrong, May-May?" I was curious and rubbed her large head as I came up to her.

Mayflower's entire back leg was oozing blood from deep bite marks. Parts of her neck and other body parts were bleeding too. The coyotes had attacked her. I widened my eyes and went to check out the wound.

"Go to the barn, old girl," I patted her and she started walking. I started running for the workshop that my dad was inside of. "Daddy! Daddy!"

"What is it son?" my father came out of the garage with a worried look on his face.

"Mayflower is hurt!" my voice was high and it shook with the tears forming in my eyes.

"Go back, I'll be right there!"

I started running back to where Mayflower was falling down just on the outside of her small barn. My lips allowed a small wail to escape.

"Daddy!"

Kneeling next to Mayflower's head, I felt tears stream down my face. My father was coming out, a gun in his hand. The idea of him shooting Mayflower made my young heart stop.

"There's nothing we can do buddy," my father pulled me away from Mayflower's heaving body.

"Daddy, don't put her down! Please!" I begged.

"Get back, Alec!" his voice became more stern as he aimed the rifle up at Mayflower's panting body.

I closed my eyes as the gunshot went off. Tears streamed down my lightly-freckled face and I let out a small wail. My father faced me and crouched on the ground.

"Listen to me Alec," his thumb tilted my salted chin up, "you're going to have to make worse sacrifices in life. You have to be ready to make them too."

"What if I don't want to," I pouted and cried heavily.

"Sometimes those types of things help the bad," my father spoke again. "They have to be made."

~~~

"Come on dad," I grumbled underneath my breath.

I stood in the baseball field, waiting for him to pick up the baseball. We'd been throwing for hours, having a good time. It was his age that made things not very fun sometimes.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," I held up the glove impatiently.

With one easy flick of the wrist, my dad threw me the ball. I caught it almost automatically, catching and swooping to throw.

"I say that's enough for today," my dad caught the ball. "You have to work tomorrow don't you?"

"Yeah," I walked over to him, deciding to drive us home.