OK. Let's review here.
There's nobody around the town, they have all been forced out and relocated back in October last year. There's the notice about continued military patrols. The area is pretty deserted.
And there's a big mountain lion in front of the hardware store. And some rifle shells scattered around my bike.
Got to have a plan.
The plan is to leave. And to make it look like nothing happened here.
I put the rifle back into its' scabbard on the bike. I packed up the things that I got from the hardware store into the milk crate, securing things with the bungee cords that I had brought with me. I picked up the rifle shells (eleven of them) and put them in my pocket. And I took the rope out of my backpack.
I looked at the inside of the store. There was quite a bit of dust on the floor, and you could see my footprints. I used a shovel to grab some dirt from the planters out front of the store, and quickly spread it around over my footprints. I didn't have time for a complete job, but it would pass a quick inspection.
Now there was the mountain lion in the middle of the street. Not really something that you'd expect to find in the middle of a deserted town. Especially with several bullet holes in it. (I'd like to tell you that there were 11 holes in the lion to match the number of shells in my pocket, but...)
I took the rope, and fastened it around the lion's neck and front paws, and tied the other end of the rope to the back of the bike. It was too big to carry on my bike, of course, so I'd have to drag it out of town and put it someplace off the road. Not a very glorious end to a pretty animal, but necessary. There was a tattered heavy canvas awning in front of the hardware store, I ripped off a piece that was hanging down, and took the ropes off of the lion. I wrapped the canvas awning around the lion, securing it with some more of my rope. That would help protect it a bit as it dragged behind me.
I took a quick look around, it all looked OK. I took another drink of water, hopped on the bike, started the engine, and slowly rode off towards the cabin. The mountain lion, wrapped in the canvas awning, trailed behind me.
I took the main road out of town towards the cabin. I got about five miles down the road, to a more deserted area. I stopped the bike, unfastened the rope from the back, and dragged the lion off the road about 25 yards off the road into the bushes. I unwrapped the lion, and hid it under some bushes so it wouldn't be visible from the road. I was tempted to skin it, but its ride trailing my bike hadn't helped the quality of the fur, even with the protection of the now tattered canvas. I did take my knife and cut off of the claws from the front paws. I needed some souvenir of my lucky escape.
I grabbed the canvas, folded it up and tied one of the ropes around it, then took it back to the bike, and tied it to the top of the milk crate. I looked towards where the lion was, gave it a quick salute (and took another deep breath), and jumped on my bike and rode towards the cabin.
I went a little faster than when I came in, but still carefully watched the surroundings for any sign of two-legged life. I got back to my property, went through the gate, erased my tire tracks, and got back to the cabin. The alarm lights showed nobody had been around. I opened the garage door, pulled in the bike, leaving everything in the milk crate. I shut the garage door, and went into the cabin.
I went to the kitchen, got out the first aid kit, and used some soap and water to clean out the wound (boy, did that hurt). I put some antibiotic cream on it on it, and then bandaged it up. I cleaned up the mess, and grabbed an extra-strength Motrin from the First Aid kit.
And fixed myself some cherry Kool-Aid. A big glass. I just wished that I had some of Hilda's oatmeal-raisin cookies to go with it.