Romero 77 Hatchet
Romero 77 HATCHET. (See also, Romero 77 HANDCANNON, FIELD MODIFICATIONS) The Romero 77 was not only utilitarian, but also robust. Once shortened, however, the weapon was found to lack an edge in close quarters. To compensate for this, perhaps too much, some owners would affix a hatchet blade to the barrel of the weapon. This would be complimented with an extended stock, both balancing the weight and granting a larger graspable surface
Journal of Daniel Glanton
Severely deteriorated, bound in unidentified leather, 8 x 8 in.
5/5
June second
Still no sign of the Spider, our hunt this morning only turned up two hunters from Utah, still green. I killed them both.
Yesterday evening, the man handed me his hatchet and told me chop firewood. I swung it around a few times, then into a tree stump. It rained dead leaves. I swung around the Romero a couple of times
What do you think, they're about the same size, I asked the man. He didn't look up from the fire. After chopping firewood, I whittled at the handle of the hatchet. When I got halfway through, I realized I could just stamp and snap off the blade. The man looked up. I carried that hatchet for eight years, he said.
In the morning, I fixed the hatchet blade to the Romero. I spliced the old handle and inserted the old one. It's good to work in the morning light. The man cooked the last of the beans. After breakfast, I kicked the charcoal out the pit. We walked through the woods. I swung at the low hanging branches with the new and enhanced Romero, the fallen ones making a trail behind us.
Think we'll find the spider today, I asked the man. He grunted something, maybe yes. I suppose it doesn't matter, I replied, seeing as we're having such fun.
It was then we came across the Hunters. Devout it seemed, carrying out their mission in the name of the Lord. The man wanted to leave them, but I had an itch to try out the hatchet. In the end, they noticed we were there, and fired.
I charged them, laid out the first with a blast from the Romero, and went into the second, burying the hatchet into his neck. The blood spurted all over my white shirt. I hacked and hacked, each time making the shirt darker and darker.
