You are being sent to an island indefinately - but it isn't just any island - it's a wingshooters paradise! The eastern side of the island is perfect grouse cover - twisted and thick. The northern shores of the island sway with miles of native prairie grasses holding countless pheasants. To the west, the pot holes and marshes are swarming with waterfowl. Finally, down south the cover produces a constant symphany of "bob-white" calls...
Since I am apparently dead and in Heaven I trust the Almighty will provide me with any gun I need to take advantage of His Paradise.
If no shotguns are provided, then it's just as apparent that I've been sent to the place where the guy with the horns and the pointed stick does his business.