“Stop this!” I shout, hurrying around the table to check that Craig’s alright. “We’re not animals!”
I kneel next to Craig, just as he sits up with a bloodied face.
“My friends’ll be here in a minute or two,” Jerry continues, as he takes the pack of cigarettes back out of his pocket. “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna go out for another smoke and leave you two to figure this out for yourselves. You seem like smart guys, so I reckon you’ll understand pretty fast. This situation has already become far more violent than it ever needed to be, and I hope you’ll back away from all of that.” He turns and starts heading toward the door. “Come out when you’ve accepted the inevitable. And have a think about any little luxuries you wanna ask Mr. Glass for. I’m sure he’ll be in a generous mood once he’s heard a tune or two.”
“No chance!” Craig sneers, getting to his feet.
“Wait!” I hiss, trying to hold him back. “Let’s not—”
“We told you to leave!” Craig shouts, hurrying up behind Jerry and grabbing his shoulder, forcing him to turn back toward us. “Now leave!”
Before Jerry can say a word, Craig punches him hard, and his fist connects with Jerry’s nose. Falling back, Jerry tries to steady himself, but this time Craig’s too fast for him. Hauling Jerry around, Craig slams him into the wall and then locks one of his arms behind his back, giving it a twist that brings a cry of pain from Jerry’s lips.
“You’re done here,” Craig snaps, pulling Jerry back and then turning him toward the door. “Take your offer and shove it up your ass!”
He starts pushing Jerry out of the room, but in a flash I spot Jerry’s free hand reach out and grab something from the countertop. There’s a glint of light, and I suddenly realize that he took one of the knives we’ve been using to skin the rabbits. And then, before I have a chance to warn Craig, I see Jerry spin around and lunge forward, and I hear a series of sickening crunches as Craig shudders and falls back.
“No!” I shout, but I’m too late.
Craig staggers back, clutching his chest, and as I reach him I see that he’s been stabbed several times.
“That wasn’t my intention,” Jerry says firmly, still holding the bloodied knife. “I want to make that perfectly clear. No-one had to get hurt.”
Craig tries to turn to me, but at that moment his legs buckle. I manage to grab hold of him and support him, and then I ease him down onto one of the chairs. Turning, I grab a tea-towel from the counter, but then I look down and see that huge amounts of blood are rushing from the wounds all over his chest and belly.
He tries to say something, but now there’s also blood running from his mouth.
“Like I said,” Jerry continues, “I’ll be outside. Mr. Musician, when you’re ready to come out, we’ll be waiting. Just don’t leave it too long, or we’ll have to come and get you.” He heads to the door and pulls it open, and there are already lights outside, heading this way. “Oh, and don’t forget to bring your guitar.”
Twenty-Eight
“It’s going to be okay,” I stammer as I kneel next to Craig and try to figure out how to stop the blood-loss. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll fix you up.”
I start unbuttoning his shirt, but when I pull the fabric aside I see that the stab wounds are thick and wide, with blood flowing freely from several different places. I press the tea-towel against one of the wounds, but if anything that only makes more blood burst out from a spot further down on his belly.
“I’ll sew them up,” I continue, as I hear voices shouting outside the farmhouse, and as the beams from car headlights start blasting through the kitchen window. “You’ll need to rest, but you’ll be okay.”
I turn to hurry across the room, but then I hesitate for a moment.
“Do we have string?” I ask after a moment. “Or cotton. Something I can use.” I turn to him. “I don’t know what to use to sew you back up!”
He opens his mouth and lets out a faint, guttural whisper, but I can’t make out any of the words. Already, blood is starting to drip down and splatter against the kitchen floor.
“I don’t know what to do!” I shout, trying not to panic. “Why don’t I know? I’m seventy-six years old, I should know what to do in an emergency! How have I got to this age without knowing any basic first aid?”
Craig tries again to speak, but once more his voice is too low. Stepping closer, I drop down onto my knees and lean toward him, hoping that this time I’ll be able to understand.
He whispers, but I still don’t manage to pick it up.
“I didn’t hear that,” I tell him. “What do I need to do?”
“You can’t do anything,” he replies, raising his voice a little. “It’s okay, Derek. You just have to make sure you get away from that bastard.”
“I know, but first I have to fix you up!”
“You can’t do that, Derek.”
“I have to find some—”
“It won’t work,” he says firmly, placing a trembling hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not scared.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, looking into his eyes. “You’re not going to die!”
“I am,” he replies, “and I’m not scared. I used to think I was, but I’m not. I just need you to do one thing for me.” He pauses, as if he’s struggling to stay conscious. “Two things, actually.”
“Craig, tell me what to do,” I stammer. “Tell me how to save you.”
“The first thing is… I need you to survive. Don’t do anything stupid and get yourself killed, not like I did.”
“You’re not going to die,” I tell him again. “Stay strong.”
“The second thing is… I want you to just leave me right here, on this chair.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not scared of dying,” he says firmly. “I’m just scared of all the stuff that goes with it. I’m scared of being buried in the ground, like Adam was. And I’m scared of being burned. I’m scared of being cut open for an autopsy, although I doubt that’d happen now. But I’m not scared of actually dying and just being left here, where I fell. That feels kinda dignified.”
Staring at him, I realize that he’s serious.
Suddenly he reaches down and grabs my right hand, and he squeezes tight.
“I never heard you play,” he continues. “That sucks. But you’ll play again one day. This whole thing will pass and the world will go back to normal. And when it does, you’ve got to play a lot, do you understand? Maybe you’re the only one who can.”
“I… I’ll play for you now,” I reply, before getting to my feet and slipping my hand free of his. “Wait right there!”
I hurry to the next room and grab my cobbled-together guitar, and then I head back through to him.
“It might not sound good,” I explain as I grab a chair and pull it closer, and then I sit down and set the guitar into the correct position. “It’s hopelessly out of tune, and I haven’t exactly had time to practice.” I stare down at my hands for a moment, trying to work out exactly what I should play, and then finally I turn to Craig. “Is there anything in particular that you’d like to hear?”
He’s dead.
I can see that instantly, from the glassy look in his eyes. I stare at him for a moment, hoping against hope that perhaps he’ll stir, but deep down I know that there’s no chance.
Reaching over, I gently close his eyes.
How many young people have I seen die since this madness began? First there was Sarah, then there was Adam, and now Craig.
If I’d been Craig, I’d have been raging at the end. He was only in his early twenties, I believe. How could he have been so brave, so mature, even as he knew his life was fading? I’ve always been absolutely terrified of death, I’d have been panicking and trying desperately to cling to life, but in his last moments Craig seemed to reach some kind of peace. As I stare at his face now, I know with absolute certainty that I am incapable of that kind of peace.