“Where is it?” he roared.
Munver let out a pained sob. Not words. Just an anguished moan.
Garrett punched him hard in the chin, cracking more teeth and sending a spray of blood from his lips.
“Where is it?”
Munver’s sobs were more like convulsions now, although after a moment he managed to pull one hand free and use it to plaintively thump against Garrett’s chest.
Garrett pushed the hand aside and then punched Munver again, breaking his nose.
“Where’s the coin?” he shouted, before turning and looking back toward the cart.
The dead man and woman were still in place, still entwined in their embrace.
Turning back to look at Munver, Garrett saw blood streaming from the man’s nose.
“Where is the coin?” he snarled.
He waited, but Munver was sobbing too loudly to make any sense.
“Where is it?” Garrett yelled, and then he punched Munver again, this time on the other side of the face, then again on the chin, then again on the side of his forehead, this time with enough force to crack the eye-socket.
Munver let out a pained wail, like the sound of a dying animal, but Garrett merely stared down at him with an expression of pure hatred. He raised his fist again, ready to land another strike, and then at the last moment he realized that Munver seemed to be trying to speak.
“Drawer,” Munver gasped. “Drawer. Don’t hurt me. It’s… I swear, it’s in the drawer.”
“What drawer?” Garrett shouted.
“Cabin. Drawer. Don’t hurt me no more. Please.”
Garrett’s fist was still raised, and for a moment he considered ending the miserable wretch’s life. A few more blows in the right spots, he figured, would more than do the trick, and he considered it would be a public service to rid the world of such an awful specimen of humanity. Finally, however, he realized that he might yet need his help, so he got to his feet and then he grabbed Munver’s shirt, using it to haul the bloodied man up from the snow. He glanced at the bodies and saw that they were still on the back of the cart, and then he turned back to Munver.
“Show me,” he snarled, leaning so close to Munver’s face that he could smell the blood. “Now!”
Eleven
The cabin’s door sprung open and Munver was immediately sent stumbling through, with such force that he tripped and fell and landed against the table, knocking it aside.
Behind him, Garrett stepped through the doorway, not bothering to close it this time.
“Get the coin,” he said firmly. “Give it to me.”
Clutching his injured side, Munver rolled onto his back. His face was a bloodied mess, with blood still flowing freely from his broken nose and from the damage to his mouth, while the area around his left eye-socket showed signs of bleeding just below the skin. His eyes were open, looking around frantically, and then he let out an anguished squawk as Garrett grabbed him by the throat and pulled him back up.
“Where is the coin?”
Stammering and unable to get a word out, Munver pointed in panic at a set of drawers in the far corner. Garrett looked for a moment, before dropping Munver to the floor and stalking over to check the drawers himself.
Pulling each drawer out in turn, he searched frantically while Munver sobbed on the floor. Garrett was muttering to himself now, alternately cussing and asking the Lord for help, but finally he pulled out one of the drawers and saw the familiar gold coin inside. He picked it up and turned it around, checking that it was the right one, and then he turned to head back to the door.
Just as he reached for the handle, however, he stopped for a moment.
Outside, the wind was still blowing wildly, with enough force to rattle the door in its frame.
Finally, with the coin still clutched in his right hand, Garrett turned and made his way over to the window. Whereas for the past few minutes his face had been filled with an expression of pure anger, now there was a hint of fear as he looked out at the darkness and squinted in an attempt to make out the faint shape of the cart. He waited, watching for any hint of movement, not yet daring to go out there himself.
Behind him, Munver picked up the knife he’d used earlier to open the can of beans, and then he slowly got to his feet.
Still Garrett watched the outline of the cart. He’d seen nothing out of the ordinary, not yet, but he felt a growing sense of fear in his chest as he realized that the coin must have been out of the man’s hand for quite some time. At least an hour, maybe longer, and that was more than long enough for…
Munver steadied himself again the side of the chair, while limping across the room with the knife in his hand.
Garrett knew it was time to go back outside, to put the coin into the man’s hand. In theory, that would set everything straight again, and then he’d be able to continue with his plan unchanged. He’d feared a moment like this since he’d first begun his work at the end of the war. He was fine with the process so long as he had control, but this time things were unraveling. What would he face if he went out there now? All through that war, he’d prided himself on being the bravest of men, but that had been when he was facing guns and bombs and enemy soldiers. Now, standing at the window and staring out at the distant cart, he realized he was up against something entirely different, something that went against every natural law that he knew.
And then, just as he began to think that he might be brave enough to go out there, he saw something moving on the back of the cart.
“Gah!”
Munver rushed up behind him and drove the knife into the small of his back, pressing him against the window for a moment before twisting the knife and then pulling it out.
Garrett remained standing as Munver stepped away. He’d barely even registered the attack, or the sensation of the blade slicing into his right kidney. His eyes were fixed on the darkness outside, and on the faint, barely perceptible impression of a figure moving about on the cart.
Finally, as blood began to flow from the wound, Garrett took a step back. He was still clutching the recovered coin in his hand, and he knew he had to go outside and face what was on the cart, to put things right, but now the blood-loss was starting to weaken him further. He took another step back, then another, and then he stumbled and fell down into the chair.
“Go to Hell!” Munver sneered, before coming up behind him and driving the knife into the chair’s rear, sending the blade clean through until it ran once more into Garrett’s back.
Still staring at the window, Garrett opened his mouth and let out a gasp. He could no longer see the cart, of course, but he was certain he’d seen movement just a moment ago, which meant…
He looked down at the coin in the palm of his hand.
Control.
He’d lost control.
He couldn’t imagine what would happen next.
Suddenly Munver stabbed the back of the chair again, then again, and this time the tip of the blade burst out through the front of Garrett’s chest. Beaten and bloodied, Munver screamed as he continued to attack, and in the space of the next minute he stabbed Garrett thirty times or more in the back, striking with increasing speed as his frenzy built. He only stopped, finally, when his arm spasmed and threatened to give way, at which point he left the knife still in place and took a step back.
Breathlessly, he stared at Garrett’s silhouette.
Blood was trickling from Garrett’s mouth, but he’d barely noticed his own murder. Instead he was still staring at the window, thinking about what he’d seen on the rear of the cart. And although he felt great sorrow at the thought of never seeing Mary again, and despite the realization that he had ultimately failed in his journey, he allowed himself at least one consoling thought. He would not now have to go out there into the snow and face the consequences of what had happened. He would not have to witness the horror that, until now, he had only read about and heard spoken of. Someone else could fix the problem.