“You think this is easy for me?” Norman asks. “He was my friend too. But what you have to realize is that he’s gone. This isn’t Eric. Eric’s already dead. The longer we wait, the harder this will be. And it’s already the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” This thought seems to comfort him. He steadies his aim.
“NO!” I scream. His finger pauses on the trigger. I lower my voice a little, trying to get his attention. “Norman, I’ve known you all my life. You’re like a grandfather to me. Please listen to me.” I get down on my knees and clasp my hands together. “I’m begging you to listen.”
Norman chokes. “Don’t do this to me, Kestrel.” His mouth is quivering.
“He’s the only father I’ve ever known,” I say.
“Don’t say that,” he says.
“Please don’t kill my father.” I’m trembling, my hands held out to him.
“Stop saying that,” Norman says. “That is not Eric.”
I’m crying now. “I’m begging you, Norman.” I let out a sob. “Just give me a minute. Just one minute. Let me explain.”
Tears run down his face. “Don’t do this to me,” he says. His finger quivers on the trigger.
“Please, Norman,” I beg. “Give me a chance to explain. Please!” I can hardly speak through the sobs.
Norman’s arms fall to his side. He wipes his face with the crook of his elbow. I close my eyes with relief. Norman turns to me.
“One minute,” he says. “Then you’re going to leave me to do what has to be done.”
I nod, my chest still heaving with emotion.
“One minute,” he repeats.
Norman sits down on a nearby rock and waits, his head hung in defeated sorrow.
My one minute begins.
60
I stand up from my kneeling position. I’ve never begged anyone for anything. I’ve never done anything like that. I feel shame and relief, gratitude and anger, all at the same time. I feel like hugging Norman. I feel like killing him. I’ve never called Eric my father. Never in my whole life. I didn’t even think I thought that way. I didn’t just say it for Norman. It came out of me without thinking. It was raw and true. I feel lightened somehow by having said it. I feel stunned by it. I’ve never felt so many things at once. I feel sensitive and confused. But I can’t, I can’t deal with any of that right now. I have to focus.
I take a deep breath and let it out slow.
I have one minute to save my father’s life.
61
“First of all,” I say to Norman, “Eric told me himself that not everyone died of the Worm. So Eric could make it!” I pointed at him. “He could still be in there, alive, fighting. If you shoot him, you’ll be killing Eric, not just some walking disease. You have to give him a fighting chance. You have to trust in him.”
“How does Eric know that?” Norman asks. “I was alive when the Worm came the first time. I remember what it was like. I don’t remember anyone coming back.”
“Probably because everyone was like you,” I answer. “No one gave those people a chance.”
Norman makes a powerful puffing sound. He isn’t agreeing with that. I don’t want to push too hard at this point. Who knows how many people with the Worm he shot back then? I don’t want to make him feel like a murderer.
“Look,” I continue, “this is what Eric told me. He told me that Good Prince Billy saw it with her own eyes.”
“I’ve never met this Good Prince Billy,” Norman says. “Why would I trust her? Maybe she doesn’t even exist.”
“Eric never lies,” I tell him. “You know that.”
Norman glances over at Eric at the tree and then he looks down at the ground. He knows that is true at least.
“Norman,” I continue, seeing a little weakness in him, “if you agree that there’s even the smallest, remotest chance that Eric might survive, you can’t kill him. You have to give him that chance. You told me yourself that Eric was the toughest son of bitch you ever met. Remember that? You have to let him fight. If you even have the smallest doubt, then it’s murder. The price of being wrong is just too high.”
“What if I don’t kill him and he ends up infecting three other people?” Norman asks. “And what if those three people go on to infect a whole community? And that community goes on to destroy what’s left of humanity? That’s on me. That’s a hell of a risk!” He looks at me sadly. “I can see why you would take that risk. But how can I?”
I swallow. It’s the heart of the issue. “It’s a risk,” I say. “But look, Norman, Eric doesn’t bite, he doesn’t scratch, he hardly does anything. If we put him in a special room and take care of him very carefully, maybe it’s not as big of a risk as you think.”
Norman looks at Eric. I study him, but I don’t know what he’s thinking. I can’t make out if he’s agreeing with me or not. He’s just a block of stone looking at Eric. This instant scares me. I decide to take advantage of his indecision.
“Look, Norman,” I say, “it’s complicated, right? Why don’t we take Eric back to the Homestead? We can all decide what to do there. You don’t have to make a decision right now.”
Norman looks at me and something drops down over his eyes. My heart drops with it. I’ve made a terrible mistake.
“We already made that decision, Kestrel,” he says. “Franky gathered us all together and told us what he’d found in your cabin. He told us that Eric had the Worm, and we discussed it. We all agreed what the best thing was.”
I start to tremble. Franky. Of course he’d want to get rid of Eric as soon as he could.
Norman stands up. “I know it’s hard to hear,” he tells me. “But we already decided what to do.” His eyes are steel. “I’m sorry, but your father is already dead. That isn’t Eric.” He points at Eric with his gun. “Right now, he’s just a disease. And I have to do this.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I can see in how he’s standing, in the iron in his back and the stone in his eyes that Norman has made up his mind. I watch him step forward.
“Don’t make me do this in front of you,” he says. There’s nothing soft in his voice. He’s readying himself and I know there’s nothing more I can say. Nothing more anyone can say. Eric is a dead man.
62
It’s like slow motion. My heart thumping. Norman’s gun raising. Waiting for the gunshot. Then maybe it’s the pressure that does it, but I remember something. It goes off in me like a blast of light.
My gun leaps to my hand. “Stop Norman!” I yell. “Don’t make me shoot you!” Of course, my gun is full of blanks.
But Norman doesn’t know that.
Norman’s hand falters. He looks at me and I can see he’s more sad than afraid. He doesn’t think I’ll do it. I cock back the hammer and place my legs a little farther apart.
“Put the gun down,” I order him. I’m also thinking pretty fast about my next move.
Norman’s gun hasn’t moved. “You wouldn’t,” he says.
I pull the trigger.
The gun jumps in my hand. The sound of it is deafening. Norman throws up his hands as if that would protect him from the bullet. His gun falls to the ground. There’s this frozen instant, his face clenched up like he’s expecting pain or death to come to him at any moment. He’s on the tips of his toes. An instant. Then his eyes open. Just as he realizes he hasn’t been shot, I rush forward and swing the gun at his head. I feel the grotesque impact shudder up my arm. His legs give out like they’re made of water and he falls to the ground, unconscious.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say to him as I bend over to make sure he’s okay. It’s a terrible thing to strike people you love. Trembling, I look over him closely. He’s bleeding a little from where I hit him, but he’s breathing. He’s okay.