The Killing Hour

A moment later vomit erupts from him, and his thoughts seem to focus for a few seconds as the drugs leave his stomach, but surely they’re in his system by now, aren’t they? He wishes he knew. For a few seconds things are clear and he knows the painkillers are killing much more than the pain. They’re killing his ability to think. He knows the shotgun is empty and knows there has to be more to all of this than just killing.

He continues to walk. Suddenly there’s a lull in the storm and another flash of clarity comes to him, and he knows what’s happening. He reaches into his pocket for the painkillers, then throws them as far as he can into the trees. He hears them rattling as they fly through the air then are gone for ever, and already he misses them. He pushes ahead. He can see shapes, no light, but shapes, and he realises that some of the branches here are pushed back so perhaps this is a track, a track after all. He smiles and laughs, then stops and rests a hand across his throbbing stomach. He sucks in a deep breath and the duct tape holding the wound closed feels hard beneath his fingers. He reaches into his pocket for the painkillers but can’t find them, then searches his other pockets but they’re not there either. Must have left them at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He carries on walking, yeah, yeah, and his body is cold, so cold, but at least he’s wearing a jacket, and at least he’s wearing more than his partner. He wonders if good old Charles is dead yet. He scratches a hand across his face and buries his fingers beneath his beard, then flicks the nails over his skin and draws blood. He needs to think. Thinking and walking, that’s all he has to do, and he does this as he moves deeper into the darkness, hoping he won’t be lost for ever, and for ever started around nine o’clock the previous night.

‘Into the realm of dark never he travelled,’ he says, wondering what he’s talking about, if he’s even spoken.





31


Darkness and death aren’t as scary as I thought. No heaven, no hell, just a place with no feeling or time or emotion. A dark place with a soft sound and cool air and, best of all, it doesn’t hurt.

‘Wake up, Charlie.’

I was wrong to be frightened. Wrong to think that death was going to be an eternity of torture and mayhem. Wrong to think that I wasn’t going to like it. Hell, it isn’t even boring. Had I known this before, I never would have struggled.

‘Charlie.’

I roll over. Jo is next to me. This isn’t death. I can’t tell if she’s on her knees or not. Pine needles have created a blanket for us to rest on but not one to crawl under and get warm. Branches rustle and leaves tear from their stems above us. Cones fall to the earth and pine needles fly through the wind.

‘I’m awake.’



‘And shivering,’ she says.

‘I can’t stop.’

‘It’s a good thing,’ she says. ‘It means hypothermia hasn’t started.’

It doesn’t feel good.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about any of this.’

‘I’m sorry I hurt you. It was the last thing I wanted, Jo. You have to believe me.’

She forces herself up, pressing against my stomach to raise herself. ‘I think there’s a light in the distance, perhaps only thirty metres away. If we can make it, promise me we’ll go to the police.’

‘I promise,’ I say, and it’s easy because I left my optimism in my other pants. I don’t want her help in getting up but I need it. When I’m on my feet we stagger forward.

Head towards the light.

If this is the trail we took earlier and the cabin is ahead of us, then that makes Cyris … where? Anywhere? Lost? Or here? We break through the trees into the clearing. Seeing Landry’s car is awful. It makes me realise that life goes on, no matter who is no longer in it. In ten years the car will still be here. The paintwork will have cracked in the heat, the metal will have rusted in the rain. The tyres will be flat, the rims of the wheels will have cut through them and made impressions in the ground. The whole thing will be covered in mould. The car is a slice of life waiting for the return of its owner, but it will never happen.

The cabin looks like a palace. Limping forward, I reach the porch. I can’t climb up onto it so I sit on the edge and roll myself on. Jo does the same.

I can’t clutch the door with my frozen hands, but Jo has more movement so she nudges me aside. The cabin was cold before but it’s warmer and drier than outside. The wind ushers us inside and we close the door behind us.

‘We can’t stay here,’ I say.

‘I know, I know,’ she answers. ‘But I know I can’t drive either. What about you?’

‘Not yet. Jesus, what are we going to do?’

‘Stay here,’ she says.

‘But we can’t.’

‘Just a bit. Just long enough to warm up.’

‘We can warm up in the cars.’

‘This will be quicker. Look, we have to take the chance that Cyris is lost.’

‘Yeah, but he may not be. He might be right outside.’

‘If we try driving we’re going to crash. Then what? Start walking back to the city?’

‘So what do you want to do?’