Endurance - Jack Kilborn [25]
Fear smothered Felix like a wet blanket.
When Felix was able to speak, his voice was hoarse, barely audible. “My money is in my wallet. In my back pocket.”
“This ain’t about money, shit-brain. This is about poking your nose in what’s none of your goddamn business. Now get out of the truck.”
The knife sawed forward, giving Felix another, deeper cut. He thought about his Beretta, just under his seat. It might as well have been a hundred miles away. There was no way for him to reach it without his throat being slit.
Every system in Felix’s body went haywire. He got very hot, which was incongruous with his shivering. His bladder seemed to get smaller, tighter. His stomach churned, and his bowels were ready to burst. His breath came out in quick pants, making him even more light-headed.
This isn’t happening. It’s not happening.
Please don’t let this be happening.
He felt around for the door handle, thinking that maybe he’d have a chance to run when he stepped out of the truck, depending on how tight a grip John kept on him.
John kept his grip tight as a vice. He pulled on Felix’s head, keeping it at waist-level, as he followed Felix out the door.
“Let’s mosey on into the middle of the road. Won’t no one mind a big pool of blood there. It’ll look like a deer got hisself hit.”
John tugged him away from the car. Felix’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and at the same time he was finding it difficult to walk. Mixed in with the terror was a sense of detachment. Like it was happening to someone else.
Am I really about to die?
He’d never thought much about death before, and certainly never thought this was how his life would end. He wondered if he should be concentrating on something important. Or praying. Or looking back over his life and trying, in his very last seconds, to make sense of it all.
But all he could focus on was the knife.
“Unlike some of my kin, I don’t take no pleasure in killin’. Momma says it’s on account I’m too soft. But I done some bad things. And right now, I reckon I’m gonna do some of those bad things to you.”
Felix heard someone say, “Please, don’t,” and realized it was coming from him.
“I gotta. Maybe Momma won’t think I’m no softy no more if’n I bring her your head. But heads don’t come off easy. Takes lots of cuttin’ and hackin’. I ‘spect you’ll feel most of it.”
“Please…”
“On your knees, boy.”
Felix was forced down in the headlight beams. He stared at John’s waist, smelled his body odor, and realized these were the last sensations he’d ever experience.
Except for pain.
How will it feel when he cuts into my throat? Will it hurt a lot? Will I choke on blood?
Will John slit my neck, or dig the tip of the blade in?
What’s in a throat, anyway?
Jugular vein.
Carotid artery.
Adam’s apple.
The cartilage part. What was that called?
The trachea.
How will it feel when he pokes through the trachea?
How about when he goes even deeper?
Will the pain stop when he severs my spine?
Felix felt like sobbing. He didn’t want his last thought to be about the pain to come. He wanted it to be about something more important. He wanted it to be about Maria.
He pictured her face. Her eyes. Her smile.
He wanted so badly to see her, one last time.
I’m so, so sorry, baby. I failed you.
“What happened to her?” Felix croaked.
“Them questions is what got you into trouble, boy. You still asking ‘em?”
“I have to know.” Felix swallowed. “Please.”
John snorted and spat. “We bled her. Same as the others. Nice and slow. Not fast, like you’re gonna be. Just try not to splash any on my new truck.”
Rage overtook Felix, burning away the blanket of fear, filling his veins with electricity.
“If’n you take a deep breath, maybe you’ll be able to look ‘round for a bit after I get your head off.”
Felix lashed out with his fist, connecting with John’s crotch, feeling his hand sink in while simultaneously trying to twist away from the knife.