Two hours had passed, during which Jack had mostly crouched behind some bushes in an effort to draw his legs inside the burlap bag for warmth. He kept an eye on the kitchen window, occasionally looking at the palm of his hand and then his knees. To stave off the cold, he had tried jogging on the spot. He recalled falling against the rough bark of a tree and gouging himself. I’m not bleeding. I am invincible. Hypothermia causes difficulty and confusion in thinking. But I’m not bleeding — that’s gotta be good….
He looked at the kitchen again. Something’s different. It’s daylight now, but I knew that. There’s something else. One, two, three … Wolfgang isn’t there.
He automatically tried to grip the hatchet tighter, but could no longer feel his hand and had to look to ensure he was still holding the thing. He tried to flex his fingers one at a time, but they remained gripped on the handle. Bet I have to carry it around the rest of my life, which I guess won’t be all that long.
He saw Giuseppe’s truck arrive and park in front of the kitchen. Hey, Carina, how ya doin’? Did you get new teeth? Boars’ tusks might be good, instead of teeth. They’d suit you better.… Ha ha, real funny, Jack.
* * *
Giuseppe had barely come to a stop when Carina turned to him. “Give me your gun and let them loose,” she said, gesturing to the dogs in the rear. “I hope the pit bull’s hungry.”
Giuseppe handed her the pistol and said, “I’ve seen that dog in action. It can take down a wild boar without a problem. If Jack is still alive, he won’t be for long.” He then glanced at the kitchen and tapped his horn, before saying, “I’ll go to the bunkhouse and get some of Jack’s clothes to use as a scent before letting the dogs out. Today will be a day to remember.”
“A day I am looking forward to,” Carina said fiercely.
On getting out, Giuseppe swung his gaze toward the kitchen again, then gave Carina a puzzled look.
She returned it, furrowing her brow. “Go check,” she ordered, tightening her grip on the pistol.
A moment later Giuseppe opened the front door to the kitchen and looked inside.
* * *
In the forest, Jack stumbled forward. Okay, let the shit hit the fan while I get some real clothes before becoming an ice sculpture.
* * *
The first thing Giuseppe saw was Yakov, sitting with his back slumped against the table. Beside him he saw Roche, face down on the table in his own vomit. Across from him, Anton was slumped over, his head and arm on the table. Wolfgang was on the floor under the table with his arm stretched out toward the door.
Giuseppe called to Carina for help, then rushed inside and tried to drag Wolfgang out by the arm.
Carina reached the kitchen in time to see Giuseppe drop Wolfgang and collapse on top of him. “Giuseppe!” she screamed. “Get out of there!” He did not respond and she stepped back in horror. Then a flicker of movement near the bunkhouse caught her eye. She turned and saw Jack, looking like he was wearing a brown dress and staggering into the bunkhouse like he was drunk.
“You!” she screamed.
Jack had barely made it to his bunk when Carina raced in and fired a wild shot in his direction. As she paused to take aim, he fell forward into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind him. She heard him stumbling and trying to get to his feet as she reached the door. “Not this time!” she yelled, then fired a shot through the door.
Jack’s plan was simple. He stood beside the sink with the idea that when Carina opened the door, she would look to the window over the toilet, thinking he had escaped through it again. Then he would slam the door into her, knock her over, and grab the gun.
Perhaps if he had not been suffering from hypothermia it might have worked, but his breathing had become slow and shallow, and what his foggy brain told his body to do was not what he could accomplish, at least not with the speed he needed.
Carina opened the door and a glance at the mirror behind the sink revealed Jack’s whereabouts. She swung the pistol around for another shot when he lurched against the door. She stepped back, but was struck by the door and pinned with her chest against the door frame. Her left arm and head were still inside the bathroom and she turned her head sideways to look at him.
“Drop, drop,” Jack managed to gasp.
Carina struggled to get her other hand with the pistol past her body for a shot, but Jack used his weight to keep her pinned.
“I shed drop it,” he slurred.
Carina glared at him from eyes encircled with blackened bruises from her broken nose. “Fuck you,” she seethed. “I killed one cop in a bathroom, so watch me do it again.”
Jack realized she was about to fire a shot backward over her shoulder and ducked as a bullet came through the door where his head had been. She squirmed to adjust her aim as he took a step back, still pushing on the door with one hand, before swinging the hatchet.
The sound of crunching bone and a gurgling noise told him he had succeeded. He’d aimed for the top of her head, but instead struck her on the side of her face below her left eye. Despite hearing the gun fall to the floor, he kept his grip on the hatchet and stared at her face.
Her mouth gaped open and she coughed, spraying blood. Her left eye was distorted, but her other eye remained fixed on his face.
“Welcome to the Bates Motel, bitch,” he said, barely containing his rage. He then stepped back as she fell into the room. He watched her body shudder and convulse with a few more bloody coughs, then become still. He looked out the window toward the kitchen. The generator was still running and the vacuum-cleaner hose was still feeding exhaust from the generator into the kitchen window. It can wait.
Leaving the burlap sack on, he wrapped a blanket from a bunk around his head and torso, hobbled back and forth in the bunkhouse until he felt his body start to warm. He knew that warming his extremities immediately could cause him to go into shock. It was a slow process, but eventually he headed for the shower.