Andrew Kaufman: The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller

CJ screamed.

I caught a glimpse of her, wondering how much longer before I bled out and died.

Bill stepped back and prepared to take another jab, but as he did, the end of the rod snagged on a panel behind him. I heard a sharp click, followed by a long, squeaky whine, and the machine came to life. A hook swooped in from behind, caught the back of his jacket and lifted him into the air. Now we were both moving along the track within an arm’s length of each other. He grabbed hold of my shirt, and I kicked him away with all the strength I could muster, forcing him to release his hold and swing away. He came back and slammed into me with such force that the hook began tearing through the tape around my wrists. Before I knew it, I’d dropped onto to the floor.

I scrambled to my feet, gasping in pain. I was soaked in blood, could see it now, oozing out fast from my shoulder, my leg, too. I couldn’t see what might be happening inside me but knew one thing: I wasn’t going to last long.

I spotted Bill moving along the track, heading for a junction where the conveyer split in two directions. To the right, the track was broken—if he continued on that course he’d eventually derail, then come off and fall to safety. I didn’t know where the track to the left led, but I made up my mind that’s where he was going.

I needed to get to the rail switch and change Bill’s course before he reached the junction. I stumbled to the control panel, pushed the button.

And nothing happened.

I pushed it again. Nothing, again. Damned thing was broken, and Bill was coming up quickly to the end of the track. I could push him onto the other track manually, but that meant having to run alongside him. I looked up at the hooks rolling past with their spear-like tips angrily tossing back and forth, clawing at the air. Telling me to stay away.

I couldn’t. I’d spent my whole life terrified of my own blood, and in the process became terrified of living. Not anymore. My anger had arrived; it was strong, it was powerful, and it would drive me through this. I’d use it to make sure that bastard never took another breath.

I found a screwdriver sitting on top of a machine, stuffed it in my back pocket, handle first. I caught up to Bill, ran ahead of him, and reached for the manual wire. He kicked out and wrapped his legs around my neck, squeezing hard. Now he was dragging me along the ground by my neck, choking me. I reached up, tried loosening the grip, but he was holding on tightly, his boots locked together. I pulled the screwdriver from my pocket and buried the end in his thigh. He shouted and his leg twitched, releasing his hold, dropping me to the floor.

Bill continued on, grunting in pain, now barely a foot from the juncture. I rushed up beside him, pulled the manual wire, and forced him onto the other track just in time. He swung in the other direction and began moving away from me. Suddenly, the hook released, dropping him into a chute. When I got there and looked down, I saw him laying face up, eyes wide open, with a metal stake pushing up through his chest.

And covered in blood.

But I had no time to revel in his death, because I was bleeding too, the red running wild from my body. My vision blurred and I began to shiver. I knew these were all effects of severe blood loss. It wouldn’t be long now.

I staggered back toward CJ, leaving a trail of blood along the way. I think she said something, but I didn’t hear it; I was too focused on ripping the duct tape from her arms, legs, and waist.

And that was the last thing I remembered.

Chapter Fifty-Five

My eyes shot wide open.

The packing plant was gone, replaced now by white light—in fact, everything was white. And clean. It took me a moment to realize I was lying in a hospital bed.

I looked up and saw CJ standing beside me, head tilted, watching me with studied concern.

I smiled.

She did, too, and then in a soft voice, said, “How you doing there, kiddo?”

“Pretty lousy,” I said, “but thanks for asking.”

She smiled wider, brushed a hand across my forehead, pushing the hair away from my eyes. “You know, that was some pretty crazy stuff you pulled back there. You almost died.”

I frowned, closed my eyes, nodded.

Another voice said, “You know, being a hero is not such a great idea.”

I opened my eyes. “Sully… holy …how did you…?”

CJ grinned. “I found your phone on the floor while they were loading you into the ambulance. It rang, so I answered it.”

“Guess who?” Sully said, with a wave and a smile. “So I had to come see for myself if you were all in one piece.” Then he said, more seriously, “And I’m glad you are.”

“He flew out here right away,” CJ added.

Sully pointed to me. “I warned you not to take that bastard on yourself—so what the hell do you go and do?”

I looked at CJ and gave her a scolding grin.

She said, “Guilty, but you’re partly to blame.”

“Me?”

CJ put a hand on her hip. “It seems once again you’ve been holding back on some very crucial information. Doing that guarded thing. The bleeding? Good Lord , Pat. You want to explain why you never told me about it? And you’d better make it good.”

“I didn’t want you to worry?”

Her voice had a little anger in it. “I never would have let you do half those things if I’d known.”

“Which is the other reason why I didn’t tell you.”

“They had to revive you twice,” she said. “The second time you almost didn’t make it.”

I struggled through my memory. It was all coming back to me now, the rolling chicken fight with Bill, seeing him dead. I looked up at CJ. “It was worth it putting that bastard to the metal. I’d do it again.”

She fought back a smile, and her eyes began to glisten. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “He was going to kill me first.”

I turned my gaze toward the window and nodded, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Alive.

Then I felt CJ’s hand gently cup my chin. She turned my face toward her and looked into my eyes. Hers were full of tears.

She said, “Thank you, Patrick.”

Chapter Fifty-Six

It was time to head home.

Suddenly, the thought of going back to my empty apartment didn’t seem so bad anymore. I wondered why. Maybe Corvine, in some way, had managed to correct that distortion for me.

Maybe life had.

But there was still one final matter weighing heavily on my mind, and I couldn’t leave until I took care of it.

I rode Highway 72 to the 24 exit, parked in the lot, then went inside. The woman’s expression brightened as soon as I walked through the door.

“Is he still here?” I asked, worried she might say no.

She nodded. “He sure is.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Wonderful. Want to see him?”

I felt my smile widen. “Yeah.”

She got up, then hurried toward the back.

A few moments later, she was standing in the doorway, leash in hand, and one big happy-looking dog on the end of it.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was a completely different animal. About ten healthy pounds heavier now, he had a full-bodied coat that was slick and gorgeous, and an expression that told me he’d finally tasted happiness.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

I was smiling so big that my ears began to hurt, and then to my surprise, felt tears fill my eyes.

He brought his gaze to mine and jutted his head forward a notch, mouth hanging open, almost as if making sure he was really seeing things right. Then his expression changed into a flash of enthusiastic recognition.

A sudden burst of energy broke him free, propelling him right toward me, slipping and sliding his way along the slick, linoleum floors. He leaped up, threw his paws over my shoulders, and with furious excitement, began licking my face, my ears, my neck…anything he could cover. Then, he pulled back for a moment and held my gaze, watching me smile through tear-filled eyes. He gave one of those sideways tilts—the canine equivalent of a shrug—and then went back to work, licking the tears from my cheeks.