Free JACK KILBORN ~ ENDURANCE by Jack Kilborn Page A

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    Deb’s eyes went wide as Mal lunged at her, his expression crazed as his fingers wrapped around her neck.
     
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    Felix hadn’t ever dwelt on the necessity of good hygiene, but its importance overwhelmed him when John climbed into his truck.
    The hunter reeked.
    It was a pungent stench; body odor, sour milk, and some sort of perfume that smelled like the soap his father used. Sandalwood. Felix tried breathing through his mouth, but it left a lingering taste on his tongue, so he opened his window and inhaled the air coming in.
    “ Am I going the right way?” he asked quickly before turning back to the window.
    John didn’t answer. Felix flipped on the interior light. John’s eyelids were drooping, and his jaw hung slack as he stared straight ahead.
    “ John? Are we going in the right direction?”
    “ Huh?”
    “ The Rushmore Inn. Is this the right road?”
    John scratched his hairless cheek with dirty fingernails. “Yeah. It’s right up here. Pull over.”
    “ Where? Here?”
    “ Yeah.”
    There were no crossroads. No buildings. It was just highway and forest.
    “ There’s nothing here, John.”
    “ Driveway is hard to see.”
    John still had that vacant look on his face. Felix wondered if the guy was crazy. Or taking some sort of drugs. But on the off-chance that John was telling the truth, Felix pulled the Chevy off the road and onto the grass.
    “ Okay, now what do—”
    The hunting knife was at Felix’s throat so fast he felt it before he saw it, the blade pressing against his Adam’s apple, forcing him against the headrest.
    “ Here’s what we gonna do, Mr. Type A. You gonna climb out, slow and easy, and then we takin’ a little walk in the woods. Your blood ain’t no good, so I won’t have no problem spillin’ it.”
    The knife was incredibly sharp. Felix could feel the sting when it lightly broke his skin. Like a long paper-cut. John’s other massive hand was tangled in Felix’s hair, cupping his head like a basketball.
    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’.