Free How to Live Forever by Colin Thompson Page A

fingers, but the pain was so bad, Peter couldn’t let his grip relax. There was blood pouring out at an alarming rate. Peter felt himself getting fainter, too faint to be frightened but the panic was written all over Festival’s face.
    â€˜We need to find help,’ she cried, tearing more strips of sheet and tying them round Peter’s arm to try and stop the bleeding.
    â€˜It’s all right,’ said Peter, sliding further down onto the floor. ‘I think I’ll just go to sleep for a bit.’
    â€˜No, no, you mustn’t,’ Festival shouted. ‘Stay awake. We have to go and get help.’
    â€˜No, I’ll just sleep for a bit and then we’ll go,’ said Peter dreamily.
    And he fainted.
    Festival began to cry. She was terrified. Now Peter was unconscious, his grip loosened and Festival gently opened out his hand. His entire little fingerwas missing. The girl wiped her eyes and searched through the filthy strips of sheet for the cleanest piece she could find. She wrapped it tightly round the wound, adding more and more strips until Peter’s arm looked like the cat mummy in the museum gallery. She lifted him until he was sitting slumped against the wall then made a sling and hooked it round his neck to keep his hand up as high as possible. She knelt beside him with her arms round him and began crying again.
    â€˜Don’t die,’ she whispered, ‘please.’
    She got up and went to the window. The fight was over and there was no sign of Throatgall or the rats. Some cockroaches were eating the last drops of blood off the ground but, apart from them, the gallery was deserted. The doors of the two books that had trapped them were still wide open and jammed against the gallery railing. There was no way of knowing if Throatgall was waiting outside at the top of the stairs so Festival decided she would smash though the wall into the next book.
    She got up, broke the legs off a small chair and began attacking the plaster. It came away easily, revealing the cardboard book cover. That crumbled easily too. She ripped away the leather binding and climbed through.
    Peter was still unconscious, but Festival decidedthey should get away as soon as they could. Throatgall had been wounded so it made sense to leave while he was weakened. Taking the last strips of the sheet, she went through into the next book, down the stairs and out into the gallery. She wrapped the strips around the handle of the door that was blocking the way back and tied them to the rail. If someone tried to pull the door back from the other side and follow them, the sheet would stop them long enough to let them get away.
    Back upstairs, she knelt beside Peter again and stroked his head.
    â€˜Wake up,’ she whispered. ‘We have to go.’
    Peter stirred and opened his eyes. He was weak from loss of blood and was confused. He stared at Festival as if he didn’t know who she was, but as he woke more, the pain in his hand brought him sharply back to reality.
    â€˜We have to get out of here,’ he said.
    â€˜I know,’ said Festival. ‘Stand up slowly. See how you are.’
    It took Peter a few minutes to get to his feet without feeling he was going to pass out again. The bandages on his hand were starting to show a few dark patches.
    He was still bleeding.
    â€˜Where are we going?’ he said.
    â€˜We have got to go on,’ said Festival. ‘We can’t go back, it’s much too risky.’
    They walked round the gallery until they reached the stairs up to the twelfth level. Halfway up, they stopped and sat down.
    â€˜I’m cold,’ said Peter, shivering.
    â€˜It’s because you’ve lost all that blood,’ said Festival, ‘and the shock.’
    â€˜I need to sleep.’
    â€˜You can’t. You absolutely mustn’t go to sleep,’ said Festival.
    She sounded so desperate that Peter fought as hard as he could to stay awake. He felt