Faith in Strangers
Chapter 5 – A Gift
2:04am, June 21st, 2012
"Obviously the pig watched the security footage and caught me," I said, smirking at the memory, "my mom was so mad, she grounded me for a month."
My battered body had slid down the side of the truck, and I was now sat, legs out straight, on the dusty tarmac; hunching over was the only thing I could do to lessen the now persistent throbbing in my shoulder. The air around us was still peaceful, which I liked, but looking up to the rabbit perched on the bonnet, I could feel sadness emanating from her – it was almost palpable.
"You were ten…" she trailed off, "that's so young."
For some reason, I smiled.
"Yep, I was – still am – dumb, but I can't change that now," I muttered as my breath began to fail me.
Holding out my left paw with a wince, I realised that I was losing the sensation from my fingers to my upper arm – it all felt frigid and numb. I pressed my other paw, holding the revolver, against the wound in my shoulder and was met with fresh, warm blood, an observation that only aided in stirring up my panicked thoughts. Judy said something to me, but it didn't register – my awareness was beginning to slip, as if a soft blanket were smothering my mind, and my head lolled to one side.
"Nick!" her voice cut through the fog, jolting my eyes open. She was crouched in front of me, concern etched across her illuminated face, "stay with me, ok? We need to get you to the hospital – now."
"I can't… do that Carrots," there was barely any sound to my words, "I'm fucked if… if Andre or the cops get me."
Judy's expression remained, but her voice took on a slightly more clinical tone, "I'm sorry to be blunt, but you're not gonna last the night without surgery, and I won't just let you die out here."
It was wrong to feel anger at her words – I knew that much – but still, the hot-blooded rage I was all too familiar with began its journey into my head, numbing the rest of my body. The rabbit was right, and that realisation hurt – my only remaining line of defence against her reasoning now lay in my right paw.
"Why the fuck do you care so much, ay?!" I growled bitterly, pointing the revolver squarely in her face for the second time that night, "all I've done is threaten you – if I die, you're safe, you can go home, be with your family."
Judy swallowed, looked at the gun and then at me, her eyes and face unnervingly still. She was silent.
My finger hovered shakily on the trigger as the sounds of smashing glass and gunfire rung through my imagination once again; the bloodshed of mere hours earlier felt permanently etched into my vision, like a nightmare I couldn't stop having. Gradually, my anger subsided, being replaced only by an aching sadness. I was no killer.
"Fin," I whispered at nothing.
My chest heaved, and I stared at the ground, hiding my shame as tears matted my fur. The mental constructs that I had spent years building up began to crumble as I cried: Nick the gangster, Nick the businessman, Nick the fox. Now, there was only Nick the fucking criminal, and he was pathetic.
With what little strength I had, I flipped the revolver open, revealing the two bullets inside, and tipped it upside down, letting them clink and roll on the tarmac. Clicking the chamber back in place, I grabbed the gun by its barrel and pointed the grip at Judy.
"Take it," I said between sniffs, "I don't… I don't want this anymore."
The rabbit seemed confused, her lips forming an 'oh' before I interjected.
"Please!" I implored, desperation making my voice crack.
Reluctantly, she reached out and lifted the revolver from my grasp – it looked huge and weighty in her paw. A grimace appeared on her face as she examined the blood-stained weapon, its chrome curves glinting in the truck's headlamps.
Giving away the gun had left me lighter, almost empty-headed; its presence had been near constant for me throughout my working life, signifying to me my status as one of Andre's businessmen. Now, without it, maybe I could be free of him, free of all the pain his world had caused me, and free of my all-consuming guilt. I sighed, closing my eyes, and letting my head rest on the truck. My outburst had left me feeling even more fragile than before.
"I'll go to the hospital," I muttered breathily, "but I don't think I can stand."
Judy slipped the gun into her waistband and stood with a shaky but determined expression.
"I could call an ambulance," she said, "but Bunnyburrow's nearest hospital is an hour away, and that would leave two hours before you saw a proper doctor. Plus, I don't think our paramedics are gonna be used to dealing with gunshot wounds – we don't get many of those 'round here."
She stroked her ears back and looked out at the road for a few seconds.
"I'll drive you," she said defiantly.
I groaned at the thought of having to ride in that awful blue truck again.
"Come on," she replied, "you can use me and the truck as crutches – if you don't stand-up too fast you shouldn't faint."
Holding my right paw, she slowly eased me onto my feet as best she could, letting my waist lean against the vehicle. As I straightened my back, another twinge came from my shoulder and I felt my vision darken.
"Carrots…" I breathed, wobbling.
"Woah, woah," said Judy, "just take it easy."
After composing myself slightly, I shuffled round the door of the truck, avoiding the vomit, and practically crumpled into the passenger seat.
The rabbit shut the door behind me and walked round to the driver's side, lifting herself onto the other dirty seat. Gripping the steering wheel, she took a nervous breath and exhaled.
"I need the keys…" she said.
"Sure," I mumbled, scrobbling around in my pocket before handing them to her, "sorry, they might be a bit bloody."
She looked them over and promptly wiped them on her jeans.
"Alright," she said, starting the engine and accelerating down the road, "you need to try and stay awake for as long as you can – if you faint while I'm driving, there won't be much I can do."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll stay awake," I replied softly, knowing full well that I probably wouldn't be able to stay conscious for another hour.
"You got any music?" I inquired, "if I die here, I'd rather it wasn't silent ya know?"
She huffed, "the radio is broken, but I think my dad left one of his Don McLion CDs in the player."
I cringed.
"Ugh, maybe I'd be better off dead then," I muttered back.
There was no response from the rabbit, and I figured I might have offended her.
"Go on, put it on," I said with resignation.
She reached down, pressed 'play' on the CD player, and the first song filled the musty air of the truck's cabin. I wasn't a fan of folk, but the music helped to keep my thoughts running, and stopped me from slipping into the sleep that was currently all too welcoming. Several songs passed before I felt strong enough to attempt conversation again.
"My favourite musician is a rabbit," I said, speculating how much longer this CD would last.
Judy didn't take her eyes off the road, but I could tell she was sceptical of my pronouncement.
"Really?" she countered.
"Mhm," I replied, "Bunny Rich – probably the best jazz drummer there ever was – I have a poster of him on my wall."
She turned to me with a raised eyebrow, "can't say I've heard of him," she said, "but its good to hear that other mammals know us for more than just farming.'
I chuckled weakly, "I actually used to-"
Before I could finish my sentence, one of the truck's wheels found its way into a pothole, and my left shoulder was swung into the door by the shuddering vehicle.
"Fuck," I spat, as the familiar agony pulsed through my chest and arm; it never got any less awful.
"Shit, I'm sorry, are you ok?" Judy exclaimed, "those things are impossible to see in the dark."
I was panting now, both from the pain and the exhaustion, "it's alright, you didn't shoot me in the shoulder, so you don't need to apologise."
The music, the hum of the truck's engine, and my ragged breathing were the only sounds for the next minute. Despite all my efforts, my eyelids now felt as though they were weighted down with bricks, and I could sense that my mental strength would soon be entirely depleted. Never before tonight would I have imagined that a banged-up truck might be where I bit the dust, and yet that outcome was seeming more and more likely with every passing moment.
"Who was it who shot you?" I heard quietly from beside me.
It was that question – the one that made me relive the moments I wish I hadn't lived. Turning to the rabbit, I was struck once again by the genuine curiosity and compassion in her eyes, even in the darkness of the cabin.
"I thought you might ask that," I wheezed, "and to be honest, I'm not sure I can even remember – it all happened pretty fast."
She didn't respond, and I sighed.
If I was going to die anyway, I figured that telling Judy about my wound wouldn't matter that much.
"It's my fault," I said wearily, summoning the last of my courage, "I fucked up, it killed my friends, and now it's gonna kill me…"