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David leaves – and comes back Jude came back to try and talk me around – about an hour later. David’s breathing had become extremely laboured. He was still fighting but, but like all the other guys bitten before him, was definitely losing the battle – just as we had all expected. Jude put her hand on my shoulder and said as gently as possible, in the circumstances: “It’s time, Pete. You can do no more. Leave him with us and we’ll attend to him.” Jude was OK, someone my Dad would have called ‘a good sort’ but, despite this, I turned to her and blind fury suddenly welled up in me: “I said he’s not going anywhere! Don’t you understand? My brother is not going to join the zombies outside.” She withdrew her hand slowly and flicked an almost imperceptible glance sideways. I felt my head explode briefly and then everything went black. This, apparently, was ‘Plan B’, the plan to use if I didn’t change my mind about casting David outside of the library and into the hands of the zombies. I awoke with a sickening pain in my head. Jude was beside me once again but I had been trussed up. I was lying on a cold, hard floor and couldn’t move. I looked at her. I’m not sure if she completely felt my hatred for her at what had happened. It’s just that she was the one who was there – she was thus the object of that hatred. She bowed her head and muttered: “It’s done, Pete. David died and we’ve put him outside. You can’t do anything more for him.” Bullshit! David and I were not just brothers. We were identical twins. His joy had always been my joy. His pain had always been my pain. And so it must always be.
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AN OFFICIOUS MAJOR I arranged some of the other pieces of luggage that were in the van and propped myself up against the coffin. I could hear David’s continuous grumbling but was not particularly troubled. The baggage car was extremely noisy and we were sharing it with no-one else. “So, my dear brother, grumble away!” I thought – but didn’t say so. The train was typical of the time – some of this type are still running on Victoria’s country rail-lines. A diesel locomotive with a string of faded red passenger carriages but only one allocated to ‘First Class’ (bigger, comfier seats, a bit quieter overall). The train was slow, lumbering and the carriages swayed from side to side as they made their way along tracks that had (then) not been upgraded since the Great Depression of the 1930’s. Excellent ‘Susso’ work back then, redoing the train tracks – almost as good as working on the Great Ocean Road or the Ivanhoe Boulevard. But I digress! I’m showing my age now. Confabulation is such a curse – to everyone but the confabulator! Anyway, from my personal point of view, everything was going swimmingly – until we reached Kyneton station, about an hour out of the City. “Stow my luggage in that car, Private – and be snappy about it!” These were the first words I heard come from the Major. The door of the baggage car slid open and a timorous private entered, weighed down by numerous pieces of luggage – obviously not his own. He did his best to place them inside the carriage but managed to drop one case, hitherto held under his arm. It fell to the floor with a loud thud. “You imbecile! I’ll have you court-martialled ...” And so on, in that vein, for a full two minutes – the exact time of the scheduled stop at the station. The private stood to attention and absorbed the vile invective that came from his superior officer: terrified and silent. “Get off, you fool!” he yelled at the private – who did so immediately and without question, as the train started to move. However, it was too late for the Major himself to alight from the baggage car and take his place among the other passengers (presumably, in the first-class section of the train.)
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3 sinne gevind in 4 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.