The nights could still get quite cool during this time of the year in these parts. It had rained two nights in a row. Lemurians really weren’t built for rain. Johnny had gotten soaked that first night. There had been no place to shelter and his fur had stayed wet long after the rain had stopped. He couldn’t get warm again. He tried running for a few miles, waving his arms, trying to get the blood flowing, but he was too weak to run for long. He was so hungry he thought he would faint.
He had slept fitfully during the day, having crawled under the porch of a farmhouse, like a sick cat that was ready to die.
He went through the reeking trash can at this farm, finding some soggy bread crusts, which had a hard time keeping down. He had no appetite at all, he had gone beyond hunger, it seemed, but he knew his body really needed nourishment. He even ate a banana peel.
The night after, plodding along the dark roads, feeling terrible, it started to rain again.
He spied another farmhouse on the horizon, and lurched as fast as he could towards it. He shivered, God, he was cold, his bones were cold, his guts were cold…
He found a small barn, locked, but he managed to crawl through the window opening. Inside there was room for two horses, but only one stood in the stable. It neighed and snorted at Johnny, and stomped its front hoof on the concrete floor. It quieted down when Johnny slumped down in the far corner of the dark barn, half covering himself with hay or straw or whatever the hell it was, hoping it would keep him warm, and he passed out.
He drifted in and out of sleep, he was suspended in between. He saw his mother, looking disapprovingly at him, slowly shaking her head. He saw his little sister, waiting for his return, looking small and sad. He saw the girl, that damned girl that had sent the cops after him. He saw her again and again, saw her startled eyes when he’d gotten too close to her, those big sea green eyes, he heard her kooky laughter, heard it clearly, so hard that it shook him awake. He looked around, there was nobody here, it was the middle of the night, it still rained. He saw the shape of the horse, standing up. Didn’t they sleep like that, standing up? He heard her laughter again, like an echo, softer, but clearly, heard it not inside his head, but with his ears. If he was imagining things, had started to hallucinate, he was sicker than he thought. He shivered and he sweated, was hot and cold. Could he actually die here?
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He plunged into dreams again, saw her luminous green eyes again, sunk into her eyes, big as a green pool, sunk deeper, he couldn’t breathe, he awoke choking, coughing.
Why did he keep seeing this girl? Was it because he blamed her for the mess he was in? Old lemurians would call these dreams ‘visions’. They would say, “Heed your Inner Eye, son.” But Johnny knew they were just fever dreams, nothing more… nothing more…
A loud creak of the barn door woke him. Johnny froze, he didn’t breath. A plump girl, about thirteen of fourteen, walked in, wearing riding boots. The horse went wild, and she tried calming it down, calling him ‘big boy’, whoa, whoa, was big boy hungry, did big boy want go out for a walk? She didn’t see Johnny, half hidden under straw. It was the horse that gave him away. “What is it, big boy?” The girl following the horse’s eyes. She jumped when she saw him.
“Papa!” She yelled loudly, and turned to run. Johnny scurried across the floor, on his hands and knees, he had to stop her, explain, he would be on his way! He grabbed a foot, the girl fell and smashed onto the concrete floor. Johnny let go of the foot, he hadn’t meant to—the girl turned her head, it was white as a sheet, blood gushed from her nose, and she started to bawl, got up and ran, wailing, “Papa-aaah!” The horse freaked out, bashing against the wooden stable.
Johnny had to get out of there. He got to his feet. The floor lurched, and slammed into him.
He came round, his head throbbed. How long had he been out? A second? A minute? Far away he heard the girl crying. He got up, onto his feet, slowly, holding his head with one hand. He saw a man in the doorway, a large man pointing a shotgun at him, and he passed out again.