with long black hair.
Davey zapped him and he was gone.
He surfed through a whole bunch of channels, but there didn't seem to be anyone interested in talking to him. So he walked over to the fridge. 'Just gonna git me a beer from the minibar,' he announced, pulled out a Coke, flipped it open with one hand, drained half the can, then sat on the bed and belched. His watch said 2.21.
He was wide awake. Wanted to talk to someone, to tell them about all the rabbits he and his dad had shot tonight.
'Here's the thing,' Davey said, then he belched again. He checked the pockets of his oilskins, pulled out a couple of live shotgun cartridges, then hung the oilskins on their hook on the door. He sat on the edge of his bed, wearily, the way he'd seen Clint sit when he was easing off his boots, and dropped his Wellingtons one after the other onto the floor.
Then he fondled the two unspent cartridges. 'They've got your name on them/ he informed Sean Penn, who was walking towards him. But Sean Penn wasn't in the mood for conversation either.
Then Davey remembered. There was someone who would talk to him. He knelt down on the floor, reached under the bed for the walkie-talkie, then pulled out the aerial as far as it would go. Kerloink!
He pressed the listen button and heard the crackle of static. Then he tried the talk button.
Michael, wide awake, was crying. He did not know what to do, he felt 0 utterly helpless. It was after two in the morning, Friday morning, he was meant to be getting married tomorrow. There were a million things that needed to be done.
Who or what the hell had taken the breathing tube? Could it have been a badger taking something to its lair? What would a badger want with a length of rubber tubing? Besides, the footsteps had been too heavy. It had been a human, for sure.
Who?
Why?
Where was Ashley, his beloved, darling, gorgeous, caring Ashley? What was she thinking right now, what was going through her mind?
He kept hoping, every moment, that this was some terrible nightmare and in a minute he would wake and be in his bed with Ashley beside him. It just did not make any sense.
There was a sudden sharp hiss, stark and clear. The walkietalkie!
Then a voice, in a thick Southern drawl said: 'You have any idea how much damage they do? Huh? You got yourself any idea?'
Frantically, Michael scrabbled in the darkness for his torch.
The voice continued, 'Y'know, most folk ain't got no idea. You git them durn conservationalists talking 'bout protecting the wildlife, but them guys, they don't know shit, know what I'm saying?'
Michael found the torch, switched it on, located the walkietalkie and pressed the talk button. 'Hello?' he said. 'Hello? Davey?'
'Uh huh, I'm talking to ya! Bet you don't have no idea, right?'
'Hello, who are you?'
'Hey dude, you don't need to worry 'bout who I am. Thing is five danged rabbits eat near enough the same amount of grass as one sheep. Go figure.'
Michael gripped the black box, totally confused, wondering if he
was hallucinating. What the hell was going on? 'Can I speak to Mark? Or Josh? Or Luke? Or Pete? Robbo?'
There was silence for some moments.
'Hello?' Michael said. 'Are you still there?'
'Ma friend, I ain't going nowhere.'
'Who are you?'
'Maybe I'm the Man With No Name.'
'Listen, Davey, this joke's gone on too long, OK? Too fucking long. Please get me out of here.'
'You gotta be impressed with two hundred rabbits, right?'
Michael stared at the walkie-talkie. Had everyone gone totally insane? Was this the lunatic who had just taken out the breathing tube? Michael tried desperately to think clearly.
'Listen,' he said. 'I've been put here as a joke by some friends. Can you get me out of here, please?'
'You in some kind of bad shit?' the American voice said.
Still unsure whether this was some kind of game, Michael said, 'Bad shit, you got it.'
'What do you think about two hundred rabbits?'
'What do you want me to think about two hundred rabbits?'
'Well dude, what I want you to think is that any dude wastes two hundred rabbits, he's gotta be an OK kind of a dude, know what I'm saying?'
