Hunger and Thirst by Richard Matheson Page A

legs.
    The burning was growing worse. His shoulder ached and throbbed and felt as if it were aflame. He felt jabbing knifelike twinges in the back of his neck and down to his fingertips. He felt as if he were coming apart. For the first time he felt a thin trickle of blood running down the small of his back.
    Third floor.
    He turned around and moved along the landing, holding tightly to the bannister.
    A door opened suddenly and he jumped as a tangle-haired woman staggered down to the bathroom in a wrinkled pink slip. He saw her unsheathed buttocks jiggling as she moved. She belched loudly and it rang in the still musty air. He heard the bathroom door slam as he moved up the last flight.
    He had to make it now. Only one more flight. Oh God, God help me. All right so I broke your rule. I stole. I know I stole. But I had to. You know that. Help me up. Just one more flight. Please help me up. One more little flight. If you do I’ll
    Oh, God help me!
    He groaned in agony and sank down to his knees half way up the flight. The stairs ran like water under his eyes. His legs felt like melting rubber. His back and shoulders were on fire.
    He gritted his teeth and his face drained completely white and etched itself with sudden pain-crazed fury.
    All right,
don’t
help me! I’ll help myself!
    He drove himself up, pulling on the bannister with all his strength. He cursed at everything, mostly at God who had not answered him.
    “I’m stronger than
you
,” he gasped crazily, “I’ll get there without you, damn you!”
    Sweat ran in rivulets down his temples and across his cheeks. He groaned, then cut it off, afraid someone would hear. Breaths fell from his mouth like bursts of hot air. His white fingers clutched at the bannister as he pulled himself up, whining and trying not to whine. You’ve got the money, he kept encouraging himself, you’re free now! You can leave her. He fired the message to shuddering, weakening muscles. Get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow you’ll…
    He reached the fourth floor with a convulsive lurch.
    He stood there trembling violently, looking down the bottomless stairwell with a look of wild, defiant triumph on his face.
    “I made it,” he hissed, “I made it.
Alone.”
    Then he stumbled toward his door, fumbling for the key.
    “Oh God, it hurts,” he muttered.
    The key slid in, the door flew open as he fell against it. It crashed against the wall and he staggered in and slammed it behind him. The lock caught fast. He reached up and swept off his hat and threw it into the darkness, gasping at the pain his lifted arm caused.
    He pulled out the money.
    But his fingers wouldn’t hold it. He heard it all fluttering down and thumping lightly on the rug.
    He didn’t care. Forget about it! He twisted his shoulders back in agony and let his coat slip heavily to the floor as he moved for the bed.
    He tried to reach up and turn on the light.
    The motion sucked the breath from him. He felt his legs vibrating helplessly and he reached out one palsied hand to find the bed.
    Muscles lost control.
    Suddenly he found himself falling in the darkness. Falling, falling, it seemed he’d never land. He clawed out wildly for support and his fingers brushed over something flat and smooth and it thudded down on the floor.
    He landed on the bed. Heavily.
    PAIN!!!
    A scream tore up through his throat breaking off into a bubbling croak of utter physical agony as someone clouted him across the back with the razor edge of a huge meat cleaver.
    He fell back on the bed, his left leg jerking up spasmodically and the room spun around, the night ran. He wallowed in pain, sank in it, felt it soaking over him like waters from a black vat.
    “Mother!”
    The scream went echoing down the hallways of his brain.
    Then his head lolled to the side and the crushing agony swallowed him alive.

9
    Later, the cat got tired of scratching at the door and went out the window again. Erick heard it meowing to the old lady and the old lady