"Wake up, Kimber. Wake up, friend."
The soft, melodious voice brought him back to consciousness. As he opened his eyes, he noticed the sun had come up. Still lying down, he turned on his side and looked up. Obscured by the sun, three figures stoop at his feet.
“Come on. Stand up, Kimber. You gotta go, can’t hide in the woods all day.”
So he did as he was told, and as he moved so as to have the sun to his back, he recognized the three men. “Andy Summers, Stewart Copeland and Sting?” Kimber could not believe his eyes! “Late 1970s and 80s Brit and Grammy award winners and Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees rock band The Police! What are you doing out here?”
Sting took a step forward and put a hand on Kimber’s shoulder. “Remember, every little thing you do is magic, so pay attention. Find that message in a bottle, and you’ll be home free. But right now, go. Run. Don’t stand so close to me, you’re dirty and bloody and it freaks me out a little.”
Not that it did any good, Kimber wiped his hands on his dirty pants and started running away. As he was getting away, he heard Sting yell one last thing. “Remember: De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da. »
On that note, Kimber sat up in a panic, waking up from a restless sleep. He looked around for any thirty years old rock band, but found no one. He buried the bloody knife under some leaves and branches and started running once more.