Karl Dies in this Book: Chapter 5

I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the bright light. I had just adjusted to the light when a figure groaned and sat up. This figure then immediately lit a cigarette.
"Karl!"
"What?"
"I thought a killed you, maybe."
"Well, I am glad, you didn't."
My eyes found the Ka-bar jutting out of the grass, unmoving. I walked over, the Rake was dead, combat knife jutting from between its shoulder blades. I reached down and wrenched the knife free, red blood dripping from the blade.
"Karl, are you injured?"
"Don't think so."
"Then find my damn gun."
I looked down at the creature's lifeless body, all twisted with one arm stuck out haphazardly. My focus moved to the eight inch claw projecting from the index finger. I hacked it off with the axe.
"What are you going to do with that?" Karl walking up, my Mare's Leg in his hand.
"Souvenir?" I was admiring the wicked claw, turning it over in my hand when I spotted the wound it had given me.
You ever hurt a part of yourself but you can't see the extent of the injury so it doesn't really hurt that bad? Well couple that with the adrenaline rush of fight or flight and I had totally forgotten about the injury.
"Fuck me!" I dropped the claw staring at my hand.
"What? Oh shit."
The back of my hand had been skinned, from knuckles to wrist only bone and flesh were visible.
"We need to get going."
I grabbed the claw and took off through the woods. Karl stopped to grab the seven leaf clover left by the green dude.
At the hospital emergency room I explained the injury away as a cooking accident, a really fucked up cooking accident. They bandaged the hand and prescribed me some antibiotics to fight possible infection.
It was almost 2 am by the time I arrived home so I collapsed on the couch and was unconscious before my head hit the armrest.
My wife was an understandable mix of pissed off and concerned in the morning. Making me promise not to do something so crazy again.
For about a month nothing, my hand healed into a hideous scar tissue white, I ignored Karl's phone calls, and not much else happened. I had removed the skin of the Rake's claw, more than a little satisfied at the small revenge, to discover behind the claw a straight, six inch chunk of bone resembling a handle.
I dried the claw, wrapped the bone in paracord and turned it into a neat little dagger, always razor sharp. After that my life returned to normal and I wasn't complaining.
Five weeks after the incident I was alone on my couch, the Rake's claw in one hand and I drink in the other when I heard the voice.
"That was some crazy shit, huh?"
"Fuck me." I sighed and turned to find Billy Dee Yoda sitting next to me.