by Chuck Rogers
The cheering began in earnest as Miles and I stepped towards each other. We just naturally gravitated towards the midcourt line. We were going to meet in the center circle.
I charged.
It was a little awkward with my right hand bound to my side but Mile's pale eyes flew wide as I barreled down on him.
Fine.
Fuck it.
Center circle.
Jump off.
The crowd spontaneously gave a long, rising "WHOAAAAAAAAAAAH..." as I ran at the marshal. I charged like the Frame Train had drawn a line through Miles and intended to blow straight threw him.
I did.
I hit the center circle and launched.
My left foot left the ground.
My right foot left the ground.
In the martial arts it's called a butterfly kick.
The left foot lead fakes them out and then the back foot that has all the strength hits them. I'd never thrown one in a fight in my life. More often than not if I used my feet on you, you tended to be on the ground already and I was stomping a mud hole in you.
But I'd practiced the butterfly kick for my brown belt test.
Never in a million years did Miles expect me to go airborne.
He looked at my left knee rising for a heartbeat of horror and brought up his arms to cover faster than I would have suspected.
My legs scissored and my right foot came in just under his guard and slammed into his sternum.
Miles went flying off his feet and when he hit the asphalt he hit badly and rolled twice.
I landed cat-like, textbook.
For one second stunned silence reigned.
The chant started.
"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"
I stayed where I was.
Miles managed to push himself to one knee.
He looked bad.
Marrs walked over and quietly asked the Marshal a few pertinent questions.
Miles nodded and rose.
Marrs looked at me and nodded.
Fine.
Time to end this.
I stalked forward.
The crowd roared.
Miles was still gasping and trying to suck air into his crushed lungs.
I raised my left knee.
Then I raised my right.
Miles made dazed, wavy motions with his hands not knowing where the kick was coming from.
He didn't know what to do.
An ugly light lit inside me.
You wanted to hang me, law-dog? Now you want to be the instrument of my correction?
I stepped forward, planted my right foot and spun.
Here.
Just like the flying kick. Never in a million years did Miles expect me to spin.
My body became a game of crack the whip.
The balled up soup-bones I called a fist became the terminal end of the Frame ball-and-chain.
Eat this.
The spinning backfist collided with his jaw.
I wiped the stupid look off the Hangman's face. I nearly wiped the Hangman's face off his head. I made a maximum effort to wipe the Hangman's head off of his body.
Miles hit the ground like God had swatted him there.
Flawless victory.
Knock out.
I stepped away.
The crowd roared.
"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"
I turned and gave Dez a wink.
The gods hate it when you do that.
And I was already on their bad side.
Dez shook her head and pointed.
I hadn't knocked Miles out.
He did a slow, shaky push-up and got first one knee and then the other beneath him.
Of course an asshole with a handle like Marshal Roman Miles had an iron-jaw.
The entire right side of his face inflated like a football and was swiftly turning black.
Marrs had a very short, serious talk with the Marshal.
Miles spat blood and rose.
Marrs shrugged at me and stepped out of the way.
Miles took his guard.
I came straight in.
It was time for the beat down.
I closed.
Miles lunged.
He shot both hands forward like he intended to choke the life out of me. It was a crazy move, easy to block and with a virtual candy store of vicious retaliatory flavors.
Except I only had one hand and 99% of those retaliations were currently illegal.
Miles ate my jab.
He took my knee to the guts and he almost buckled but then he had two big handfuls of my hair.
This was not a crazy attack. It was a sacrifice.
He ate the strikes to get close.
Then the fucker head-butted me.
Right over my left eyebrow.
I saw stars.
Despite the stars I heard the crowd's collective "OOOOOOOH!"
Let me tell you something about head-butts.
If you have a brain? You butt your opponent in either temple. Your forehead is where your skull is thickest and their temple is the thinnest.
Good way to kill somebody.
A butt to the bridge of the nose is good, it breaks the nose, blinding pain and blinding tears squirt. The cheekbones are good too, guaranteed facial fracture but be careful, you can get cut on those bones. Same with the jaw, watch out for the teeth.
But if you go forehead to forehead, despite you being the hammer and them the anvil, there's no guarantee who is going to come out on top.
The upshot was the world went all tunnel around the edges and I before I could cry ' Foul!' I sat down. Then I found myself lying down. No one cried foul or blew a whistle. I blinked and found Marrs peering down at me critically. I looked over at Miles. He was bent over with both hands on his knees gasping. He had a beauty of a goose egg developing in the middle of his forehead. He was starting not to have a face.
Marrs looked at me. "Frame?"
"Fuck him."
Marrs nodded. "Good man."
I'd had worse.
I could still take him.
I stood, and that's when I knew the head-butt hadn't been desperation.
It was the Marshal's game-changer.
Blood poured down into my left eye.
Son of a bitch had cut me deliberately.
I wiped at my eye and more blood just poured down. I had to block with my left hand and now I mostly couldn't see anything coming from that side. I could see out of the right but with my right hand handcuffed all I could do was wink and smile at any strike that came in. I stood sort of squared forward stance and hid behind my left hand while I lifted my chin and turned my head so I could watch him with my right eye.
It was the worst fighting stance in the world.
I couldn't take him.
I was fucked.
Miles came in. I'd impressed the hell out of him and he knew I was still dangerous. The Marshal came in careful.
Of course he circled to my left.
Miles faked the right hand lead and pumped the left jab.
I never saw it.
I ate it.
Right in the eye.
He kept circling to my blind side. He pumped in two more jabs I couldn't see much less stop. He raised the right and once more I had to try and block it. I ate two more lefts for my trouble.
The bleeding became a waterfall.
Five unanswered blows and I was on my bicycle half-blind and tottering.
The crowd was screaming my name, the Marshal's and for blood in general.
My evil, internal Cobra Kai sensei hissed desperately. 'Johnny, sweep the leg!'
I tried, I really did, but I was too slow, half-blind and Miles was already inside my circle as I threw it. It was more of an angry leg bump and I nearly tripped as I tried to back-pedal and make space.
I blocked his jab.
Pretty proud of that.
Then he was inside my guard.
I was defenseless.
I w
ent for a desperation head-butt of my own.
I ate his uppercut.
Short and nasty with his hips and entire spine erupting up behind it.
For a second I was staring straight up at the liquid sky-show above.
Pretty.
My head came down and I got the classic follow up hook.
The world slowed down.
Someone dimmed the lights.
I heard Dez screaming my name.
Then Miles grabbed my left wrist and that was it.
Sorry about those AR's, Chuck.
Miles yanked my arm out of his way.
I couldn't see anything to my left and one, two, three right hands crashed into my jaw. Miles hauled my arm up and one, two, three right hands crunched into my floating ribs. I blindly took the blows. He yanked my arm straight and one, two chopping rights to my triceps and a third to the funny bone left my arm hanging useless.
God damn it.
Miles spun me and buried his fist over my right kidney. The world went white and my entire body seized up. I took a step, took a knee, rose and took a couple more steps. I managed to turn around.
Miles came in with the right.
He didn't say it, but we both knew.
This one was for Larry.
Miles went low and buried his fist an inch below my belt.
Right in the bladder. I think he actually held back a bit, but it was plenty.
In the space of two seconds I pissed all over myself, fell on my face and started throwing up.
Nice posture of a champion there, Frame-o.
I tried to get up.
The effort left me curled fetal.
Marrs looked down upon me and made the cutting gesture beneath his chin.
It was over.
The crowd went nuts.
It was a hell of a fight.
Miles took a knee beside me.
He held out his left hand. My arm was dead and my hand shook like Parkinson's but I managed to clasp his hand.
The crowd roared and stomped and cheered their approval.
I spoke below the cheering. "Miles."
"Frame."
"I have a spy in camp. When they take you to the Fuck Tent ask for J-Girl. Give her the code word 'Ashley.' Take her in the back like your going to fuck her and introduce yourself. After that pretend she's your favorite. She'll be one of our conduits, and that way you don't have to rape anybody."
Miles regarded me out of his mangled face. "Thank you, Frame. That means a lot."
Thank me later, asshole. You thought you were going to have the last fucking laugh on Frame?
No chance in hell.
Marrs stepped up and ended me and the Marshal's tender moment. "Prospects, is this over?"
Miles nodded. "I'm good."
"Frame?"
I just lay there while pain and feelings of sick wrongness radiated through my belly and my pissed-in pants turned cold. "I love this man."
Marrs motioned Miles aside.
They left me there.
All the headlights went off. The basketball court filled with members. They left a small pocket of space around me but otherwise I was ignored. The night lit up as two big bonfires roared into life behind Ged's flatbed.
Ged launched into that stem-winder.
Beautiful speaking voice.
"We are the sons and daughters of Armageddon! We are one!"
The members chanted back. "WE ARE ONE!"
The prospects had to hang back on the periphery, on the outside looking in. Dreaming of the day they were true sons and daughters of the SOG and could participate.
Excellent psychology.
"There is but one color! The color of the beam, and all who saw it went blind! We are the ones who were strong enough to survive! We are the ones strong enough to turn our backs on the past and seize the now! We are the ones strong enough to take what Armageddon gave and make it our own!"
It was a good speech.
"The Marshal and his khaki lackeys are weak! Lights and sirens cannot stop us! Those who think they are still soldiers in Los Angeles cannot stop us! They cannot stop us because tin shields and toy soldiers cannot stop warriors! What are we?"
"WARRIORS!"
Who are we?
"SONS OF GED!"
How do we get it?
" ARMAGEDDON IT!"
How do we take it!
" ARMAGEDDON IT!"
"Have we not been given what is left of it?"
" ARMAGEDDON IT!"
Ged pumped his fists up towards the crawling sky show above.
"Sons of Ged! What do we bring?"
Every last SOG dropped their voice low.
"DOOOOOOOOM..."
I liked the Doom part. He'd stolen it, but I liked it.
Ged, genuine leader of men.
The soldiers in Los Angeles.
Interesting.
Then Ged called.
"Frame!"
Jesus.
"Prospect, you are called!"
The crowd around me parted. Ged stood in the bed of the truck, lit up by the bonfires and waiting on me.
Dez whispered somewhere behind me. "Baby, you have to get up."
I got up.
It took a few tries. I didn't think I had a concussion. I was mostly sure my bladder wasn't torn, but I almost didn't make it. The walk got dizzy a couple of times but I managed to turn it from a drunken reel to a shamble.
I stood swaying on my feet before my new god.
Ged stretched forth his hands.
"We are all warriors! Everyone fights! Every true son and daughter who wears the mark has fought for me and fought for their share of what remains!" He pointed a huge finger at me. "But Frame was a provisional, and he went back for his brothers and sisters!"
The brothers and sisters called.
"FRAAAAME."
"With an empty rifle and a bayonet!"
"FRAAAAME."
"To save his brothers and sisters, he went hand-to-hand, back among the burned!"
"FRAAAAME."
"Alone!"
"FRAAAAME."
"Suicide run!"
"FRAAAAME."
"All who bear the mark! Raise your hand!"
Every SOG who bore the brand raised their right fist.
"True sons! True daughters! Will you have Frame as your brother?"
Every last man and woman who bore the mark raised their left fist to join the right.
Dickie howled. "Frame! Frame! Frame!"
Everyone last one percenter joined him.
"FRAME! FRAME! FRAME!"
Ged turned to Marrs. "Bring it."
Marrs jerked his head.
Two naked and blind slave women stumbled forward with Chuck guiding them firmly by the back of the neck. The girls bore a bucket of orange coals between them. They flinched away from the heat.
There was an iron sticking up out of it.
God damn it.
This was going to leave a mark.
One corner of Marrs's mouth quirked up as he looked at my handcuffed right arm. "Don't move."
Asshole.
Marrs took the glowing brand out of the fire and without ceremony pressed it into my upper arm. The beating helped dull it but it was still maybe the second most painful thing I had ever felt in my life. Just as well the arm was handcuffed. I smelled my own flesh burning.
I nearly fainted.
I got a big round of cheers.
Ged spoke as the noise died down. "Is there anything you will not do for your brothers and sisters?"
I looked up at Ged through what was left of my face. "Nothing."
Ged nodded to Marrs.
Marrs put his pistol to the back of the closest slave's head and pulled the trigger. She collapsed like a calf in the slaughter chute. He took a knee, drew a big, wicked skinning knife and it only took him a few seconds to open her like a letter and produce a big, bloody slice of liver.
Ged nodded.
Marrs tossed it onto the coals. The onl
y sound in camp was human meat hissing and spitting. After thirty seconds Marrs speared it with his knife and flipped it. After another thirty he speared the meat again and held it out to me.
I looked at the gutted, dead woman.
I looked at the meat.
It was a pass/fail situation.
Dickie catcalled. "He's gonna puke!"
Fucking Dickie Bell.
Ged stared at me without blinking. "No, he is not."
I took the meat. It was scalding hot but after being branded that was nothing and I didn't flinch. I didn't flinch at the meat burning my hand and I didn't flinch at what I had to do. I didn't flinch as the bloody, burnt meat tore between my teeth.
It didn't taste like chicken.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Valhalla, were the brave may live forever.
THE DEAD, NAKED, GUTTED, BRAINS BLOWN OUT SLAVE STOOD AT THE FOOT OF MY BED.
"How did I taste?"
I woke up screaming.
"Baby!" A woman grabbed me. "Baby, it's okay!"
I might have done her some real damage but my left arm mostly wasn't working and my right was worse than not working. It was on fire. A massive pair of hands crossed my arms over my chest and pinned me to the bed like an insect. One hand held me there while the other bunch-of-bananas sized fingers cocked back into a fist. The giant spoke quietly.
"Frame."
My legs kicked a bit beneath the blankets but I wasn't going anywhere.
Ged leaned a little harder and I recognized him. "Frame."
I collapsed.
Ged peered into my eyes. "Frame?"
"Jesus . . ."
"You do not call upon the Carpenter here or anywhere else. We have left him and his works in all their guises behind us."
I blinked. "Lord Ged of Hosts, give me strength?"
"I am going to take your humor as a sign of returning good health."
I looked around. It was like I was in a hospital room but I was lying in a regular bed. A patient monitoring machine checked my vitals. They seemed pretty strong. Marrs leaned in the corner looking at me critically. Ged turned. "Doctor?"
The Indian doctor who had examined me in A-Camp stood by the monitor. I thought she had kind of liked me. She looked at me now with pure hatred. I felt the burn of the brand and saw the bandage covering it. I was a member.
She knew what I had done.
"I don't think he has a concussion. I don't want to waste a catheter unless he's torn inside and has blockage." She set a little amber bottle full of pastel bluish pills on the bed stand. "Take two of these."
"What are they?"
"Xanax."