by Tonia Brown
Dodger glanced over Thad’s shoulder again. This Jack was much bigger than Butch, in size and brawn, though his dejected pose made him seem smaller.
Weaker.
Broken.
“Is that so?” Dodger asked. “Is the fact that Butch bested such a big man supposed to … what? Scare me? I hate to be ugly, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but I happen to have both of my legs.”
Thad’s cool stare never wavered. “When Butch challenged him, Jack also happened to have both of his legs.”
“I see.” And Dodger did see. But it was still far too late to do anything about it.
“What’s your name?”
“Why do you care?”
“I need to know what to put on your headstone.” Thad gave a small grin.
Dodger couldn’t help but admire a man who could find humor in the worst of times. “Rodger Dodger. But my friends just call me Dodger.” He held aloft his hand, which Thad grasped and shook heartily.
“Thaddeus Walker. Well met, Dodger. I’m only sorry it won’t be for long.”
“We shall see. Speaking of seeing, there is a reason I came here to begin with. Where’s the girl?”
“Butch holds her in his tent,” Thad said.
Dodger gripped Thad’s hand tighter. “If he’s done anything to her, I swear I’ll-”
“Hold your anger for your task ahead,” Thad warned. “No one has touched her. They wouldn’t dare.”
“Yeah, sure.” Dodger released Thad’s hand. “Real bunch of gentlemen you are.”
“No, you don’t understand. The men are put off by her presence. Some are even frightened of her. It may have been a long time since we have had a woman in our presence, but she seems very different from other females. She’s …” The man paused, as if embarrassed by his admission. “She isn’t normal.”
Dodger couldn’t help a small chuckle. “Brother, I couldn’t agree more.”
Thad’s gaze wandered to the Sleipnir in the distance again. “Is it true? What you said about your doctor friend? Can he make us whole men again?”
“I won’t lie to you. He might not be able to change you back completely, but he will try his best. And when he sets his mind to solving something, it’s only a matter of time before that something is solved.”
The tall man looked back to Dodger, a mix of worry and pity crossing his face before he asked, “Do you still put forth the challenge, Rodger Dodger?”
“I do.”
Formalities done, Thad gave Dodger a quick nod and withdrew from the ring. A flutter of discussion arose from the men surrounding him, the Pack recognizing the implications of Thad’s last visit to the challenger. Dodger couldn’t help but wonder how much this odd proceeding was created by the dog part of their brain, and how much was human. As he mused on this, a familiar sensation came upon him, and a whisper rose in his mind.
Dodger?
“Boon,” Dodger whispered under his breath. “Now’s not the best time.”
On your knees, son.
“What?”
Get on your knees, as if you are praying. Then you can speak to me freely without these men suspecting something is amiss.
Dodger had to admire the ghost’s ingenuity. He dropped to his knees, clasped his hands and mumbled under his breath, “What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t get this far away from the guns?”
Apparently I can go farther than I thought. Maybe my presence on this earthly plane has more to do with you than at first we thought.
Dodger’s natural suspicion guessed it was something simpler. “Is Ched with you? Did he bring your guns here?”
No, he has remained stationed at the train as you commanded.
For lack of a better option, Dodger had to take him at his word. “Then get your ethereal behind back there with him, and stay there until I say so.”
In a moment. First I wanted to assure you that the tall stranger spoke true. Lelanea is held prisoner in the large tent. She appears unharmed. Angry, but well. Which is to say she is fairly normal.
“Good. Now go. Let me take care of this.” Dodger could feel the ghost’s hesitation.
Tell me first, what is it you think you’re doing here? That man is twice your size. He will be difficult to defeat. Are you sure you can-
“Yes. I know what I’m doing. Now get out of here. You’re very distracting.”
Please, I beg you heed me. This is a mistake. Call off this challenge of yours before that man kills you.
“He won’t kill me. He might rough me up a bit, but he won’t kill me.”
Your young friend thought otherwise. What did he say just before he died? Butch will kill you soon as look at you.
Dodger grimaced at the echo of Clemet’s dying words.
And he will. He will kill you because you aren’t part of his Pack. Stop this now, before you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your existence.
“I can handle myself. You just get back and help Ched keep an eye on the train. He’s probably fallen asleep up there on his own.”
No, he will not. He is just as worried for you as I am. By the SPECS, he is watching us. Signal him if you doubt me.
Dodger lifted his eyes to the outline of the train. He gave a little wave. In response, a glint sparkled from the train’s roof. Quick, but deliberate.
Dodger returned to his attitude of prayer. “Is that Ched?”
Yes. He is wide awake and keeping a tight bead on this ring. The moment there is any foul play, he will fire upon anyone who-
“No!” Dodger glanced up to see that a few of the soldiers were staring now, curious as to how long the stranger planned on praying, and surely wondering if it would do him any good. “You bet back and tell him I said he is to hold his fire. Hear me?”
But-
“He is to hold his fire. Whatever happens, no matter how bad things seem, Ched will not, I repeat he will not fire into this camp. Do you understand me?”
There was a pause, followed by a weak Yes, I understand.
“Even if Butch beats me dead, even if he pulls me apart piece by piece, Ched is not to fire into this camp. Because the minute he does, they will kill Lelanea, then they will come after the rest of you.”
You are right, of course. I admit, my anxiety has blinded me.
“Then get back to the train.”
Again there was a sensation of hesitation.
“If you understand, then get on back,” Dodger demanded.
I understand well enough. I understand that you can’t protect the line if you’re dead. You can’t protect her if you’re six feet under. These things I understand more than you appreciate. I made a similar mistake once, Dodger, and look where it got me.
“No offense meant against ya, Boon, but I’m not you. And you’re not me.”
There was a pause followed by a protracted sigh from the spirit. After this, Dodger felt the ghost take leave of him, the cloying aura of the spirit draining from his very senses in a slow retreat of dissatisfaction, perhaps even resentment. He hated to part with the spirit on such terms, but whatever fate had befallen Boon did not apply here. These were very different circumstances, and Rodger Dodger was a very different man from the gentle giant that Washington Boon used to be.
“Thank the Lord for that,” Dodger whispered.
He touched his forefinger to his brow, his chest, then crosswise shoulder to shoulder before getting to his feet, just in time to greet his massive foe.
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Chapter Seven
Smackdown in the Gap
In which Dodger fights the good fight.
Fully dressed, Bulldog Butch made for a disturbing image with his impressive bulk straining every seam of his clothes. But the sight of him as he strode across the camp, barefoot and shirtless and grinding one hammy fist into the opposite palm, well, it left Dodger a tad vexed. Under a thin layer of fur, the man was a bundle of muscle. Triceps bulged opposite biceps
. Pectorals flexed over rows of iron abdominals. Thick ropes of veins stood out from his arms and neck, pulsating with a special kind of rage. Anger reserved for the little man waiting in the ring.
Dodger followed the man’s example by removing his own shirt, though he left his undershirt in place. It was bad enough when his own crew gawked at his scars; he didn’t need a whole regiment of dog-men to make a big deal about it. He flexed his fists, though smaller than his foe’s, and cracked his knuckles, the sound of which was much less impressive than the tree-trunk-shattering noise of Butch’s cracks. Still, it put him in the mindset for a fight and set the tone that he was just as ready for this as the big dog.
Trailing a few feet behind Butch was Thaddeus, a worried look haunting the tall man’s harrowed face. He creased his brow at Dodger, begging in silence for him to drop the challenge. Dodger shook his head, managing a smile and a wink as he did.
“What you grinning about?” Butch asked as he took to the ring.
“I always greet my opponents with a smile,” Dodger said. “It’s good manners.”
Butch sized him up with an air of caution. “You’re a strange man.”
“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment, if you don’t mind.”
“You think you being strange bothers me? Makes me scared? Makes me jumpy? Well it don’t. It just makes me madder. And I was already pretty mad to begin with.”
The bulldog cracked his knuckles again, and Dodger winced. At that particular moment in time, for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, the noise reminded him of the distinct snap of a broken bone. A nose, for instance. Or a couple of ribs. Or his own thick skull. Dodger shook off the idea as Thaddeus stepped into the ring, moved between the fighters and cleared his throat.
“The opponent, Rodger Dodger, has openly challenged Butch Hollister’s authority. In accordance with Pack law, they have brought their disagreement to the ring. The first man down for a clean count of ten will lose the fight, and his opponent will be declared winner and new Pack Leader.”
The crowd rumbled with excitement. Dodger, on the other hand, reeled in shock.
“What do you mean, Pack Leader?” he asked. “I don’t want to be leader, I just wanted-”
Thad shouldered Dodger to one side of the ring, where he said in a low voice, “I thought you understood what you were doing when you challenged his authority.”
“I don’t want to be your leader.” Dodger knew he wasn’t fit to lead a flock of sheep, much less a troop of lost souls. “I just wanted to give you guys a chance to make up your own minds for once.”
“Make up our own minds?” Thad asked, as if the very notion were foreign to him.
“Yes. You’re free, Thad. You’re not in a war camp anymore. You’re free men. You should start acting like it.”
“Free men,” Thad echoed.
“Enough talk!” Butch yelled behind them.
“I’m sorry,” Thad whispered, “but it’s far too late to argue now. Butch will have you killed if you refuse to follow through. It is your bravery alone that has let you live this long.”
“And what has kept you alive this long? Obedience?”
Thad’s look of worry shifted into a cold stare. “Will you fight or not?”
“I’ll fight,” Dodger said. “But if I win this thing, I refuse to be your new boss. You’ll just have to start leading yourselves.”
“The point is moot, as well as sorrowful, because you will not win against him, Rodger Dodger. The first chance he gets, he will kill you.”
“What a choice. Kill me if I back out, kill me if I fight. What does it matter where I die?”
“You can make light of this all you like, but you will die in this ring today. Wish as I might, I know the truth of this as I know you are a good man.”
“I’m not good. I’m just good at it.”
That got a smile out of the lad. “I hope your death is swift and painless.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dodger said as he watched the tall underling scurry off the fighting stage.
Then there were two. Dodger sized up his opponent one last time and swallowed that fleeting fear that comes before the fight. That nagging doubt that he couldn’t do this. That he was going to lose. That he was going to die.
Butch moved with slow, deliberate steps toward Dodger. “You ready to lose?”
“Nope,” Dodger said. “But I am ready to kick your ass.”
The men circled one another, much like the buzzards reeling in the heavens above. Step for step, shift for shift, Dodger matched the bulldog, waiting for just the right moment to pounce. That moment never came, because Butch pounced first.
With the thunder of a charging rhino—not to mention an enthusiastic cry from the crowd of onlookers—the big man threw himself across the few feet of empty space, heading straight for Dodger’s gut. Dodger, the smaller and more nimble of the two, easily sidestepped the man, leaving Butch to tumble into the ropes of the ring. It took seconds for the lug to recover before he was at it again, charging head down for Dodger’s midsection. Again Dodger had but to step to one side to avoid the oncoming rush. Butch repeated this tactic twice more, and with each succession, Dodger grew more and more worried this was going to be too easy.
It was one thing to challenge a man’s authority, but to outright trounce him in his own fighting ring was almost distasteful.
On one last rush, however, the stout man stopped cold, mid-charge, and struck out. Dodger wasn’t quite prepared for this change in tactics, and before he could duck, he took a full-fisted blow to his nose. The loud crunch of some broken bone echoed amidst the howls and cries of the crowd. Blood gushed down Dodger’s face, across his lips and chin, painting a crimson streak all the way to his shirt. He pawed at his nose, momentarily dazed by the blow and unsure of just what had happened. In this instant of hesitation, Butch followed through with his rush, tackling Dodger to the ground.
Dodger regained his senses the moment he felt Butch’s weight on him. Collapsing of his own accord, he fell limp to the ground under the onrushing bulk. At this unexpected shift in weight, Butch lost his footing and dropped onto Dodger rather than grappling him. Dodger braced his hands against the falling man’s shoulders, then pushed up with his feet to flip the bulldog clean over him in a tumbling roll. Butch came to a stop several feet away just as Dodger scrambled to stand.
The bulldog lifted his head, nostrils flared in anger as he eyed Dodger with supreme hatred. Growling, the man got back to his feet. “I hope you enjoyed that, because you won’t get a second chance.”
Between openmouthed gasps, thanks to his bloody and broken nose, Dodger asked, “What are the rulesth again? I gotta hold you down for a count of ten?”
“There aren’t any rules.” The scowl boiled over into a full-on sneer. “Only thing you gotta do is die!”
Butch rushed him again, but Dodger was just able to leap out of the charging man’s path. For several minutes, they moved in almost synchronized steps, dancing back and forth across the ring in a boxer’s waltz, swinging and swooping and sliding in unison. One moment Dodger was in the lead, the next moment Butch had him at his mercy. Dodger landed a few well placed punches, which his opponent shook off with ease. Butch lashed out again and again but failed to make contact save for that first strike. Despite their difference in size, they appeared matched in skills. Blow for blow, move for move, the whole thing showed all the signs of a coming to a draw.
The crowd oohed and ahhed, cheered and booed until Dodger decided enough was enough. It was time to resort to a few less-savory tactics.
Dodger put his back to the mess hall, squared his stance and held out his hands, waving them at the bulldog. “Come on! Come take me down if you think you can! Or are you not dog enough? ‘Cause I know you aren’t man enough.”
This taunt pushed the appropriate buttons, encouraging Butch to rush Dodger once more. This time Dodger held his ground and welcomed the bulldog into a wide embrace. Once th
e man was in position, Dodger pulled his arms back, twisted the right and dropped down onto his elbows, pile driving his full weight—as well as his bony elbows—into his opponent’s tender lower back and kidneys. He usually avoided this kind of strike unless he intended to kill a man. A kidney punch was hard to recover from, both in the ring and in the long run.
Butch, however, ignored this blow, continuing to kick and flail with unbelievable strength until he tossed Dodger aside. Before a surprised Dodger could scramble away, the bulldog snatched him by the ankle, tripping him to the ground again. Yanking hard, Butch dragged his prize toward him, face down across the dirt. There he rolled atop Dodger, pinning him fast under three hundred pounds of pure muscle.
“You gonna … say more prayers … boy?” Butch asked between huffing gasps.
A dozen smartass comments came to mind, but under the meaty bulk of the bulldog, Dodger couldn’t manage to draw the breath to squeak out a single wisecrack. Instead, he focused what little air he had left on trying to shift the weight attempting to suffocate him. But it was no good. Butch was too large, and while Dodger wasn’t exactly a small man, he was tiny compared to the man atop him. Blobs of darkness swam into Dodger’s field of vision, a sure symptom of his oxygen-deprived brain shutting down for good.
“Ain’t you got nothin’ to say?” Butch yelled before he fell into a loud, raucous laughter. “See? He’s just like all the others. All talk and no backbone! He thinks he can best me? I’m bigger than you, stronger than you, and just plain better than you!”
While the big man delivered his premature victory speech, Dodger managed to work a hand free from under the crushing weight. Hooking his first two fingers, he dug them deep into the bulldog’s bare shoulder, just above his clavicle. Years of experience taught Dodger to rely on brain rather than brawn, on skill rather than muscle, but it never hurt to know a few pressure points along the way.
Butch seized at the contact, his head snapping to the left as his eyes rolled to whites. Dodger pushed the man away before releasing his grip on the pressure point. His opponent convulsed all over for a moment, then collapsed into a quivering mass. Getting to his feet, Dodger stooped over Butch, hands on his knees and heart in his throat, gasping as he tried to catch a much-needed breath. As he heaved and gulped, it dawned upon him that the crowd of onlookers had gone silent. He raised his head and his fists, expecting someone to rush forward and protect their fallen comrade.