“Pick up your weapons,” Torres said.
Mr. China reached for the M4. Eda, moving a little slower, picked up the gun at her feet, ignoring her frantic heartbeat. Her throat was dry and scratchy. She had to block out all physical discomfort now.
There was the man in front of her and nothing else.
Torres’ metallic voice cut through the blurry edges.
“Rifles begin at the combatant’s side. When I give the word you fire and you keep firing until the opponent is dead or until you are dead. Once again, the victor will be granted a head start on the mainland.”
Eda’s rifle arm was shaking. Doubt had flooded her mind at the last minute, an unwelcome visitor that reminded her of her inadequacies. She wasn’t a gunfighter.
What had she done?
She looked over at Mr. China. He was in position, rifle lowered at the side. That blank, stoic expression was still on his face.
“Ready,” Torres yelled.
Eda froze. At that moment she was as good as dead. Her thoughts had congealed into mind mush. Everything she’d learned about shooting a rifle was gone. She could only hope now that Mr. China would kill her quick – a bullet to the head or to the heart. No pain. She didn’t want to die slowly, listening to the sound of grunts slurping beer.
“FIRE!”
Mr. China was like a ghost. He was already looking down the barrel of the M4 before Eda’s rifle arm had even twitched.
Nothing flashed before her eyes.
But then she saw the old soldier twist his body to the left, swinging the weapon along with him. In the blink of an eye he took aim at Commander Torres, who was still nibbling grapes on the platform.
An explosion of gunfire lit up the beach. One of the marksmen went down while the other four shot back at Mr. China. The other five gunmen on the platform whose weapons were trained on Eda didn’t flinch. She was still their target.
Mr. China took out another guard that had jumped in front of Torres. The Chinaman edged closer to the platform, miraculously dodging the first round of bullets that came his way. Seconds later however, he fell backwards, bellowing out one last word in Chinese as he collapsed onto the beach.
He landed on his back, arms and legs spread out in a star shape.
Eda dropped her rifle and put her hands up. Her ears were ringing after all the snap gunfire.
Torres stepped out from behind her guards. She looked unruffled, if a little annoyed.
The sudden silence that followed the shootout didn’t last long. The crowd immediately began to jeer the disappointing outcome. Drunken, angry voices yelled out words that Eda didn’t understand. But she understood they were pissed off. She looked around, sensing their dissatisfaction and seeing the beginnings of an opportunity. It was a heat of the moment thing, not to be ignored. It was crazy and yet she had no choice but to listen to the madness.
She yelled at the top of her voice.
“WAIT!”
All the guns on the island pointed at her.
She turned towards the platform and looked at a nervous Manny. “I have something to say,” Eda said. “Will you translate for me? I want everyone here to understand.”
Her voice was trembling but she had to keep going.
“Will you translate for me?”
Manny’s skin was a yellowy-pale color as he glanced at his cousin. Torres said nothing, so he turned back to Eda and managed a slight nod of the head.
“I’ll translate,” he said.
Eda cleared her throat.
“I was promised a duel this morning,” she said, conjuring up a tone of outrage. “I was promised a fight with the Chinaman in exchange for my freedom. This was my chance to win the war for America, my chance to get the hell out of here, and it was taken away from me.”
Manny translated quickly.
Eda pointed a finger along both sides of the crowd.
“YOU were also promised a fight,” she said. “But what did you get instead? A half-assed assassination attempt. Now I’m sure you’re all delighted that your commander is still alive but I can only imagine how unsatisfying this outcome must be for you all. All that money you gambled. You were promised entertainment and instead you got tricked.”
She nodded at Manny. He translated and the crowd mumbled their discontentment.
“Who wants to see a real fight?” Eda said.
She waited for Manny. After his translation, the crowd responded and the mood began to lighten again. At that moment, Eda knew she had them where she wanted them. And she had Torres where she wanted her too.
She turned to the commander who was sitting down on the metal chair, dipping her fingers into the fruit bowl.
“Commander Torres,” Eda said. “I challenge you to a duel this morning on Dead Island. This time, we fight with swords.”
After Manny’s translation, there were a few gasps in the crowd. Muted conversations were cut short when Eda kept talking.
“We’re swordswomen,” Eda said, glaring towards the platform. “So let’s have a real fight. If I win I get a head start on the mainland as promised. But something else too – the old man in the tent comes with me. And if I lose, well it’s one less American in the world. If you kill me Commander Torres, you’ll have shown yourself to be a worthy leader of the Third Unit.”
Eda held her arms out wide, allowing the island breeze to wash over her.
“What do you say?”
13
Torres must have known that everyone was looking at her.
The sheer audacity of the challenge. It was nothing short of crazy. After Mr. China’s death Eda had every reason to believe that she would have been considered the winner of the America-China duel. And as the winner of that fight, she would be sent back to the mainland as promised.
Why then had she challenged Torres?
Was it for Goldman’s sake? Eda wasn’t so sure. Was there some other reason, something more primitive and selfish?
Did she want to see Torres dead?
Eda saw the confusion reflected in the faces of those standing around her. Confusion mingled with nervous excitement. After the disappointment of the first duel would there now be another one?
They turned towards their leader. The grunts were still clutching onto their beers but for now the festivities were on hold. Eda relished in the trepidation on their faces. Almost a minute had passed since the she’d issued her challenge and still the commander hadn’t responded.
It didn’t matter. Eda already knew how Torres would react. She’d spun a spider’s web and trapped the commander like a helpless fly, leaving her with no choice but to accept the challenge. The alternative? Back down in front of her regiment and become something less than a warrior goddess.
The weasel-faced officer behind Torres leaned in and whispered something in her ear. As he spoke, his thick jugular stood up, exposed.
Torres batted the officer away like he was a mosquito.
She glanced at Manny, then turned to the crowd.
“I accept your challenge,” Torres said. “You’re a smart girl Eda but not as smart as you’d like to think. You’ll find out what a mistake you’ve made soon enough. So be it. All bets remain as they were – as far as today’s sport is concerned it’s still America versus China on the battlefield. I’ll fight the American on behalf of the troops who voted for a Chinese victory. Nothing changes except this time we duel with swords. Apart from that, there are no rules. Anything goes.”
Torres repeated this to the grunts in their language. Just like that, the crowd switched back into carnival mode. They jumped up and down on their feet as the piper struck up another tune. They also seemed to remember that they were drunk and that they were supposed to be having a good time on their play day.
As the music played Mr. China’s body was dragged away from the dueling ground. Two grunts pulled him towards the boats, his head clattering over the rocks on the shoreline. His arms and legs were limp like a ragdoll.
Eda watched from afar as
they threw him onto one of the boats. She was grateful at least that the grunts hadn’t looted the corpse. The old soldier deserved to go down into the deep with his wallet in his back pocket, not to mention the beloved photograph inside it.
She turned back to the front and saw Manny, stiff as a board on the platform like an exotic mannequin. Beside him, Torres was dishing out orders to her officers and troops. Now and then she stopped to scowl at Eda who was still standing in the dueling area, a lone figure amongst the rowdy revelers.
Torres called for quiet and the crowd obeyed. The piper cut off the cheerful ditty he was playing and retreated back into the horde.
“I’ve just ordered a boat to go back and get our swords,” she said. “Until they return you’ll wait under guard in the tent.”
Torres gestured for one of the men to take Eda away. Before she left, Eda exchanged a grim look with the commander. For the first time since she’d walked into Fort Independence, Eda saw a flicker of discomfort in the woman’s eyes.
Goldman was still asleep on the floor when Eda arrived back at the tent. Snoring loudly. Apart from the one guard standing outside, the two Americans were left alone. As Eda walked over to the sleeping bag she’d barely slept in last night, she glanced over at Mr. China’s spot in the corner. Then she dropped onto her bag, flat on her back, both arms on her chest. Now that everything was quiet she could feel her headache again.
“What have I done?” she said, rubbing a hand over her throbbing temple.
There was a loud groan beside her. Goldman’s eyes were half-open and he was trying to sit up.
“Jeez Louise and then some,” he said, glancing at Eda. All things considered, the old man didn’t look too bad. His eyes were bright and his skin had a nice touch of pink about the cheeks. “How long have I been out? Feels like I’ve been asleep for a month goddamn it.”
“Hey,” Eda said, lying on her side and facing him. “How you feeling?”
“Head’s a bit foggy.”
“I’ll bet.”
Goldman lowered himself back onto the bed with a long wail of a sigh. “Is today the day?”
Eda flipped onto her back. “What’s that?”
“The duel for God’s sake,” he said. “What else? Me and the chink. We need to do it soon by the way, while I can still summon the strength to stand on two feet. You know what I mean?”
“Are you serious?” Eda said.
Goldman shot up to a sitting position. “You bet your ass I’m serious. I’ve still got enough juice left in the tank to take that son of a bitch out, don’t you doubt it. And when it’s done, maybe then I’ll start thinking about dying. But not a second before.”
He leaned forward, trying to look past Eda towards the corner of the tent where Mr. China had spent the night.
“Where’d the chink go anyway?” Goldman said.
He tried to get up but Eda placed a hand on Goldman’s chest and gently lowered him back onto the bed. Goldman went down, coughing, covering his mouth with the crinkled sleeve of his uniform.
The truth would break Goldman’s heart. Killing Mr. China had been his sole reason to live, along with winning the war for America and getting revenge on those he believed were responsible for everything he’d lost. That’s how he’d survived all those years in Boston in such grim circumstances – with purpose. It was a testament to the power of having a dream.
She waited until Goldman had stopped coughing. Checking that his eyes were clear she leaned closer.
“Mr. China’s dead.”
Goldman looked at her in horror but he didn’t speak. As he digested the news his face gradually creased up into an angry, frightened and confused mask. Eda got the impression the old man wanted nothing more than to sink into the groundsheet and burrow deep into the darkest bowels of the island.
“Dead?” he croaked.
“Yeah.”
“How? When?”
Eda paused. “He tried to run last night and they shot him,” she said.
Goldman’s body jerked backwards in a short, sudden fit of outrage.
“I knew it,” he roared at the top of his voice. “Cowardly son of a yellow bitch! He’d rather run than stand toe to toe with me. A-haaa, great war hero he turned out to be right?”
“Right,” Eda said quietly.
She tried to shut off the gnawing guilt inside. Goldman deserved better. Mr. China deserved better. She was also worried that somebody else on the island would tell the old man what really happened to his sworn enemy. If that happened the shit would really hit the fan.
“I’m getting us off this island,” Eda said.
“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Goldman said. He was staring up at the roof of the tent. He clapped his hands together, like he was signaling to the gods that he was ready. “It’s over. The war’s over but I’ll be damned, I don’t feel like much of a winner.”
“Of course it matters,” Eda said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Goldman said. “I’m dying here for God’s sake. They can do whatever they want to me now.”
Eda felt like slapping the old man across the face to rouse him out of his self-pity. “Wouldn’t you rather be at home right now? Surrounded by your family?”
Goldman pursed his lips. He nodded.
Eda took a deep breath. “Right,” she said. “I challenged Torres to a duel this morning. With swords. If I win we get a pass back to the mainland – you and me. That’s enough time to get you home to your apartment and get me back on the road.”
Goldman sat bolt upright, rigid with terror. “You challenged Torres to a fight?”
“Yeah,” Eda said.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Goldman said. “She’s a killer for God’s sake. Listen to me Eda, I’ve been in war. I’ve seen people – men and women – with the same bloodthirsty look in their eyes as Torres. It’s the mark of a monster. They’ve been around too much violence in their life, too much death, too much pain. Something snaps in their brain and that’s it – they become numb to suffering. There’s no filter to control the violence that spills out of their soul.”
Goldman started to unzip the sleeping bag.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “She wants to kill an American right? Well, let it be this one. I’ll fight her on condition she takes you back to the mainland whether I win or lose.”
He looked around the tent.
“Where’s my gun?”
“It’s too late for that,” Eda said. “You don’t understand. I challenged her in front of everyone. She has to fight me and that’s exactly the way I want it. With a sword, I have a chance of wining and getting us both out of here. Apart from that it’s a no rules fight. Anything goes.”
“To the death?”
“To the death.”
Goldman’s bird-like hands wrestled with the bag’s zipper.
“God damn it!” he yelled, his neck turning purple with frustration. “I watched all of my children die. All three of them, one at a time – beautiful, innocent young lives snuffed out for no good reason. Do you think I’m just going to sit here while you face off against that bitch? You can’t trust any of those people out there. Think about it. Even if you win they’ll rip you to shreds for killing their leader. What else are they going to do?”
Eda shook her head. “I won’t lose,” she said. “And we’ll get back to Boston afterwards, I know we will.”
With his other hand, Goldman finally got a handle on the zipper and with a grunt he pulled his legs out the sleeping bag. He tried to stand up and shrieked with pain.
“Ugh,” he said, dropping back onto the floor with a thud. “My legs feel like they’re in a coma.”
“Will you relax?” Eda said.
“Relax?” Goldman said. “Bullshit. I’m coming out there with you.”
Somebody tapped on the tent door. Seconds later, the dark outline of a grunt slipped his head through the entrance flap. He muttered something and while Eda didn’t understand the words, she understood the meaning.
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“The swords are here,” she said. “It’s time to go.”
Goldman tried to get up again but he wobbled before he was even halfway upright. “What the hell…”
“Listen,” Eda said in a reassuring voice. “You need to stay here for me. I can’t concentrate on fighting her if I’m thinking about you and what you’re doing. Please, for me. I need you here.”
Goldman’s tired old face was beaten. He sat there in limbo, neither fully in or out of the sleeping bag. Eda walked over and helped lower him back into a horizontal position.
“Anything goes,” Goldman said. There was still a faint spark in his eyes. “Eda listen to me. I…”
“Gotta go,” Eda said, cutting in.
She squeezed his hand and straightened back up again. Without a word, she walked to the entrance where the grunt was waiting for her.
“Anything goes,” Goldman called out.
Eda stopped. She could hear movement at her back. When she turned around, Goldman was once more clumsily trying to get out of bed, cursing his body as it betrayed him.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.
The grunt stabbed the butt of his rifle in the direction of the beach. Then he hit it off the groundsheet. He shouted something in an urgent, impatient tone of voice.
“I’m coming,” Eda said, looking at the man.
“Eda!” Goldman called out.
Eda glanced over her shoulder. Goldman was sitting up, eyes alert, his arms stretched out wide and beckoning her over.
“Don’t worry about me Goldman,” she said.
“Let me say goodbye properly,” Goldman said. “For God’s sake young lady, you come back here and say goodbye to this old man.”
Eda felt a knot tighten in her guts. She looked at the guard, then turned around and walked back to Goldman. Behind her, the grunt unleashed a torrent of verbal abuse.
“Give me a hug will you?” Goldman said. His arms were still wide open.
After the End Trilogy Box Set Page 42