by James Axler
Richmond said nothing for several seconds, then began to laugh. “You’re gonna spare my life, slave!”
“I’m no slave,” Ryan said.
Richmond grabbed a handful of dirt and dust and threw it in Ryan’s face. The one-eyed man had been expecting as much from the sec man and turned his head to the right, causing the grit to sting his face and fall harmlessly against the patch over his left eye.
Ryan moved in, not giving the downed sec man any more time to get back to his feet. But before he could get his hands on Richmond, the man had a knife in his right fist. He gave it a flick and a four-inch blade appeared, as if out of the air.
The crowd had noticed Richmond’s weapon and realized he had brought it into the ring with him. They began to boo and throw rotten fruit and vegetables into the circle. Ryan was hit in the back by an overripe tomato.
Grundwold got up from his chair, looking as if he might stop the fighting or force Richmond to drop his weapon, but the baron motioned for Grundwold to sit down, then waved his hands, signaling that the combatants continue their fight.
Ryan ducked low and kicked at Richmond’s feet, sending the sec man spinning onto his back. Without hesitation, he kicked him again, this time hard in the stomach.
Richmond sputtered and coughed up a mouthful of bile, but still managed to slash at Ryan’s leg, splitting the fabric of his pant leg open at the knee.
Brody moved in with his pike to pin the sec man down, but Ryan waved him off. “I don’t need your help!”
The crowd roared its approval and turned its attention away from Mog’s battle with Hambly. The mutie had been cut and slashed so many times that he would probably bleed to death before the next break. But that hadn’t stopped Mog from continuing the torture, cutting off pieces of the mutant’s body just to see how long he could remain standing. The sadistic punishment had held the crowd’s interest for a while, but paled in comparison to the drama of the close contest being waged between Richmond and Ryan.
Richmond slashed at Ryan with his knife, forcing the one-eyed man to back away. When a few yards separated them, the sec man reached behind his back and produced a second knife. For a moment it seemed he might toss it to Ryan to make it a fair fight, but it soon became apparent he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He came at Ryan with both knives leading the way.
Ryan backpedaled from the slashing steel, then tripped on something on the ground and fell onto his back.
A groan of disappointment washed over the crowd as it looked as if Ryan would be chilled, but the one-eyed man grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it at the face of the approaching sec man, just as the sec man had done to him scant minutes before. Richmond stopped in his tracks and did his best to clear his eyes of the grit, but it was no use. He couldn’t open his eyes, and even if he could, he’d still be unable to see.
Ryan sprung up to his feet, ran around to Richmond’s side and rammed his heel into the sec man’s knee. Richmond’s leg bent backward, toppling him to the ground like a felled tree, and forcing him to drop one of his knives and use a free hand to try to clear the dirt from his eyes.
Ryan reached into his back pocket and pulled out the brass knuckles he’d been given earlier in the day. He hadn’t planned on using the weapon, but since Richmond had set the tone for the fight, he had no problem slipping the heavy metal rings over the knuckles of his right hand.
Reaching back and cocking his arm, Ryan threw his fist forward, catching the downed sec man in the back of the head. The brass rings broke through Richmond’s skull, allowing Ryan’s knuckles to put a fist-sized hole in the man’s head.
He was chilled instantly.
But Ryan wanted to make sure and threw four more punches before climbing off the body. He rose to the sounds of a rousing cheer.
Grundwold chose that moment to ring the bell, allowing everyone, including the crowd, a chance to rest, and giving the mutant Hambly an even chance of recovering from his wounds.
Ryan picked up his panga, then sat to catch his breath. He checked the pant leg that had been cut open and found the skin beneath unbroken.
“Are you hurt?” Mildred asked, handing Ryan a bottle of water.
Ryan upended the bottle and gulped down the water.
“I don’t like the odds in this next round,” Brody muttered.
“What do you mean?” Mildred asked. “There’s only four of them.” She cracked a smile for Ryan and winked at Brody. “I know what you’re saying. I don’t trust the four of them to fight fair.”
“Who’s been fighting fairly?” Ryan asked.
Mildred let out a small disgusted laugh, then excused herself. “Sorry to run, but I’ve got a dying mutie the baron wants mended. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said, passing the water bottle to Brody.
Mildred took a few steps, then suddenly turned back. “Almost forgot. Krysty sends her love.”
Ryan looked up at the stage and saw Krysty sitting there at the baron’s side. The afternoon sun shone brightly against her hair, turning it the color of crimson fire. She waved at Ryan then, giving him a thumbs-up and blowing him a gentle kiss that was hidden from the view of the baron.
Ryan felt revitalized and decided that despite what Brody had said, the odds in the next round suited him just fine.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“How are you enjoying the contest, my pretty?” Baron Fox asked Krysty.
The titian-haired beauty looked away from her lover and said, “It’s very, very bloody…and violent.”
“Indeed it is. And exciting.”
Krysty shrugged. “I suppose it is, if you like that sort of thing…chilling people for no reason.”
“Do you find it exciting?” the baron asked.
“I’ve seen plenty of men chilled in my life. Some deserved it, some didn’t, but it’s almost always a waste of life.”
That seemed to excite the baron further. “I bet you have seen plenty of dead men, even chilled a few of them yourself, hey?”
“A few.”
“Oh, you must tell me about them sometime…in precise detail.”
“If you like.”
The baron raised his hand, summoning both sec chief Grundwold and Norman Bauer to his side. He spoke discreetly in each man’s ear, and they left quickly to carry out their orders.
In minutes, Norman Bauer returned with a young red-haired girl with a full figure and pretty face. The look on her face was a mixture of excitement and fear.
The baron looked over the girl. “Excellent!” he said. Then he leaned back and pulled open his bathrobe to expose himself. Without a moment’s hesitation the girl knelt between the baron’s open legs and took him into her mouth.
“Better,” the baron muttered. “Much better.”
GRUNWOLD APPROACHED Ryan, a hard, angry look in his eye. “The baron wants no surprises this time around. No more extra weapons.”
Ryan looked up at the baron on the stage and saw the girl knelt between his legs, her head moving up and down in a slow and regular rhythm. “The baron wants a lot of things.”
“And he gets what he wants.”
“That so?” Ryan said.
“Yes, always. And now he wants you to take off the rest of your clothes,” the sec chief stated.
“What?” Brody shouted.
Ryan just looked at the sec chief, wondering how such a competent sec man could become the baron’s whipping boy.
The sec chief sighed. “All of you. Mog and his men, too.”
“What if we refuse?” Ryan asked.
Grundwold looked up at one of the towers overlooking the circle and signaled one of the men.
The crackle of blasterfire erupted suddenly, and Ryan could hear the rounds whizzing into the ground by his feet, throwing up small clouds of dust on impact. The sec man firing from the tower drew a line in the sand neatly between Ryan and the sec chief, delivering the sec chief’s message loud and clear.
Ryan began undoing his belt.
/> “I knew you’d see it the baron’s way.”
The one-eyed man stared at the sec chief. “Does the baron always get what he wants from his sec slaves, too?”
Grundwold seemed confused by Ryan’s words, but slowly their meaning became understood. “If you two are lucky enough to make it out of this circle, I’ll see to it that you wished you hadn’t said that.”
Ryan stood his ground, speaking through slightly clenched teeth. “When I get out of this circle, you’ll be wishing I hadn’t, too.”
Again the sec chief looked at Ryan strangely, not understanding the meaning of his words.
“Sec chief Grundwold!” the baron called out. “Is everything ready?”
Grundwold’s body snapped straight, as if it had just been whipped across the back. “Yes, Baron.”
“Then let’s get on with it.”
The sec chief stared hard into Ryan’s eye. “To the victor go the spoils.”
“Absolutely,” Ryan said.
“And losers like you get fed to the muties.”
Ryan ignored the comment and turned to retrieve his panga. When he was upright again, the sec chief was gone, climbing back onto the stage. “Are you ready?” he asked the men in the circle.
“Yes!” roared the crowd.
“Fight!”
Ryan and Brody moved forward.
Foghat charged at Ryan, while Dorfman, Billingsley and Mog surrounded Brody.
Their intention was clear. The sword-wielding Foghat had separated Ryan from Brody so the other three could easily do away with Brody. But instead of trying to chill Ryan, Foghat was just keeping Ryan away from the others.
It was the man’s first and only mistake.
Ryan circled the outside of the ring until he came upon the extra weapons that had been left on the ground by the combatants. There was a rusty sword, a length of chain and a short-bladed knife. Ryan picked up the knife and, doing his best to remember Jak Lauren’s instructions, threw it in Foghat’s direction.
The knife was unbalanced and fluttered through the air instead of flying true. It also missed the target by more than a foot, but no matter. Foghat leaned far to the right to avoid the flying knife, and Ryan used the opportunity to swing his panga at his off-balance opponent. He caught Foghat on the arm, cutting cleanly through the flesh and tendons of the elbow, exposing the polished white bone beneath.
Foghat let out a cry of pain and grabbed at his arm to keep it in one piece. He was able to hold his arm together but couldn’t staunch the flow of blood.
Ryan, feeling sorry for the man, kicked him from behind. He stumbled forward, tripped over the chain outlining the circle, and hit the ground hard with his shoulder.
Foghat screamed again, this time silencing the crowd.
Ryan turned into the circle and hurried to Brody’s side.
“How are you doing?”
“I could use some help,” Brody said breathlessly.
“At least the odds are in our favor now,” Ryan said.
“But there’s three of them.”
“Exactly,” Ryan said.
“Are you gonna talk or fight, One-eye?” Mog said in his booming deep bass voice.
“In a hurry to get chilled, Monster?”
“That’s Mog,” Mog said, his whole upper body quivering with anger.
Billingsley moved forward with his pike, tangling as he had before with Brody. But instead of their confrontation stalling into a stalemate, Mog came lumbering forward, swinging his chain wildly in front of him.
Brody pulled back, as did Ryan. They took several awkward steps backward until they came upon the chain ringing the circle, almost tripping over it.
They were in a dangerous spot with their backs against the chain. Mog and his two men could easily pin them down, tire them out, then chill them at their leisure. Ryan knew he had to level the field of battle.
The next time Billingsley charged forward with his pike, Ryan swung his panga across the shaft, cutting the hard wooden pole neatly in two. Billingsley suddenly found himself holding little more than a mop handle. Brody took advantage of the moment, lunging forward with his pike and piercing Billingsley’s belly.
Billingsley let out a bloodcurdling scream of agony and clutched Brody’s pike, but Brody didn’t relent. He began to swing the pike from side to side as if he were waving a flag on the end of it. The hole in Billingsley’s gut grew bigger, spilling more blood and entrails into the circle.
Mog grabbed the pike and pulled on it before Brody had a chance to let go, drawing him forward.
Dorfman, the one who’d chosen a knife similar to Ryan’s panga, moved forward in an attempt to chill Brody, but Ryan headed him off, throwing a shoulder into the man’s chest, which knocked the wind from his lungs with a whoosh and threw him onto his back.
Meanwhile, Brody had stumbled and had fallen face first into the dirt.
Mog raised his massive right arm, holding the chain high above his head for a moment, readying to bring it crashing down on his opponent’s prone body.
Brody rolled right, trying to get away, but wasn’t quick enough. The chain came down on his right leg, slicing through flesh and shattering the bone just below the knee.
Now it was Brody’s turn to scream.
But instead of striking again and going in for the kill, Mog stood over the writhing Brody, as if he were admiring his handiwork.
Ryan took the moment to go after Dorfman, who was still gasping to catch his breath. Ryan stood over the downed man, the bloody panga clenched tightly in his right hand. He raised it over his head to cut the man in two, but as quickly as a mutie ant, Dorfman crawled on all fours to the edge of the circle and under the chain.
Ryan turned to see Brody doing his best to keep Mog at bay with his pike, but it was a losing battle. The giant of a man was toying with Brody, kicking at his right foot, just to hear the wounded man scream.
“The next kick will be your last,” Ryan said.
Mog stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Ryan. “So it’s down to you and me, One-eye.”
Brody tried to stand then, using the pike as a sort of crutch, but the added pain of his ruined leg was too much for him to bear. He let out another agonized scream, then fell back to the ground, this time lying still and motionless.
A few seconds passed as sec chief Grundwold waited to see if Mog would try to chill Brody. When he didn’t, the sec chief rang the bell, signaling another break.
Sec men moved in to pull Brody from the circle.
“You be careful with him,” Ryan said, turning to look for Mildred. He found her at the edge of the circle closest to the main building. “Fix him up,” he told her.
Mildred just nodded in Ryan’s direction, too busy directing the sec men carrying Foghat to answer him.
Knowing Brody would be in good hands, Ryan looked over at the mountain of a man named Mog. He knew he wouldn’t take him up on it, but Ryan thought he should give the man the chance. “If you step out of the circle now, Mog, you might live to see another day.”
Mog laughed, and the ground seemed to shake beneath him. “You’re good, One-eye, but not good enough. I’m going to enjoy chilling you.”
Ryan shook his head. “No, the pleasure’s gonna be all mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“This way,” Mildred said, leading the way for the sec men carrying the badly bleeding Foghat.
The slave groaned in pain with each step the sec men took. His cries were growing weaker and weaker as the man’s lifeblood dribbled out of the huge rent in his arm.
Mildred opened the door to the nursery. “Put him on that table in the middle of the room!” Foghat needed her immediate attention. When Brody arrived, he could be given a painkiller from the generous medical stores and be made to wait until she’d finished with Foghat. “And when the other one is brought in here, put him on the table by the wall.”
The sec men carried Foghat across the room and eased him onto what was normally a deli
very table. There were all sorts of medical instruments and supplies in the nursery, more than was generally necessary for the delivery of babies.
Mildred hoped it would be enough to save the man’s life.
She began by checking the man’s pulse. It was weak, but he still had one. She’d managed to staunch the flow of blood from his arm with a tight tourniquet, but didn’t want to cut off the arm’s blood supply for too long.
“Can I help you, dear?” the old woman who usually worked in the nursery said.
“Get his shirt off and clean up his arm,” Mildred ordered, rifling through the medicine cabinet, hoping to find a vial of morphine. Luckily there was some.
One of the sec chief’s lieutenants had followed the men carrying Foghat into the nursery and was now watching Mildred with a look of disbelief on his face. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to save this man’s life.”
“Why?”
“For old times’ sake.”
“What?”
Mildred paused for the briefest of moments. “Let’s just say I’m doing this because I can.”
“You’re wasting time, and using up medicine on a slave. Just amputate the arm and send him on his way.”
“No!” Mildred said forcefully
“But he’s just a slave.”
Mildred paused again, looking at the problem as the sec man would. “How much good to the baron is a one-armed slave? What do one-armed slaves go for at auction these days?”
The sec man fell silent.
“You don’t tell me how to do my job, and I won’t tell you how to do yours. All right?”
The sec man took several steps backward.
“Come on, dear,” the old woman said, taking hold of the sec man’s sleeve and moving him away from Mildred. “We’ll be a while in here, and it won’t be pretty. We’ll let you know when we’re done.”
Reluctantly the sec man left the room, standing out in the hall on the other side of the open doorway.
Mildred got to work on the wounded slave.
Foghat was falling asleep from the morphine, but before he went unconscious, he managed to look up at her, smiled and said, “Thanks.”