Invasion of the Ninja

by Jeffrey Allen Davis

  He had considered gathering the students and leading them through the woods on the southern part of town with the intention of reaching the next town that way. But the ninja were trained to not be seen. A forest would be an easy place for the Warui to hide and would be a bloodbath for the students. No, meeting them at dawn seemed to be the only thing to do at this point.

  The clock that hung over the science room’s chalkboard clicked on the third hour as he watched it. He sighed. Maybe if he hadn’t admitted to Shawna his feelings . . . if he hadn’t kissed her . . . then they might not have taken her.

  He pulled one of the metal chairs out from the front lab table and seated himself. Maybe they should have killed the captured Warui ninja. It would have freed the students from the fear that the ninja could escape. It would have meant that Shawna would still be with him.

  He looked at her Bible, which lay open upon the lab table before him. The young ninja had been flipping through it, reading her notes. He picked it up and read the only note in the margins of a particular page in the Book of Matthew, catching his interest by being dated two days previous:

  Led during prayer to outline this verse.

  Part of a single verse, 16:26, was carefully highlighted in yellow. It read:

  “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”

  Jamie blinked in amazement. It was as if God was, through Shawna’s outline of this verse, refuting the young ninja’s chain of thought.

  He set the Bible down and looked up. All he saw was the ceiling. But he wasn’t expecting to see the Physical Manifestation of the Sovereign Creator of the Universe, anyway. “God,” he began, “I know you’re there. I guess I’ve always known. I knew it when I went to the altar when I was twelve and I knew it when my mom and I stopped going to church. I’ve known it every time I’ve glanced over the spine of my Bible, which I haven’t even pulled off the bookshelf in something like three years.”

  He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his hands. “Buster, Shawna and Master Tanemura are so confident in what they have with You. I want what they have.” He lowered his eyes to the floor. “So, here I am God. I’ve ignored You since I was thirteen years-old. How can You ever forgive me for that?” He was crying now, shaking slightly as the tears flowed.

  I JUST CAN. He opened his eyes with a start. It had been a small voice, not audible to his ears. But his heart, the part of him with which God was most concerned, had heard it quite clearly.

  He smiled, wiping the tears from his face. “Thank You,” he whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sunday, 5:12 AM

  Don could only shake his head in awe. It was one thing for Dave’s forty year-old father to be in good shape. He worked in law enforcement, after all. But Tanemura was at least thirty years his senior and seemed to be moving through the forest without breaking a sweat.

  The former Air Force sergeant had spent most of the night swearing at the weather. The thick clouds had completely covered the moon, causing them to have to use flashlights to see, which made them stand out like the proverbial sore thumb. However, they had been using them for many hours and there hadn’t been any incidents.

  Ahead, the Funakoshi jonin stopped. Donnie hurried forward to see what was happening. He was thrilled to see houses and streetlamps. When he glanced at Tanemura, however, his elation turned to dread. The older man’s eyes were sweeping the darkness ahead. He had also stopped breathing.

  “What is it?” whispered Donnie.

  At that, Tanemura’s hand shot out, catching an arrow that had been intended for the policeman’s temple.

  To Donnie’s credit, the seasoned veteran did not flinch. His eyes narrowed at the shadows running silently through the trees. It had been years since he had seen mass combat but the old training was still in him. The silence of the early morning darkness was broken only by the pumping of his shotgun.

  A battle cry in Japanese sounded from a tree overhead as a figure dropped at the two men, light from a nearby streetlamp reflecting off its drawn blade. A shot blasted out from Donnie’s gun and the attacking ninja was dead before it hit the ground.

  Six of the shadow warriors charged out of the trees, their own swords drawn. Donnie was acutely aware of the smooth scraping sound of Tanemura’s ninja-to drawing from its sheath at his side.

  The two men, ninja and soldier, instinctively moved back-to-back. “How many back there, old-timer?” asked Donnie casually.

  “Eight,” responded Tanemura. “And on your side?”

  “Six.” He pumped his shotgun again. “They must have been expecting you to be alone.”

  “This is merely a surveillance party,” responded Tanemura. “They were not expecting me to come this way at all.”

  One of the eight ninja on Tanemura’s side broke rank and charged the old jonin. An overhead strike was blocked by Tanemura’s blade, which then swiped at the ninja’s midsection, felling the shadow warrior.

  Two more charged at him. He dodged one attack and blocked another, grasping the wrist of the first attacker and shoving that one’s blade into the gut of the second. He then kneed the first one in the stomach and, when he doubled over, slammed the hilt of his own sword into the back of the first attacker’s neck, sending him into unconsciousness.

  Donnie had seen none of this, his eyes focusing on his own six ninja. “You’re down to five, aren’t you?” he said to Tanemura.

  “It will soon be four,” responded the older man.

  The six on Donnie’s side eyed him warily. “Why aren’t mine attacking yet?”

  “They have heard of me,” responded Tanemura. “They know what to expect. They know of my abilities. But you are . . . what do you American’s call it . . . a wild card?”

  Donnie took a deep breath and then released it. “Well, then, aces are high!” His outburst seemed to draw the ninja out of their contemplation and three of them charged him. He blasted one of them, then blocked the downward strike of another one with his gun as he kicked that one in the groin, causing him to drop to his knees in agony. Then he slammed his fist into the face of the third one, his blow augmented by the hardness of the stock in his hand. This one was knocked back a few steps, giving Donnie just enough time to cock the gun again and take him out with another shot.

  The fourth ninja threw a silver ball at the ground between himself and Donnie. The veteran aimed his weapon at the center of the cloud and fired. A groan escaped and, when the smoke cleared, that ninja was laying in a pool of his own blood. “Don’t know why he thought that’d work,” muttered Donnie.

  Two of ninja facing Tanemura moved to either side in front of them. The old man eyed each of them, unable to suppress a smile. Then he dropped to the ground, rolling between them as they swiped at him but only hit air. As he rolled back to his feet, he found that another one had moved in so that he was surrounded by the three of them.

  The one to the right charged him, only to be disarmed by a kick to the hand. The sword flew several feet away and landed silently on the leaf-strewn ground. A spin kick from the jonin sent its owner to join it.

  The one to his left swiped at his neck but he ducked it, swiping the Warui ninja’s legs with his own sword. The warrior dropped to the ground, howling in agony.

  The one in front of him moved up and attacked him. Tanemura blocked attack after attack, not bothering to reciprocate. The Warui ninja glared at him in rage, only to be angered even more by the smile in the Funakoshi jonin’s eyes.

  The antagonist growled as he thrust his blade out wildly, only to have Tanemura move to the side and catch him in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his side.

  “’Say goodnight, Gracie,’” chuckled Tanemura.

  The attacking ninja, who obviously did not speak English, glanced back at him in fearful confusion.

  Tanemura’s knee shot up, kicking the other ninja in the back, striking a pressure point that cau
sed the Warui to empty the contents of his bladder. Then the old ninja released him and chopped him in the back of the neck with the edge of his hand, knocking him senseless.

  Donnie dropped his empty shotgun, pulling the pistol from its holster on his belt. Before he could aim it, another of the ninja was on him. He moved forward, bringing his left arm up and blocking the wrist of the hand that was holding the ninja-to. He shoved that warrior back a few steps and the veteran’s left foot shot up, catching the ninja in the chin and knocking him from his feet. Holding his foot aloft, he reached out with his right hand and grabbed the boot knife that was sheathed there, pulling it free. He dropped his foot into a step toward the last of the six ninja and threw the knife, catching the warrior in the chest and sending him to the ground.

  The ninja who had just been kicked in the chin leapt to his feet, but a well aimed shot from Donnie’s pistol took him out.

  He looked around at his fallen enemies. “That was a workout!”

  Tanemura knocked a throwing star out of the air with a swipe of his sword. Spinning around, he hurled his ninja-to at the ninja who had thrown it. Not expecting an attack of this nature, the ninja clumsily blocked it, taking his eyes off of Tanemura just long enough for the ninja master to close the distance between them and kick the other ninja in the chest with a flying side kick. He was sent sprawling from his feet as Tanemura snatched his own ninja-to from the ground and swiped outward to his left, taking out the final ninja, who was moving in to attack.

  The ninja who had just been knocked down started to rise. A gunshot rang out and his head snapped to the side, dropping him instantly.

  Tanemura turned to see Donnie standing over a ninja who was holding his own groin, tears running from his eyes. Donnie’s pistol was aiming at the prone warrior, but the soldier’s eyes were on Tanemura. “I didn’t do that,” he said in confusion.

  “DROP YOUR WEAPONS!!!” called a voice from behind one of the buildings. Twenty camouflage-wearing men with machine guns ran out of three houses, surrounding them and leveling their weapons.

  Don and Tanemura exchanged looks . . . Don’s irritated and Tanemura’s incredibly calm . . . as they threw their visible weapons to the ground and raised their hands in defeat.

  “I wonder if they saw the whole fight before they decided to come out or if they slept through most of it?” grumbled Dave’s father.

  One of the soldiers stepped forward and, after squawking “We’ve caught some of the ninjas” into his two-way radio, pulled the mask from Tanemura’s head. All of the soldiers, as well as Don, were unnerved by the Japanese man’s smile.

  “Are you taking us to your commanding officer?” asked the old ninja.

  “You’ll see the colonel soon enough,” was the response from the man who had removed the mask.

  Tanemura’s smile widened. “Now we are getting somewhere.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  August 10, 1988

  Saturday, 7:30 PM

  Jamie fastened the tabi on his feet. The split-toed boots always felt less than comfortable. They made it feel as if his sock were bunched up between his big and second toes.

  He glanced to the table at his side. The mask of his suit lay upon it, its blackness marred here and there by specks of dust that had landed on it in the short time it had been there. He was puzzled by the fact that Tanemura had insisted he wear an actual ninja suit for the test. It was not something that was typically allowed for a student to wear.

  He reached out and grabbed the cool cloth, pulling it over his head. He wondered briefly if this was how Peter Parker felt when he wore his mask. Of course, his favorite superhero's mask covered his eyes. The ninja mask did not do that for Jamie. Those who were testing him would be able to see the fear in his eyes.

  He took a deep breath, somewhat uncomfortable with the way the air came through the material.

  His right hand moved up to grasp the cool hilt of the ninja-to that was strapped to his back. He pulled it from its scabbard and ran his left thumb along the edge of the blade. The aluminum felt smooth, but not sharp.

  A knock at the door caused the young ninja-in-training to jump, nearly dropping the weapon. He nervously slid it back into its sheath and said, "Yes?"

  "Are you decent?" called Yoshi's voice.

  "Yeah," replied Jamie.

  The door opened and his clan-sister peered in. "They are ready for you."

  * * *

  Jamie stood with Yoshi, one elder and a group of ten uniformed ninja at the gate to the City Park. He glanced back at the travel trailer where he had gotten ready, wishing he could run back in and hide.

  The elder . . . Tatsu, if Jamie remembered correctly . . . handed him a pair of goggles. "These are to protect your eyes." He picked up a belt and handed it to Jamie, then pulled Jamie's sword from its sheath. "The weapons in the pouches on this belt are coated in a washable, white ink of a type that will show up on black fabric." Another Japanese man handed Tatsu a flask of yellow liquid, which he promptly poured into Jamie's scabbard. He then replaced Jamie's blade. "The ninja who are testing you have been instructed that they are dead when you hit them with one of your weapons and leave a white or yellow mark upon them."

  The elder gestured to one of the ninja who was dressed in his black suit, whose eyes Jamie recognized as those of Tang Shakato—a member of a family who frowned upon Jamie being trained by Tanemura, and said, "They each have green ink of a type that will show up on the black fabric of your suit."

  The old man gestured toward the interior of the park. "Your sensei and the remainder of the elders are waiting for you in one of the dugouts in the baseball field. To pass the test, you merely have to get to them." He narrowed his eyes coldly at the teen. "One green mark and you fail."

  Tatsu and the other ninja disappeared into the park. "Great," mumbled Jamie, "my favorite color is going to make me fail."

  Yoshi stepped up to him and grasped one flap of his vest, pulling it open and stuffing a white cloth into one of the inner pockets.

  "What's this for?" he asked.

  The girl smiled at him and he was caught off-guard by just how beautiful a sight it was. "In the Middle-ages, did the princess not give a white handkerchief to her champion?"

  "I'd hardly say I'm a champion," was his response.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Even through the material of the mask, her lips felt warm. "You are my champion." She looked into his eyes and his breath caught in his throat. "Be careful." She then pulled away and disappeared into the park.

  Jamie looked after her, his eyes narrowed in confusion. Their friendship had strayed to such an affectionate level once before and they had both decided that it should never go there again.

  Or had they?

  The young man shook his head to clear it. He had to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. The baseball field was only a few hundred feet inside the park but, with a clan of ninja between him and that destination, it might as well be several hundred miles. He inhaled deeply, held it for a few seconds, and then let it out as he took a step toward the gate. He then took another. Then another. Until, finally, he was inside.

  The trees cast long shadows in the twilight. The shadows cast by some looked as if they had claws and were reaching for him. The ninja-in-training closed his eyes, willing himself to tune out his vision. In this light, he knew his sight could only hinder him.

  As he stopped paying attention to his eyes, his other senses began to sharpen. The smell of the grass . . . the feel of the cool air on what little of his skin was uncovered . . ..

  . . . the whirring sound of something that was flying toward him.

  Jamie dropped to the ground and rolled as two rubber shuriken flew over his head in different directions. He sprang to his feet and darted toward a tree. A black-clothed figure leaped out and launched another green-painted star at him. His blade leaped from its scabbard and s
watted it away and then doubled back to swipe at the attacker's midsection, leaving a trail of yellow.

  The warrior groaned in frustration and moved aside.

  The teen moved past the tree and ninja, running toward the baseball field.

  Another warrior jumped from a bush and swung a green-tinted bo staff at him. Jamie barely ducked the staff. It's obvious that these guys don't want me to finish this test, he thought as he leaped over an attempt to trip him with the weapon. They could at least play a little less roughly. At the height of his leap, the teen lashed out with his right foot, catching the ninja in the chest and sending him to the ground.

  Another swipe of Jamie's ninja-to left a trail of yellow running diagonally down the prone warrior's vest.

  He ran past and reached the baseball field. On the side opposite him, he could see Yoshi and the elders, who had now noticed him. Fearing that the ink on his sword might dry, he sheathed it, and then started walking warily toward the dugout.

  His heart leaped into this throat when he heard the yell. Since it was in Japanese, he had no idea what was being said, but it did alert him to the fact that the other dugout was occupied as well.

  He broke into a run toward the elders as he reached into a pouch on his belt, producing five plastic, white-coated shuriken. He could see the eight remaining ninja who had gone into the park pouring out of the Visitor's dugout.

  Three of the five shuriken reached their targets. The other five ninja were still running on an interception course with him. He leaped to the ground and rolled through them as their ninja-tos swung harmlessly at air.

  When he had finished the roll, he was back on his feet and he pulled own blade from its scabbard, taking out two of his opponents with one swipe. Another ninja took a swipe at Jamie's head, while a second attempted a swipe at his feet. Jamie ducked the head shot, blocking the other shot with his own sword. His blade slid up that of the blocked warrior, slicing across both of his forearms and leaving a trail of yellow there.