Madness (Asher Benson #2)

by Jason Brant

  “All aboard.” I picked up the axe again and turned around as Nami and Jim climbed inside. “I need you kids to stay quiet, OK? We’re going to get you out of here. We’re the good guys.”

  For some reason, they didn’t seem to believe me.

  Could have had something to do with the axe and gas mask.

  Butch had covered half the distance already. He raised a meaty hand into the air in salute, bellowed, “Bring those kids on over here.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up through the first window. “Get us the hell out of here, Jimbo.”

  Nami gagged when she saw the dead body in the aisle. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

  “Hold onto something.” Jim plopped behind the wheel.

  “Move over.” Nami scooted into the front seat on the left of the aisle, standing beside a little girl who couldn’t have been more than ten.

  They stood about the same height, with Nami’s frazzled hair giving her a slight edge.

  “What grade are you in?” the little girl asked Nami.

  Nami closed her eyes, muttered, “Goddamn it.”

  The bus hitched as Jim yanked it into gear.

  We slowly rolled forward, the engine struggling to get the yellow hulk moving.

  Butch lumbered toward us faster. “What are you doing?”

  He would be on us in seconds.

  “Faster, Jimbo.” I moved beside him, peered through the windshield.

  Another wrecked car was in front of us, straddling the road. We couldn’t go too much faster, or Jim wouldn’t be able to steer us around the vehicle. I didn’t see any way that we could get around it and speed up before Butch reached the bus.

  Jim saw what was coming too. “If he hits one of the tires with that hammer, we’re toast.”

  Butch broke into a jog.

  Nami’s face twisted in fear. “We’re not going to make it!”

  I looked back at the kids, saw dozens of eyes watching me. Everyone on that bus knew that we were toast, even the little boys and girls who couldn’t have fully comprehended what was happening.

  “We’re not going to make it!” Nami repeated.

  “You will.” I stepped through the open door and hopped to the street.

  The bus was only going fifteen miles an hour, so I managed to stick the landing with a modicum of grace. I also managed not to chop my leg off with the axe, which was a bonus.

  “Ash!” Nami yelled from the bus as it rolled by.

  Hearing her use my first name told me that she understood what stepping off that bus meant. I didn’t look back, focusing my attention on the mountainous man rumbling toward me.

  Nami shouted my name again.

  I knew that I’d just given up any chance I had to get out of Arthur’s Creek in one piece, yet I felt oddly calm. When you didn’t have anything to lose, the specter of death wasn’t nearly as intimidating.

  Butch stopped ten feet away, his massive chest and shoulders heaving as he sucked in air. Having that much muscle to haul around really limited the big man’s conditioning.

  It took a lot of work for a heart to get blood through a body that big.

  “Where is that bus going?” Butch asked, his voice so deep that it almost sounded manufactured.

  I still had the mask on, so he didn’t recognize me yet.

  I gave him a shrug.

  Butch’s eyes narrowed. “You’re one of them.” He lifted his hammer up in a threatening gesture. “You and those kids need to be—”

  “Skip it.” I pulled the mask off, dropped it onto the street. “You aren’t going anywhere near those children.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Jim maneuvering the bus around the wrecked car. I just had to hold good ol’ Butch’s attention for another few seconds while Jim got them up to speed.

  A few dozen people by the courthouse had stopped what they were doing and turned around, watching us.

  Butch laughed. “You think you can stop me, little man?”

  That was probably the first time in my adult life that someone had called me little. Then again, that was also the first time I’d picked a fight with a seven footer.

  “Let’s find out.” I rolled my injured shoulder and gripped the axe with both hands. “What do you think, Butchiepoo? You want a shot at the title?”

  Butch glanced at the bus. They were almost far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to catch them. Rage twisted his face as he looked back at me. “I’m going to pull your arms off.”

  My heart hammered away as I took a step toward him.

  My senses focused.

  I ground my nervousness into the handle of the axe.

  Kept my muscles loose and relaxed. It would be impossible for me to overpower Butch, so I would have to rely on my speed. Tense muscles couldn’t react as quickly as loose ones.

  Butch gave me that same humorless smile I’d seen multiple times already. He came straight at me, swinging his immense hammer over his shoulder like he was about to drive a spike into the ground.

  It was a fitting move considering he was the figurative hammer to my nail.

  Fortunately, the attack had a long windup, and I saw it coming long before he brought the weapon around.

  I sidestepped to the left.

  The hammer slammed into the street, the head cracking the pavement.

  The momentum from the missed blow threw Butch off balance. He was bent down beside me, his back and neck fully exposed for a killing strike.

  I had the axe up, ready to land one quick chop at the back of his neck, but I paused as I had earlier. Jim had told me that Butch was a gentle giant, a man embarrassed by his size.

  He didn’t have control of himself.

  The moment’s hesitation earned me a ridiculously powerful backhand to the chest.

  A shot like that should have done little more than piss me off. Instead, the blow sent me to my ass, the axe flying from my grip. It clattered on the sidewalk behind me, far out of reach.

  Butch straightened out and yanked the hammer free from the destroyed pavement.

  I clambered to my feet.

  The hammer came around in a flash, moving laterally.

  Air whooshed past my face as I leaned back, the business end of the hammer missing by inches. The momentum from the swing sent Butch spinning around.

  I leaped forward and threw a hook to the stomach that would have dropped a normal man. Butch straightened out and smirked at me.

  My hand hurt.

  “That’s it?” Butch asked. “That’s all you’ve got?”

  Rather than answer, I caught him square in the nose with a jab.

  That hurt my hand too. It felt like I was in a fistfight with a slab of iron.

  Pain finally registered in Butch’s eyes.

  And that gave me an idea.

  I feigned another punch to the stomach. Butch flinched, his hands moving to guard his midsection.

  I popped him in the nose with a left jab and a right cross. His height made the movements awkward because I wasn’t used to punching at an upward angle.

  Both shots battered his nose again.

  Blood tricked from his nostrils. The bridge had a new bend in it.

  The hammer fell from his grasp, landing with a heavy thud.

  “Oops. Looks like I just fucked up your modeling career.” I kept my hands high, protecting my head and face. “That nose isn’t going to photograph so great anymore.”

  Butch growled and lunged at me. His speed took me off guard—someone his size shouldn’t be able to move that fast. He wrapped his oak-tree arms around my upper body and lifted me into the air in a bear hug.

  His breath smelled of chewing tobacco.

  My feet dangled over nothing, kicking like a child in the middle of a tantrum.

  And then he squeezed.

  All the air burst from my lungs.

  My ribs constricted.

  Back popped.

  Organs squished.

  I squirmed in his grasp, trying to move my arms
enough to get a sip of air in. He was too damned strong. No matter what I did, there was zero chance of me overpowering the brute.

  Stars burst in my vision.

  My face felt full and hot, as if he was squeezing all the blood in my body into my head.

  Things were getting hazy as Butch went all Of Mice and Men on my ass.

  I had seconds before I went out, so I pulled out every dirty trick in my arsenal. First, I tried to kick him in the balls, but he had me pulled too tight against him and I couldn’t get my leg back far enough to generate any force.

  Next, I tried to bite him in the face, but my mouth wouldn’t extend far enough forward.

  He smiled as my teeth clicked harmlessly in front of his nose.

  As my vision dimmed to almost nothing, I craned my neck back as far as I could and then snapped my head forward with all of my strength.

  The top of my forehead crunched his nose.

  And then I went out.

  When I came to, I was on the ground on my hands and knees, panting like a dog. I couldn’t have been out for more than a second or two because Butch was still pawing at his face. Blood poured from his nose, which had canted sideways.

  He grabbed it with one of his meat hooks and straightened it out.

  “You little bastard.” His deep voice had taken on a nasal quality that would have been humorous if not for the savage glare in his eyes.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a stuffy nose there, Butchiepoo. Need a tissue?” I stood on wobbly legs and returned his gaze.

  My plan of attack had been to mangle his nose until it clogged with snot and blood so that he would have to clear it. I’d learned during my boxing days that blowing a broken nose will make your eye swell shut. If Butch could only see me out of one eye, that might have given me enough of an edge to actually do some damage to him.

  Not that it would have mattered—fifty or more psychos were watching us beat the shit out of each other. Even if I won, they’d still cut my head off.

  Butch put one finger against the side of his nose and honked a wad to the ground. It was a perfectly executed farmer’s blow.

  And it worked right into my hands. I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I did manage to plan that one thing to perfection. I wished Nami were still there so I could gloat about my awesomeness.

  The flesh around Butch’s right eye swelled. It would continue to puff out, particularly if I massaged it with my knuckles a few more times.

  I put my hands together beside my cheek like I was going to sleep. “Ready to take a little nap?”

  “I’m going to—”

  “Yeah, yeah. You sound like a broken record.” I circled to my left, moving in the direction of Butch’s swollen eye.

  He wouldn’t be able to dodge the punches coming from that side if he couldn’t see them coming out of his puffed eye.

  I threw a left hook that caught him flush on the cheek.

  He swung a thick hand around in a swooping punch that sailed over my head as I dodged under it.

  My next blow, a wicked uppercut, just missed as he stepped back. The agility he had for his size astounded me. The man had missed his calling as a UFC fighter.

  I took another step closer, forcing myself to remain calm and not get caught by one of his power punches.

  Butch reached forward with both hands, trying to grab hold of my shoulders.

  I ducked down and stepped forward, sliding under his arm like the professional bad ass that I was. He grunted as I landed a perfect three-punch combination to the side of his giant dome.

  More pain flashed in my hands with each shot.

  I didn’t know who these punches were hurting more.

  Butch bellowed in frustration and spun around, just missing me with a spinning back fist. The more pissed off he got, the sloppier his fighting skills became.

  I continued circling to his blind side, peppering his swelling eye with jabs and straights.

  My feet moved in methodical, dance-like steps, each one designed to position my next punch with maximum power. When I got in a zone like that, it was hard to tag me with anything.

  Hope sprung in my chest as his head rocked back from an overhand right that I put a lot of mustard on.

  I just might pull this off.

  That was when he swung at my body and caught me dead center in the chest.

  It felt like I’d been kicked by a Clydesdale horse.

  I’d have cried out like a little girl if I’d been able to breathe. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to my knees.

  Someone shouted in celebration from the crowd by the courthouse. Several of them moved closer. I hoped they just wanted to get a better look and didn’t plan to get involved in my little row with Paul Bunyan.

  I’d picked a fight with a giant and, come hell or high water, I wanted to know if I could win.

  Their infected minds railed against mine as they walked across the courthouse lawn. My hands went from my aching chest to my temples.

  “Get up, little man.” Butch stood in front of me, hands on his hips. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

  His defenseless posture said all that I needed to know about his utter fearlessness. Even though I’d just landed my best shots on his ugly mug, they hadn’t fazed him in the slightest.

  I made a T with my hands, whispered, “I need a timeout.”

  “No time to waste, little man. The party is about to begin.” Butch’s hands worked in anticipation. “The mayor wants us to save everyone for the fire, but I think I’m going to finish you off first.”

  My fate, it seemed, was finally sealed.

  I’d spent years scraping my way through an existence that could only loosely be defined as a life. I’d ducked the Reaper’s scythe more times than I deserved. Yeah, I guessed that I’d frustrated Death more often than most.

  And now my time had finally come.

  I could have accepted that easily. I’d longed for a moment’s peace ever since that damned IED had destroyed my old life but, goddamn it, I wanted to know if I could beat a man twice my size in a fight.

  That was a whole lot of stupidity and bravado, sure, but if I could pride myself in one little thing, it was that I knew how to kick ass. Butch’s morning shits were bigger than me, so putting him down sure would give me a lot of satisfaction during my final minutes.

  I got to my feet one last time.

  Raised my bloodied hands. “I’ve got one more round.”

  Butch’s eyes widened a tad. I thought I might have seen a hint of respect in that crazy look he gave me, but that could have been the immense amount of head trauma I’d received that day.

  I tossed two jabs at his nose, landed both.

  Gave him a Leonidas kick to the chest that would have blown a door off its hinges.

  Butch ate all three strikes like they were pancakes and punched me in the face so hard that I thought he’d knocked my head off my shoulders. The size of his fist meant that he’d demolished half of my face with a single blow.

  I flew backward and slammed against the side of a parked car.

  The vehicle was the only thing that kept me from collapsing into a heap.

  I leaned against it, feeling my eyes, nose, and mouth begin to ooze. My vision narrowed as one of my eyes began to swell.

  Several of my teeth were loose, ready to fall out at the slightest provocation.

  The tang of copper filled my mouth.

  Butch charged at me like a bull rampaging toward a red cape. He was too low for me to duck underneath his arms again. His face was angled down, the top of his head barreling straight at me.

  I had one last chance to put him down. If he landed another punch like that, he’d cave my skull in.

  Rather than dodging to the side, I went right at him. I pushed off the car, took one step forward, and grabbed him by the back of his head with both hands.

  His shoulder slammed into my already sore ribs. I twisted at the waist and shoved against the back of his head with all of my pow
er.

  Butch’s face slammed into the metal divider between the front and back windows of the car. The glass on either side of it shattered from the force of the blow.

  The metal dented, blood smeared across it.

  Butch’s arm, which had wrapped around me, loosened. He slumped to a knee beside the car, dribbles of red falling to the street from his nose and mouth.

  I dropped on top of him, my chest against his back, and spun around so I was directly behind him.

  My right arm snaked around his neck, my hand sliding into the nook of the elbow of my other arm. I squeezed against his throat with everything I had, cinching in a rear-naked choke that I’d practiced for months in Jiu-Jitsu classes.

  The training partners I rolled with during those sessions used to laugh with me at some of the sexualized names of the chokeholds and positions.

  I wasn’t laughing now as I slapped one of those chokes on a man the size of a Tyrannosaurus. The thickness of his neck just barely gave me enough arm length to hold it in place.

  Butch grunted and stood up, lifting me entirely off the ground.

  I held on for dear life.

  The pressure in my mind increased as more people came closer to us, but something was different. I thought, for the first time since the signal had gone out over the airwaves, that I could actually understand some of what I was picking up from the crazies.

  Their minds were still abnormal, their thoughts full of rage and madness, but a glimmer of sanity had finally begun to slip back in. Their thoughts had cleared by an infinitesimal amount, just enough to give me a bit of hope that they might normalize again at some point.

  I gritted my teeth, both from the strain of choking Butch and from having to block out the invading thoughts in my mind. The intensity of both made me lightheaded.

  Butch spun around in a circle, his hands reaching back by the sides of his head, trying to grab hold of me. I pulled back as far as I could, squeezing the hold as tight as possible. His thick, calloused fingers waved in front of my face.

  His bulk played against him, the range of motion in his shoulders limited by his thick musculature and bone structure. He stumbled sideways, still reaching for me. His hands pawed at my arm, fingers working to pry it from his neck.

  A properly applied chokehold should put someone down in a matter of seconds. I wasn’t trying to cut off Butch’s air supply, but the blood flowing to his brain. It should have shut off the lights by now, but his bulk and my haste to get the hold on were keeping him from going out right away.