by R. T. Lowe
“Where the hell are they?” Felix muttered. His anxiety was starting to get the better of him, his nerves coiled like barbwire. An intense sinking sensation was taking hold of him, making him feel slightly nauseated. The pound-o-pork platter was churning in his stomach. His tongue felt heavy and alien, like an old piece of carpet.
“Be patient.” Allison tightened the grip on his hand. It was meant to reassure him. It didn’t.
Felix took his eyes off the path to steal a peek at her. Her face was rigid, her brow furrowed over her searching gaze. And then he saw it—a flicker of doubt fell over her face as if she’d just realized that what they were doing was foolishly amateurish, half-baked and dangerous.
This wasn’t a good idea, he thought mournfully. His plan wasn’t simple. His plan was just stupid. What did he know about fighting? Nothing. And this wasn’t a game. This wasn’t going to be a harmless football practice skirmish where coaches blow whistles and someone steps in to break it up. This was going to be a fight to the death. How did he let Allison talk him into this? The temptation to climb up on the tallest rock he could find and look down at least some length of the path was almost irresis—
Snap.
It came from behind them. The unmistakable sound of wood—Felix imagined a branch on the ground or a low hanging tree limb—yielding to heavy pressure, straining past the breaking point.
Felix and Allison twisted their heads around in unison to see that all four Protectors had smashed through the nearest grouping of trees. It was like they had risen out of the earth, and now they were moving swiftly over the rough terrain, gliding as though their feet weren’t even touching the ground.
The panic Felix felt was instant, jolting through him. His heart hammered hard and high up in his chest, banging so loudly in his ears he could barely hear. He let go of Allison’s hand and jumped to his feet; she did the same. The Protectors’ breath made small white clouds in the air as they bore down on them. There was nowhere to run. They were sitting ducks. Felix’s plan had only succeeded in boxing them in: forest on one side, ocean on the other, Protectors to their backs and rough jumbles of rock up ahead. He should have known they wouldn’t fall for his trap—it was far too obvious. The Protectors weren’t idiots; they’d stayed off the path and outflanked them, using the forest for cover. Now they would be all over them in seconds.
The Protectors in the lead—the woman with the scar on her cheek and the man from the coffee bar—drew their knives back, readying themselves for the kill.
As if he was dreaming, Felix felt himself raise his arm and point at the ground in front of the Protectors. Then he lifted a thin layer of the earth’s crust into the air. Everything near the surface—rocks, branches, dirt, wood chips, and tough prickly bramble—exploded upwards and whipped around like a cyclone, battering the Protectors as they advanced toward them. One of the larger rocks struck the man from the coffee bar on the head and he lost his balance, stumbling back and nearly falling.
The newly blonde scar-faced woman—Felix thought of her as Scar—glared at the man scornfully and shouted: “Parni, wake up!”
The man—Parni—shook his head in pain, swiping at the blood that gushed down the side of his face from a deep wound just above his temple. Scar motioned with her hand and she and Parni bolted toward the trees. Felix blocked them, using the rocks and earth to push them back, closing them in with his mobile wall.
“Felix!” Allison hissed in his ear.
Felix saw them.
The dark-haired man and the other woman had darted forward, attempting to skirt around the cloud of debris. Felix cast a portion of the barrier at them in sharp cyclonic bursts, forcing them to cover up and move back. Scar and Parni had altered their course, charging fast, parallel to the tree line; the barrier shadowed them, stinging them like a swarm of bees protecting their hive, leaving behind bloody marks on their unprotected hands and faces. Scar motioned at Parni and they stopped. Suddenly, they split off from one another, Parni probing the center while Scar drew back and bolted for the trees. Felix reined her in, throwing up mounds of sticks and dirt at her face. Scar retreated several paces, then turned and came around to join the others, shouting something that Felix couldn’t make out.
Scar watched Felix through a curtain of debris that now stretched twenty feet across as the others dropped back and fell in behind her. She stood there a step or two ahead of the others, her face showing nothing. Scar was assessing. The others looked at her, waiting for instructions. The man with the dark hair growled at Scar. His face was red and cords bulged on his thick neck. Scar stared at him for a moment and he quieted, dropping his eyes to the ground submissively.
“Now what?” Felix said to Allison.
She didn’t answer.
Scar raised her arm and slowly extended her index finger, directing it at Felix, her eyes still on him. Slowly, her arm shifted to her left until she was pointing at Allison. Scar turned her head a twitch and said, “Parni.” He stepped up beside her, his cheek and jaw steaming with blood.
“Parni,” Scar said evenly, her eyes now fixed on Allison, “please go kill that bitch for me.”
Parni nodded. Then he ran straight for the barrier and jumped, hands on the crown of his head, elbows aimed out in front to guard his face. The wood chips and small jagged rocks shredded his clothes and nipped at him, cutting through to his skin. But he made it to the other side. He picked up speed, making a line for Allison and Felix at a full sprint.
Felix conjured up another wall, throwing it at Parni. He hurled himself through it without breaking stride. Parni was closing in on them. Felix erected another partition, but Parni was already crashing through it. Now he was on them, standing just a few feet away.
Allison gasped. But she didn’t try to run.
Felix was stunned by his size. He was tall—taller than Felix—with mounds of thickly packed muscle that tensed and rippled beneath his dark turtleneck. He’d seemed smaller at the convenience store when he was holding a paper cup filled with cheap coffee.
Parni went straight for Allison, as quick as an explosion, his knife held at his side. Felix tried to shield Allison with his earthen wall, but Parni was too close. He raised his curved dagger. In a sudden moment of panic, Felix realized that Parni was about to stab Allison in the throat.
And then Allison kicked Parni savagely in the crotch.
Parni grunted and doubled over.
Allison didn’t stop there. She swung an elbow that caught Parni just above the eye, snapping his head back. She followed up the elbow with a left hook that landed on his jaw, sending up a spray of blood from his mouth. She tried to land another left hook, but Parni blocked it with his arm and drove his shoulder into her chest.
Allison fell straight back with Parni on top. She dug her foot into his stomach and kicked up. He flipped over her, but he’d grabbed onto her coat and she tumbled right along with him, rolling down the embankment, somersaulting all the way to the path below.
Felix watched in terror as they toppled down the slope.
Allison sprung to her feet and moved slowly backward, distancing herself from Parni, being careful not to step off the end of the path. As Felix watched Allison backpedaling, he completely lost his focus—he’d forgotten all about his terrestrial defenses. And now there was no barrier between Felix and the three assassins.
Scar and the man with the black hair were silently stalking him like wolves. Scar was now behind him and the man was off to Felix’s left, slipping between a pair of saplings, moving closer. The other woman—the woman from the coffee bar—stood directly in front of Felix, facing him. She was tall and lean, just like Scar, who Felix had decided was clearly the person in charge. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her blue eyes were bright, lively. She was quite pretty. She was also holding two knives, one in each hand, and obviously determined to end Felix’s life on this blustery December morning.
“Bianca, kill this abomination,” Scar ordered. Her voice was empt
y of emotion, though her dark eyes were filled with disgust.
“My pleasure, Tripoli,” Bianca replied, grinning eagerly.
Now Scar had a new name: Tripoli. Parni, Bianca and Tripoli, Felix thought. Weird names. Funny, the things you think about when people are trying to kill you.
Bianca’s eyes narrowed into thin lines as she began to work the crescent moon-shaped knives around her body with the artistry of a ballerina. A blur of shining white metal, the sharp blades reflected the sunlight like polished mirrors. Her movements were fluid and effortless; the knives were like extensions of her body, moving through space, appearing and vanishing all at once like flickering candlelight.
Felix blinked a little and swallowed down his adrenaline rush. He’d never seen anything like this before. The way she manipulated the knives was mesmerizing. It was like being a spectator at a magic show.
“Kill him!” Tripoli commanded.
Bianca rushed at Felix.
Felix waved his hand.
Bianca turned the knives on herself and plunged both blades into her neck all the way up to the handles. She stood there, eyes wide with confusion, choking on the blood that frothed from her open mouth. Dead on her feet, staring at Felix with sightless eyes, she fell sideways and slid down the embankment.
Take that, bitch! Felix thought triumphantly, glancing down to see that Allison and Parni were circling each other, both dangerously close to the cliff’s edge. With a finger twitch, Felix broke off a bowling ball-sized rock from the outcropping and sent it shooting at Tripoli’s midsection.
Tripoli jumped high in the air—the rock flew harmlessly beneath her—landed on her hands, sprung forward onto her feet and flipped over Felix’s head.
A flashing pain flared above his shoulder blade. He spun around.
Tripoli was standing with her back to the embankment, her knife red with blood—Felix’s blood. And in her other hand, she was holding something else—a garrote. A hint of a smile played across her lips.
The heavy ache in his back let Felix know that the knife had cut deep. That made him angry. He flicked his finger, determined to blow Tripoli a thousand feet out to sea.
She jumped.
He knocked her backward, but only clipped her feet, and she avoided the brunt of the force. She flipped head-over-heels like a high diver and soared over the slope in a graceful arc, touching down on the walkway a stone’s throw from Allison and Parni.
The man with the black hair came at Felix like an enraged barbarian. Felix wheeled around instinctively, lifting his arms to protect his face. The man slashed downward with his knife and then across his body, grunting with each tremendous effort; he wasn’t just trying to kill Felix, he was trying to cut him in half. Felix jumped back, the blade whistling past his face. The man was slashing left, slashing right, snarling and swinging the knife like a club. It was like dodging a running chain saw. Felix jumped back to avoid the berserker’s knife, but he jumped back a little too far. His feet landed on a steeply-angled section of the slope. He tried to dig his toes in, but his sneakers couldn’t get any traction on the smooth rain-polished rocks. He started to fall backward, his arms making tight little circles in the air as he fought to stay on his feet.
The man pounced on Felix with the agility of a spider and attempted to drive the knife into his chest.
Felix caught the man’s knife arm, immobilizing it, but now with the man’s weight pressing down on him, he couldn’t keep his balance. Felix fell on his back and slid down the embankment with the man on top, leading with his head, which bumped and banged along the rocks all the way down.
When Felix finally came to a sudden stop at the bottom of the slope, he was lying on his back, looking straight up, groggy and in pain. The man was straddling Felix’s chest, mounting him, just like at Martha’s house. He gazed down at Felix with his dull black eyes, his mouth set in a contemptuous sneer. His lips were swollen and blackened and blood streamed from cuts above an eyebrow and the bridge of his nose. He raised his arms high above his head, holding the dagger with both hands, preparing to stab Felix in the chest, seconds away from cutting out his heart. Just within Felix’s line of sight, he saw Tripoli striding toward him from the ocean-side of the path.
“Get off!” Felix shouted furiously.
The man flew straight up into the air.
Felix rolled over and got up. The man landed lightly on his feet in one graceful and soundless movement.
Allie, Felix thought, panicked, shooting a glance in the direction of where he’d last seen her. She was still there, still fighting with Parni along the edge of the cliff. Parni lashed a kick at her head. Allison ducked and swung her leg around, sweeping Parni’s support leg out from under him. He landed on his back, just inches from descending into oblivion. Allison stood there with her arms at her sides, staring down at him with a quizzical expression as if surprised that she’d knocked him down. Her windblown hair was loose and wild, whipping around her head. Parni grunted angrily and popped back up to his feet.
The dark-haired man screamed and swung his knife wildly at Felix, going for his throat. Felix stopped his arm and pushed him back several feet. Felix’s eyes, of their own accord, kept flicking to Allison, but the man had already recovered and was on the attack again. Felix stepped swiftly away from the embankment. Tripoli was closer now, hurrying toward him with her garrote and knife in hand. Felix didn’t know how long Allison could hold out against Parni, but whenever his attention strayed from the threat in front of him, he nearly got himself killed. Before he could help Allison, he had to help himself.
He focused on the man for a fraction of a second and pushed him in front of Tripoli, causing her to run right up his back. The man didn’t seem surprised that invisible bonds were controlling his body, but he did look angry; he bared his teeth like a rabid dog and yelled. Tripoli didn’t so much as stumble, but when she tried to step around him, Felix slid the man like a chess piece across the smooth stones, obstructing her, blocking her path. Tripoli swiped at the man’s shoulders, fighting to get by him. Felix shifted the man a little to the right. Then a little more. Then a little more. There.
Their backs were now turned to the embankment, their faces to the ocean. Felix lifted his eyes for a fleeting moment to a little spot at the top of the slope.
His backup plan.
The log glided down the embankment, spinning horizontally like a boomerang, a subtle, almost noiseless undercurrent in the background of the roaring wind. Felix positioned the massive section of tree directly behind the man and Tripoli. Then he swung it like a baseball bat.
At the last possible moment, Tripoli seemed to sense that something was approaching and dropped flat on the ground.
The man never saw it coming.
The log smashed against the side of his head, splattering bone, flesh and gray matter across the path and out into the ocean. His headless body crumpled to the ground. He didn’t even twitch.
The log kept twirling. Felix swung it at Tripoli.
She ducked and jumped lithely toward him.
He brought the log in closer, and swung it at her again, harder this time.
She hit the ground, lying flat.
Felix realized his mistake a second too late.
Like an oncoming freight train, the log slammed against Felix’s shoulder with a sickening crunch, sending him flying through the air. He crashed down hard, bounced, and then skidded toward the edge of the cliff. With very little room between him and the end of the walkway, he came to a skittering stop. His shoulder—his entire body—was on fire. He couldn’t move his arm. It had to be broken; it hurt too much for it not to be.
“Felix!” he heard Allison cry out through the ringing in his ears. And then there was a scream—Allison’s?—followed by a thudding sound. He used his good arm to get to his knees, pushing himself away from the edge, his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. He lifted his head to look up at—
He couldn’t breathe. It was like all the oxygen in
the world had instantly vanished. He clawed at his throat. He felt something—a cord. The garrote. Felix’s eyes flitted up, catching a blurry glimpse of the bottom half of Tripoli’s face. She yanked violently on the garrote with a ferocious animalistic strength that belied her slender frame. “This time, you die!” she howled. “Die, you devil!” And with a primal victory roar, she pulled Felix onto his back, wrapped her long legs around his waist and squeezed.
Felix’s heart was pounding in his rib cage like a jackhammer. His eyes were bulging. His lips were turning blue. If he didn’t get the wire off, he’d be dead in thirty seconds. But even through the organ-splintering pain and the specter of death so close he could almost feel its icy breath on his skin, one thought was spinning its way through his mind: Not. This. Time.
Tripoli’s fingers started to fracture. Both index fingers and her thumbs bent back and cracked sickeningly. Another finger broke, the crisp pop of the bone sounding like a firecracker in Felix’s ears. And then another. But still, she stubbornly held onto the garrote, tightening the wire around his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head and all light blinked out. In its place, there was only pain, an incomprehensible pain.
Then Tripoli’s fingers began to bleed.
The middle finger on her left hand snapped off, ripping away at the knuckle. Blood squirted into the air and Felix felt its warmth speckling across his face like summer rain. The ring finger next to it twisted around until only a thin piece of skin held it in place. The skin tore and her finger dropped into a puddle with a splashing plop. She screamed and then finally let go of the garrote.
Felix sucked in a breath of sweet ocean air and flung himself to one side in a swift roll, getting to a knee.
Tripoli was already on her feet as Felix raised his hand toward her. Blood poured from her severed fingers and pooled on the path. She took a running leap toward him. In mid-stride she stopped, abruptly, like someone had hit the pause button on a TV. And then, with an expression of total bewilderment, she looked on as her arms rose above her head and the garrote coiled itself around her neck. Holding onto the garrote with both hands, she lifted herself off the ground. Her feet kicked. Her face turned purple. Her eyes bulged.