Launching himself back towards the axeman, Dan raised a boot and stamped out into his straight leg, forcing the knee backwards with a sickening crunch. He didn’t hear the man’s screams as he dropped to his back, only saw the axe which he picked up and reversed to end the man who had tried to kill him.
Raising the weapon high in the air, he looked down, expecting to see fear in his intended victim’s eyes as he knew his death was imminent, but instead he only saw his attention was drawn away from the weapon searing towards his face.
Realising too late that he had lost, Dan glanced over his right shoulder.
And looked straight into the butt of the rifle which, swung like a club with terrible accuracy, knocked him unconscious.
FIGHT CLUB
Three days of the same routine followed where Steve was left alone with the exception of his twice daily visits to deliver food and issue medication. Only once more did he see Alice, and as before, he was careful to avoid the guard gaining any sense that the two colluded in any way.
On the fourth morning, he woke to find a familiar face sitting in the corner reading a book. Only the face was unfamiliar at the same time: his right eye was barely open and the livid purple bruising extended over his freshly broken nose where it began to haze yellow at the fringes of the injury. Despite the severe trauma evident, the eyes sparkled and the mouth showed a wide grin.
Stiffly, Jan rose to his feet and began the morning routine of checking Steve’s injuries and vital statistics. The crippled pilot was so grateful to see Jan back that he was struck dumb and simply stared at his face waiting for an explanation.
“Tell me!” he whispered, prompting a further grin from the big South African.
“OK,” he said, trying to calm Steve’s excitement. “Sit back and relax, because this is one hell of a story.”
~
After days of subtle hints and words in the ears of the right guards, Jan had managed to beg an invitation to the camp’s illicit sporting activity. It was an underground movement, not endorsed by the hierarchy but no doubt not discouraged either, as Richards would certainly know of its existence.
A whispered buzz ran around after each event, but nobody yet spoke of it openly for fear of interrogation for their indiscretions. Jan had finally received the invitation he was after and would fight his first bout that night.
Unfortunately, he had no way of letting Steve know that he had got in, as the summons to participate was an immediate one. He was led away in the clothes he wore, his usual green scrubs, and taken to the arena which had been fashioned from yet more shipping containers, one of which served as the entrance and exit for the fighters, positioned together to form a hexagonal pit of dry earth. The grass which had previously grown there was killed off long ago by the barbaric activities the ground saw. Muted cheers echoed around the pit as one fight was already underway and the crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves at the spectacle.
Told to remove his shoes and shirt, he was ushered through a metal door to wait in the dark for his turn. Being deprived of his sense of sight only served to accentuate the noises he could hear: the smacking of meat, like a butcher tenderising a large joint, mixed with the hushed reactions of the crowd as the battle raged on just outside his thin metal safety bubble. He jumped in fright at the sudden sound as the fighters crashed heavily into the wall of his container and shook the steel as the grunts and impacts resonated through to his ears. Bouncing on the spot and loosening his muscles for what was to come, he cricked his neck from side to side to receive the rewards of the popping sounds as his ligaments snapped into place.
He was focused, but he was scared. He was confident in his own abilities but facing an unknown opponent was a dangerous act. Hearing the crowd’s mood switch from bloodthirsty glee to jeering disappointment, he knew his turn was up soon.
Winner stays on, he had been told, so that meant that his adversary would be tired from beating the last failed gladiator. There were no rules, he had been told, so it was a raw gutter fight until he lost. The only unspoken law was that he shouldn’t intentionally kill anyone, and hoped that the same went for whoever he faced. Only one death had occurred here, and it had been hurriedly covered up to prevent word reaching any further.
Screeching metal and the sudden invasion of light into his world as the single door to the pit swung open announced his turn to step inside.
Blinking as he went, he looked up to see that the tops of the containers which prevented his escape were thronged with people. Most were guards but he recognised faces of others among the mob. Cooks, cleaners, farmers, all packed together to watch one man beat another to a pulp for enjoyment.
Standing aside as the last contender was carried unconscious back to where he had emerged from, he took one last look at the baying crowd before focusing his attention on his foe.
He could never tell them apart, but he faced one of the brothers who had bragged so loudly about how they had infiltrated Steve’s home and took them down without a fight. He believed the rumours that this man was one of Richards’s trusted elite – one of the balaclava-clad bastards who flanked him everywhere he went – and Jan began to suspect that he was in for some pain.
Stick to the plan, he told himself.
He was taller than Jan by half a head at least, and his long, sinewy arms spoke of a strength which wasn’t overtly obvious in his size. Having seen the state of the man carried out, Jan weighed up the damage to his enemy and saw a remarkable difference; it did not appear to have been a fair fight.
Jan knew his capabilities, although he had not fought anyone in a long time, and he had to be certain to lose this fight while tempting his opponent sufficiently to want to fight him again.
He had to lose, but he had to hurt the pompous victor in front of him and give him enough cause to feel affronted. After all, what warrior wanted to go down to a nurse?
Glancing up again, he could see people wagering goods in trade on the result of the fight, and he was saddened that they would win those bets because he had no intention of fighting more than a single round that night. Instead, he intended to get the full measure of the champion, secure his place in the running order, and learn as much as he could while trying to stay alive.
Having finally noticed Jan in front of him, the sweating man held his hands up to the crowd and gestured for them to join in his mockery of an unworthy opponent.
Up close, Jan decided that this was most probably Will, not that it mattered. Shrugging, Will ran towards Jan without warning and launched his first attack.
Stopping short of him and throwing punches in bunches with his left and his right, Jan ducked aside of both blows and lowered his body weight only to receive the impact of a knee to the flesh just above his hip as the combo was followed up. Staggering backwards, he sucked in a large gulp of air and hoped he had not been winded yet. Finding that his diaphragm wasn’t spasming, he took a stance and advanced forward.
His opponent waited for him, waving for the crowd to cheer, then suddenly whipped out an inside leg kick to Jan’s thigh, following immediately with a kick to his head, which he blocked with ease but knew that this wasn’t the real attack. Stepping back and putting most of his weight on his back foot, the expected sweep of the taller man’s foot glanced off his own ankle without sufficient power to fell him.
A flash of eye contact between them let Jan know that he had angered Will, and no doubt he intended to exact revenge on him for ruining one of his most crowd-pleasing moves.
Determined to knock the South African to the ground and raise his standing among his followers, Will advanced again with more care and began to test Jan’s guard by attacking low and high. Jan was happy to let this happen as he fended off blows which lacked the power to do any real damage; the longer Will showboated for the crowd, the more he learned about him.
Shuffling backwards and circling left and right, Jan let him come at him time and again as he deflected each attack to try and frustrate his opponent. Whether it w
as immaturity or sheer arrogance, Will’s patience cracked sooner than expected and he launched into a reckless assault.
Sensing his moment was now, Jan took two steps back to invite the spinning back kick he was anticipating, and when the attack started, he retraced those two steps fast and shot in close to clinch him; trapping Will’s outside leg with his own, he slammed him to the ground hard and rose to throw three big punches to his head. Allowing his arm to be blocked on the next attack, he went with the impetus as Will lifted his hips to throw Jan clear. He rolled away and rose to his feet smoothly to turn and face the threat.
The crowd erupted with screaming and cheering; for once, they might have a real fight to watch.
Watching Will get to his feet and dust himself off, the mixture of surprise and rage in his eyes made the nurse absolutely certain that he was going to experience a significant amount of pain that night, but he reminded himself that it was necessary in order for the plan to work. Coming forward with more caution, Will switched his approach and came in low for a series of body shots which Jan tucked up to receive, only to have him switch tactics again and spring backwards to deliver a big sweeping leg kick to his left side just below the knee.
Involuntarily dropping his hands towards the source of the immediate pain and numbness, Jan suffered a follow-up kick to the right eye as Will moved effortlessly between attacks. Jan felt dizzy as his brain’s direction had been so savagely reversed.
Staggering away to regroup, he now knew that Will was dangerous, and that he had tricks up his sleeve. Jan had more than a few of his own, but this wasn’t the time to show them. He had to get in a few lucky shots, knock the bastard down, then take the beating he was due and lose. That was the plan, and as much as he wanted to break the egotistical prick in front of him, he had to wait.
Twice more Will came at him, and twice more his attacks switched violently between close quarters and long-range kicks. Both times, Jan sucked up the punishment and stayed resolutely on his feet.
As the next kick came at his head, Jan abandoned the guard and instead stepped in hard to lift Will under his raised leg and pitch him savagely into the dirt once more. Will reacted well, rolling his head to take the impact on his shoulders and countered with an immediate attempt to lock up Jan’s left arm.
Suffering a break or a dislocation could be fatal to the plan, and Jan wriggled out of the attempted counter with one of his own as he stood squarely on Will’s chest and spun to roll away.
Having demonstrated that he too was dangerous, Jan began the next attack with feigned excitement to see how the younger man fared in defence. Swinging big hits at his head and his body and throwing kicks at his legs showed that Will was fast, very fast, and at every chance, he looked for a counterattacking opportunity.
Jan could feel the breath burning hot and fast in his throat now, and knew that he wasn’t going to be there for much longer. Stepping back to encourage Will to attack him again, he allowed himself to produce just one of his favourite go-to moves. Allowing Will to make contact with a combo, he waited for the inevitable big finish and prepared himself. As Will’s footwork changed to provide room for the big swinging kick which would no doubt finish his opponent, Jan took a quick step back, leaning away, and watched in slow motion as the kick sailed through thin air.
With no great impact to slow his body, Will continued to spin forwards off balance and straight into the loving embrace of Jan.
Delivering a brutal haymaker of a right hook, he caught Will directly under the ribs and followed with a short-arm elbow strike to the head with his left.
With a sickening noise, Will went down and a stunned silence descended on the arena. The champion had never gone down during a fight. Rumour had it that the only person who could beat him was his brother, but the two vowed never to fight one another so the theory remained untested. Now they had watched a nobody, a nurse, fell him like a slaughtered animal.
Hoping that he hadn’t hit him too hard, Jan stepped back and shouted at Will to get up. Shaking on unsteady legs, he did. Wiping blood from the corner of his right eye where Jan’s elbow had split the skin, he fixed this upstart challenger with a look of such hatred and malevolence that Jan quailed and took an involuntary step backwards.
Will would have to hurt him now, not because he drew blood or fought back too hard, but because the crowd were no longer chanting for him. Stepping forward to renew their faith in him, he went to work on Jan.
~
Sitting back with an incredulous look in his eye, he watched the face of the grinning South African and marvelled at his strength and resolve. How anyone could be so happy to have been beaten up so badly that they were bed-bound for three days was beyond even his ability to understand, but here he was, and he seemed thoroughly pleased with himself.
When his shock subsided, Steve realised he too was very happy. Very happy indeed. They had successfully infiltrated the underground fight club which would prove to be a very powerful tool in the bid to eventually overthrow Richards, as long as Jan didn’t get himself killed in the meantime.
“When will you have to fight again?” Steve asked with concern, not only for Jan’s life but for the timeline of their plan.
“Probably three weeks. They only do it the first Friday in every month because there aren’t many fighters and people need to heal,” Jan answered with a shrug, unconcerned at the prospect of facing more physical punishment which could jeopardise his life and health.
Steve mulled this over as he chewed his lip. “Just don’t, for fuck’s sake, get yourself killed or badly hurt,” he said with genuine feeling.
“You leave that to me!” Jan answered with a smug grin. “Because next month, I’m challenging the other one of those bastards and he’ll learn not to mess with a Springbok too.”
Steve was infected by his battered friend’s enthusiasm, and felt his own face cracking into a smile at the thought of the other “twin” receiving some treatment the likes of which he enjoyed dishing out but was unlikely to enjoy taking.
Fixing the South African’s gaze intensely, he reached out and gripped his shoulder tight. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet! Ja doos!” he answered with a muted chuckle, making Steve believe that he had just suffered a good-natured but unpleasant insult.
“I mean it,” he insisted with a smile. “Stay alive and in one bloody piece, but promise me that when the time comes, you’ll hurt them both, badly, and then we can rid this damned pace of people like that.”
Smirking with a confidence that made Steve believe him, Jan answered, “Trust me, when the time comes I’ll kill the pair of them with my bare hands. But first, you need to be strong enough to take over and kill Richards after I’ve taken out his little sidekicks.”
With that, they began their more intense but secret routine of physiotherapy.
NOTHING TO LOSE
He woke with a start, trying to make sense of the last few moments before he lost consciousness. He had no idea how long he had been out, but he knew as the feeling returned to the rest of his body that he had his hands bound together and was blindfolded.
Bastards, he thought savagely, wishing he could rip off his bindings and kill them all. Only he was tied tightly, and when he tried to move his feet, he found them pinned together also. Reaching awkwardly down, he felt the same rough twine cutting into his swelling flesh as was holding his wrists tightly together. Using his thumbs, he forced the stinking rag used to cover his eyes up only to find that he was in a windowless room with the only light source being a glow around the doorframe which showed the swirling dust. Realising that he felt cold, he looked down to find that he had been stripped and was wearing only his boxer shorts as he lay down on the cold floor of the store cupboard he inhabited.
For that, he thought, he was really going to hurt someone.
Forcing himself to conduct a thorough top-to-toe survey, as he had unfortunately had cause to do so many times before, he found that his
only real problem was the major pain in the right side of his jaw where his head had been smacked out of the park as though the bastard wielding the gun had been aiming for a home run.
Moving his neck gently, he felt no grating or pain in his upper spine and resigned himself in relative comfort to the fact that it seemed to be just another concussion. At that point, the thought struck him that Kate would be furious with him for collecting yet another serious head injury; if he were a professional boxer, he would have been medically retired by now.
Pushing away all thoughts of the others or of any pain and self-sympathy, he began to analyse his surroundings and decipher their clues to find a way out of the mess he was in.
He had to get free. He had to get to the others at the second rendezvous point. He would very much like to get his gear and clothes back and kill a few of the bastards who had tied him up, but there were always secondary and primary problems to solve.
Shuffling over to the shaft of light coming from the doorframe, he put his scarred eye then his left ear to it to find out any information that could aid in his escape and retribution.
Fearing that he may be doomed with poor luck that day, the door swung open and cracked him heavily on the left side of his face to knock him back hard to the ground as someone walked in. Their surprise at not finding him unconscious quickly turned into mirth as they realised they had just inadvertently clocked him again.
Sanctuary: After It Happened Book 5 Page 16