Chapter 8 #2
“If he comes, we’ll put him down again. Harder.” His next words are more to himself than the others but they’re all feeling the adrenaline buzz right about now.
The thin guy cracks his knuckles. “Hope he does come. I’m bored.”
He didn’t sound bored, I’ve heard scared men chattering before and they all have that slightly shrill edge to their voice.
Standing outside, I tap my handaxe against the metal frame of the door.
At first there’s silence, then a chair scraps against the cement flooring, followed by a muttered swear word and then I hear a glass bottle shattering.
That’ll be the one with the bandana. He seems the type who’d dramatically try to shove it through my throat. Probably saw that move in the same film he saw a man with a red bandana tied around his wrist. Fucking poser.
Whether or not these are the exact five from the night they circled me like hyenas, they get their orders from the same man and would have jumped in on the attack if ordered. Maybe Dindak would have something to say about forgiveness, but I’ll leave that concept to Jesus.
I roll my neck and the vertebrae cracks softly, I’m perfectly calm when I move, my boot hitting the straw-dusted floor. One step in, my eyes sweep the room to see if anyone’s reached for a gun, but no one has.
They’re feeling the safety of their numbers. At least until I smile and push the door closed behind me.
“Evening, boys,” I greet them when I’m two steps in.
The old guy’s chair hits the ground when he stands, the Hispanic man utters something that sounds like a prayer, Davis in the back is frozen, his hands with his zipper halfway up, while Bigfoot tries to look even bigger.
“How the hell are you standing?” The thin guys asks me. Skinny, that’s the name you’ll have the rest of your life.
I stay silent, sizing each one of them up as two of them exchange a glance and fan out without a word. Those two know what they’re doing, I think, as two of the others nervously look around.
“Take my cut off. I don’t want your blood on it,” I say, pointing my knife at Davis.
He’s the furthest from the light and while I can’t make out the expression on his face, I do see his head whipping around, like he’s only just realizing there’s not a back exit.
The other five are all spread out now, like pack behavior they stand as a front line between me and the man wearing my cut.
Assessing the men, I already can tell which one will break and run if he gets the chance, but I’ll not take it easy on that one. No sense leaving someone who can return to stab me in the back.
“You really want to start this?” Bandana asks me. The old guy to his left turns to sneer at him, the derision on his face is plain as day at the tremble in the kid’s voice.
“I’m not starting a thing,” I say. “Just finishing it.”
Surprisingly, the thin man is the first to rush me. As soon as he moves, Bandana takes a step forward, but stops, nearly stumbling as he realizes that no one else has moved and looks around to see what the others are going to do.
As Skinny closes in on me, I tilt my head to the side, watching him and trying to understand what his plan is. Considering the panic I see in his eyes, I’m wondering if he’s going to draw the knife that’s still sheathed in his belt or if he just plans to tackle me.
Imagine my surprise when he shouts and jumps into the air, making like he’s going to kick me into next week.
He’s got these long-ass legs and maybe he’s practiced whatever Kung Fu crap it is he’s attempting in the past, but I’m pretty sure his boot would have swung over my head even if I didn’t bend my knees.
At the last second, mainly because it takes me a moment to close my gaping mouth, I stab Thunder’s long blade upward into Skinny’s thigh and it’s more his momentum than my strength that savagely shreds through his muscles and arteries, just before he drops like a stone.
“What the fuck was that?” My question isn’t directed at anyone in particular, but I swear the old guy snorts.
Gripping the neck of the broken liquor bottle, Bandana comes at me next, with the older man steps behind him. Bigfoot is taking his time, I think as that one steps closer to the Hispanic man.
I easily step sideways and avoid the jagged edge of Bandana’s weapon, but the old guy is holding his knife like he knows how to use it and is looking forward to having a reason to.
While Bandana continues to slash through the air, the old guy is focused on getting behind me.
Smart, using his cohort as a distraction.
Trying to keep the wall to my back, I nearly trip when Skinny reaches up from the ground to grab the back of my boot.
Catching myself, I stomp down hard on his fingers, just so he’ll go back to hollering and trying to hold his leg together.
That only took a second, but it was enough for Bandana to get in a swipe across the top of my arm.
“Motherfucker,” I growl, taking a step toward him as he’s running a victory lap in his own mind. Lifting the axe, I swing it down on top of his right shoulder and feel the man’s collar bone giving way.
Extending the axe just a little more, I hook the back of his neck with its head and use it to swing him in the direction of the old guy. I’m more than a little grateful when Bandana intercepts the blade that the old guy is slicing through the air, on it’s way toward me.
He takes that steel to the hilt and the rattle of his breath as he exhales tells me he’ll never draw air into his lungs again.
“Thanks for that,” the words are barely off my tongue when the old guy reaches behind him for whatever he’s got hidden back there.
“Fuck this playtime shit,” he snarls, swinging a gun on me.
There’s nowhere to hide and for lack of a better idea, I throw myself at him. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but he fires immediately and I feel the burn of the bullet as it creases my side.
Hitting his torso, we go down and I quickly grab his arm, trying to get the gun as he heaves for the air that was knocked out of him. Squeezing his arm just above his elbow, I slam it down on the cement a couple of times before the gun goes skittering off into one of the dark sections of the barn.
“Guess I should have known better than to give any of you a fighting chance,” I growl, smashing the end of my knife against his temple.
One man is dead, another is fixing to bleed out, but with three others standing, knocking him out is the only thing I have time for right now.
Standing behind the Hispanic man, Bigfoot gives him a shove in my direction, but instead of running toward me, he breaks around the bigger guy and while I expected him to run, that wasn’t his play at all.
Instead, he reaches for a length of chain that had been coiled up under the table. For fuck’s sake, Bull was right. I should have just come in here and shot them all to hell, but, nope, I needed to prove a point.
I look over my shoulder into the darkness, hoping to catch a glimpse of that gun right about now.
As he approaches me, he twirls the chain like it’s a lasso, building momentum and that motherfucker hurt like hell when it wound around me hitting my damaged ribs and shoulder blade.
The second time it makes contact, it opens a gash on my forehead and thankfully I don’t lose consciousness when I go down.
I keep blinking my eyes, but it takes me another moment to realize they’re stinging so much because of the blood slowly moving down my face; aggravating my eyes before seeping into my mouth.
Rolling to the side, I leave my axe behind, standing up to try to grab the chain in an attempt to pull my adversary off balance. Except I get walloped by it again even as my palm catches on a loose piece of metal, tearing away a chunk of my flesh.
Those two victories gets the guy swinging the chain faster, stepping to the side as he prepares to strike me again, just as Bigfoot finally decides he’s missed too much of the action.
Bigfoot roars and charges between his associate and myself.
I smile at him, tracking his trajectory, I move deliberately.
Unlike him, rage doesn’t make me reckless, it sharpens me.
His metal bar whistles through the air and I duck, sliding under it and sweep the big guy’s ankle with my boot.
As he starts toppling, I reach out grip his knee in both hands, wrenching it in the opposite direction of the rest of his body.
As he screams in pain, I reach for his discarded weapon and throw it at the Hispanic man. The howl he lets out doesn’t sound like he’s too traumatized but I use the split second to look around and see what Davis is up too.
Fuck if I can spot him, but there is a lantern within reach, so I pick it up and hurl it at one of the long walls, smiling when the flame is set loose and instantly ignites the wooden panels; smoke instantly filling the air, dark and hungry.
“Genius,” Bigfoot snaps and I hear the rattle of the chain as he picks it up. “You gonna burn us all alive?”
Not bothering with a reply, I ignore the thickening smoke and the groan of the fire as I turn to face the man with the chain only to be grabbed by one of the others. I’m not even sure who it is at this moment, but I turn my body into deadweight; bringing him to the ground with me.
Luckily, I fall just close enough to Bandana so I can reach over, wrenching the knife from his chest. And with a final stab through the old guy’s throat, that’s three down and three to go.
A roar sounded behind him, spinning, I see Bigfoot swinging the chain.
This bastard just doesn’t have any quit in him, I think, crawling a couple of feet over to recover my handaxe.
Bringing up the axe handle to block the strike, my arm shakes with the effort and I know it’s too weak now to take much more, but I give my head a hard shake, hoping to tap on some hidden reserve of strength to keep going.
Kicking out at the knee he’s favoring, it caves and he lands on his good one.