Chapter 17: Predator. Prey nearby.
Late December, 2016
Please note: In the Works Cited portion of Chapter 1 there are suggested music pieces to accompany this and other Chapters to enhance your experience of reading. I hope you enjoy them...
If it hadn't been for the moonlight, he wouldn't have seen them coming. Maybe it was that special sense he had, the one that never rested, the one that stayed awake even when he didn't. He'd opened his eyes at just the right time; saw them up ahead — light from the moon on them. They thought they were hidden in shadows, but Reese could see them moving against the blackness of woods behind them.
He rose, and in the darkness followed.
It wasn't long before Reese saw them stop then to look back toward her house.
Three of them. He could see the one point to the french doors and point again to one side, where the pump house stood. They separated then; two moved off and divided again, heading on different paths for the house. The third one held back, and Reese went for him first.
He traveled in the treeline, silently, watching — testing with his feet for sticks that could snap beneath his weight. A thick layer of old downed leaves and pine needles cushioned his steps and Reese closed in, in silence.
Moonlight bathed the intruder. Stark white light, harsh against a black knit cap, black jacket and dark pants. Only hands and a bit of his face showed. Not enough to recognize him. On the ground ahead a thick stout branch stuck up from the leaves. Reese was drawn to it as a weapon and in a few more steps he was on it. This would need to be quick – lifting it and swinging it straight for the intruder's head. He readied himself.
In one motion Reese pulled at the branch and stepped forward. Leaves rustled and the intruder began to turn. In the next second he'd be down, silently, from the hit.
Reese swung the branch forward. In the same moment moonlight lit the turning face.
It seemed to take forever for his arm to get there.
Moonlight flooded the two of them. But instead of surprise in his eyes, Reese saw him smile, cold blue eyes crinkling in the light. Greer!
His heart grabbed in his chest. They knew he was there. Mid-swing, Reese dropped to the ground and something hard glanced off him from behind. He rolled forward, taking Greer's legs out from under him. Greer tumbled, hitting hard as Reese rolled up to his feet.
Footsteps pounded at him from the trees. In the darkness all he could see were their poles — long shiny wooden poles clutched in their hands. They wore black, everything black. Even their eyes were shielded. Zheng, bodyguards for Greer.
So close now, but Reese took off at them, eyes on Greer, just rising from the ground. He swung the branch back as far as it could go. It came forward like a hammer in his hand aimed for the back of Greer's head — he'd go down and stay down this time — one chance to end him.
A flash of yellow from out of the darkness. And the sound of wood snapping across his forearm just before the strike. Stinging shock pain there; the arm went numb. It recoiled — wave after wave of electric shock; stinging pain shooting down his arm, so sharp, it bent him double. He cradled the arm with his other hand and pulled it in against him.
His hand had no strength. The branch dropped from his open grip. He watched it fall, slow motion, to the ground.
Reese knew all about that strike point on his arm — from training days back in the Rangers. In hwarangdo, a strike there neutralized the arm for hours. Nothing he could do for it now. He backed away then, turning, heading to his left on the run.
Too late — the Zheng were already on him. Swarming, their poles landing, slapping at him; on his back, on his legs, across the shoulders. He nearly went down in that first barrage.
Their footsteps thudded behind him. He knew their reach was longer with the poles. He cut to the right then, for the treeline. At least the low-hanging branches would keep them from swinging; all they could do was jab with the poles. He ducked through clumps of saplings, spreading his arms, bending them downward as he ran. It cost him dearly on the right; but he could hear their green trunks flinging backwards when he let them fly, slapping at the Zheng closing in behind.
He heard them stumble and trip then, snarling together in knots. Long seconds passed before footsteps started again, but Reese was ahead now, running along the treeline for the hill to the school. Once he was there, he would even the odds.
Trees were heavier on the hill. No way they could swing the poles in here. He moved as fast as he could go, but the slope was steep, and the footing slippery. He slipped and slid his way down, until there ahead was the one-story school. Reese unwound the rope from the pulls and yanked at the doors. Inside, he went straight for the wall of weapons. Some were dull, for practice, but some Reese could use to kill.
His right hand was useless to grip. His left would have to do.
From the wall he grabbed for a long pole and a practice machete, turning back, swinging with his left hand on the run. The first one came running through, pole forward to block. Reese side-stepped the yellow pole and speared him in the chest with his. He didn't wait but swung at the sound, again and again in the darkness; hitting wood, hitting flesh. Impossible to see what in the darkness. A pole clattered to the floor and rolled. Another strike and Reese could hear the crunch, the blast of sudden breath, as a form in black slid to the floor at his legs. He heard it gasping then, helpless for a moment, struggling to stand. He had to finish it.
Reese stepped back, swung high with his pole. With the right arm he could push, even if he couldn't grasp. Double-handed, he aimed for the struggle and swung down as hard as he could manage. A crushing blow through his hands; shooting pain up his arm; rustling, and then silence.
Eery silence. He couldn't see anything in front of him. Reese held his pole at the ready — more silence, except for his own stifled breath. He waited another moment, unsure in the darkness if it was over. Then Reese looked to the opening where the air blew in.
More would be coming; this one blocked the way. At least the body would slow them down coming through. His heart pounded in his ears, and his breathing came fast and sharp now in his chest. He flattened on the wall at the doorway, listening for the rest of them coming. There were sounds outside. At least two more.
The school was dark, but he knew its layout. There was a wall over there that separated the open space. He remembered it was made of wooden slats. If he could get to the other side, he could ambush anyone who came near.
Reese stepped softly, but as quickly as he could in the darkness. In his left hand he carried the long pole, and in his belt on the right he'd wedged the machete. Reese didn't even try the right hand; he couldn't feel it. But the arm above it throbbed and spasmed when he moved it; he pushed it from his thoughts — to concentrate on the number of steps to the wall.
Eight – nine – ten. There it was. Smoothness of the wood touched his hand. He stepped around the pillar at the end, then back along the slats, hugging up against them. About half-way in Reese stopped. He let the long pole lean against the wall where he could reach it. And then he took the machete into his good left hand. With the right one he ran the back of his wrist down the slats, feeling for an opening at the right height. The slats angled upward and away. If he picked one low enough, and laid his blade flat on the slat, it would guide his thrust high and deep.
Reese heard something, and held his breath. That feeling came over him.
Predator. Prey nearby.
Senses sharpened. Vision, even in the darkness. Hearing. He heard breathing at the front door, and soft footsteps on the other side of the wall. He didn't move, didn't breathe. Soon he could feel tiny waves of heat through the slats. Prey was close now, sliding along the slats in the blackness. Reese took one silent breath. He felt heat at his face from the other side. He didn't wait any longer.
In one motion Reese slid and lifted his blade — arms braced on his body, pushing up with the strength of his legs. He felt the dull blade meet resistance and punch through. He heard the sharp groan on the other side, felt the wobble of his blade in his hands as the body thrashed to come off. But Reese held tight — until the thrashing turned to dead weight on the blade.
Then he reached for his pole. The next one was already here.
Instead of retreating to the back, he crouched low where he was. The pole he held tip-upward to jab at the next one. If he could catch him in the throat, it would stop him in his tracks.
Reese held his breath again and listened. He heard cloth straining down low near the floor. Reese coiled and threw himself backward; a pole smashed the pillar where he was.
Whirling. He heard whirling next and foot motion, smashing sounds coming close, everything tumbling and crashing as this next one swung at ankle level. Reese backed up fast; the sounds tracked him, whirling and smashing in the darkness. The pole flung a low table at his right. Incense and brass skidded; a glass vase launched and shattered on the floor.
Reese knew the back wall was close now, and he sensed where his target must be. He reached with his left hand, out to a tree trunk hanging from its frame. The Wooden Man, hanging on its frame from the back wall. The Wooden Man would stop a swinging pole and more.
Glass crunched, and then a pole slashed at him, just out of reach. If it connected, it would knock Reese off his feet. It started whirling then, gaining speed. Glass crunched close by.
Reese felt the canvas cover on the Wooden Man, and slid in behind it, shielding himself from the whirling pole. The angle changed then, swinging high to low, then high overhead, and slashing down across his body steps away. It hummed in the air as it went by, so fast and so close Reese could feel the air move. On the next swing, the whirling pole would hit the Wooden Man. He had to be ready to strike.
He heard the hum and felt the air jump off the pole. Then the sharp smack as it hit the Wooden Man; Reese uncovered at that moment and swung backhanded with his pole. It bounced on something softer than wood, and Reese scrambled to go for that spot. The hit with his pole told him where and he lunged out, tackling blackness with his shoulder. They slammed together to the floor, grunting, and Reese wrestled to the top. The dark form coiled underneath him, arms pinned by his legs. Reese punched it with his left fist. Then again, and again, but that didn't stop it.
The form launched him upwards from the middle, but he held on and pummeled again with his fist. Reese felt it flex then and it caught his left arm with both legs, scissoring and wrenching it backwards in a pin. Reese fought to lean forward, fighting the pin, on the verge of popping his shoulder out. He pressed down hard against its arms to hold them pinned under his knees.
Reese strained forward, inching against the pressure. He could feel his shoulder starting to give. Reese slid his numb right arm across the form where its neck should be. In one last forward push, he bent the arm and dropped all his weight down through the point of his elbow. He could feel a sharp crack at the throat underneath.
There was thrashing then, beneath him — and the lock on his shoulder released. He felt it snap back in and Reese pushed harder then, down through his arm at the neck. A sound came from its throat — like something stuck inside, using up the space to breathe. It struggled beneath him, clawing at him, punching him in the back with its legs; desperate, as the sounds of its breathing choked off. Reese took the pounding, pressing down on its throat with all his strength.
Stridor, then, from the form; and, finally, no sounds of breathing at all. Its flailing ceased, no air left for the clawing and punching. Still, Reese didn't let up.
Not until the form fell limp beneath him and the sound of death — a rattle — rose from it. Reese could feel its vibration in his arm.
Done now. It was done.
Reese looked up toward the door. More could be coming. He held his breath.
Air from the front door tousled his hair. He could hear only silence. He could feel no other living thing.
Reese was alone now in the school.
He lifted himself and rolled to his left on the floor. He pulled his top leg back off the body, and shoved it down off his left leg, pinned underneath it. Then Reese rolled onto his back, breathing hard. He wouldn't listen to his body, not yet. Pain was going to light up everywhere, from his right arm, from the clawing and all the pounding body blows he took. He couldn't stop yet to pay attention. More could be coming and Reese couldn't stay there for long.
Up. He needed to get up — had to find the rest of them, wherever they were.
One had headed off toward the pump house, and one had headed for the back of her house. They could be anywhere by now. And where was Greer? And where were the rest of the Zheng? And what about Jules. Where was she?
In the dim light of the lamp next to the couch, Reese's body stretched full-length, eyes closed, but his face uneasy. Muscle jumps shook him and a low sound came from his throat. He needed to find her.
At his thigh, the heavy-bottomed glass sat curled in his hand. It was empty now, and Reese was alone in the living room.
So quiet in this place for the moment. But, not so in his thoughts.