Chapter Twelve
Johnny didn't know how he'd lost the advantage, but he'd lost it in a big way. One second, he was on top, pounding his fists into Mike's face harder than he'd ever hit anyone. The next, Mike had managed to get his feet against Johnny's chest, and he was flying backward through the air.
He'd gotten up as quickly as he could. He'd kept fighting. But he couldn't get any strikes in. Mike blocked everything he threw. Every punch. Every kick. He'd lost his control, his focus, and his momentum. He couldn't get past Mike's defense, and he was running out of ideas.
The shot to his collarbone was the end of it. He felt and heard a snap. What it was – bone or tendon, break or tear – he had no idea. But it hurt like hell. He grabbed it with his right hand and screamed as his legs went out from under him. He fell to the ground, catching a glimpse of the knife as Mike moved toward him. He hadn't noticed him picking that back up, but it didn't matter. Mike had it, and there was nothing Johnny could do about it. He hit the dirt and tried to scramble away, both to give himself a few more seconds to think and to draw Mike further away from Daniel, but he couldn't move fast enough. As Mike bore down on him, knife held high, all he could do was throw his arm up and hope to block it.
And suddenly, it didn't matter, because somehow, someway ... Daniel was there.
Johnny's eyes widened in disbelief. He shot a rapid glance to where Daniel had been lying, silent and still, only seconds before.
"What the hell?" he breathed.
Daniel was on his feet, which he shouldn't have been. That would have been impressive enough on its own. But he wasn't just standing up; he was standing straight. He was putting weight on his left leg. He was moving. He was walking. He'd stepped in front of him, between them.
And he'd stopped the knife with his bare hands.
"Well, hello there, Mike."
Johnny lifted his head and shoulders from the ground. He pressed against his collarbone with his right hand, pushing until whatever had snapped popped back into place. He swallowed the scream and buried it under a groan.
"You're in my way, Daniel."
Daniel tipped his head to the side slightly.
"I will not let you hurt him." Daniel spoke calmly, almost disinterestedly, as he wrapped his left hand around Mike's right wrist.
"Really? You think you can stop me?"
Johnny tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. Pain shot down his spine to his toes every time he moved. His knees kept buckling. He shifted position and tried again, never taking his eyes from the scene in front of him.
"I'll stop you." That was Daniel's face, but it was blank. Those were Daniel's eyes, but they were empty. That was Daniel's voice, but it was hollow. "If it's the last thing I do."
That was Daniel's body, but that … wasn't Daniel.
"Oh, it will be," Mike said. He narrowed his eyes as he nodded his head. "It will be."
In a move so eerily close to what he'd done a few hours earlier that it made the hair on the back of Johnny's neck stand up, Mike dropped his left hand, reached across himself, and punched Daniel in the side.
That should have dropped him immediately, but it didn't. When Mike realized it hadn't worked, he opened his hand and dug his fingers into the wound. He ground his teeth together, a clear sign of how much effort he was putting into it, and there was no way a sweatshirt and bandage could protect Daniel from that. It was another move that should have taken him out, but again, nothing changed.
Johnny finally made it to his feet, and he stumbled forward. He had to stop Mike before Daniel started bleeding again.
Daniel looked down at Mike's hand, then he looked back up. There should have been some sign of pain on his face, but there wasn't. He should have been on his way down, but he wasn't. He should have been screaming in agony, but he wasn't.
He was smiling.
"That's good," Daniel said. "But not good enough. There's nothing you've got that I can't counter, Mike."
"Ya think so?"
In response, Daniel twisted his hand and bent Mike's wrist back. He jerked it forward and pulled Mike in close.
"I know so."
Then he dropped his right hand, brought his arm up, and elbowed him in the face.
Mike's hands shot to his nose. He staggered back as blood gushed between his fingers. Daniel let him go. Johnny made it to Daniel's side just as Mike growled and raised his arm again, preparing to strike with the knife. Johnny took a step forward, intent on putting himself between them, but Daniel raised his arm and stopped him.
"Lose something?" Daniel asked.
Johnny looked from Daniel, who was holding the knife, waving it back and forth slowly, to Mike, who was staring at his open – and empty – hand in numbed and shocked surprise.
Johnny smiled.
Daniel flipped the knife in the air and caught the blade between his fingers. "Fuck this thing!" he growled. Then he turned and threw it as far away as he could.
Mike's reaction was immediate.
He roared out his rage and charged them. His anger and frustration had overridden both his training and his common sense.
Daniel's defense was first: a reinforced block into a right back fist. The recoil spun him toward Johnny, who met him with a high block and a reverse punch. He followed up with a side elbow that threw him back toward Daniel, who was waiting with a left hook and a vertical elbow to his jaw. That knocked him into an outside block and a double-fisted blow to his chin from Johnny.
Johnny had been wrong when he'd thought there was no way to get past Mike's defense. All they'd needed was to fight him together. And though it would have surprised him how well they worked together – if he'd had time to think about it, that was – he couldn't deny it felt right to be doing it. The smile that had made its way onto Daniel's face said he felt it, too.
Mike finally realized he wasn't doing himself any favors, and he pulled himself out of the storm he'd stepped into. He drew in two large breaths and let out another primal scream before running at them once more.
Two kicks – one to his face and the other to his sternum – ended his ill-conceived charge. He flew backward through the air, hit the ground, and stayed there.
Johnny and Daniel finished their motions as one and brought their legs down in unison. They ended up back-to-back, shoulders nearly touching, as they stared down at Mike. They lifted their heads and glanced at each other, and they both grinned.
Johnny still didn't know what the hell had just happened, but he'd take whatever it was for as long as it lasted. He could hear Daniel's panted breaths and felt his shoulder heaving against his, and he turned around. As he did, he caught a look at Daniel's side. Fresh, bright blood was seeping through the sweatshirt and soaking down the front of his jeans. "Daniel," he said. "You're … you're bleeding again."
Daniel looked down and shrugged. "Yeah," he answered. "I guess I am."
"Are you okay?" Johnny didn't even know why he asked because the answer was obvious. He put one hand on Daniel's shoulder. "You don't look so good."
Daniel nodded. "Yeah. I'm good."
Johnny thought about arguing with that, but he decided against it. Even with their victory, there was still very little he'd describe as "good."
Mike was down for the moment, but he wasn't going to stay that way. They'd done some damage, but he didn't know how much more they could do. He was almost out of steam, and Daniel, well … Daniel shouldn't have even been standing up. Mike had taken a beating, absolutely, but he was still in better shape than the two of them combined.
"Okay, that's enough," he said. "We need to get out of here." He pressed his hand against Daniel's should and tried to push him toward the car. "Come on. Let's go."
Daniel didn't move.
For a few seconds, everything was quiet. The birds weren't chirping. The leaves weren't rustling. The wind blowing through the trees was somehow silent.
"No." Daniel's voice was so quiet he barely heard it.
"What?" Johnny looked down at Mike and then back up quickly. "Daniel?"
"I have to go."
"Yeah, you do," he agreed, nodding his head. "We both do. So come on!" He tried again to move Daniel toward the car, but it didn't work that time, either.
"He says I can rest."
Johnny stepped in front of Daniel and searched his face for an explanation. Those words made him all but forget about Mike. "Who says that? What the hell are you …?"
Daniel looked up, and he smiled. His eyes lit up, and there was no pain in them. He looked so calm, so happy.
At peace.
"No."
It was all Johnny could say. He shook his head. "No, Daniel." The look on Daniel's face scared him more than Mike ever could. He grabbed both of Daniel's shoulders and squeezed them tightly. "You're not going anywhere!"
Daniel reached up, wrapped his right hand around Johnny's left, and nodded. "You'll be okay," he said.
"No," Johnny said again, shaking his head forcefully. "I won't be. Do you hear me? I won't be okay."
Again, the smile. The knowing, content, peaceful smile that at once both soothed Johnny and terrified him.
"He's waiting for me," Daniel said. "He's calling for me."
"Who is?!" Johnny demanded. He knew what the answer was going to be. It couldn't be anyone else.
"Mr. Miyagi."
He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to see it. He wanted to close his eyes and wake up in his bed. He wanted to start the day over. He'd do it right that time. He'd step in sooner. He'd stop Mike before he pulled that knife. He'd do what he should have done in the first place.
It was just another nightmare. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
"Don't listen to him!" he commanded. "Tell him to fuck off, Daniel."
Daniel kept smiling, and he shook his head.
"You're not done yet!" He stopped himself just short of shaking Daniel bodily. He had to get through to him. "You can't go with him. You can't leave!"
Daniel lifted his hand and touched Johnny's face. His smile changed from one of peace to one of understanding and genuine warmth. "You're safe now," he said. "They'll be safe. I can rest."
"No, Daniel. No."
Daniel's hands slipped away, and his arms dropped. His head fell forward, and his body swayed.
"Thank you." The words were whispered so softly the wind picked them up and blew them away.
Daniel's eyes closed, and his smile faded.
"No!"
Johnny caught him when he fell.
He moved one hand to the back of Daniel's head to keep it from falling back, and he went to his knees as he lowered him to the ground. "No," he said. "No, no, no, no." He'd do whatever he needed to do to keep Daniel there. "Come on, don't do this!" He'd fight. He'd scream. He'd cry. He'd get on his fucking knees and beg.
He didn't care anymore.
"You can't do this, Daniel. Not now." He put both hands on Daniel's face and shook him slightly. "Open your eyes." It was less a request and more a prayer, and he didn't care who saw him do it. "Look at me, Daniel. Open your eyes!"
He heard a sound in front of them, and he looked up. Mike had gotten to his feet at some point, and he was standing there, staring down at them. There was blood running from his nose, and his left eye was only half-open, but that damned grin was back.
"Aw," he said. "Danny fall down go boom?"
Johnny narrowed his eyes and glared at him.
They were alone. No one was coming. Johnny's head throbbed so badly he could barely see or hear, let alone think. His body hurt so much he could barely move. He was exhausted, and Daniel … Daniel was … Daniel …
'No!'
That wasn't happening. He wouldn't let it happen. He didn't care. It wasn't over. No matter how it ended, he would not give up. If he went down, he'd go down swinging. He would fight until his last breath. He'd stand between Mike and Daniel until he couldn't stand anymore. There was no other choice.
He looked down at Daniel, at the dark hair and the pale skin and the closed eyes. He reached out and put a hand on his cheek. "You're good, Daniel," he said. "I got this. You can rest." He might lose, but he wasn't done. It wasn't over yet.
"But you better wait for me. Because I'm right behind you."
"Don't do it." Mike's voice was different, almost hopeful sounding. "You don't have to die for him."
Johnny took a deep breath, moved one hand to Daniel's shoulder and the other on the wound in his side. He prepared himself for what was coming. His next attack may be his last, but he would not stop.
"Just leave him here," Mike was saying. "Just walk away. You can have everything you've ever wanted. All you have to do is stand up. Leave him here, and come with me."
The thought would have tempted him when he was seventeen. He might have considered it nine months earlier. Hell, he may have thought about it a week ago. After everything that had happened that day, everything they'd been through, everything they'd done and said to and for each other?
He lifted his head slowly. He could feel the hatred in his own eyes.
"Go to hell."
"Fine." Mike settled back into his stance and lifted his hands. "You want to go with him that badly? I'm more than happy to send you on your way."
There was an explosion of sound behind him. His brain took too long to identify them all. An engine revving, brakes screeching, rocks flying, doors slamming, voices shouting. He watched the smile disappear from Mike's face, watched his arrogance turn to surprise, then to worry, then to fear.
Feet pounded the ground behind him. Two shadows fell across his shoulders. Two bodies soared over his head. Two perfect flying side kicks slammed into Mike's chest in unison. Mike flew back, hitting the ground with such force that Johnny heard the impact and the breath expelling from his lungs. Two people landed on their feet in front of him, assuming fighting stances without turning around. He didn't need to see their faces to know who they were.
Robby.
Miguel.
More feet behind him. More shadows running past him. More people joining the fight. Four of them. Aisha. Hawk. That long-haired kid he called Shaggy. And … Sam?
He gripped Daniel's shoulder tightly and looked down at him again. "Change of plans, Danny," he said. "We're not going anywhere. The cavalry's here."
The thunderous sounds of the battle in front of him pulled his attention back to it. It was impossible for him to see who was doing what. Robby and Miguel were the closest in, and they seemed to be doing the most damage. But Sam and Hawk were a close second. There were more fists and feet flying than he could possibly keep up with. All he knew was they were all hitting their target, and they weren't hitting each other. Even if his brain hadn't been half-scattered and his vision hadn't been fuzzy and blurry, he probably still couldn't have tracked them all. The entire scene was straight out of a movie, and he couldn't have been prouder if he'd tried.
Those kids were kicking the shit out of Mike Barnes.
He slowly became aware of something warm, wet, and sticky on his hand, and he glanced down.
"Oh, shit."
Fragments of scattered memories flashed through his mind. Mike lowering his arm. Reaching toward Daniel's side. Punching the knife would. Digging his fingers into it. Ripping it open. Fresh blood on Daniel's sweatshirt. Fresh blood on his jeans.
It hadn't seemed to do anything to Daniel at the time, but it had done something. Daniel wasn't just bleeding. Blood was pouring out of him – heavier, faster, and more freely than it had all day.
"Fuck!"
He put both hands over the bandage and pushed down, hoping the pressure would be enough to slow it down. It wasn't. He gathered more of Daniel's sweatshirt together in his fingers and did the same. It was a matter of seconds before more blood seeped through to mix in with what had dried there. He grabbed the side of his red jacket, pulled it up, and added it to the mix. The blood didn't so much soak through that as it coated the outside of it, and it still didn't help.
He glanced up quickly. Mike was pushing himself back to his feet. Blood covered his face, running not just from his nose, but from his mouth and the side of his head. He turned as he rose, but he wasn't turning to face the kids. He was turning away from them. He was trying to run.
"Stop!" Johnny shouted. "Kids! Stop!" Four of the six did as they were told. Robby and Miguel kept swinging.
"Yame!"
The familiar command seemed to get through to them. They didn't drop their fists, but they did stop throwing them. "Let him go!" he ordered. "I need help!"
Six heads turned toward him in unison.
"Daniel needs help!"
Sam was on her knees at Daniel's other side before he realized she had moved. "Dad?" She lifted her hand to his face, then his hand, then his shoulder, but she pulled back every time she got close. She looked like she was afraid to touch him. "Daddy?"
Miguel stood behind her, with Robby at his side. Neither of them spoke, but both of them stared down at Daniel with varying degrees of concern, dread, and fear on their faces. Miguel leaned over and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. Robby knelt down and wrapped his hand around Daniel's. Aisha stood behind them, looking younger and more vulnerable than Johnny had ever seen her. Shaggy and Hawk glanced back at the scene, but they kept their bodies turned toward the trees Mike had vanished into.
They had all been willing to run into a fight blindly, with no idea who or what they were facing. They were brave and loyal and strong. But they were just kids. They'd never seen anything like that before, and they had no idea what to do. Johnny's job was far from done. Exhausted or not, throbbing head, wrenched back, bruised ribs, and screwed up collarbone or not, he had to keep going. He had to take charge.
"Miss Robinson!"
"Yes, Sensei!"
He pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them at her without looking. She caught them in the air. "You, Hawk, and Shaggy, my car. You stay right behind us, got it?"
"Yes, Sensei." She turned and ran to the Challenger, slapping Hawk and Shaggy on the arms as she passed them, trusting them to follow her as they'd been told.
They didn't.
They were both still standing with their backs to everyone, staring into the woods. They had their fists up, and they were on their toes. They were still ready to fight.
"Hawk! Shaggy!" he called out. "Forget about that piece of shit. Get in the car!"
"We're watching your backs, Sensei," Shaggy said.
"We'll move when you and Mr. LaRusso are clear," Hawk added. "If he tries again, he won't get to you."
Johnny had to smile as the boys shifted position, forming a two-man protective line in front of Daniel.
Damn, he loved those kids.
"Robby!" He called out without taking his eyes or hands from Daniel's still form. "You still got Daniel's keys?"
"They're … I left them … it's still running." He could tell just from the sound of his voice that he was in no condition to drive. Sam wasn't either.
"Open the tailgate and lay the seats down. Miguel!"
"Yes, Sensei!"
"You're driving."
Robby didn't move. He was frozen in place, staring down at Daniel. "Mr. LaRusso?" His voice was so damn broken. He was so damn broken. Johnny took a deep breath, but he didn't speak. He didn't have to. Miguel turned toward Robby, put one hand on his shoulder, and nodded.
"Come on, Robby. Let's take them home."
Robby stood slowly and nodded his head. The two of them moved toward the car, running to carry out their orders.
That only left two people to take care of. He looked up at the one who was kneeling across from him with tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Sam," he said gently.
She didn't seem to hear him. She'd gotten over her fear of touching her father, and she was running her fingers through Daniel's hair, cradling his face in her other hand, whispering, "Wake up, Daddy. Please, wake up," over and over.
"Sam!" He hated the way she jumped, and he hated the look on her face when she turned it toward him, but if they were going to get off that mountain, he couldn't worry about either of those things. "Get in the front with Miguel."
She looked from him back to Daniel. "Daddy?"
Her voice broke his heart. She just wanted to be with her father. He understood, and he wanted to give her the time she was begging for, but time was the one thing her father didn't have. He could worry about the fallout later. He had to get her to focus.
"Samantha! Get in the damn car! Now!"
She leaned down, kissed Daniel's forehead, then pushed herself to her feet and ran.
That left only one. The unconscious one. The one who'd said a dead man was calling his name. The one whose leg didn't work, whose side had been ripped open, and whose blood Johnny was trying desperately to keep inside his body where it belonged. There was only one way to get him out of there.
"Damn it, LaRusso. Told you I was gonna carry your skinny ass off this mountain, didn't I?"
He slid one arm behind Daniel's shoulders and the other under his knees. It took longer than he thought it should have to push himself up with his right leg, but he finally managed to stand. "Shoulda done this in the first damn place," he muttered, shifting Daniel's weight in his arms, balancing himself as he turned toward Daniel's car. "We'd have been gone two hours ago."
He moved quickly but carefully, ignoring the way Daniel's head hung back and how limp his arms and legs were. His own head was throbbing, his ribs were stabbing him, his back was spasming, his legs were tingling, and his shoulder was screaming, but he could ignore all that. He only had to go a few feet. He felt Hawk and Shaggy behind him, falling back with him, keeping their line, keeping watch. He glanced around to make sure the other kids were all where they were supposed to be. They were.
All except Robby.
"Dad? Is he …?"
He was next to the SUV, bouncing from foot to foot. Johnny could almost see the tension that radiated from him. The kid was standing there watching his worst nightmare come true, after all. It was something else he understood, but something else he didn't have time to deal with. He'd have to keep Robby as distracted as possible, but he wasn't going to be able to give him the attention he really needed.
"Climb in the back," he said breathlessly, turning slightly as he approached the open tailgate. Robby turned and hopped in, then he spun back toward them. "Get his shoulders. Help me lift him in." Robby reached for Daniel, but he was shaking so much, Johnny was afraid he wasn't going to be able to hold him. "Easy, Robby," Johnny said, as calmly as he could manage. "Be careful. Don't drop him."
The Challenger roared to life beside them as Hawk and Shaggy opened the door and climbed in.
Robby hooked his hands under Daniel's arms, taking half his weight, and Johnny wrapped both arms around his legs. Between the two of them, he and Robby managed to get him into the car and laid down on the backs of the folded-down seats without jostling him too much. But it wouldn't have mattered if they had.
Daniel didn't feel any of it.
Johnny pressed his right hand against the floorboard, jumped, and swung both legs up. As soon as he was inside, Miguel pushed the button to close the hatch. Johnny crawled forward quickly and rose to his knees at Daniel's side, resuming his position and task from outside. He pressed down on Daniel's side with every ounce of strength he had.
"Go, Miguel!"
Miguel didn't need to be told twice. He shifted into drive and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.
They took off so fast that Johnny and Robby were both thrown back. Johnny landed next to Daniel's leg, and Robby barely stopped himself from landing on top of him. Johnny scrambled back to his knees, grabbed Robby's shoulders, and pulled him up.
"Sit down!" he commanded. Robby crossed his legs and positioned himself between Daniel and the back of Miguel's seat. Once he was settled, Johnny slid his arm behind Daniel's back and lifted his head and shoulders. "Scoot forward." He softened his voice in response to the pain and questions in Robby's eyes. "I need you to hold him still for me, okay?"
Robby did as he was told, and Johnny gently lowered Daniel's head into Robby's lap.
"Now, talk to him."
"What? What do I say?"
"Nothing. Everything. Anything. It doesn't matter. Just talk to him." He glanced down at Daniel's face, then back up at Robby. "We need him to keep fighting. Anything we can do, Robby. Just … let him hear your voice." He put his hand on the side of Robby's neck and squeezed it gently. Neither of them noticed the blood he left behind when he let go. "He needs to know you're here."
"Daddy?" Sam's voice floated back to him from the front seat, reminding him that Robby wasn't the only child in that car who needed something to distract them. "Robby, is he … Johnny? Daddy?"
Johnny pressed his hands back to Daniel's side before he looked up. "Samantha." He was almost amazed at how calm his voice sounded because he was anything but. "Sam, listen to me. We need a hospital. The closest one with one of those trauma center things. Can you use your phone to find one?"
She didn't seem to hear him, and she looked like she was about to climb out of her seat and into the back. He understood why she wanted to, but there wasn't room for her. It was cramped enough with just him and Robby.
"When you figure out where we're going, call your mom. Tell her to meet us there. Can you do that, Sam?"
He looked at Miguel, caught his eye in the rearview mirror, and tipped his head in her direction. Miguel caught the message immediately, and he nodded.
"Sam," Miguel said. "Henry Mayo Newhall. Do you know it?" She shook her head. "Can you look it up? Find out how far away we are, tell me how to get there? Please?" She hesitated, and Miguel smiled at her. "That's where we need to go. I know it's close, but I don't know exactly where it is, and I can't look and drive at the same time. Can you do it for me?"
She nodded and settled back in her seat, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She kept glancing behind her, but in her position, Johnny would have been doing the same. No, actually, in her position, he'd probably have been climbing over the seat to get back there, no matter how crowded it was. Miguel was doing a great job of keeping her calm, keeping her focused, and keeping his own head on straight.
Thank God someone in that car was holding it together.
With both Robby and Sam settled, Johnny took a deep breath and turned his full attention back to Daniel.
"Alright, LaRusso," he said. "Enough of this laying around crap. Nap time's over. You gotta wake up now."
The sound of approaching sirens sliced through the air, and he looked back up. Three police cars, lights flashing and sirens blaring, flew past them in the other lane, heading toward the mountain.
"Miguel?"
"We called them, Sensei," he said. "We thought we might need them."
Johnny looked out the back window as the sirens began to fade. The help he'd wanted, that they'd both needed, so badly, had finally arrived. Ten minutes too late. Two of the cars kept going. One peeled off, pulled a U-turn, and got behind his Challenger, which was – exactly as he'd told Aisha to be – right behind them.
"Shit!" He looked back at Miguel, panic and determination warring in his mind. They needed the cops, and there was no denying that. But one look at Daniel told him they didn't have time to wait. "Don't stop, Miguel. If they follow us the whole way, then they follow us. But we do not stop. Do you hear me?"
"What if they shoot at us?"
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's … they're not gonna shoot at us, Miguel! Just drive."
"Yes, Sensei."
The Challenger slowed and pulled to the side of the road, and the squad car pulled in behind it. Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. Aisha would tell them what was happening. If they were responding to the kids' call for help, then hopefully, they'd listen to one of the kids who'd called them. Maybe, with luck, she'd even get them an escort out of it.
With that almost-crisis dealt with, he pushed it out of his mind and went back to dealing with the major crisis on the seats in front of him. The crisis that was still bleeding.
"God damn it," he muttered. Acting more on instinct than with any real thought, Johnny took his right hand away from Daniel's side, reached up, grabbed the back of his shirt, and pulled it over his head. He wadded it up, added it to the pile of blood-soaked everything, and leaned into the wound with both hands again.
"That's all I've got." He ground the words out between his teeth. "You owe me, LaRusso. You're sticking around so I can collect. You listening to me? You drank all my booze. Bled all over my favorite jacket. And I just gave you the shirt off my damn back. I'm tapped out. So you need to stop the bleeding thing. Right now."
He heard Sam's voice again, shaky and shattered and full of tears. "Mom … Mom, it's me. It's Daddy. He's hurt, and he's … he's bleeding, and … Johnny's trying to stop it, but he's bleeding, and it won't stop, and he won't wake up, and oh, God, Mom, there's so much blood …"
Johnny lifted his hands and looked beneath them, hoping the blood had started slowing. When the first faint streaks of red started to show through, he closed his eyes. But he snapped them open again almost immediately.
"No," he said, pressing down on Daniel's side with everything he had left. "Hell no. You're not doing this, LaRusso. You hear me?" He didn't know who heard him. He didn't care who heard him. "I am not letting you do this!"
He stared at his hands. Nothing he did was helping. It wasn't stopping. Johnny grit his teeth, straightened his arms, ignored the pain shooting across his chest from his shoulder, and pushed even harder.
"You will not give up. You don't give up. Ever. You don't know when to quit. You never have."
Robby was talking, very softly, something about needing someone to talk to when his prom went to shit. Miguel was talking to Sam, asking her how much further. She answered him, but he didn't hear what she said.
It didn't matter. Whatever she'd said, whatever number she'd given him, it was too high. Way too long.
"You're a stubborn little shit, LaRusso." He carried on like he and Daniel were the only people there. He didn't feel the blood starting to ooze from his own nose, and even if he had, he wouldn't have cared. He didn't have time to wipe it away. "I've been saying that all day, and it's true. You are, and you always have been. And it annoys the hell outta me, but right now, I want – need – you to be a stubborn little shit. Come on!"
Robby had his hands on Daniel's shoulders and his fingers curled into the jackets, and silent tears streamed down his face. Miguel mostly kept both hands on the wheel, but his eyes were wide. He kept glancing at the rearview mirror, and he was touching Sam's arm every now and then. Sam was back on her knees in the front seat, sobbing uncontrollably, still begging, "Please, Daddy. Please," over and over. She had such a grip on the headrest that her knuckles were white.
"Stupid, pig-headed, annoying little pain in the ass. You'll take on anyone, anywhere, even when you shouldn't."
His head was pounding, but he ignored it. His back was spasming, but he ignored it. His ribs were screaming, but he ignored them. He ignored everything he was feeling, just as he'd been ignoring it all day.
"Punched me in the nose. Smeared blueberries on my shirt. Turned a hose on my head. Pissed me off every time I turned around, and I made ya pay for it, didn't I? But you never backed off. You wouldn't stay down. You always got back up, and you always got up swinging. And you kicked my ass with one leg, didn't ya?"
He glanced up at Daniel's face, at his closed eyes and pale skin. "Come on, Daniel," he whispered. He could see Daniel's chest, still rising and falling, but faster and shallower with every breath.
"Don't you dare give up now," he said. "We're almost there. You can do this." He paused just long enough to take a deep breath and swallow the lump in his throat that tried to choke his words off. "You gotta fight, Daniel. Like you've never fought before. Everybody's here. Robby, and Sam, and Miguel, and me. We're right here, buddy. I'm right here."
"Dad?" Robby, looking for comfort. Reassurance. A promise that Daniel was going to be okay.
Johnny had nothing to give him.
"Amanda's on her way. Don't you wanna see her? Huh? Show her what that bastard did to your face? I bet she'll kick your ass for walking on that leg without the splint, won't she?"
It wasn't working. Nothing was working. The blood wasn't stopping. Daniel wasn't opening his eyes. His chest was barely moving.
"Hold on tight, Kid." He couldn't keep the shaking out of his voice anymore. And he was done trying. "Please. Just hold on. I've got ya. You can rest for a bit. But don't let go." He leaned down slightly, hoping no one else would hear what he was about to say. "You tell Mr. Miyagi you're not going with him. You tell him you're not done. We need you here. I need you here. And if you die in front of these kids, I swear I will follow you to hell just to kick your ass. You hear me? Now fight!"
Daniel's whole body jerked as he inhaled again. For a heartbeat, Johnny thought he'd heard him and was reacting to the command. His chest fell slowly as the breath escaped.
"Sensei!" Miguel's voice, excited and scared. "We're here!"
The tires squealed as Miguel turned them into the parking lot at a speed Carmen would kick his ass for going and Johnny's ass for letting him. He was sure they were headed for the emergency room doors, and he was sure they'd even stop at some point. But he didn't notice it when they did. He didn't notice anything. He didn't hear anything. He didn't feel anything.
Daniel's chest wasn't rising again.
"Get help!" Johnny bellowed. "Go get help!"
Sam and Miguel were out of the car and running before he'd even finished speaking. Robby was still sitting there with Daniel's head in his lap.
"Dad?" Robby's eyes, when he looked at him, were wider and darker than he'd ever seen them. He knew what was happening.
"Put him down!" he ordered. "Robby, put him down!"
Robby lifted Daniel's head and quickly but carefully scooted out from under him. As he laid him down on the seats with hands that were shaking way too hard, Johnny shifted position from Daniel's side to his shoulder. Robby rose up on his knees, both too scared and too young to know what to do, but apparently, absolutely convinced that Johnny did.
"Dad ..."
"I'm gonna kiss you, LaRusso." He didn't know what he was saying. He didn't even really know he was talking. But the sound of his son's desperate pleas for him to make it better, to fix it, was too much for him. He had to drown them out with something normal-sounding. Johnny pinched Daniel's nose closed, slipped his left hand under his neck, and tipped his head. "You damn well better kiss me back."
Despite never having done it on anything but an armless and legless dummy named Annie, and barely remembering he'd learned it, in that moment, he knew exactly how to do mouth-to-mouth. He could see Daniel's chest rising and falling from the corner of his eye. He pulled up slightly after five breaths, and he looked over at Daniel's chest to see if it had worked. "Come on," he whispered. "Come on, come on …"
Nothing.
"Damn it."
"Dad, please ..."
Robby was so frantic, he was almost vibrating. His fear and grief and anguish filled the air around them. Johnny couldn't worry about that. He'd deal with it later. He gave another five breaths, pulled up, and checked the pulse at Daniel's neck. It was there. It was faint, weak, and it seemed really fast … but it was there. His heart was still beating. That was good. It was the only thing that was.
"Breathe, damn you!"
He bent back down, but before he'd gotten the next five breaths out, the tailgate had flown open and there were strangers standing there. Paramedics, EMTs, nurses, doctors … he didn't know who or what they were. And he didn't care.
"Help him!"
It took too long, but it went by so fast it was over and done with before he knew what had happened. Daniel was out of the car, on a stretcher, and he had some kind of mask on his face. The strangers ran off with him, with Sam right behind them. The doors swooshed open in front of them, then swooshed closed, and Daniel was gone.
Johnny watched it all from the middle of the parking lot.
Wait … when had he gotten out of the car? He didn't remember moving. He didn't remember pushing himself out of their way. He didn't remember climbing out through the tailgate, or trying to grab Daniel's hand, or his own hand leaving a bloody streak on the rail of the stretcher as they wheeled it away. He didn't remember anything.
He glanced down at his hands, and he remembered everything.
His boys were with him, standing together. He could hear Robby, still crying softly to his left. He could hear Miguel trying to reassure him. He heard them, but he couldn't look at them. He couldn't see them. He couldn't move his eyes. He couldn't lift his head.
"He wasn't breathing."
He didn't know he said the words out loud. He didn't hear them over the roaring in his ears. He didn't feel anything but how badly he was shaking. He didn't see anything but the blood on his hands.
Daniel's blood.
"Didn't help him." He felt his lips move. Didn't hear what he'd said. Felt a hand on his shoulder. Another on his back.
He heard the distant echoes of a car pulling up behind him, the engine roaring and the tires screeching. Doors slamming and kids shouting.
"Didn't save him." Did anyone hear him? Was he even speaking? Why couldn't he hear it?
Sirens, more screeching, another slam, and an angry voice demanding answers.
"Let him die."
Then another car, another engine, another door, and a woman's voice, screaming his name.
"Where is he? Johnny, where is he?!"
The world tipped and tilted and spun. He felt everything and nothing, all at once. He was numb, but his body was on fire. His vision faded to darkness, but the blood … so bright, so dark, so red. On his hands, on his jeans, on the shirt he'd for some reason kept hold of. It was all he could see. It was everywhere.
Darkness. Pain. Blood. So much blood.
"I tried. I ... I swear. I tried."
He'd failed.
"I'm so sorry."
His head throbbed. His heart hurt. His eyes closed. His knees buckled.
"Dad!"
"Sensei!"
"Johnny!"
So much blood. Blood. Pain.
"Daniel … I'm sorry ..."
Darkness.
The doors to Exam Room One burst open, admitting both the patient and the paramedics and nurses who had run out to get him. Carmen turned away from the IV bags she'd hung in preparation for his arrival and waited to hear what they were dealing with.
"Male, forty-nine. Stab wound to the upper left abdomen. Hypovolemic. Extensive facial injuries, signs of a beating. Temp 104.3. BP 70/50. Heart rate 150 and thready. Non-responsive for at least fifteen minutes. No voluntary respiration for five minutes. Rescue breathing was being performed when he arrived."
As soon as he'd been transferred from the gurney to the bed, she heard someone far away - a voice so familiar her heart clenched at it - shouting, "We need more help! Someone! Please!" She pushed her gut reaction aside and concentrated on her job. It couldn't possibly be who it sounded like, and she had a patient to attend to.
"Sounds like there's gonna be another one," one of the paramedics said as they exited the room. "I thought that other guy looked rough."
One nurse and Dr. Khan, one of the attendings, turned and ran to get Exam Room Two ready. The attending who'd stayed, Dr. Williams, stepped to the head of the bed and took command.
"Start a central line. Two units of O-neg, rapid infuser. Type and cross for four more. Alert the blood bank; he's going to need a lot more upstairs. Get a Foley in. I want to know his renal output right now. Check his temp, and let's get Metronidazole running, 15 mil per. Need his blood volume, pulse ox, and run another BP. Draw for a Chem 7 and a CBC. Get 10 mics of dopamine on board. I need an 8.0 ET tube. And get me a surgeon."
The team jumped into action, each picking one of the orders they'd been given and setting to it. One of the residents, Dr. Simms, stepped up to do the central line. IVs were started, blood was drawn, leads were attached, and monitors were hooked up. A nurse named Therese started cutting away the red jacket he was wearing and the blue sweatshirt underneath it. Carmen handed Dr. Williams the tube he'd asked for and picked up a pair of scissors of her own. The nurse who'd been manning the Ambu bag, Renee, pulled the mask away.
"GCS is three," Dr. Simms announced.
"No surprise there." Dr. Williams leaned down over the man's head, with the tube in one hand and the guide in the other. "I need a BAC, too." He offered no further commentary on why as he slid the guide between the patient's teeth and down his throat.
The man had a knee brace on, and Carmen removed it quickly and tossed it out of the way. Once it was gone, she realized his jeans were already sliced open from his ankle to above his knee, so she slipped her scissors into the existing cut and continued up from there to remove them.
"No palpable damage, but that's a lot of bruising," Dr. Simms commented, removing his hands from the patient's chest. "Call X-ray."
The resident standing next to Carmen, Dr. Marks, peeled a saturated bandage away from the stab wound carefully. "There's pus here," he said. "Actively bleeding."
"Thin blood," Dr. Williams offered. He glanced across at the resident quickly. "You'll know why when we get that BAC back."
Dr. Marks pulled his stethoscope away from the man's abdomen and wrapped it around the back of his neck. "Absent bowel sounds on the left." He started pressing gently around the wound with his fingers. "Belly is distended and guarded. Perforation? Peritonitis?" He looked up at Dr. Williams.
"I'd say both are likely," he answered distractedly. "Wouldn't you?" He pulled the guide from the man's mouth and reached for the tubing to connect the vent. "Make sure those antibiotics are flowing. We don't want him going septic on us."
"Prep for lavage?"
"No!" Dr. Williams shook his head. "He won't be down here that long." He turned the dials to adjust the flow of oxygen into the man's lungs. "We really need that surgeon in here."
"I called them," Renee said. "They're on their way."
Carmen finished slicing open the leg of the jeans, lifted them away, and saw why he'd been wearing the brace. "Dr. Marks," she said, pointing at the swollen and bruised joint.
He followed her finger with his eyes, and he nodded his head quickly. "Visible deformity of the left knee. Page ortho!"
"Hey," Renee said, as she draped a sheet across him. "Isn't this the karate car guy? The one on tv?"
Carmen lifted her head and looked at the man's face for the first time since he'd been brought through the doors. She recognized him immediately.
"Someone really did a number on him."
"Why would anyone stab a car salesman?"
"Hey! Focus on him, not what he does for a living," Dr. Williams said. He was running his hands across the man's face, concentrating his palpations on the areas under and around the darker bruises and the gashes on his eyebrow and cheek. "What's his name?"
"LaRusso," Carmen said softly. "Daniel LaRusso. I …" She swallowed hard, still slightly shocked to see the face of the man from the tournament under the bruises and blood on the one in front of her. "I know him."
She looked around the room quickly, and her eyes settled on the remains of the red jacket that had been cut away. It was laying in a pile against the wall with the rest of his clothes. She recognized it. At least, she recognized what it had once been. How had he gotten that? Why was he wearing it?
"Carmen?" Dr. Williams glanced up at her. "You okay? You need to step out?"
She shook her head quickly. "No," she answered. She stepped around him, grabbed the intubation supplies, and moved them out of his way. "I'm fine." She placed them on the counter behind her and turned back around. "I haven't even really met him. I just saw him at …"
"Carmen!" Dr. Khan shouted her name from the other room. "Therese! Marks! Get in here, I need you!"
Dr. Williams tipped his head, indicating that the three of them should go.
"BP down to 60/45," Renee was saying. "Temp is 104.6. Sats at 90%. Heart rate spiked to 165, but it's dropping. Down to 85 now."
"Renal output?"
"Nothing."
"Push those fluids! Where's that surgeon? He needs to go up now!"
Carmen was reluctant to leave him, especially as injured as he was, but he'd have an attending, a resident, and four nurses with him, on top of the surgeons who had been called for and would be there in minutes. She nodded and turned toward the door, joining the team of one attending, one resident and three nurses who would be taking care of the new patient.
"What have we got?" Dr. Marks asked as they entered the second exam room. All three stripped off their gloves and gowns, grabbed new ones, and slipped them on. Dr. Marks and Therese jumped into action immediately.
Carmen froze in the door.
"Male in his early 50s," Dr. Khan was saying. He had his hands on either side of the blond head, holding it immobile as they lifted the second patient, already on a backboard, from the gurney.
She shouldn't have been surprised.
"Severe head injury. Lost consciousness three minutes ago."
She'd seen his jacket. She shouldn't have been surprised.
"BP 135/82. Heart rate 65, but strong and steady."
She shouldn't have been surprised. But she was.
The room and everyone in it disappeared, save the man on the bed. He was covered in blood – his jeans, his bare arms and chest, his hands, his face. There was a gash above his left eye, which had swollen and darkened but didn't seem to be bleeding. His left shoulder was black and purple and misshapen. His chest and arms were covered in scrapes and bruises, and blood was running freely from his nose.
"Carmen?" She heard Therese say her name, but it sounded wrong. So slow. So faint. So far away.
"Call CT, and tell X-ray we need them in here, too," she heard Dr. Kahn say. "Get a C-collar on him, and call neuro. Get that Foley in."
"At least two ribs fractured on the right side," Dr. Marks said, as he ran his hands up and down the man's sides. "Bruising around his flank. Turn him so I can see his back."
"Visible deformity of the left collarbone and shoulder," Dr. Khan added. "Don't jar it." He was holding the man's head between his hands again, making sure it stayed aligned with the rest of his body as everyone else carefully tipped him up on his left side. "We'll need orthopedics."
"Extensive bruising in the lumbar region," Dr. Marks announced. "L2 thru L5." He put his hand on the man's hip, indicating they should lower him back to the bed before pulling away and walking toward his feet.
"Check his respirations and heart rate," Dr. Khan ordered. "We need that X-ray to clear his spine."
"Carmen!" Therese looked up at her as she shouted her name.
"Babinski is absent." Dr. Marks punctuated the comment with a nod. "That's good."
"Foley output?" Dr. Khan asked.
"Bright red," Dr. Marks answered. "Fluids?"
"Yes, but don't overload him. Wait for the X-ray. Let's see if his kidneys are lacerated or just bruised." Dr. Khan glanced around the room quickly. "Does anyone know his name? Or what happened? Did they come in together?"
"Johnny," Carmen whispered.
"What?" Dr. Khan turned his head toward her, fixing her with a stern glare. "You feel like joining us some time today, Carmen?"
"Johnny," she repeated. "His name. It's Johnny." She shook her head, whether in confusion or denial, she didn't know. "John. John Lawrence."
"You know him, too?" Dr. Marks asked.
She nodded slowly, and as she did, the world returned to its normal pace. She shook herself out of the trance she'd fallen into and stepped into the room. "He's my neighbor," she said. "And my son's …"
Her heart dropped. She froze again. Johnny was injured so badly, and Daniel LaRusso had been stabbed and was wearing Johnny's jacket. They'd been together, but where …? Where was he? Where was her son?
"Miggy!" she said, taking a frantic step forward. "Is he here? He was with him. Has anyone seen Miguel? Is he …?"
"He's here." The triage nurse, Keela, answered the question as she walked through the door. "I was just coming to tell you. He's in the waiting room with a bunch of other kids. He drove them in. He looks tired, but he's not hurt. I checked him over myself. He's fine, Carmen."
"Carmen." Dr. Khan's voice had lost its hard edge, and she turned toward him. "Go see him," he said. "You're distracted, and if you've got a personal connection to both patients, you shouldn't be in here."
"I'm fine," she argued. "I'm sorry. I won't … You're sure he's okay?" she asked Keela.
Keela nodded. "He's fine."
"Carmen." There was both a question and a warning in Dr. Khan's voice.
She took a deep breath and walked to Johnny's side, reaching for an IV kit and pulling a tray out from the wall. "You need me," she said, smiling weakly at the attending as she pulled the blue band out and wrapped it around Johnny's upper right arm. She let herself look at his face one last time.
"He needs me."
Dr. Khan nodded briskly in response. Carmen peeled back the plastic on the IV catheter, tapped the inside of Johnny's elbow with her finger until she'd found a good vein, and slipped the needle through his skin.
Everything hurt, and nothing made sense.
His chest ached. His ribs had decided to stab him in the lungs every time he breathed. His lower back didn't like that he was laying on it. It was telling him that loudly. His shoulder was screaming for attention. He was having a hard time ignoring it. His head had given up throbbing and pounding. It had gone straight to exploding.
Someone pried his eye open and shined a light in it.
"Fuck!" He squeezed his eyes shut and swung his hand blindly. He felt it connect with someone's wrist. He shoved the damn thing away. "Shit."
"Mr. Lawrence, we need you to calm down."
He mostly ignored the voice. It kept talking. He didn't care what it was saying. It took his brain too long to work. G, C and S was eleven? He hated Algebra. What the hell was a linear skull? Who cared if they thought it was fractured? Was MRICTICPTBI supposed to spell something? Propofol wasn't even a real word.
Something was wrapped around his neck. He couldn't move his head. He tried to pull it away, but he couldn't move his right arm. Someone was holding it down. He settled for swinging his left hand wildly.
"Fuck away …"
"Alright, he's agitated."
"Damn right," he muttered.
"Johnny."
He recognized that voice.
"Can you look at me, Johnny? Open your eyes for me."
He couldn't remember who it belonged to. He was pretty sure it was a woman. Beyond that, he had no idea. He should have known it. He couldn't think of the name or the face that went with it. Everything was taking longer than it should have.
He'd been in the parking lot. With the boys. He'd been standing there. Looking at his hands. At the blood on them. They'd taken Daniel away. On a stretcher. Into the hospital. And he'd stopped … Daniel wasn't …
"Daniel!"
His eyes flew open. He shot up from the bed.
"Hold him!"
"Johnny." That voice again. Familiar and safe. More patient than he was used to it being. That voice was meant to be full of fire and passion. But it wasn't. It was filled with concern and compassion. So was her face.
"Carmen," he whispered. He focused on her. A friend. The only familiar person in the sea of strangers that surrounded him. "Daniel," he said again. "He's hurt. Bad. Gotta …"
Carmen nodded slowly. "He's here," she said. "They're taking care of him. But we need you to lay back down so we can take care of you."
"No. Not me." He glanced around as he spoke. He finally realized where he was. "Daniel ..." He fought to stay upright. Carmen gently pushed him back down.
"Yes, he's hurt," Carmen said. "And there are doctors with him. But you're hurt, too. You need to stay still."
He sank into the pillow. "Fine. 'm fine." He had to look. He had to find him. He tried to turn his head to the side. It barely moved. He turned his eyes instead.
'Where's Daniel?'
There was an open door. Another room beyond it. More strangers. Another person in another bed.
"Daniel?"
'Something's wrong.'
Dark spots flashed across his vision. He blinked slowly. He forced his eyes to focus.
"Yes. He's right there. Do you see him?"
'What's happening?'
Doctors and nurses. Tubes and wires. Machines and blood. Beeps in rhythm.
'I don't understand.'
A white sheet. Dark hair. Pale skin. Closed eyes. Not moving.
'That can't be him.'
"Need ... go … Daniel …"
He tried to sit up. His head was heavy. His neck was stiff. Faceless people grabbed his arms. Carmen's hand was on his chest again.
"Get him under. Now!" He didn't know who said that. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't care. He ignored that voice, too.
'Can't be happening.'
"He's not alone, Johnny," he heard Carmen say. "He's safe. You can relax now."
"No." He couldn't. Not until he knew. "He's not."
'Can't be real.'
"Johnny." Too patient. Too caring. Too worried. "The doctors are taking care of him."
'Fucking nightmare.'
"Not breathing," he muttered. "Help him."
'Wake me up!'
"Do you see the tube in his mouth?"
He saw it. He tried to nod. His head didn't move. But it didn't hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. He didn't know why.
'I'm sorry.'
"That's helping him breathe."
'Should've tried harder.'
"Johnny? Do you hear me?"
'Tried to save you.'
Raised voices. Shouting. More words he didn't understand. Hands moving faster. People running. Machines rolling.
'Failed you.'
"He's breathing, Johnny."
"No," he whispered. He didn't know. He shouldn't know. He couldn't know.
He knew.
"He's not."
Screaming. Machines. Screaming. Voices. Yelling. Charging. Jumping. Once. Twice.
'Don't do this.'
Nothing.
"Daniel … "
'Don't go.'
"Charge again!"
Screaming. Still screaming. Louder. Fainter. Closer. Further away.
"Mr. Miyagi. Please."
'Hold on, Kid.'
"Johnny? Can you hear me?"
"Don't take him …"
Darkness growing. Vision fading. White sheet. Dark hair. Pale skin. Closed eyes.
"Daniel … "
'Please. Don't ...'
It was raining. In the room. His face was wet.
"Johnny?"
'You can't. Not now.'
White sheet. Dark hair. Pale skin. Closed eyes. Not moving. Not breathing. Heart not beating.
"Don't … Daniel …"
'Not after all this.'
"We're losing him!"
Tried to get up. Tried to get to him. Tried to save him.
Couldn't think. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
"Don't let go …"
It hurt again. His chest hurt. His head hurt. His heart hurt. His soul hurt.
'Not now. Please.'
"No! Again! Charge again!"
'Daniel … no ...'
Moved his arm. Held out his hand. Couldn't reach him. Couldn't touch him.
Couldn't save him.
"Johnny!"
"Dan ... iel … "
'Don't ... let … go …'
Gone.