by Connor Mccoy
Then he took a big step toward her. Cheryl backed up in response. He then raised his chin.
“Little girl,” he said.
Cheryl frowned. “What?”
“Little girls should play nice.”
He then struck, hard and fast, more quickly than Cheryl could counter. She barely got a step back, tripping and falling on her back. The Disciplinarian stood over her, his bulk blocking much of the sunlight. He raised his baton.
“Bad little girls should be punished.”
He brought the stick down.
Criver turned from The Tutor’s writhing body, soon to be drained fully of life, to the short, bitter man standing over him. “So, that’s your brand of discipline?” Criver asked.
The Principal brandished a second blade near his face, identical to the one he just had used to impale his own henchman, eyeing it like a precious jewel. “Failures don’t pass to the next grade.”
The Tutor’s twitches slowed. He was almost dead. The Tutor may have been a dirtbag, to be sure, but to turn on your own men like that was a special kind of low.
The Principal looked over The Tutor’s face. His eyes were frozen open, tears trickling out. His breathing was labored, short, and growing shorter. The Principal slammed his boot into the Tutor’s chest. The henchman let out one, final, pained gasp, and then expired on the floor.
“Little turd,” The Principal then ripped out his first knife from The Tutor’s body.
He turned to Criver. Their eyes locked. Criver almost didn’t care if he got out of this ordeal alive if he could turn this bastard inside out with his own knives.
“Big mistake, buddy,” Criver said.
The Principal backed out of the kitchen. “Really? And why is that?”
“I only had to beat where you hid Amir out of him. Now, I’m going to have to beat it out of you.” He circled The Principal, getting the cafeteria door between him and his enemy. “And it’s going to hurt ten times worse.”
“Oh, you love to make threats, don’t you?” The Principal’s eyes flared. “Let me tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to break all your bones and tie your husk to a chair. And then I’m going to hang your lady from the ceiling and rip off her clothes and then violate her while you sit helpless. And then I’m going to cut off her tits and paste them to the wall. And…” He licked his lips. “I’m going to hang your boy from the nearest lightpost just before I kill you!”
Criver jerked his knife upward, in the direction of this creature purporting to be a human being. There was no point in reasoning with an animal. No, scratch that. Criver liked animals. This was a demon.
Criver charged. His knife would have plunged itself into the flesh of any normal assailant, but The Principal was quick. Criver’s opponent then turned and swung, slashing Criver’s arm. Not deeply, but enough to hurt like Hell.
At that moment, Cheryl came bursting into the room. Her right cheek was slightly puffed, her tank top torn on the side. Otherwise, she didn’t seem too badly hurt.
The Principal then looked at Cheryl with a glint in his eye.
I’m going to hang your lady from the ceiling and rip off her clothes and then violate her…
“No!” The Principal’s taunts rang in Criver’s mind. He couldn’t let this pile of shit get one hand on her.
The Principal slashed, but only cut the air. Cheryl had dodged it. The Principal swung again. Cheryl moved with the grace of a ballet dancer, yet with the precision and strength of a warrior. Criver had seen her in action, but not like this. Her brain was wired much like his, to fight, to scout out the enemy’s movements, to plan counterattacks, and to defend the people in their party.
As Cheryl fought The Principal, Criver’s heart turned from fear to inspiration. His partner was far from helpless. He should have seen that by now. And with no sign of The Disciplinarian, she must have beaten his ass.
But she still couldn’t land more than a glancing blow on The Principal. One slash from his knife in the wrong spot could seriously or fatally wound her. At the very least, she’d get put out of the fight.
Criver jumped in, hoping to catch The Principal by surprise. No such luck. The bastard turned and dashed sharply out of the way.
“Hey,” Criver turned to a panting Cheryl. “Glad you could make it. I didn’t want to hog all the fun.”
Cheryl looked at Criver’s slashed arm. “You look like you’ve had a little too much fun.” She tossed him a rag from her pocket. “Here, bind it, quick.”
Criver obeyed. “What happened to your playmate?”
“Outside. He’s dead.” She brushed her arm. It was red, bruised near the middle. “It was either him or me. Damn. I wanted him alive. Sorry.”
Criver’s eyes narrowed at The Principal. “That means this asshole’s the last chance we have to find Amir.” No question, they had to take him alive.
“You still want to find your little whelp?” The Principal’s crazed eyes fixed on the both of them. “How do you know he’s even still alive?”
“He better be.” Criver trembled at the thought that this little shit may have killed Amir. “For your sake.”
The Principal guffawed sickeningly. “What does it matter? There’s no future for anyone but the strong. He and all our children should be grateful for the shelter and food we do offer. They’ll live just a little longer than in the dung heap outside.”
“The only dung heap around here is the one in front of me flapping his gums,” Criver retorted. “Now, tell us where Amir is, or I’ll shove your face into your own asshole.”
“Then go ahead and try!” The Principal cackled. He let out a scream, then charged, cutting the air with his knives.
The battle began anew. Criver and Cheryl teamed up to fight him, Cheryl’s baton and Criver’s knives against the Principal’s own lethal blades. The Principal may have been screwed in the head, but damn he could fight. His movements were not so wild that Criver could catch him off-guard. The Principal always could pull back. Plus, owing to his shorter stature, he wasn’t as easy a target.
At one point, The Principal sent Criver tumbling into the art room, smashing into a wooden table. Then he spun around and jabbed the knife in his right hand toward Cheryl’s face. She had lost her baton, and so she responded defensively by jumping away from the swing.
“I shall have to dish out a special brand of punishment for you,” the short man said, with special venom laced in his voice.
Cheryl lashed out with a profanity and slammed her boot into The Principal’s chest. The blow propelled him off of her. She coughed. That was close.
Meanwhile, Criver picked himself out of the wreckage. His body had broken the table in two. He was stung, but pushed aside the pain. Cheryl’s breaths were getting pained. The two of them had taken quite a beating.
But The Principal was taking longer to get up. He also had taken a thrashing at their hands. Criver sensed this fight was reaching an end. If they could just…
His knives!
The Principal’s prized blades lay on the floor, a short distance from their owner. Cheryl just may have won them the victory. She seemed to sense it, for she already had grabbed one of the art room’s wooden chairs and now was turning it over. She smashed it hard, busting one of the legs loose. On his knees, The Principal was reaching for one of his bladed weapons.
Criver rushed in, but it was too late. The Principal had grabbed it. But Cheryl was ready. Their foe couldn’t make a clean strike and only could bring up his weapon in hurried defense. It wasn’t enough. Cheryl’s makeshift weapon knocked the knife clean out of his hand.
The Principal let out a guttural snarl. Then he tried punching her, which was his next mistake. Cheryl brought her chair leg down and struck his hand.
“Goddamn son of a bitch!” The Principal roared. He ran backward, toward the door, clutching his right hand. Criver had heard the crunch on impact. Cheryl must have done a number on him.
Criver’s legs shook. No, he had to focus. The tid
e was turning. The Principal fled from the art room and was racing through the cafeteria, not even bothering to retrieve his other knife on the floor. No, he seemed more worried about saving his own skin. Criver took off, with Cheryl right beside him.
The Principal burst out of the doors into the adjoining hallway. Criver and Cheryl emerged seconds later, only to be greeted by an empty hall.
“What the hell?” Criver turned from one end of the hall to the other. “No, no, no, no, goddammit, no! He can’t have gotten away!”
“He probably ducked into one of these rooms!” Cheryl immediately flung open the door nearest to the cafeteria, revealing an empty classroom.
Criver opened the nearest one on the other side of the cafeteria. “He’s not that fast. There’s no way he cleared this hall.” Still, Criver only found another empty classroom.
“Help.”
Criver spun around. That was a young child’s voice. It was a boy. Could it be Amir?
“Help,” the voice repeated.
Criver joined Cheryl out in the hall. “Amir, that could be him.” He shouted to the ceiling. “Amir! We’re here!”
The boy’s shouts came from a room two doors down. I’m coming, Criver thought, I’m going to be your hero, kid. I’m going to make it there.
Despite all of the blows he had taken from The Tutor and The Principal, Criver sprinted like a man on fire. He flung the door wide open. “Amir!” He sprang inside, not bothering to check it out, to duck, to prepare for an ambush. He was going to be the man who wouldn’t fail his child.
But to his shock and horror, there was no child there at all.
Cheryl skidded to a stop, nearly crashing into him. “Where? Where is he?”
“He’s not…” Criver spun around. The room was cleared out, except for a table and an audio recorder. It was a reel to real audio recorder, likely decades old. The reel was still rolling.
Cheryl stopped the player, then rewound the reel. “Help! Help!” came the cries from the audio.
“A trick.” It was like a punch in the gut. No, he knew what a punch in the gut felt like. This was even worse.
“Damn,” Cheryl said, “This thing’s probably old enough to have survived the EMP shot, or it was just tucked away someplace that was shielded from the pulse.”
“It was a goddamn trick,” Criver said softly.
“Tom!” Cheryl suddenly cried out as she grabbed him. The female soldier flung him down to the floor, off his feet.
A Molotov cocktail sailed over Criver’s head and hit the wall, igniting both the table and the wall and spreading flammable liquid everywhere. Some of it even splashed onto Criver and Cheryl.
“Quick, roll around on the floor!” Cheryl cried, “Smother it!”
Was he on fire? Criver didn’t know. He trusted his partner’s instincts. He rolled across the floor, getting himself away from the quickly spreading flames. Cheryl already had made it halfway across the room before getting up. The Principal already had sprung out of a hiding place in the room’s shadows and was racing for the open doorway.
Too late. Their vicious foe had escaped through the door and was trying to close it, but Cheryl seized the door and pulled back on it. She coughed. The flames were spreading fast, but the smoke could incapacitate them in minutes if they didn’t get out of there. But The Principal’s strength blocked them from an escape.
Criver, now on his feet, sped into action. He jammed his boot right through the open doorway, hitting The Principal right in the chest. That was enough to propel him right off the door. Cheryl flung open the door and, still coughing, Criver and Cheryl fled into the hall.
“We’ve got to find Amir before this building burns down.” Criver eyed The Principal. He had gotten up and was trying to flee, but he wouldn’t escape this time. In seconds, Criver overtook him and, with a swift punch, sent his enemy sprawling onto the hard floor.
“Now, you bastard, you’re going to tell us where you put Amir and all your other prisoners!” Criver shouted.
The Principal wheezed. Smoke was pouring out into the hallway. Cheryl kicked the classroom door closed, but soon the flames would travel up into the ceiling and spread into other rooms. They weren’t safe in this hall and, after a while, wouldn’t be safe anywhere in the school.
“Dammit, do you want to die?” Criver punched The Principal again.
The Principal looked at them with blood leaking out of a gashed lip. “They’re not in this building.”
“What?”
“There’s no point in staying here. The Coach isn’t here. The children aren’t here. So, you can either leave or burn to death.” The Principal then grinned. “Burn to death inside this school. That would be quite fitting, wouldn’t it?”
Criver punched him hard. The Principal lost consciousness.
Chapter Ten
Cheryl slammed The Principal, now awake, against the wall, then quickly tied The Tutor’s chain around his waist and wrapped it around a nearby pipe, which held him in place. “Now, how are we going to do this?” She unholstered her baton. “Sure you don’t want an encore? You do have two hands. I don’t think I got the other.”
Criver stepped into view. He remembered the hard snap of The Principal’s hand when Cheryl whacked it with her weapon. If The Coach’s underling was smart, he’d give up what he knew, and fast. He and Cheryl had dragged The Principal out to this utility shed on the other end of the school property. It was far enough away from the main school building that they had plenty of time to interrogate The Principal without risk of being caught in the fire he had started. Still, they couldn’t take long. Amir’s trail could get cold if they wasted too much time with this asshole.
“Your little brat is not here,” he said with a hiss.
“We know that, shitface,” Criver said, “Where is he now?”
The Principal looked up. “Lots of buildings in this city. Who knows?”
Criver kicked him in the stomach. The Principal let out a loud cough and spasm, with saliva flying out. “You think you’re funny?” Criver fumed.
“Go ahead and kill me. I really don’t care anymore.”
“Let me guess, The Coach doesn’t like it when his flunkies fail.”
“No. I just like the idea of you searching under every little rock to find your street urchin only to come up empty…every…single…time…”
Criver battled his rising rage. The Coach was a force of nature, and a wanna-be god, but this guy was just a malevolent imp. He reveled in his own cruelty.
Criver took out one of The Principal’s knives. The hooked curve was sharp around its arc, allowing for an easy plunge, while the hook could grab onto anything inside and slice it as it was drawn out. It was hideously sinister. God knows who The Principal used these things on.
Criver waved the knife around. “You’re real proud of these things, are you?” The Principal’s grin answered in the affirmative. “How many people did you kill with these things? How many men? Women?” He leaned closer. “Children?”
The Principal’s eyes widened slightly. He had given something away.
Criver plunged the knife into The Principal’s leg. The monster screamed loudly.
“The next one’s going in your neck! Now, tell me where Amir is!” Criver shouted.
“He’s gone!” The Principal fought for breath. “He’s not here anymore.” He spoke with gritted teeth, spitting out blood as he spoke, as if every word was an act of spite. “He’s headed out of the city to Longston. All the kids, they’re gone with him, too. They left during the night.”
Criver’s hand shook. All this time, Amir wasn’t even here! He had been going after the wrong target all this time. He wanted to end this shitbag right here, to plunge the knife in The Principal’s own black heart.
Instead, he mustered the will just to throw the blade against the wall. “Dammit!”
Their captive tilted his head to the side. “You’re really going to go after him?” He laughed amid painful cries. “Go ahead. You�
�re both fools. The Coach will tear your heads from your bodies and put them on pikes.”
Criver turned to The Principal, seething. “The Coach is just a man. This lady here inflicted some pain on him. We know he bleeds. I’m going to find him, and then I’m going to finish him off.”
The Principal just laughed. His cackles grew faint. His body sank, growing more limp. Moans and gurgles poured out of his mouth. His eyes glazed over. He was in bad shape. He probably had suffered some serious injury even before they beat the information out of him. Odds are he’d be dead before nightfall.
Criver turned to the doorway. He didn’t even want to look at his vanquished foe’s face again.
Criver emerged out of the shed and into the daylight. Only now was every ache and bruise in his body fully announcing itself as the fight’s adrenaline finally drained out of him. Cheryl followed, rubbing her sore leg.
“Hey,” she said, “you did pretty good in there. You’d make a good soldier.”
Criver chuckled. “My dad would be proud, but my mom would be horrified to hear you say that.”
Cheryl smiled. “As the highest-ranking soldier of the U.S. Army present, I hereby grant you a field commission of private.”
Criver shook his head. “That is absolute bullshit. There’s no way you’re outranking me.”
Cheryl raised her boot. “Private, clean my footwear, including my socks, on the double!”
“Screw off.” Laughing, Criver pushed her back. “Ow!” He grabbed his side. “Damn. Where’s the Army medic when you need him?”
Cheryl steadied him. “Easy. I’ve definitely got to get you back home and look at that.”
The school lay a short distance away. Smoke poured out of the window of the room where The Principal had thrown the Molotov cocktail. The fire wasn’t spreading fast, but with no fire department or running water, much of the building could be gutted by the flames in hours, if the fire didn’t die out. Criver shook his head. Once again, this school would burn due to the actions of a lunatic. The fact that the school now was deserted was a mere consolation.
