Madness Rules - 04

by Arthur Bradley

  “What did you do?”

  Mason stared off into space, reliving the moment.

  “I brought my rifle up and fired a single shot.”

  Connie sat quietly for a moment, waiting for him to finish.

  “I never heard the gunshot, but I remember watching him fall.”

  “Was the girl okay?”

  He nodded. “The bullet caught the colonel right under his eye, and he was dead before the bayonet hit the floor. Some of the rangers went around saying that it was the luckiest damn shot they’d ever seen.”

  “And was it?”

  “No. I refused to fail that little girl. If I’d had to take that shot a hundred times, I’d have hit him a hundred times.”

  “But that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Missing that shot or acting a little too slowly? Seeing that girl, or whoever it is at the time, murdered before your eyes?”

  “That’s right.”

  She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man like you, Mason Raines.”

  He smiled but said nothing.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your girlfriend.”

  Mason looked over at her, surprised.

  “You knew Ava?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “The deputy told me about her. He said I should take it easy on you.”

  He smiled, imagining Vince warning her not to push him too hard. They had all been a little worried about him since Ava was killed.

  “And what you did to me an hour ago was taking it easy on me?”

  “No,” she laughed, “that was me getting everything I wanted and more. I hope you didn’t mind. I can be a bit pushy at times, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  Mason rotated his arm around a little.

  “I’ll live.”

  Bowie snuggled up against him as if sensing his injury.

  “I said I’d live,” he said, stroking the dog’s head.

  Bowie slid his tongue in and out a few times, laying his head on Mason’s lap as content as a dog could be between meals.

  “That dog loves you something fierce,” she said.

  “Bowie’s the one constant in my life. Without him, I’d be lost.”

  She looked at the dog, clearly not fully understanding the connection between man and beast.

  Mason motioned to a road sign showing that Ashland was still eighty-seven miles away.

  “We’re not going to make it before dark.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I know a place in Prestonsburg, maybe ten miles up the road.”

  He waited for her to offer more.

  “It was the house I grew up in. My mom and dad have both passed, but I’ve been down to it a few times. It sort of makes me feel safe, you know?”

  “Sure,” he said, thinking of his own family’s cabin. “I can’t say I know much about Prestonsburg, Kentucky. Was there much to do there when you were growing up?”

  “Oh sure, as long as it had to do with farming or country music.”

  He smiled. “And what made you move up to Ashland?”

  “To escape farming and country music, of course,” she said, laughing.

  “I see, and did you find what you were looking for there?”

  “Almost.”

  “Almost?”

  “I met a man.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  “It was. We were going to get married. Maybe even have a couple of kids.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was killed by a drunk driver two years ago. One second he was there; the next he wasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “me too. But we go on.” She turned to look out the window.

  “Things will get better.”

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  “But not anymore?”

  Connie stroked her fingers across the blistered skin on her chest.

  “No, Marshal, not anymore.”

  Mason stood by the kitchen window, looking out at the sprawling ten-acre farm. Endless stretches of weeds and grass grew up through the rich brown soil. Night would be upon them soon, but Connie was right, being at her family’s home did make them feel safe. It was nearly a mile out of Prestonsburg, so there was little to worry about, certainly not the infected, who seemed content to stay in the cover of towns and cities.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

  Connie was sitting at the kitchen table in a small chair stained from years of hardworking people taking a brief rest. She looked relaxed, like she belonged in the old house.

  “Of course.”

  “Why don’t you stay here? You could work the land. Raise some pigs or cows. There are surely plenty around.”

  “Right now, I have some unfinished business to take care of.”

  He glanced back at her.

  “Revenge still burning hot?”

  “As hot as the iron that was pressed to my flesh.”

  “And after it’s all settled, then what? You’ll come back here and settle down?”

  “If I find the right man, I might. I couldn’t make a go of it alone.”

  He nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “I’m tired, Marshal,” she said, getting to her feet. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  “All right, get some rest. It’s been a rough day.”

  She walked to the kitchen doorway and hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  She turned to face him, and he could see worry in her eyes.

  “Would you mind staying in the room with me tonight? I’m still feeling a little... unsettled.”

  He placed the cup on the kitchen table and walked over to her.

  “I’d be happy to. But just so I’m clear, is this an invitation to sleep in the armchair or curl up naked under the covers?”

  She grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs.

  “You’re in luck. I don’t have an armchair.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  Tanner turned right onto Veterans Memorial Highway, keeping the Harley a comfortable distance behind Commando’s vehicle. The road paralleled a wide set of railroad tracks that he assumed eventually led up to Horseshoe Curve. They swung around a small lake on their left and passed a filtration plant that processed water from the Lower and Upper Kittanning Dams.

  They finally came to a stop in a parking lot for the Horseshoe Curve Visitor Center. A long set of stairs led from the visitor center up to some kind of landing overlooking the railroad tracks. Tanner shut off the bike and slowly dismounted.

  Commando motioned for him to follow as he headed toward a group of men standing in front of the nearest building. One of them, a dark-skinned giant as enormous as the famous sumo wrestler, Akebono, stepped forward to shake hands with Commando.

  “What kind of trouble are you bringing me this time?” he said in a slow baritone voice.

  “This is Tanner. The Merchant has him fighting three fights tonight.”

  “Three?” He studied Tanner. “He won’t last one. Besides, I got a full docket tonight.”

  “Not my call. Or yours,” he quickly added.

  Akebono shrugged. “Whatever. If the Merchant wants him to fight three fights, I’ll give him three fights.” He turned to Tanner. “Are you up for this?”

  “I agreed to fight, so I’ll fight. Only one thing…”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want the first three fights, one right after the other. I’m sort of in a hurry.”

  Akebono laughed. “You are, are you?”

  When Tanner said nothing more, Akebono shrugged, an amused look on his face.

  “If that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen. But when that third fight comes around
, assuming you’re still standing, remember that you asked for it.”

  “Understood.”

  Commando turned to Tanner and shook his head.

  “You’re either one hell of a fighter or one hell of a fool. I haven’t decided which one yet.”

  Tanner met his stare. “Nothing says I can’t be both.”

  Tanner had been in more fights than he could count, but he had never once fought for profit. With more than thirty years of martial arts training in karate and jujitsu, as well as some conventional boxing and wrestling, he had developed his own style of hand-to-hand combat that merged the practical benefits of each.

  In all his life, he had lost only two fistfights, the first to a girl in second grade and another to a gang of bikers who were not above biting, head butting, and nut crunching. From both losses, he had come away with more than bruises—he had learned valuable lessons. From the first, it was to never underestimate someone because of what swings between their legs. And from the second, it was to always be the nastiest fighter on the battlefield.

  “Fights are held in front of the old steam engine at the top of the funicular,” Akebono said, pointing up the steep hill.

  “What the hell is a funicular?”

  He shifted his enormous finger to point to a track that ran up the steep hill. A trolley car sat at the bottom.

  “It’s basically a small ski lift that carried tourists up to the curve. Of course, it doesn’t work anymore, so you’ll have to hoof it up the stairs.” Akebono turned to walk away.

  “You don’t watch the fights?”

  “Do I look like a man who climbs up and down hundreds of stairs every day?”

  Tanner bit his tongue. Akebono would select the fighters he would face, and he could see no reason to give the giant a hard-on to teach him a lesson.

  “I plan the fights down here,” he continued. “You fight them up there.” He looked up at the sky. “It’ll be dark soon. You should go and size up your opponents.”

  Commando led Tanner up a long stretch of stone stairs. At the top was a gazebo stuffed with vending machines, all long since raided. As he suspected, the landing overlooked the tracks, obviously designed to allow tourists to take pictures of trains as they whistled their way around a curve four football fields wide. An old-fashioned steam locomotive sat in front of the gazebo, along with a collection of rusted train parts, axles, bearings, and large metal wheels. In the center of the landing, a ring of oil drums had been set up to cordon off a makeshift arena.

  A handful of men were already in the arena, stretching and practicing basic drills in preparation for upcoming bouts. All of them looked tough, and a few could have even passed for professional cage fighters. Tanner took his time watching them, looking for respective strengths and weaknesses.

  “What do you think?” a squeaky voice said from behind him.

  Tanner looked over his shoulder and saw a greasy-headed kid who couldn’t have been much older than Samantha. The boy extended his hand as if meeting a business partner for lunch.

  “I’m Snaps.”

  “Tanner,” he said, shaking the boy’s hand.

  “You fighting tonight?”

  “The first three.”

  “Three fights in a row?”

  Tanner nodded.

  Snaps took a moment to study him.

  “No offense, Mister, but are you sure you want to do that?”

  “I need three white cards.”

  “We all need three white cards, but I’ve never seen anyone try to get them in one night, never mind in a row.”

  “What do you do here, kid?”

  He pulled on the white towel that hung around his neck.

  “I clean up after the fights. Sometimes I doctor people if they’re not too broken up.”

  “They pay you?”

  Snaps shrugged. “They feed me.”

  Tanner thought about asking where his parents were but realized he already knew the answer. Besides, he sure as hell wasn’t going to lecture a kid who had already figured out a way to survive the world’s deadliest pandemic.

  Snaps leaned in. “Plus, I play a little action on the side. When I have enough, I’m going to find a way to get out of here. Maybe head over to Virginia. Everyone says the government’s setting up a big city over there.”

  Tanner grunted and turned back to look at the competitors.

  “Who’s the best fighter here?”

  Snaps looked around. “Lots of these guys are good, but if I had to worry about one, it’d be the Russian.” He nodded toward a dark-skinned, muscular man with tattoos covering the entire left side of his body. “He’s horrible. The good news is that he’s a finisher. They only call him in when the crowd demands it.”

  “Finishes as in what? Kills?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Great.”

  “But don’t worry about it. With you fighting three fights, they’re not going to put him in. Not unless you make the crowd really mad.”

  “All right, kid. Walk me through a typical fight, start to finish.”

  Snaps shrugged. “Two guys square off, usually barehanded but sometimes with knives or hammers. They go at it until someone surrenders or can’t fight any longer. That’s about it.”

  “Any rules?”

  “Only that no one interferes with the fight.”

  “Referees?”

  “Just the announcer. There’s never any issue with deciding the winner because he’s the guy still standing.”

  Tanner nodded. “Sounds simple enough.”

  “Oh, it’s simple all right. But simple and easy are a mile apart.”

  By the time darkness arrived, the entire landing was packed with people—easily two hundred, ranging from teenagers seeking a thrill to old men seeking a buck. The weather was warm enough that many of the spectators had pulled off their shirts, including some of the women. They danced around, screaming and shouting like punks at a college rave, only instead of DJs and dancing, they were looking forward to violence in its rawest form.

  Commando had stayed on as well. Whether it was to watch the fights or keep an eye on Tanner, he wouldn’t say.

  A thick-necked man, who probably competed himself, walked to the center of the arena with a slip of paper in his hand.

  “All right, listen up!” he shouted. “We have a special event to start off this evening’s festivities. To my right is Tanner, a first-time fighter determined to be the only combatant to ever win three consecutive bouts.”

  The crowd came alive, the jeers and boos far outnumbering the cheers.

  “He stands at six-foot-four and weighs,” he looked over at Tanner, “let’s call it two-hundred-and-forty pounds. His first fight will be against Gerard, a master of savate.” The announcer gestured toward a tall, lanky man with long brown hair and a pointed goatee. He wore a pair of tight-fitting stretch pants and a white t-shirt. “Gerard’s record is eleven wins and two losses. The odds are currently…” he looked over at a man who held four fingers in the air, “four to one in favor of Gerard. I invite you to place your bets. The fight will begin shortly.”

  Tanner watched as people sized him up like he was a head of cattle being put on the auction block. Based on what they knew, any smart man would surely bet against him. A few who liked to play longshots might give him a go, but surely not risking much. Rather than bring supplies with them, people exchanged simple promissory notes. Tanner could only assume that the Merchant and his organization helped to ensure that deadbeats were properly punished.

  Gerard moved into the arena, jumping up and down and pumping his arms to get the crowd to feed off his energy.

  They did. Pretty soon, many began shouting, “Gerard! Gerard! Gerard!”

  While everyone was looking at Gerard, Snaps hurried over to Tanner.

  “Watch his kicks. He likes to go for the knees.”

  Tanner nodded his thanks.

  Snaps patted him on the b
ack.