Fight to the Finish

by Shannon Greenland

  Was she serious?

  Bruiser waggled her fingers again. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”

  “B—” Mystic almost looked pained. “But you’re so small.”

  She smirked and waved them on again. “Let’s go. No holding back.”

  TL lunged first, bringing the pole back and swinging it at her. I knew TL’s power, and clearly, he was holding back.

  Bruiser dodged the swing, grabbed his pole from behind, twisted it free, and tossed it across the gym. “I. Said. Don’t. Hold. Back.”

  All the guys smiled at her irritable tone. All the guys, but TL.

  In fact, I hadn’t seen any expression on his face over the last couple of days but that of focus and concentration.

  He looked stressed to the max.

  David went next, stealthily slipping to the left and coming at her from below. She slammed her foot down on the pole, flipped it up with the toe of her running shoe, and jabbed the end into David’s side.

  With a grunt, he fell to his knees and grabbed his side. “Man, Bruiser.”

  Jonathan attacked next, not giving her a chance to respond to David, and whipped his pole toward the back of her knees. She leapt straight up and flipped backwards over Jonathan, snatched the pole from his grasp, and swept him off his feet.

  With a thud, he landed on his butt. “Lord, girl,” he chuckled. “You’re something else.”

  Blindfold still on, she turned to Mystic. “Come on, dude, be a man”

  Mystic swallowed. “I think I’m afraid of you.”

  Bruiser smiled. “As you should be.” And then she sprinted toward him.

  His eyes widened as he held up the pole and backed away. She came to a stop right in front of him, reached out, and bopped him in the side of the head.

  Mystic jerked. “Hey!”

  She bopped him in the other side of the head. “You’re a sissy. How do you expect to compete in less than two weeks? I’m just a little girl, and I’m about to beat you up.” She shoved him in the chest. “You’re going to be up against guys twice your size. And they’re going to laugh in your face if you back away from them.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, Bruiser leaned in closer until their faces were mere inches away from each other. “They’re going to laugh, and then they’ll beat you to a bloody pulp. Now,” she butted her forehead into his face, “hit me, you girl.”

  Mystic narrowed his eyes, and I swore it was the first time I ever saw him look irritated. He slid his pole up between them and shoved her away.

  She took a few steps back. “Good. Come on.”

  He lifted the pole, holding it like a spear, and slung it at her.

  Bruiser didn’t move, just lifted her hand and caught it. “Didn’t expect you to do that. Not bad.” She tossed the pole back to him.

  Looking a little proud of himself, Mystic caught the pole.

  Very quietly TL signaled the guys, and they all moved at once, coming at her from opposite directions.

  They swatted and jabbed and rushed at her. She dodged and kicked and flipped.

  They swung and struck. She punched and blocked.

  They lunged and poked. She disarmed and tossed their weapons.

  They reached for her, and Bruiser, looking a bit ‘done with it’, whirled and touched Jonathan in the back of the neck. Spun and flicked David in the hip. Whipped around and poked the tip of her elbow to Mystic’s shoulder. And shot straight up in a split and tapped TL in the chest with her toes.

  All four guys fell to the floor, moaning and heaving for breaths.

  Bruiser took her blindfold off. “I think I broke a nail.” And then she giggled at her own silly humor.

  Chapling and I just sat there, staring at the remnants of the Jackie Chan scene we’d just seen.

  I realized then he and I were gripping each other’s hands, and I let go. “Sorry.”

  “Wow.” Chapling blinked. “I think Bruiser’s my new idol.”

  “I think we need Bruiser on all our missions.” I turned to Chapling. “She barely even touched them that last time around.”

  He nodded. “Like I said, my idol.”

  Bruiser went over and helped each of the guys up, tapping them at different places on their backs.

  “What’s she doing?” I asked.

  “Resetting our meridian points,” Mystic moaned as Bruiser did him.

  I slipped my notepad from my pocket and took a second to jot down everything I’d just seen. In my peripheral I saw Chapling’s fingers begin racing over his laptop keys. This was exactly what both of us needed.

  I looked up at the injured guys and they seemed, amazing enough, to be recovering. “What did it feel like before you guys dropped to the floor?”

  TL straightened his shoulders. “Compression.”

  Compression?

  I pondered that for a second and realized to really comprehend that word I would need to feel it. And then—the obligatory light bulb went off in my head—that was what my Combat-Thrash program needed. To incorporate all five senses.

  My heart kicked in with that awesome rhythm that comes with solving a problem. I turned to Chapling and he was typing away, the light bulb having gone off in him, too.

  “Chap?”

  He held up his finger for me to wait, keyed a few more things, and then looked over.

  I smiled. “We’re going to make history. First program of its kind. We need—”

  “The senses!” Chapling answered for me.

  “Oh my God, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  He clapped his hands. “Of course it was. We’re smart that way.”

  I put my laptop aside and stood.

  Chapling looked up at me. “What are you doing?”

  I straightened my T-shirt. “Feeling compression.”

  His bushy red brows lifted an inch. “For real?”

  I gave one definitive nod, more to convince me than to assure him. “I’m going in.”

  “I changed my mind. You’re my idol.”

  I took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “Bruiser, do that to me.”

  All the guys and Bruiser turned to look at me.

  Pulling my shoulders back, I took a few steps toward them. “I’m serious. I really need to be involved in all aspects of training for this mission if I’m going to create a program that will blow Harry Noor out of this world.”

  I waved my hand through the air. “This is all so foreign to me, this fighting thing. I’ve spent much of my time swimming through research videos and books and it’s really getting me nowhere. Fighting is a full body sport, and it just occurred to Chapling and I that we need to incorporate all five senses into our Combat-Thrash program. Compression. That’s what TL said. And that’s what I need to feel.”

  “She’s taking one for the team,” Chapling said from behind me. “Because I’m definitely not volunteering my little self for a compression experiment.”

  “Combat-Thrash program?” Bruiser asked.

  I shrugged. “That’s what I’ve decided to call it.”

  She snorted. “It’s a stupid name.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Are you going to show me compression or what?”

  Bruiser glanced over at TL, and he nodded her ahead.

  She smirked, looking at little too happy if you asked me.

  Perhaps I should have apologized to her before I asked her to compress me.

  Bruiser waved me over, and I crossed the mat to her, getting this odd feeling I was walking the plank or something.

  I came to a stop right in front of her and looked down. “I’m sorry for not being a very good friend to you and Mystic and getting cranky and all that.”

  One side of her lip curled up. “Apology accepted.”

  And then she reached out and touched my neck and my whole world went black.

  ***

  Sounds of classical music drifted through my brain and my eyelids fluttered open. A blurry image of Dr. Gretchen with her salt and pepper hair stepped into view.


  She smiled. “Welcome back.”

  I tried to sit up, and she patted my shoulder.

  “I suggest you lay right there for a minute or two. You’re in the infirmary. It’s eleven at night. You’ve been out,” she peeked at her watch, “for nearly two hours.”

  She brought a cup to me and held a straw to my lips. I took a long sip.

  “What happened,” I asked a few seconds later.

  “You don’t remember?”

  I thought for a second . . . “Oh, compression. That’s right.” Bruiser’s fingers had felt like rocks. “Wait a minute . . .” my brain trailed off as I recalled everything. “Why didn’t she ‘reset my meridian points’?” I asked, using Mystic’s term.

  Dr. Gretchen chuckled. “She did. You didn’t respond.”

  I closed my eyes. Of course I didn’t respond. Leave it to me to be the dork that doesn’t respond right to something.

  Dr. Gretchen sat down in the chair beside my bed. “GiGi,” she sighed. “You’ve got to be more careful. Some of us are made for combat, and some of us are, well, like you.”

  I opened my eyes. “What does that mean?”

  She gave me a tolerant look. “You know exactly what that means.”

  Sadly, I did.

  “You’ve been here more than anyone else,” she reminded me.

  I held my hand up. “Point taken.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed to get up and closed my eyes on a wave of nausea. “Maybe I’ll just,” I scooted back on the bed and stretched out, “lay down a little while longer.”

  Dr. Gretchen smiled a little. “Brilliant idea.” She settled back in her chair. “You know, David came to see you while you were out.”

  I perked up. “He did?”

  She nodded.

  My stomach flippity-flopped at the thought of him looking in on me. What did that mean exactly? Was he looking in on me as a friend? Or as an I-might-want-to-get-back-together-with-you sort of thing? And then it occurred to me . . . had I been drooling? I had been in a coma after all.

  “Why don’t we visit for a while?” Dr. Gretchen suggested.

  I nodded, completely sidetracked by the fact David had been here, and waited for her to start the conversation.

  She didn’t.

  “Um,” I searched my brain for something to say . . . my thoughts drifted through the time I’d known Dr. Gretchen . . . and suddenly it hit me. “Hey, I’ve been dying to ask you a question.”

  She waved me on. “Shoot.”

  “Why do you and Jonathan hate each other so much?”

  Dr. Gretchen half-snorted/half laughed. “Jonathan and I don’t hate each other.”

  I gave her an incredulous look. “Right.”

  She heaved a heavy sigh. “Really, we don’t.”

  “That’s not what Jonathan said.” It was low ball of me, seeing as how Jonathan hadn’t said anything one way or another.

  Dr. Gretchen’s eyes narrowed to two tiny beads. “What did he say?”

  I shrugged and glanced away. “This and that.”

  “Listen.” She shoved out of her chair. “It wasn’t my fault the spear went through his eye.”

  A spear? I concentrated on not showing that I really had no idea what she was talking about. “Not according to him.”

  Her entire face clenched. “I wasn’t the one who wanted to go spear fishing. That was his brilliant idea.”

  “Hmmm.” I looked up at her with an expression that I hoped said Jonathan had said otherwise.

  Dr. Gretchen jabbed her finger in my direction. “He’s just embarrassed because the shark scared him and not me.”

  Shark? I waited for her to keep going with the story, but she didn’t. And so I fed her another line. “He said the shark didn’t even faze him.”

  “What?!” she shouted, and I jumped.

  “Of all the nerve!” She turned and took a stomping pace around the room. “I thought he was man enough to own up to things by now.” Dr. Gretchen whipped around and jabbed her finger in my direction again. “Is he still saying when the shark swam by I was the one who got scared and pulled the trigger on the spear gun?”

  I nodded, hoping God didn’t strike me down for all this.

  She let out a grunt. “I can’t stand him.”

  I watched her pace away from me, fists clenched, breathing heavy, more angry than I’d ever seen her. But I still didn’t hesitate from asking, “So what really happened?”

  Dr. Gretchen shook her head, and I could visualize her mind reeling back the years. “It happened five years ago. We used to work together in the IPNC. Ten years we worked out of the same division and finally he asked me out. Australia is where we happened to be at the time. Went spear fishing on the Great Barrier Reef. A shark swam by, he freaked in the water, and ran straight into my spear.”

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “That’s how he lost his eye?” And here we’d all thought he’d gotten injured on some top secret mission.

  “Yes, that’s how he lost his eye.” She turned to me. “But you want to know the real kicker?”

  I nodded. Oh, this was too juicy and good.

  “He never asked me out again. He’s too embarrassed.”

  A knock sounded on the open door and we both glanced over to see Jonathan standing there.

  I swallowed. Oops, bad timing.

  Dr. Gretchen grabbed a bed pan and slung it across the room. It sailed through the air to thunk Jonathan smack in the nose.

  “Ow!” He grabbed his nose. “What are you doing, you crazy woman?”

  “How dare you tell everybody I was the one who,” she quoted the air with her fingers, “’accidentally’ speared your eye.”

  “I didn’t tell anybody anything,” he loudly defended himself.

  Dr. Gretchen pointed to me. “Not according to GiGi.”

  They both fell silent, and slowly, they turned to look at me.

  I gulped a swallow and tried my best for innocence. “Um, I was practicing my getting-information-out-of-someone-when-I-really-don’t-know-anything skill.”

  They narrowed their eyes, or, I should say, Jonathan narrowed one eye.

  “TL taught a whole class on it just a few weeks ago. How to lead someone in a conversation to get information out of him or her.” I looked between them. “My homework was to practice the lesson on someone.” I gave Dr. Gretchen a big fake smile. “Hope you don’t mind you were that someone.”

  It was true. TL had taught a whole class, and all of us had been given that assignment. I just didn’t realize I was going to do my homework until now.

  Jonathan busted out laughing. “How do you like that, Gretch?”

  She shook her head, and I got the distinct impression she was growing reluctantly amused with the whole situation.

  I swung my legs over the bed, got up, and made my way toward the door. “Well, if you don’t mind telling TL I did my homework assignment, that’d be great.” And then I bee lined it out of there before I got into trouble.

  “Just remember,” Dr. Gretchen yelled after me, “I can make your medical needs painful or pain free.”

  I immediately recalled the inoculations me, Parrot, and Jonathan had received prior to leaving for the jungle. Parrot and I hadn’t felt a thing. Jonathan, on the other hand, had screamed through every single needle.

  As I pressed the elevator button, I gave her a sweet wave that I hoped would smooth things over.

  In response, she let out an evil giggle.

  Great. Juuust great.

  ***

  Even though it was eleven at night, I wasn’t tired in the least. Probably because of my two-hour nap slash coma I’d been in. So I headed to my lab, punched in my code, and the door swished open.

  Chapling and Randy both glanced up from the corner where the coffee pot sat. Seeing Randy made my stomach flip flop. My reaction to him both confused and bothered me. How was it possible both David and Randy could make me feel this way? I never wanted to be that girl that bopped from one guy
to the next, but this little love triangle made me feel that way.

  Randy smiled a little. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I greeted him back.

  It seemed like it’d been a week instead of a day since I’d seen him last.

  I pulled out my computer station’s chair and took a seat. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Having a late night cup of coffee,” Randy answered, purposefully rolling his eyes down to Chapling so I would look.

  “Chapling?” I noticed his sick expression. “You okay?”

  He shook his head, but didn’t speak.

  “He found out,” Randy spoke for him, “that he’s going on the mission with you.”

  “What?!” I broke into a smile. “That’s awesome!”

  Chapling shook his head.

  “He’s never been on a mission,” Randy spoke for him again.

  “What?!”

  My surprised outburst made Chapling look sicker. Randy gave me a you’re-not-helping-him look.

  “Oh, Chapling.” I stepped forward. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be there, and TL, and David, and everybody.” I walked over to him, leaned down, and gave him a hug. “I promise. You’ll be fine. I’ve got your back.”

  Chapling nodded, still not speaking.

  “That’s what I keep telling him.” Randy looked me up and down. “How are you feeling? I heard about what happened.”

  I waved him off. “Fine. Chapling gets to be the guinea pig next time.”

  Chapling half-heartedly chuckled at my joke. At least he’d come out of zombie mode. Actually, he was handling it fairly well. I remembered the first time I was told I was going on a mission. I’d nearly passed out.

  “We need to get baseline data on everybody,” I told Chapling, knowing talking work was definitely the way to get his mind off things.

  “Already did,” he responded.

  “Oh, yeah, when’d you do that?”

  Chapling reached for his coffee. “When you were, ya know, passed out.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  He returned my smile, looking a bit better then when I first walked in.

  “So, Chap, I did have a few questions about the project I’m working on for TL.” Randy nodded to one of the open computer stations. “Mind helping me real quick with some research?”