by Susanne Beck
Her cronies were on me in an instant and though I fought like a woman possessed, their sheer numbers overwhelmed me in a very few moments.
Standing straight again, Derby brought her large body within inches of mine, tilting my chin up with one meaty hand. "Ya know, I was gonna keep you around for a few laughs, blondie. But that little move just earned you a ticket to hell. Don’t worry about not saying goodbye to your lover-girl though. She’ll be meeting you down there shortly."
I should have been terrified. Any sane person would have. Instead, all I could feel was a bottomless well of icy cold rage that numbed the place where my heart should have been. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I gathered whatever moisture was left in my mouth and spat it at my tormentor, baring my teeth in a grin when it hit her right below one bulging eye. "Bite me."
Roaring incoherently, Derby squeezed my jaw so tightly I was sure I was going to crack under the pressure. With her free hand, she wiped the spittle from her cheek, then used her momentum from the gesture to backhand me across the face. Letting my head roll with the blow, I turned back to her, allowing a dark grin to spread my lips. "Is that the best you got, Derby? And here I thought you were tough."
Don’t ask me why I was waving a red cape before a raging bull, because, in all honesty, I have no idea myself. It was as if I knew I was going to die; right then, right there. And I didn’t want to go out like a coward. Something primal and dark licked at my guts, and the feeling terrified me. But in a way, it felt very right, as some things do from time to time. It was also exhilarating in a way that a very scary carnival ride is exhilarating.
I’d be lying, however, if I didn’t admit to some deep, dark part of myself who was absolutely begging, groveling on her knees, for Ice or even Sandra to snap out of their respective stupors and get me out of the hole I’d just dug deeper for myself.
Derby’s hand returned to my jaw, then trailed almost sensuously down the line of my neck. Her smile, though predatory, was almost sad. "I always did enjoy a good choking, fishie. That’s how I killed three of my ‘friends’, ya know. It . . .does . . .something for me, if ya get what I’m sayin. It pissed me off when ya stopped ol’ Ice over there from doin’ Psycho that way. Really pissed me off. And I hate bein’ pissed off, right girls?"
I didn’t have to move my eyes to see the confirming, anticipatory nods of the women surrounding me.
"Right. So, I figure, since you took that away from me, I’ll just have ta take it away from you." Her fingers clenched spasmodically around my neck, cutting off my air and blood supply in a heartbeat. A heartbeat that I could feel struggling to push blood through to my brain. Dark spots circled enticingly before my eyes, asking me to join their macabre dance.
"Ya know, it’s amazing how good a neck feels under your fingers, fishie. All nice ‘n warm. The life beatin’ away, getting weaker and weaker the longer ya hold on. Your face gets this really cool red color, then purple and your lips turn blue. Your eyes kinda bug out and look all scared. Really gets me off."
The black roses of oxygen starvation bloomed in my vision and I found myself beginning to welcome their presence. I tried to lift my arms but found them pinned against my body by a strength I couldn’t seem to break. Moving didn’t seem to be all that important anymore.
As if from far away, I could feel Derby’s free hand slowly trail down over the front of my body, stopping to cup, then squeeze, one of my breasts. The pain registered as a very faint, unimportant thing. Her lips were moving as she leered at me but the sound of her words was lost in the buzzing in my brain.
I remember trying to think of something, something that seemed very important. But my resolve was lost; fogged within the clarion call of sleep, of peace.
My eyes began to slip closed as I gave into the urgent summons. I felt myself falling and can remember thinking that death wasn’t really all that bad after all. It was kind of peaceful, actually.
Until the air that rushed back into my heaving lungs was forced back out again by the weight of an impossibly heavy body that collapsed across my own.
I blinked quickly against a headache that screamed through me with the speed of blood rushing into my deprived brain. Then looked up into the eyes of my savior who at that moment looked like a demon spawned from the deepest pits of hell, her hair and eyes wild and rolling, her teeth bared in a primordial snarl.
Realizing I was still among the living, I began to struggle against the weight pinning me to the floor; a weight which was gone abruptly as my dark avenger reached down and pulled Derby from me, tossing her aside with no more effort than a blade of grass into the wind. She reached down once again and hauled me to my feet. Then, after looking at me with that penetrating gaze, turned and handed me off to Sandra, who had managed to regain consciousness during my little trip to asphyxiation alley.
"Watch her," Ice croaked out before turning to deal with the massing inmates. She became a being of fists and fury, punching inmate after inmate into painful unconsciousness and tossing them out of her cell to land slumped against the peeling green of the barred catwalk.
I looked on, safe within the nest of Sandra’s strong arms as I struggled to recapture the breath I’d lost. Every time one of Ice’s opponents would get near the long table holding her precious trees, I’d wince, but she always managed to brush them away before any damage could be done.
Bone thin and wan, she still possessed a strength that I’d never seen in anyone before. Inmates flew like dolls from the force of her blows, piling up outside the cell door in jumbled heaps. She moved with the speed of a shooting star, always deflecting a blow a split second before it was set to connect.
She was silent, this specter of death-made-woman; fulfilling her duties with calm, even breaths yet full of passion’s fury that blazed from her eyes like the god of retribution come down to earth.
Grabbing the last of the upstarts by the back of the collar and seat of her pants, Ice tossed the woman into the living pile she’d made, then followed, wiping her hands casually on her jumpsuit. Pulling away from Sandra, I rushed up behind Ice, still panting from my close brush with the beyond. From my place by her side, I could see Derby struggling to get out from under the pile of beaten women, her face flushed red from her frantic efforts.
Unthinking, I put my hand on Ice’s back. She whirled, her eyes still mad with rage, and lifted her hand, ready to swing. We stood frozen through the lock of our gazes for several seconds. I watched, helplessly, waiting for some spark of sanity or humanity to darken those arctic eyes.
A noise off to our left and she blinked, then turned, pushing me carefully behind her. Her thin body was thrumming with energy and I felt as if I were standing next to a high-tension wire, the hair lifting on my arms and at the nape of my neck.
From behind her still-broad back I could see what looked to be an army of inmates running toward us. There was another sound to the right and, looking back, I saw the same army coming from the other side. "Ohhhh shit."
The dark head turned fractionally, and I swore I could see the beginnings of a smile on her pale visage. "Just stay behind me at all times." Her voice was still hoarse and whispery from disuse, but to me, it was the most beautiful melody in the world.
"I’m there." After what had just happened between us, I’ll never know what possessed me to put one hand on her hip, but I was glad I did, because she reached over and gave it a quick squeeze before releasing me.
Her arm shot out quickly and pushed the cell door closed, trapping Sandra safely inside, then backed us both against it. Though her head never moved, I could just guess that those eyes were tracking each group easily, determining strengths and weaknesses in the time it took me to silently admit how scared I was.
It was amazing how different my attitude toward death was since Ice had rejoined the land of the sane. It wasn’t alright to die anymore and so the fear came back, clutching at me with its slimy fingers. Biting my lip, I forced it down, deep and far.
Sandwiched between
steel bars and Ice’s long body, I looked left and right in rapid succession. The inmates had slowed to a stop and seemed to be waiting for something. They’d strung out along the catwalk, ten to a side, all bearing weapons and looking like they knew how to use them. I counted several more batons, obviously stolen from the guards, some lengths of wood, a few thick chains from the auto shop, no doubt, and several crude shivs. The women in front of Ice, still jumbled in a pile of battered bodies, made no attempt to move. Even Derby seemed content to let things play out.
It was a very tense situation. Below us, I could hear the sounds of the riot continuing. Yells and screams filled the air, though sometime along the line, the alarms had stopped ringing. Ice turned her head again, her raspy voice pitched low. "Whatever happens, remember to guard the door. Sandra needs to be kept safe, alright?"
"Got it."
"Good."
The stand-off continued on for so long that finally Derby, from her place at the bottom of the pile, lifted her head. "Well? What the fuck are you guys waiting for? Parole?!?! Get her!!"
Hefting their weapons, the inmates started forward on either side of us, filling the catwalk with their threatening yells. Ice stood absolutely still, waiting for them to come at her. When they got in range, she grabbed each of the front-runners by the front of their jumpsuits and threw them together. The sound of bodies colliding was loud in the small space we shared. Then she separated them, tossing each back the way they’d come and succeeded in bowling down the women who were second and third in line.
The others scrambled over their fallen comrades and came at us hard. Ice turned left while I turned right. We moved at the same time as if connected through some sort of strange martial ballet where we two were the only ones who knew the moves and heard the music as we warded off our assailants. Weapons flew; bodies behind them by just a breath.
I ducked as the end of a thick chain came at my face, wincing as it clanged against the steel bars of Ice’s cell. Jumping up quickly, I managed to grab the end as it was being drawn back and tugged hard, pleased with how easily it became mine. Wrapping both ends around my hands as Montana had taught me, I used it to block the thrusts of batons and shivs as they headed my way. As I raised my hands to block an overhead blow, a kick to my belly doubled me over briefly. A punch to the back of my neck drove me to my knees and left me seeing stars.
A hand to the back of my jumpsuit and I was back on my feet again, though one of my attackers had managed to grab the chain. She was a big woman, thick with muscle and sporting a white-blonde crewcut and several facial scars. Grinning at me through a mouthful of half-rotted teeth, she jerked her massive arms back, pulling the chain, and myself, along with her. Using the chain, she managed to turn me, then slammed back against the steel bars. I remember crying out as they cracked along my spine and the back of my skull, leaving me dizzy.
Her hands between mine, she pushed the chain up toward my neck, but I wasn’t about to be choked half to death for a second time that day. Quickly twisting my hands to unwrap the ends, I let go of the chain and, during my attacker’s start of surprise, grabbed in between her hands, my leverage preventing the weapon from being raised any higher against me. Then I kicked up in between her splayed legs, and let me assure anyone who thinks women aren’t vulnerable to that particular move that they most definitely are.
Dropping the chain into my hands once again, she howled, her own hands going down to cup against her groin. I pushed her backward, toppling her into the woman coming up behind. Then I spun just in time to see Derby reach for one of Ice’s legs as it came down from a beautifully delivered high kick.
I yelled out a warning, but it was too late. Ice lost her balance, dropping to one knee. The crowd of women erupted en masse, jumping on top of my fallen friend. Derby made her way up finally from the bottom of the pile and added her bulk to the pile of flying fists and feet.
Dropping my chain, I bolted to the pile, trying my best to drag the women out of the way but having little success at it, ducking blows as I was.
The mound of inmates seemed to freeze for a moment, then explode outward, bodies flying pell-mell against the catwalk railing, against the bars of the cells, and down each side of the catwalk. Ice stood tall from within the center of the pack, a dark Venus rising from the waves. Derby lunged again, her hands wrapping around Ice’s neck. My friend’s head drew back as a dark grin bloomed over her face. Lightening quick, she shot her head forward, cracking it against Derby’s skull.
Derby’s hands dropped away as her arm pinwheeled, trying to keep her balance as she landed high against the catwalk rail. Her backward momentum carried her over the low rail and she screamed. Ice’s arm shot out and managed to grab Derby by the arm of her jumpsuit as she plummeted over the edge. Somehow, against all odds, the fabric held and the large inmate swayed, screaming and kicking her legs frantically, eight stories above the hard prison floor.
"Hang on and stop kicking, Derby, and I’ll pull you up!" Ice shouted to be heard over the other woman’s screaming.
Derby’s free hand moved slowly up, fingers splaying before clamping convulsively on Ice’s arm. Around and below us, all sounds of activity stopped as every woman in the Bog focused on the drama unfolding high above their heads.
Bracing herself with her free hand, Ice began to slowly pull Derby’s large body up toward the railing. A foot or so from the top, she stopped suddenly as the sound of fabric tearing reached our ears. Derby kicked frantically again as the seam at her shoulder suddenly started to tear loose from its moorings.
"Stop struggling or I’ll drop you, Derby!"
"Fuck that!" the terrified woman screamed. "If I’m goin’, you’re comin’ with me, bitch!"
So saying, Derby began to jig her body left and right like a bass on a hook. Ice’s back bowed completely as she was smashed against the short rail. Shouting out, I ran over and grabbed her tightly around the waist to keep her from going over.
"God damn it, Derby, stop fighting it!"
"Fuck you, Ice!" She jerked her body harder, twisting this way and that, trying to unseat Ice from her perch against the rail, her hatred for my friend more important to her than her own life.
Setting her legs, Ice tried pulling upward again. I helped to steady her as much as I could, tightening my grasp around her narrow waist and interlacing my fingers together. The others watched us, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Her progress was slow and steady but effective as she managed, by slow inches, to pull Derby’s twisting body upward once again toward the safety of the rail.
With a final ripping tear, the resilient fabric of Derby’s jumpsuit gave up the ghost, leaving Ice with just a handful of sleeve. Luckily, however, the gang leader was close enough that her now freed arm was able to grasp onto the lowest rung of the barred railing.
Ice tugged upward again, still attached by Derby’s grip on her arm. Her motion was halted abruptly as the other woman refused to let go of the railing. "I told you, bitch, you’re goin’ down."
Anchoring herself with her grip on the rung, Derby began to tug at Ice’s arm once again, pulling it with all of her considerable strength. I could feel my friend’s body go taut with the effort of remaining where she was.
"Oh no ya don’t," Ice countered, using her knee to mash Derby’s fingers against the railing. With a howling wail, the other woman released her grip on the rung. Ice tugged upward, hard and fast, and Derby, flailing out again, missed her grip and she twisted again, much harder this time.
I knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. I could see Derby’s fingers loosen their grip on Ice’s arm with the momentum of her motion, and start to slide away. I know Ice saw it too because she made a desperate grab for the gang leader, missing by just the barest of margins.
With a scream of revenge denied, Derby plummeted to her death eight floors below. I turned my head and hid behind Ice’s back as Derby fell the final few feet, not wanting to see her body splatter as it hit the ground. The sound of her h
itting the flagstone floor echoed resoundingly through the newly silent prison.
Ice slowly straightened, pushing herself away from the railing. Turning her head slowly, she pinned each one of us with a steely glare. "This riot is finished, understand? Put down your weapons and return to your cells or you’ll have me to answer to."
Hoarse and broken though her voice was, it permeated every corner of the Bog and the inmates responded, dropping their weapons to the floor and turning away from one another to head back to their cells. The women on the catwalk with us did the same, their shoulders slumped and their heads hanging low like whipped dogs, which, in a way, was exactly what they were.
Ice’s cell door creaked open and Sandra stepped out, walking over to the railing and looking down at the bloody scene below as her hand came up to lay against Ice’s back. "Good try. I wanted to get out here and help, but those idiots had the door blocked."
"What happens now?" I asked.
Sandra turned her head to me, smiling in understanding. "Don’t worry, Angel. Reports have a way of getting edited and misfiled around here. I’ll figure out some tale that the warden’ll believe." Turning back to Ice and giving her shoulder one last squeeze, she sighed and threaded her baton through the loop in her uniform belt. "Well, I guess I’d better get at it. This place is gonna be a bitch to clean up."
Ice turned with the guard. "Sandra . . . thanks. For everything."
Sandra smiled, her eyes warm and compassionate. "Think nothing of it, my friend. I can’t even begin to pay you back for what you did for Diane. I was just glad I could help."
"When you speak to Diane again, tell her . . . tell her it wasn’t her fault. Tell her . . .we all make mistakes."
"I will. Be well. Both of you." With a final smile and a wave, she turned from us to walk down the catwalk toward the stairs.
When Sandra’s head disappeared beneath the level of the stairs, Ice turned her gaze to me. "Angel, I’m sorry about the way I treated you before. I wasn’t myself."
I couldn’t help but grin, guessing how hard apologies must be for her, warranted or not. "I’m just glad you’re back, Ice." I threaded my arm around her waist once again and squeezed her to me. "I missed you, you know."
