by Jon Talton
He only needed two steps forward to start dismantling every bone in Will’s skull. It was just enough time.
Will twisted, screaming in agony. He fought to keep from passing out as he found the fanny pack attached to the side of the wheelchair and inside it the smooth, slim steel cargo he sought. He turned back just in time. As Chambers started to swing his fist in a wide haymaker, Will pressed the button on the switchblade. One second later he plunged the blade into Chambers’ right thigh.
The man emitted a sharp scream and tried to retreat. But Will now had hold of his leg, and as Chambers tried to step back, he carried Will with him. Will slammed and twisted the knife into the muscle, found bone, brought another shriek. Chambers fell on his back and Will climbed up him as if scaling a deadly escarpment. Will’s left leg was thirty pounds of dead weight, cramping. Chambers flailed with his brass-knuckled fist but Will grabbed his wrist, twisting it as hard as he could. The knuckles fell out with a clank. He held both Chambers’ hands to the cold floor.
Will felt the body under him writhing madly. Veins now standing out in his forehead, Chambers strained to use his good leg to push himself toward the door, toward the gun. His other leg spasmed ineffectually. The pasty skin of Chambers’ face reddened deeper every second. Will slid across his torso and smashed his right fist into Chambers’ nose, spewing blood like a fireworks burst.
“Kind of hard to move, cripple,” Will hissed, “now that things are a little more even between us.” He rammed his fist again into Chambers’ right eye, drawing more blood. “You like to hurt women, don’t you, Marion?” Will didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. He reached behind him, twisting the knife again, and the room was filled with a sound as if an animal was being tortured. “How’s it feel to pick on somebody your own size, cripple?”
Chambers spat a viscous mix of blood and mucus into Will’s eyes and freed one fist long enough to connect with his jaw. Will wobbled, dizzy, but couldn’t be easily dislodged. Yet in an instant, Chambers’ hands were around his throat, trying to crush his windpipe. The room tilted before Will put his fists together, made a V with his lower arms, and rammed them into Chambers’ grip, breaking it.
He pulled in sweet air and his hands now found Chambers’ throat. He slammed his head against the floor and dug into the soft, warm flesh of the murderer’s neck, connecting with the harder tissue of his windpipe.
“Will Borders, don’t you dare kill him!”
It was Cheryl Beth, shouting at him. “You’ve been given the gift of life, and don’t you dare throw it away over him, over the past.”
Will stared into Chambers’ eyes, rage meeting rage, his fingers turning into a vise.
“You have a life to live, damn you!” He felt her on his back, trying to pull him off. “People need you!” Then her soft hand touched his cheek. “I need you.”
As if a spell had lifted, he released Chambers’ throat and heard him gasp for air. He lay unconscious but breathing.
Will fell backward onto the floor, and Cheryl Beth held him. “I got you. It’s going to be all right now…all right.”
He reached for her, brushing aside her soft light-brown hair, gently caressing around the scratches and bruises on her lovely face. “For you, too, Cheryl Beth,” he said.
“When you two kids are done with this sentimental crap, would somebody mind un-cuffing me?”
Will looked over and Dodds was awake, wiggling himself upright.
In a moment, they helped Will into the wheelchair. He was a mess and everything hurt. On a scale of one to ten, his pain was a ten.
He felt fine.
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