82
Instinctively, I lunged forward. But even as I did it, I knew it was futile. There was no way he could miss me, not from this distance. The crack of the gunshot was fierce in the low space. I saw the muzzle flash as I fell forward and wondered how long it would take me to feel the pain.
But then the pain didn’t come. I continued my tumble forward, losing height as I dropped from the top of the metal stairway. Wardell was wincing, and I registered that his right hand was covered with blood. He’d missed me. He’d actually missed me. He’d hurt his hand somehow and it had thrown his aim off. Not by much, maybe just enough to foul the last-moment adjustment he’d made as I jumped — so that my reflexive lunge had let me pass under the path of the bullet. He was still holding Annie, though, and still holding the gun, despite his obvious pain. But I was still falling forward, and I wasn’t about to stop.
My left foot landed square on the third step from the bottom and I sprang off it, diving right at Wardell as he brought the gun to bear on me again. I caught him high and to his right side, contacting my shoulder with his head and grabbing his wrist with my hand, so that the second bullet went high too, the gunshot just about rupturing my eardrums as it did so. The momentum knocked Wardell over backward, and he let go of Annie to free up his other hand to try and break his fall.
We slammed onto the concrete floor, me on top. Annie rolled as she landed and scampered back from us as though distancing herself from two wild animals fighting over a piece of meat. My right hand was trapped beneath Wardell’s back. The impact had made me drop the gun. My left hand kept hold of his wrist. With both of our other hands pinned, it turned into an arm wrestle. I dug my fingers into the flesh of his wrist and tried to lock my arm. He pushed back, edging the gun back down toward my face. It was a fairly even match. Fairly, but not exactly. I was in good shape, but Wardell had spent the last five years with little else to do but build muscle. Little by little, quarter inch by quarter inch, I was losing the struggle. I felt the muzzle of the gun bob against my hair. Wardell’s face, a mask of concentration up until now, started to twitch into an anticipatory leer.
I relaxed my grip on his wrist abruptly and simultaneously smashed my forehead into Wardell’s nose. I felt rather than heard the crunch of bone, and Wardell roared in pain. I took advantage by sliding my hand over the muzzle of the gun and yanking it down. Faced with a split-second choice between letting go of the gun or retaining his grip and allowing his trigger finger to be broken, Wardell chose the first option. I yanked the gun back and started to pull my right arm out from under Wardell as I adjusted the gun in my left, intending to turn it on its former owner.
I didn’t get the chance. Wardell brought his knee up dead center toward my groin, causing me to roll to the side to avoid an injury that would take me out of the fight. He balled his fist and batted the gun out of my hand sideways. It flew from my fingers and sailed into a pile of machine parts beneath the metal stairway. We broke apart and staggered back a couple of steps, like boxers. Our eyes locked for a heartbeat, and then as though choreographed, we both looked down, remembering my gun. It lay between us, equidistant. We came together again, more like sumo wrestlers this time, pushing against each other hard, neither giving ground.
Wardell tried my own trick on me, dropping one hand so that I lurched forward, then bringing the hand back as a fist. I angled my body to catch his forearm between my arm and ribs and used his momentum to swing him into one of the steel pillars. I relaxed the grip so that I could bend for the gun on the floor, but Wardell was already countering, slamming his fist into my back and knocking me off course. I ignored the sharp lance of pain in my lungs and pivoted, grabbing him at the shoulders and blocking his lunge for the gun. Over his right shoulder I saw Annie backed into a corner and staring at the scene, wide-eyed. That made up my mind: I liked my own chances better with the gun in play, but I couldn’t risk a stray bullet finding her.
I feinted as though I were going to pull the head butt move again and then renewed the pressure and kicked the fallen gun hard with the side of my shoe. It skittered side-on across the floor, disappearing beneath a stack of wooden pallets. Wardell laughed and pushed back off me, dancing away and wiping blood from his broken nose with the back of his hand. I took a step back, feeling more than a little unsteady on my feet. I hoped it didn’t show. Wardell looked entirely unruffled, despite the blood flowing from his hand and his nose.
“Better this way,” Wardell said, nodding in the direction the gun had gone. “You know, I don’t usually like to get my hands dirty. With you? I’m glad to make an exception.”
I shook my head. “Bring it on, psycho. I know you can’t handle it up close.”
He didn’t respond. Not with words. He took a step toward me, feinted, and then nailed me on the shoulder and the side of my head before I saw his hands moving. It felt as though I’d stuck my head out in front of a subway train. I shook the starburst out of my eyes and resisted the temptation of a blind charge. I hung back and let the shock drain out of the head blow, allowing the pain to rush in to fill the void. I grinned it out. “Weak. Don’t give up the day job.”
Wardell returned the grin, saying nothing. He came close again, feinting with the left this time. I was ready for it, blocked the true swing from the right and drove my fist into his gut. It hurt him, but it hurt my fist almost as much. It was like punching a car tire. I took a lucky gamble on a right cross from Wardell, blocked it with my forearm, and slammed my elbow hard into his already-broken nose. The cry of pain was louder this time and angrier. He fell back a step, coming up short against a low workbench. His right hand fell back to steady himself and, too late, I realized I’d pushed him back into a virtual hand-to-hand armory. His fingers swept over an array of hammers, saws, and chisels. I charged him as his fingers closed around a heavy monkey wrench.
He was too fast for me, already swinging it at my head by the time I got anywhere near. I ducked, the cruel mouth of the wrench just clipping the top of my scalp. Continuing on its swing, the wrench crashed into one of the steel pillars, making a noise like the dinner gong in hell.
Wardell moved while I was off balance, sweeping his right leg across the backs of my knees and dropping me onto the concrete. He grabbed the wrench two-handed and raised it above his head, as though intending to cut me in half with it. I rolled to the side and felt a sting on my arm as the wrench smashed a concrete chip out of the floor. Every cell in my body told me to roll again, get as far away as I could from the next swing of the wrench. I stayed put. I might dodge the next one, and maybe even the one after, but sooner or later, the realities of my position dictated that I had only one tenable defense.
Wardell brought the wrench down again, launching his follow-up strike with supernatural speed. I saw the blunt, rusty steel head of it closing in on my face and knew that if I didn’t have perfect timing, I wouldn’t have anything at all. I heard the beginning of Annie’s scream. I brought both hands up from each side and caught the wrench between them, feeling the jolt travel all the way up to my biceps. A flicker of confusion crossed Wardell’s face, and I milked it to the full, pulling him off balance with the wrench and kneeing him hard in the solar plexus. He wasn’t ready for it this time, gagging as the breath was forced out of him.
I kept pulling him down and got up on one knee, bringing the wrench across his throat and pulling his body back against me. He coughed and gagged again, fingers scratching at mine. I pulled harder. His body convulsed and he tried to shake his head from side to side. I grunted and increased the pressure. From somewhere far away, I heard somebody screaming. It was Annie. I felt Wardell’s fingers relax a little on my grip on the wrench and felt the beginnings of relief myself, knowing that the last of his strength was beginning to ebb away.