But turn the other cheek doesn’t mean let yourself be killed. It doesn’t mean let yourself be ruled by bullies, or stand by and do nothing when big guys are picking on little guys or when men are hurting women. I know my mother wouldn’t like to hear me say this, and I know some of my teachers wouldn’t like it either, but we have another saying in my church: the truth will set you free. And the truth is, there may come a time when even the most peaceful man alive has to fight or else something truly evil will happen.
For me, I knew that time had come.
I took a breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth, relaxing my body. I figured I had one chance, one shot. I had to make it good.
Rat Face was finished. The syringe was full. He laid the vial down on the bureau. He was holding the syringe with the needle in the air. There was a droplet of clear liquid on the tip of the needle. He was watching it closely, warily. He didn’t want it to fall on him.
Chunky’s eyes were moving back and forth between the needle and me. He had a look of gleeful anticipation on his stupid face.
“Oh, boy,” he said. “This is gonna be so good.”
Rat Face grinned and came forward, holding the syringe, watching the syringe, walking slowly and carefully as if he were balancing on a rope. “Get ready, punk,” he said in his breathy voice. “You’re gonna be screaming like an opera singer in a minute.”
He came forward another step. I watched him, waited. I kept my body relaxed, breathing in, breathing out. Believe me, it wasn’t easy. I was so scared, I felt as if my throat was closing shut.
Rat Face carried the needle another step toward me and another. He was close enough now so that I could’ve lifted my free foot and kicked him-but he wasn’t where I wanted him to be. It had to be just right. I only had that one chance.
Rat Face came closer, holding the syringe up. He was just off to my right side. He was reaching for my right wrist with his left hand, ready to take hold of me, ready to inject the poison into me.
“All right, my friend,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “This’ll only hurt for about an hour. Then you’ll be dead.”
Chunky laughed stupidly at that. He was watching the whole thing like a kid watching fireworks.
Rat Face took another step. Perfect. He was right where I wanted him.
I snapped my leg up fast and hard, a lightning snap kick that flew up smack between Rat Face’s legs. I threw that kick with enough force so that it would’ve hit him in the chin if nothing had stopped it. But his groin stopped it. The kick landed with full force right where it hurts the most.
It happened so fast-it took them so completely by surprise-that Chunky was still smiling as Rat Face’s eyes went wide in agony, as his mouth went open to form an enormous O. Then Rat Face dropped the syringe. It shattered on the floor, the clear liquid spilling out of it with a heart-stopping sizzle.
The smile started to fade from Chunky’s face. His stupid eyes looked even stupider. He still hadn’t processed what had just happened.
Meanwhile, Rat Face grabbed his middle and doubled over. He bent so low, his head moved right past my hand. That’s what I was waiting for.
Straining against the strap that held my wrist, I reached out and grabbed Rat Face by the throat. It was a perfect catch. I got him in a pincerlike grip called the dragon’s claw. It held the front of his throat tight, right under his chin. His wide eyes went wider still. His tongue appeared in the open O of his mouth. He made a noise. “Ack,” it sounded like. A sickly flush began to rise into his brown cheeks.
About one second had passed since I’d thrown my kick. Finally, Chunky was beginning to realize that things were going wrong.
“Hey… ” he started.
“Shut up,” I said. “Shut up and listen. I can kill him now. You hear me? All I have to do is close my hand, and I’ll rip his throat out and he’s dead.”
“Ack! Ack!” said Rat Face, struggling weakly in my grip.
“What are you doing?” Chunky yelled. “Let go of him! What do you think you’re doing?”
Scared now, he started backing away from me, toward the door.
“Take another step and I’ll do it!” I said.
“Ack!” said Rat Face, reaching a hand out toward Chunky, trying to tell him not to move.
I looked at Rat Face. He was bent over, clutched in my closed fist, turning darker and darker. His hands flailed in the air as he fought for breath.
“I’m going to count to two and kill you,” I told him. “Look in my eyes if you think I’m kidding.”
He looked in my eyes. I could see the terror flood his features.
“Undo the strap on my wrist,” I told him.
Chunky took another half step backward toward the door.
“Don’t even think about it!” I said-and he stopped. I turned back to Rat Face. “One… ” I said.
Rat Face’s frantic hands fumbled their way to the strap on my right wrist. It took him a second to steady his fingers enough to do the job. A second later, the strap came loose.
Heaving the right side of my body up off the chair, I hurled Rat Face across the room. He smashed hard into the chest of drawers and collapsed to the floor. He lay there, panting, clutching his throat with one hand and his midsection with the other.
I started to undo the strap on my left wrist.
Chunky saw his moment. He was stupid-but nobody’s that stupid. He turned and ran for the door.
There was nothing I could do to stop him. I just kept working as fast as I could. I got the strap off my left wrist.
Chunky threw open the door and ran out of the room.
I got the strap off my left ankle.
I heard Chunky screaming, “Help! West is getting away! Help!”
I leapt out of the chair. A fierce energy punched through the core of me.
I was free.
I ran to the open door. In another second, I was out of the room. There was Chunky, turning this way and that, shouting and shouting, “Help! West is escaping! Help!”
He turned and we were face-to-face. There was one second in which his mean, stupid features went blank with fear.
Then I hit him. I balled my hand into a tight fist and brought it down on him from the side-a hammer-strike, we call it. It thudded against his temple. His eyes flew up, went white. His legs turned to spaghetti. He dropped to the floor like a marionette with cut strings. He lay there still, unconscious.
But it was too late. His call for help was already being answered. I heard what must’ve been half a dozen people running toward me-thunderous footsteps getting louder and louder.
I looked around. I was in an empty hallway with solid walls of cinder block. But there, at the end of the hall, was a black square-a window with the panes painted over. That’s what I thought it was, at least.
The footsteps got louder and louder. I could hear someone shouting, “Stop him! Don’t let him get away!”
I started running for the black square.
CHAPTER SEVEN
My Karate Demonstration Another flash. Another chunk of the past, of that last day, went bolting through my terrified brain.
It was funny. Now, here, with my life in danger, with guards pounding down the hall to catch me, with terror coursing through me like the blood in my veins-now, the last day I could remember seemed to me a day of peace and calm. Everything blessedly ordinary. Everything blessedly serene.
At the time it happened, though, it was different. At the time it happened, I was scared out of my wits.
It was first period at school, the morning assembly. I was standing backstage in the school auditorium. I was waiting for my karate demonstration to begin. Principal Woodman was onstage at the podium, making the day’s announcements before introducing me. I had already changed into my gi. It felt kind of strange to be wearing the loose-fitting fighting uniform here in school. It felt as if I’d forgotten to change out of my pajamas. I kept checking and rechecking the knot in my belt to make sure it wouldn’t fall off. It was a black belt-the highest rank I was allowed to reach at my age. There was a red stripe in the center of it to show I was still a junior, under eighteen. I found the sight of the belt-the reminder of my high rank-reassuring. I kept telling myself: I know what I’m doing. There’s no reason to be so nervous.