He kept coming closer, brandishing his long knife, a big smile on his face.
I stepped back, and he smiled wider. He was really having fun.
He moved closer, slicing the air with his knife.
I stepped back again, and he closed the gap.
He let me know, "If you turn and run, I will shoot your legs out from under you, then butcher you."
"I'm not running."
"No, but you are stepping backward. Come to me. Fight like a man."
"You have the knife, asshole. Put it down."
He flipped the knife into the air, then caught it by its handle and smiled again.
He was really enjoying this, and to be honest, I was not. I knew this guy could slice me up if I made a move toward him, so I again backed off. It was time to end his fun, so I reminded him, "Your mother was a whore."
He screamed something and charged at me.
I turned, took a running step, pretended to slip in the mud, then drew my knife and spun around on my knees and let him run into the K-bar, which caught him in his groin.
He let out a surprised scream and backpedaled away as I charged in for the kill before he went for his gun.
He had his knife hand over his groin and his other hand was reaching for the Glock as he backpedaled, and he lost his footing in the mud and fell backward.
The only move I had was to dive on him to keep him away from the Glock, and I made a running jump and landed full on his chest as he was starting to raise his legs to catapult me into the air.
I saw his arm coming around, and I felt his knife cutting into the back of my shoulder blade, scraping across the bone.
His arm was rising again for another stab, and I grabbed his wrist. I kept the full weight of my body on him as he struggled to get me off him and get his knife hand free.
My knife hand was free, and his left hand was free, but instead of reaching for his gun, he made the right decision to grab my arm before I got my blade into his face or throat.
He got a tight grip on my wrist, then lifted his head and got his teeth into my cheek and bit down hard on the maxillary nerve, which sent flashes of pain through my head.
He was still holding my wrist, but I managed to get my arm up, and I brought the butt end of the heavy K-bar down on the top of his head.
He released his bite on my cheek, and I twisted my hand to bring the business end of the knife into the top of his skull, but he was incredibly strong and he pulled my arm away and held it.
So we were locked together, neither of us able to use our knives, and this would go on until one of us weakened, or did something unexpected-or desperate.
He was in very good physical shape, and he didn't seem to be tiring as we each tried to break free from the other's grip.
He tried a few times to get his knee in my groin, but he had no leverage, and I kept my full weight on him. Then he tried to get his teeth into my face again, but I kept my head tilted back.
I had no idea where I'd stuck him. Genitals? Thigh? Lower abdomen? But I knew the wound wasn't bleeding enough to weaken him. My own wound felt warm and wet, but I didn't think he'd done too much damage.
We made eye contact and stared at each other. I said, "You're going to die."
He shook his head and said, "You."
His voice was still baritone so I guess I'd missed his nuts.
As we struggled, I realized he wasn't weakening at all, but I was, and he knew that, so he was waiting me out. Time to do something.
I gave him a head butt, but it didn't cause him any more pain than it did me. He retaliated by trying to get his teeth on my face again, which is what I wanted him to do. I clamped my teeth on his big hooked nose, and I bit down as hard as I've ever bitten on anything. Before he screamed, I felt his cartilage cracking under my teeth and I tasted the blood oozing out of his nose and into my mouth.
He was in real pain now, so he barely noticed that I'd released my bite on his nose. I spit blood into his left eye, and when the eyelid closed, I got my teeth on it and ripped at it.
I spit more blood in his eyes and said quietly, "I'm gonna eat your fucking face."
He spit back at me, then managed to get a bite out of my chin.
A man in great pain and great danger has super strength-adrenaline-charged muscle power-and Khalil arched his body up with me on top, which gave him the leverage he needed to go into a rolling motion, trying to reverse our positions and get on top of me. I lost my grip on his knife hand, and he immediately brought his knife down into my back again, slicing into my rib cage.
He would have stabbed me again, but I suddenly relaxed my muscles, and he found himself going through the rest of his twist and roll without resistance, and this put him unexpectedly face-first into the ground with me on his back. His knife hand was free, but he couldn't use it from that position, and he tried to scramble away, but I came down heavy, and he collapsed on his chest and stomach. Both my hands were free now, and I pulled his head back by his long hair and slashed his throat, then pushed his face into the mud. He didn't make a move or a sound, but my instincts said he wasn't finished.
In fact, his arm slid under his body, and I knew he was going for his gun. I got there first and snatched the gun out of his belt, and because you don't want a gun in play this close, I jumped off him and stepped back.
I stood there, breathing hard, keeping my eye on him.
The stadium lights were shining in my eyes, and my stocking feet were buried in the mud. A worse problem was that the wetness was spreading over my back, and it felt warm in the cool night air.
I realized that Khalil's second stab had gone deeper than I thought, and I was losing blood.
My head was getting light, and I felt my knees giving out, then I found myself kneeling on the ground.
Khalil was moving now, and I watched as he rose slowly to his feet.
His back was to me, but I saw him wiping his face with his hands, then he turned around, saw me, and began walking toward me.
His face and clothes were covered with mud, but I could see the blood on his throat and his shirt, and I realized that the blood wasn't gushing the way it should have if I'd hit his jugular or carotid.
He spotted his knife on the ground, picked it up, and kept coming toward me.
Die, you sonofabitch.
I stood too quickly, and I felt light-headed again. I thought I was going to pass out, but I took a few deep breaths and kept still so my heart wouldn't start pumping more blood out of me.
Khalil kept coming, holding his knife in front of him.
When he was less than ten feet from me, he said, "Your face."
Well, I didn't want him to deface me, and as far as I was concerned, the knife fight was over. So I raised Kate's Glock and pointed it at him. My arm was unsteady, and again I thought I was going to black out.
I said, "Drop the knife."
I noticed that the Glock was totally covered with mud, and I wasn't sure it was going to fire, and neither was he. I said, "Drop it, asshole," but I didn't really want him to drop it. I should have had no trouble just pulling the trigger, but… I couldn't do that; I wanted him to earn his bullet.
He took a few more steps, then sunk to his knees.
It was over, but it's not over until it's over-and he was still holding his knife pointed at me.
I would have waited it out, but I was starting to get that old bleeding-to-death feeling that I remembered too well, so I had to put the final nail in this bastard… I aimed at his head and squeezed on the trigger, but then I stopped and looked at him. I lowered the gun and shoved it in my belt.
Again, Khalil stood, and he did the zombie walk with his knife pointing the way toward me.