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Episode 083 |
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“Now, I don’t want to kill you and you don’t want to be dead.” Malachi Johnson, Silverado He doesn’t move, which is the first thing that strikes me as funny. He’s standing over Slate, but his body is turned towards me, the gun aimed carefully between my arms. The barrel doesn’t waver and his finger hovers over the trigger but he doesn’t fire. “I want you to listen carefully,” he whispers, his thick voice as dark as his black hair. His voice barely carries over the wind. “Do not move,” he says simply. “Do not make a sound. I am not here to arrest you. I am not here to take you back. I am not here to hurt you.” “Can’t say the same for me,” comes Slate’s voice. Like a bolt of lightning, her arm shoots up from where she’s lying and grabs the guy right between the legs. Even I flinch when I hear her wrought iron grip wrap around his manhood and squeeze. The guy’s entire face contorts in untold agony and he just drops to the ground. He tries to roll up around her grip, but she just squeezes harder. She grabs his gun away from him and moves back. She holds the gun with some skill and levels the deadly end at him. “Who are you?” she asks from behind the gun. “Oh god,” he whimpers, holding his boys. “Who are you?” she demands louder. He lies on the ground, the pain visually subsiding, and he opens his eyes at her. A hatred opens up that I can’t believe. “Put the gun down,” he says reasonably, “so I can kick your ass.” Of all the negotiating techniques I imagined him using, which was the absolute last one that could ever have… “Bring it.” I turn to Slate, my eyes wide with disbelief, but she just tosses the machine gun to me. I scramble to catch it, grabbing the futuristic-looking gun just before it hits the ground. When I’ve got a hold on it and look up, they’re already at it. The guy leaps at Slate and tackles her to the ground. He’s got to outweigh her by at least fifty pounds, if not a lot more. It’s hard to tell under the combat fatigues, but it’s clear that he’s every bit as carved out of stone as she is. On top of her, he grabs her forehead and holds her against the ground. But she wraps her legs around his waist and grabs his arms. Pulling his grip free, the two of them wrestle there for a minute, trying to gain some type of advantage. Finally, the guy grabs Slate’s right wrist with his right arm. Leaning his elbow into her face as he lays across her, he loops his left arm underneath her right and pulls back on his right wrist, torquing her arm and wrist. It’s actually a pretty clever hold. But Slate bucks against him, fighting it. She tries to punch the side of his head, but he just torques the wrist even harder. She shouts, then taps against his arm. He releases the hold almost instantly. “Damn,” he says, getting up slowly. He looks over at me as he walks back to where Slate had been laying. “Put that down,” he says disregardingly. I look back at Slate, but she’s clearly fuming. The guy falls back onto his back and pants for a few moments, staring up at the clouds. “Jesus, woman,” he says after another moment, rubbing his crotch. “Like I was saying, I’m not here to arrest you guys.” Slate sits up, staring across the small darkness at him. “Go to hell.” “You’re
just jealous 'cause I got you with an “And that just proves you’re one of those Brazilian Jiu-jitsu jackasses,” she says violently. “It’s called a figure-four arm-bar.” “It’s not an arm bar because it doesn’t torque the elbow. And besides, a figure-four is a leg-lock, you idiot.” He wipes his mouth, the sweat obvious on his forehead. “And you’re just jealous because BJJ just kicked your ass.” To my astonishment, Slate stands up. “We can go again,” she offers aggressively, holding her arms wide. The guy starts to stand up. “Guys!” I say, my voice cracking like a little girl. “What the HELL are you two doing?” They both stare at me. “He’s the enemy and you’re acting like a three year old.” “Am not,” Slate immediately fires back. I turn to him, trying to shake the last couple of minutes off. “Look, what do you want?” “Out,” he says. I blink. “I’m sorry, what?” I say. “I’ve been with Project Ever-After’s security since we first started building these bio-domes,” the guy explains. “I’ve never supported Toren’s methods or his mentality, but until you guys showed up, I was convinced there was no recourse. I’ve seen what happens to those who don’t show the proper enthusiasm for his plans.” “So you want to quit your day job?” Slate asks. “Maybe find a real martial art to study?” “Oh, would you get off it,” he says back at her. “I won. What’s more real than that?” “Two out of three,” she says, getting ready. “Stop!” I yell at her. I look back at him. “Look, we don’t know what we’re doing from here next. We’re really just making most of this stuff up as we go.” “Fine,” he says. “But let me tag along. I slipped out during the craziness and they won’t know I’m gone until they count up all the bodies and realize I’m not one of them. Given the type of hell that big guy was giving them, I’d say we’ve got a few days before they sort through everything.” “So why should we take you along?” Slate asks, sounding a bit more reasonable. “I’m a combat-trained officer who knows these bio-domes,” he begins. “I’ve got access codes and stuff like that. I’m an extra pair of hands and eyes to deal with anything that may come up.” He reaches around behind his back. I stiffen, wondering if I have time to aim the gun. But it doesn’t matter. He holds up a large plastic canteen. “And
I’ve got water.” |
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