Page 80 of Homebound
Just like that, one was down.
And it wasn’t neat.
Terror washed over Gemma after a delayed realization that the fight wasreal. She kept backing away, unaware she was moving, until the backs of her legs hit the wheelchair.
Simon yanked the pipe free. A half-wheeze, half-gurgle that issued from the felled Perali’s throat caused her entire body to convulse and break out in violent goosebumps. She sank into the seat, her mouth filling with a sour taste. She couldn’t help staring at the dead body, at the rich blood pouring out from the throat that was left open, pooling on the ground, steaming in the cold.
“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,” she chanted.
Impossible. Death was a riveting sight.
Simon was now surrounded by the three remaining Perali who were circling him like wolves. He turned slowly with them trying to keep each alien in his sights, his movements lurching and slow. The Perali seemed to be regrouping, the shock of losing one of their own to this outwardly delicate creature wearing off. They began heckling him, cackling and making obscene gestures.
Two launched themselves at him at once.
Gemma’s heart almost launched out of her chest.
Simon dodged by crouching and sliding from between them at the last possible moment as if he were a sliver of soap slipping from between two hands. He struck out with one foot sending one attacker teetering and off-balance. At the same time, he blocked the other assailant's flying fist and smashed the pipe into his face with enough force to make his nose concave. The Perali bent in half palming his bloody face and making hoarse moaning sounds that made Gemma’s skin feel too tight.
But Simon wasn’t done. He caught his attacker’s wrist in a firm hold and gave the Perali’s arm a sudden powerful yank that separated the thing from the shoulder. The tearing tissues made a wet sound and blood splattered far enough to reach Gemma in a spray of warm droplets. She swallowed the rising bile. Here she was, someone who only a few short minutes ago had thought that simply hitting the aliens with the pipe would be tantamount of violence.
The armless Perali with smashed nose was now down, dead. Simon moved away from him and was facing off the Perali he’d knocked off balance, a big snarling guy.
The fourth of the attackers was hopping around trying to get a jump on Simon from behind.
Simon wouldn’t let them get close. Every single one of his movements was tight and calculated as if rehearsed a thousand times to perfection. He hadn’t wasted a drop of energy, carefully preserving every ounce of what little juice he had. Yet he never wavered. It was like he anticipated the Peralis’ every move and reacted with strikes that were the most cost-effective.
The burly guy charged Simon. With no way to evade, Simon caught the assault with his side. It must’ve hurt. The impact took him down with the Perali coming hard on top and the ground shook from the slam of their bodies. Simon never made a sound. Even as he fell, the pipe remained firmly in his grip, waiting, ready, until he abruptly threw his hand up - just as the Perali on top of him reared up and brought his forehead down aiming for Simon’s nose.
Skull, meet pipe.
More blood.
The guy slumped and Simon didn’t waste time pushing him off.
The last Perali howled as he descended.
The two of them rolled into the fog and the wavering fluffy layers of it completely obscured the straining bodies. From that point on, it became difficult for Gemma to track who was winning, who got hurt, and whether it was Simon’s pipe that kept hitting the Perali or the Perali’s fists hitting Simon. All of it was awful, and hysterically Gemma wondered if she could pass out, after all, and not have to absorb the overwhelming sensory input of the fight.
Holding the armrests in her frozen fingers like they were a lifeline, she pulled her feet up tucking them beneath her - the blood from the first dead Perali kept spreading, threatening to reach her toes.
Some time lapsed, she didn’t know how much but it couldn’t have been long. The fog persisted. The sounds of the fighting subsided, slowed down, and finally, there was only silence. And it was the most terrifying sound of all.
After a heartbeat of absolutely nothing, she heard steps, measured and a little shuffling. Gemma stared into the fog, willing for it to part and disclose the walker. Gradually, a shape became visible and grew closer, a tall, slim figure emerging from the opaque white mist.
Gemma watched his steps as he approached. He had large feet befitting his tall frame, shod in the ugly rough-hewn canvas shoes that seemed to have been in vogue at prisons for centuries. He took measured steps and she was left fascinated by the length of his stride and a slightly pigeon-toed way he positioned his feet, inward. Not prominently so, but enough to endear her.
He was here. He was alive.
“Beautiful Gemma,” Simon said when he came closer. “Number 34 said to tell you hi.”
He threw something, and the something rolled on the ground across the puddle of blood to come to a stop in front of the chair.
Her throat expanded on a whistling wail. It was a head, crudely torn off, with chunks of the neck and a part of the shoulder skin attached to it in shreds. What she could see of the face was unrecognizable.
“It’s… It’s… “
“Yes, it’s him. Your admirer and my next-door cellmate. Late admirer and former cellmate.”
