Page 31 of Warrior
I stood my ground as he strode forward. George rose to his feet, standing shoulder to shoulder with me, but I felt him tremble.
“He's trying to heal Ewok." I liked my arm with George's, as though our combined weight might deter this monster.
“He’s not dead?" Scarface gave a low chuckle. "Fuck, I'm losing my touch. The other kid died much quicker.”
The other kid.
My heart hitched, and a strange sensation flowed over me like a thousand tiny dull pinpricks palpitating over my skin.
The other child. Akkat. The boy I helped Ewok bury.
Rage settled in the pit of my stomach. "You bastard." My voice sounded forceful and threatening, completely foreign.
Scarface ignored me. In two steps, he stood in front of us. His scent, a mix of body order and something wicked, sent bile to my throat.
“Get your ass to the mine.” Eyes that might be attractive in another face rolled as he glanced down at the bed. "I'll drag this one to the pit. It won't take him long to finish dying there."
A forearm as big around as my thigh reached out, aiming for Ewok. I turned, intent on pushing the guard away, rage giving me delusions of grandeur. I could more easily move a mountain, but I would try.
“Please, I can heal him!” George stepped in front of me, holding his hands to the guard in supplication.
Scarface lifted his hand toward George. It wasn’t a punch; the movement was more like the flick of an old lady's wrist when she meant for the dog sniffing her knitting to go away. The air shuddered and shook as George took flight like a bird shot from its nest, only to slam into the wall beside Ewok’s bed. The tiny Garoot wheezed softly, like an out-of-tune flute, and slumped over on his side.
"Leave them alone!" I shrieked, my voice echoing off the walls. The scarred face came into full view sporting a cold smirk as his hand swung towards me. I tried to dodge, but his palm connected with my cheek and pain exploded through my head, my vision fading everything to black and white. Pain invaded every inch of my body as I fell backward, meeting the hard, crunchy dirt floor with a painful jolt. A flash of dizziness swept over me as I felt my brain shake inside my skull with each breath, threatening to make me vomit.
A low, painful moan drew my attention to the bed. Scarface gripped Ewok by the wrist, dragging the injured child like a laundry bag. The hard thump of the tiny furry body against the floor hit my heart like a fiery spear.
I had to protect him.
Slumped against the wall, George moaned as he swam toward consciousness. Gritting my teeth against the nausea and pain, I pushed to my feet, staggering in pursuit.
Just past the doorway lay the pile of mining tools the children used daily. There weren't many left unused this time of day, but I swiped one with the longest handle, thinking to use it as a walking stick or crutch. It was t-shaped. The metal head held a gradual curve that decreased to form pointed spikes at either end attached perpendicular to a long handle. It reminded me of the pickaxe my dad used to tend his vegetable garden.
A few feet ahead, Scarface dragged Ewok away like yesterday’s trash.
“Let him go!”
The guard laughed as I closed the distance between us. As I reached down to touch Ewok, he turned, fist raised.
A single nuclear pulse of light blazed through my vision as his fist connected with my jaw. Over his raucous laughter, I heard the sickening crunch of breaking bone. Pitched like a firework, harsh pops echoed as I hit the ground in slow motion. No pain registered in those first few seconds, only a pervasive pins and needles sensation that ran across my entire body. Hot tears flooded my eyes, and a shadow crept in from the edges of my vision as I tried desperately to hold onto consciousness.
No!
A scream resonated from within as I felt my last remaining spark of energy ignite into an inferno that burned away the numbing despair. Saving Ewok was my only focus. Closing my eyes, I issued a short prayer for strength, and with a surge of fortitude, clamored to my feet. I stood on shaky legs, determination fueling me as I grabbed the pickaxe and held it like a weapon.
Scarface kicked Ewok’s head out of the way as he resumed dragging the child
Deep inside I felt the snap of something breaking. A deep-seated, dormant anger burst forth like a volcano, filling me with rage so powerful I could taste it. Gone was the Daisy who believed in turning the other cheek. Gone was the woman who always insisted there was a peaceful way instead of violence. Gone was the meek, mild minister's wife, and in her place stood something feral and wild.
“No!”
The pickaxe felt heavy in my hands. I didn't remember swinging it—but when the pointed end lodged into Scarface’s back just below his shoulder blades, the sound of his bellow shook me from my daze. The realization of what was happening spread through me like a chill, numbing my mind and body to everything but that knowledge that I had to stop him.
I yanked the pickaxe free, an unwelcome lump settling in my stomach at the wet, squelching sound of metal ripping loose from flesh. He turned to me with a swipe of his massive hand, but his injury slowed the movement allowing me to duck away. Spinning, I raised the pickaxe and brought it to bear just below his sternum. His faceflashed a mix of emotions—anger boiling beneath shock as he realized a being he considered inferior might take him down.
My body screamed from the shock of every impact as I yanked the pickaxe free only to swing it with all my might. The handle was slick with sweat, blood, and bits of bone and tissue. I didn’t stop, striking him again… and again… and again.
And again.
