shame.
'You are blocking the sun,' Zang said.
'Stand aside.'
'Are you grown deaf as well as stupid, you ancient fart-maker? I said,
'Get up!'
' And with that, she reached out, as if to grab him and physically drag
him into the house.
This was a mistake. With a speed and strength that surprised him, Zang
snapped the cane up and jabbed it into the sow's belly.
'Oof!' she said, as she leaned forward, grabbing at her stomach.
Zang stood, pulled the cane back as if it were an axe, and delivered a
mighty blow to the side of her head. The bone made a wet, but
satisfying crack! and the sow went down in a heap.
Ha-ha!
Zang leaned over and smashed the cane into the sow's body with all the
strength he possessed. Ah, this was good. He hit her again. Better.
And again. Better still!
He was not the man he had been, but there were still a few moves left
in him, and the sense of rage he felt continued to burn as he beat
upon the prostrate and unresponsive sow. Block his sun, would she? He
would show her!
He grew tired after a while, and decided to rest before resuming his
chore. As he stood there contemplating the sow, he chanced to look up,
and thus saw his idiot grandson charging toward him, a three-lined
pitchfork in hand.
Amazing, since his grandson was the meekest of men, who would step
around a beetle to avoid crushing it, who let others prepare his chum
for him because he could not stand to hurt the bait fish, and who had
never in Zang's memory uttered even a harsh word in anger at another
human being.
'Old fool! I will kill you!' Ming-Yang screamed.
Old Zang smiled wolfishly.
'Yes? Come and try, wiper of asses!' He raised his cane to meet the
charge.
Zang was paying attention to how he planned to dance around the fork's
tines to strike Ming, but even so, with his heightened senses, he was
aware of his great-grandson Cheng, aged thirteen, rushing up behind his
father, a gleaming fish gaff lifted over his head.
Now, who was Cheng planning to skewer?
Well. It did not matter, did it? Zang would deal with him in due
course, just as he would deal with every other person in this mud hole
of a village.
He would kill them all.
Finally, a happy thought. He laughed aloud.
Thursday, June 2nd Quantico, Virginia
Alex Michaels pedaled his recumbent trike along the wide bike path
between Net Force HQ and the Chinese restaurant where he sometimes had
lunch, pumping hard. The day was hot and muggy, despite a cloudy
overcast, and sweat had already drenched his T-shirt and spandex
shorts. He shifted up another gear as he zipped past a trio of Marine
