He pulled her back, pawing at the folds of her coat as he renewed his grip. For the barest of an instant, a stab of panic skewered Constance’s racing heart. If he managed to get his hand on her weapon, she was in trouble. Close quarters hand-to-hand combat wasn’t a problem for her; she knew exactly how to disarm and take down almost any opponent-as long as she was on her feet.
Therein was her weakness.
Once she hit the ground, the game changed drastically, and not in her favor. It was almost like being a turtle that had flipped over onto its back with no way to right itself. She was petite and lacked the upper body strength of a man. That made her susceptible and put her in serious jeopardy. In a prone position like this, a larger opponent- especially a man-would have a weight and strength advantage that was much harder to overcome. In some cases, maybe damn near impossible. As tight as this particular man’s hold seemed to be, her odds were starting to look grim.
She bit back the sudden fear before it could run rampant and take over. She couldn’t afford to give in to it, because once she did, that meant she had lost the fight, and in her mind that wasn’t an option. While he obviously had strength on his side at the moment, she still had some things going for her. For one, he didn’t have the weight advantage-yet. Right now, he was down, and she was on top of him, which put her in a better than average position under the circumstances. Plus, they were wrestling in deep enough snow to slow him a bit and restrict his movement. While balance and agility were no longer her great equalizers, she knew she had to use whatever openings she could find. One of those just happened to be that her attacker had an intrinsic vulnerability she could exploit, and she was already planning to go after it with extreme prejudice.
Twisting to the left she shot her arm out again and curved her back as much as the Kevlar vest would allow, hunching forward as she brought the heel of her fist rocketing down for a groin shot. He must have seen it coming, because she felt her hand connect, but it impacted with a solid thud, far more like a full on blow to his thigh instead of the tender area she had targeted. He still yelped but held firm.
He began kicking and twisting after the first blow, fully recognizing her plan of attack. He rocked to the right, then rolled hard, trying to push her over and pin her down.
She couldn’t allow that to happen, or the fight would be over with her as the loser.
Scissoring her legs and bending her left knee, she dug her foot into the snow and locked it there, pushing back against him as hard as she could, stopping his roll in its tracks. With a quick swivel, she brought her other leg up, over, and down in between his, hooking it over the top of his left knee. Digging the heel of her foot into the snow pack, she rocked forward, bending her chin to her chest and tensing her neck as she grimaced. With a quick thrust she arched her body while throwing her head back, intent on slamming the back of it into his nose. It was a maneuver of last resort, but she was running out of options.
She figured he saw the head butt coming, because she felt him trying to twist. He managed to turn enough to save his nose; however, he was unable to keep her skull from popping hard against his jaw, right at the corner of his chin and mouth.
The strike was solid enough to send a jarring pain through Constance’s own head, but she was expecting as much and had braced for it. Judging from the sound, he had taken the worst of the strike and was hopefully stunned. With that-and the fact that she had his leg pinned, which left his crotch fully exposed-she would be back in the game.
Wasting no time, she quickly raised her free arm and drove her fist downward again. He tried to swivel himself and bring up his other leg to block; however, he was a half-beat behind her rhythm. Her blow glanced from his upper thigh but continued its trajectory. Although with far less force than she intended, this time she hit squarely on her mark.
Even with having been momentarily impeded, the strike still had the desired effect. A pained howl roared out behind her head, and the constricting arm broke away from her waist.
His other arm was still up around her midsection, looser than before, but still pinning her left arm to her side. Bending her right elbow, she cocked her arm in and immediately reached for his hand as it momentarily unclenched. Grabbing the first two fingers she could seize, she rotated her shoulder upward, unlocking her left knee and rolling to the side. The pair of digits bent backward, eliciting a sharp yelp from her attacker, and he released his grip.
Finally free, Constance continued pitching quickly to the left, rolling as best she could through the snow. Twisting her body away from her attacker, she lunged forward; scrambling away and up to her knees, she spun around. He was still down, but she didn’t bother weighing the options of a knee drop to the chest or a throat strike. She simply drew her arm back beneath her coat and wrapped her cold-numbed bare hand around the grip of her weapon.
Throughout the entire skirmish the man had been yelling something at her. Now, more words spilled out of his mouth.
“…SKIP! IT’S SKIP!” the sheriff’s pained and near breathless voice rang in her ears as she came up to her feet with the pistol in hand. The words were punctuated by a tight cough that blended into a groan.
“DAMMIT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” she shouted, stepping back so that she was well out of his reach in case he decided to lunge at her. Assuming a tight stance, she took square aim.
Ben’s recent words raced through her mind- Don’t turn your back on ‘im, okay? She couldn’t help thinking that she obviously should have paid that advice much more heed.
“Put that damn…thing away…before…someone gets…shot!” Skip panted back at her while struggling to pull himself to his feet.
“STAY DOWN!” Constance shouted.
He continued to right himself.
“DAMMIT SKIP, STAY DOWN!”
He was already on his feet but bent over with his hands on his knees, sucking in labored breaths as he wheezed. “Calm down…” he huffed out between gasps. “Just…calm down…”
“GODDAMMIT, SKIP! DON’T MOVE! STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!”
“Okay… Okay…” he replied.
“PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD AND LOCK YOUR FINGERS TOGETHER! NOW!”
With a pained wince Skip complied. He was standing up, not quite doubled over as before, but apparently still in a good bit of pain from the punch to the family jewels. A dark swath of blood smeared his face and chin where her head butt had caused him to bite through his lip.
“Will you just calm down…and put the gun away, Constance?” he groaned, still huffing and puffing but starting to regain his breath. He worked his mouth for a moment, then sputtered as he spat blood out onto the snow.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded. Her voice was still stern and volume slightly elevated, but she was no longer shouting. She threw a quick glance to her left at the little girl who was slowly but steadily increasing the distance between herself and them. She was already to the street and showing no sign of stopping. Throwing a sideways gaze back on Sheriff Carmichael, she called out over her shoulder, “Merrie! Stop!”
She threw another fleeting glance to the left. The child continued on, having trudged across Evergreen Lane as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Still focused on the sheriff and keeping her sidearm trained on him, Constance demanded again, “Dammit, Skip, tell me what the hell is going on here!”
“DROP YOUR WEAPON!” a new voice suddenly came from her right. “NOW, Special Agent Mandalay!”
Constance slowly shifted her eyes and turned her head just enough to see Deputy Broderick. He was only a few feet away with his own weapon trained on her, having come up from a position behind. Apparently, the fact that she was wearing a vest hadn’t escaped him as the muzzle of his pistol was pointed straight at her head. At this distance, unless he was the worst shot on the planet he wasn’t likely to miss.
“You aren’t going to shoot a federal agent,” she said, fully cognizant of the fact that the comment sounded like dialogue from a cheesy movie. It was the kind of thing the main character’s two-dimensional sidekick always said to the villain right before getting riddled with bullets and becoming a martyr to be avenged with rocket launchers and air strikes. But then to Constance the whole past three days had seemed to play out like a bad movie. Why break the streak now?
“Yeah, sugar,” Sheriff Carmichael grunted as he stood up a little straighter and grimaced again. “He will if he has to, but that’s not where any of us want this to go. Just hand over your weapon and we can get on with what needs to be done.”
