Time to go, he thought, as the crowd surrounded him closer on all sides. “Hey man, watch it!” he yelled, as a young teen ran square into him, followed by another from the other side, and two men grabbed his legs.
“Hey, what the hell?!” he said, as he swung his arms, connecting with anyone close to him. He looked down to see his legs wrapped with rope and thought This isn’t good! as he was pulled off his feet. He covered into a fetal position, protecting his head as best he could from the punches and kicks slipping through the pile of people on top of him.
“That’s enough!” he heard from somewhere far away. “That’s enough!” was shouted again, followed by two shots in the air.
* * * *
“Do you think he needs help?” asked Lonnie, with all of us concerned, sitting around a small campfire but unaware of Mike’s current predicament.
“I don’t know, but he didn’t want us to come, no matter what. We have to believe he has everything under control,” I replied.
* * * *
Mike felt the rifle barrel poking into his back without needing to see it.
“There are four more,” the man said, “so don’t try any funny business. Hands behind your back.”
Mike did as the man ordered and felt the zip tie tighten around his wrists.
“You’re a spy,” said the man, striking Mike below his left eye before spitting in his face.
“You’re a big man when you have your target tied up,” said Mike, smiling. He didn’t mind getting spit on; it happened to both him and his brother, Arthur, numerous times growing up. This was just an older bully now, but all bullies eventually got theirs—this he was sure of.
“You have a mouth on you,” said his captor. “Maybe we have time for one more pit fight tonight.”
“Sure. I’ll fight you,” said Mike without hesitation.
“Not him,” said one of the Gatelin brothers, walking up. “I’ve got something better in mind,” he said, holding one arm up.
Two other guards brought out a struggling man wearing a gag and blindfold.
“I’ll bet you recognize my brother. Am I right?” he asked.
Mike had a pit in his stomach, which was rare. He wasn’t worried about fighting a man, any man, but he saw where this was headed and wanted no part of it.
“How about I fight your last champion?” suggested Mike. “I win, and my group heads out immediately. Same if I lose.”
“I don’t think so. You see, my brother tends to have a mouth just like yours sometimes, and it has come to our attention that he may be planning a coup with your help. Isn’t that right, little brother?”
There was no response from the frightened sibling, who showed visible signs of a beatdown.
“You two will meet in the pit as soon as we get the torches back on. Fight to the death. And Michael—that’s your name, right?”
“Only my mother, sister, and women I’ve cared about ever called me that. Mike is fine.”
“Whatever you say, Michael,” he spat, drawing out the end like a Northerner trying to re-create a Southern drawl. “Refuse to fight, and either or both of you will be shot where you stand.”
Mike waited to be led down into the earth without another word. He learned two things from watching the first fight. The two men had been left down there alone, with only one walking back up to the rim unassisted, and handcuffed again at the top. It was almost of as much importance that he could see one, the champion presumably, taunting the other but couldn’t hear what was being said.
The brother was led down first—shaking, sobbing, and calling out to let him go. He called to Mike to show him mercy. Mike shook his head back and forth, not saying a word. He was shoved the last few feet as his hands were unbound. Mike circled his opponent slowly—the man who should have been in charge tomorrow, the man who could have freed his people. The man who was sure he would not live to see tomorrow looked back at him with the eyes of a defeated man who once was liked, respected, and even envied by other men.
“Which of your brothers did this to you?” asked Mike.
“All of them,” he replied.
“Hold on,” said Mike in a near whisper, as he continued to circle left.
“I’m sorry,” the brother whimpered. “I’m sorry they knew. I didn’t say anything—I swear that on my children.”
“I know,” replied Mike, looking out of the corner of his eye to see his captors back up on the pit’s top. “I’m not going to kill you, but you have to do everything I say without question, or they are going to kill us both. Understand?”
“Yes, okay. I don’t see that I have any choice in it.”
“You do, but if we can pull this off, you will still lead this group and go home to your family. Now when I get close, hit me in the face hard,” ordered Mike.
“You’re not going to be mad?”
“No. No. Do it on three. One…two,” as he stepped in close…“three.”
The Gatelin brother hit Mike on the right cheek. Mike was shaking his head afterwards.
“Good one,” Mike said, to cheers from the guards. “Now it’s my turn,” said Mike, pretending to punch him in the gut. “Bend down and fall to your knees,” he said quietly.
“Finish him!” came the chant from above.
Mike backed away and circled slowly. “We’re going to do this a few more times. Keep throwing punches but don’t hit me in the nose—I hate that. After a few minutes, I’ll give you the signal before I pretend
