Ricketts barely avoided another slash aimed at his calf, spun away and ripped open a refrigerator door, blocking two double quick thrusts from the dancing blades. He jerked on the handle, sent jars and cans of food flying as it tipped over. He stood there panting, a small barrier between them. A small respite in the violence. He bled from a dozen or more cuts, waiting for the boy to spring at him again but he’d stopped his relentless attack. He was just as winded, just as bloody with criss-crossing gashes from the metal in his fists. The kid had stopped trying to gut him like a fish, to make a killing blow. He’d started working on bleeding him. Shallow or deep, it didn’t matter. Every time they clashed, he came away with another gash. The kid was wearing him down, slicing him to ribbons and it seemed like all he was doing was adding a few more knots to the boy’s head. He was missing his little finger, it had been sliced off when he wasn’t quick enough to turn the metal of the magazine against the blade. For the first time, he started to be afraid. This kid, this Road Angel, was going to win. There wasn’t any backup coming, downstairs was already roaring in flames, the servants all fled and his guards were dead.
“I can help you.” he said between pants. “We don’t have to kill each other.”
“You’re not killing me.” Jessie said. “I’m killing you.”
“Listen, dammit! I have knowledge. It can help. I’ll join you.” he managed to spit out between gasps. “We don’t have to be enemies.”
“Yes, we do.” Jessie said and leapt over the tumbled fridge, blades flying, looking for flesh.
Steel rung on steel, more punishing fists and knee kicks and smashed furniture. More blood loss, more torn skin, more overworked muscles. Ricketts felt the burn of a deeply sliced bicep, Jessie felt more blunt force from steel and elbows punishing him.
Breaking him.
Wearing him down.
The fight in both of them was waning, both were exhausted and coughing on smoke drifting down the corridor. Jessie had a gash on his forehead that kept dumping blood in his eyes making it hard to see. Ricketts own eyes were watering, tears from a smashed nose and the smoke curling in and gathering near the ceiling. Daylight streamed in from the glass doors leading to the balcony and outside the world looked peaceful. Beautiful. The sky was that impossible blue again and the clouds hung full and fluffy. Jessie saw it and smiled, felt the old scar pull at his face.
They stood apart again. Circled. Looked for an opening. Another small respite. A little calm between two warriors who knew this was a battle to the death. Only one would be walking out of the room. It could come at any second, that killing blow. A razor-sharp blade would get past the blocks and feints, finally slicing a jugular. A steel-wrapped fist would make a solid connection, not a glancing blow, and splatter brains all over the wall. Both men breathed deeply and coughed, the air heavy with burnt electrical smells. Jessie’s hair was a matted mess, crusted with blood from the hammer blows of the gun frame. He balanced on one leg and tried to hide the damage to his knee from a snap kick that had connected. Ricketts noticed and smiled. He saw weakness. He saw victory. He saw himself triumphant.
“Should have joined with me when you were winning.” he said and repositioned his hand around the gun.
“I’m still winning.” Jessie gasped through broken lips, an eye nearly blinded from a brutal jab and flexed his fingers on his knives. He pushed himself off the wall and swayed a little.
“I see why she liked you, kid. You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that.”
Jessie hobbled back a step when the black clad man took one towards him.
“You can’t walk, you can barely see and from the way your holding your arm, I’d say it’s busted.” Ricketts said and his smile grew even wider.
He was going to be the one to defeat the Road Angel. In hand to hand combat, man versus man, he was the one who would do it. All those tales he’d heard, all those stories everyone repeated over and over again were going to have a new ending. The boy was a legend and he’d be the one to stop him. Maybe he’d join up with Casey’s outfit, those raiders everyone was so afraid of. He was faster and stronger than any of them. He’d be the legend now. They’d talk about him, tell stories and maybe write songs. He could envision it, he could see a new future. The Movement was over, they’d never be able to rebuild it and he was glad. He was going to be the only super soldier left standing. He would
