The Hand and the Hatchet

Chapter 22

Ashley fought. His dad fought too, but he couldn't take his eyes off of his enemy to check on him.     They'd been out, collecting wood for the fire, whilst Alice and his mother kept the fire going for them. They hadn't been gone long, but when they came back, they'd seen the front door hanging open, the fire on the front lawn unkept and spreading to the flowerbeds, and no sign of either of the girls. At the sight of Ashley running towards him, the teenager had called to his father, who'd run outside to confront him, armed with a kitchen knife. Ashley's dad had crashed into him, taking him to the ground and vying for control of the knife. His eyes had been so fixed on them he'd almost not noticed the teenager flying towards him, and he barely had time to jerk his head back and avoid the knife slash. He took a few steps back and unslung his bag to gain some more mobility.

He held his hands out by his sides and down low, waiting. They circled each other, the teen crossing his feet as they moved. Not trained, then. It looked flashy, but no real fighter ever crossed their feet. He tried to dart forward, but Ashley's speed was far superior, and he swayed just out of range. He settled into a boxing stance, but kept his hands where they were. The teen stepped in, and stabbed low, towards his stomach. The only reason the fight had lasted this long was because the other boy had a knife and he didn't. It was no contest, and they both knew it. Ashley made a small sidestep, and wrapped his hands around the boy's knife arm, keeping it pointed away from him. With his free hand, the other boy grabbed the back of his head, twisting unnaturally around, sacrificing any strength he'd had by standing in a poor stance. He snarled at Ashley, who made no noise as he kicked the back of the boy's knee, bringing him to a kneeling position. With one hand he held the knife arm, with the other he pushed against the flat of the blade, snapping it from the teen's grip. The knife out of the question, he finished the fight quickly, a knee to the face rocking his head back, followed by a slug straight across the jaw. 

He looked over to his dad, at the other side of the front garden. The other man was bleeding badly from a deep would in his thigh, and apart from a few marks on his face, his dad looked okay. The other man still had the knife. There was confidence in his father's eyes. He smelled blood and thought the fight was over, he stepped in and brought his head low, looking like he was about the rugby tackle the man. His shoulder drove the man to the ground, a foot from the fireplace, and as they fell the kitchen knife found it's way into his neck. Ashley shouted as he watched it happen in slow motion, too far away to do anything, close enough to see every detail. He ran across the lawn, and the other man scrambled to get out from under his dad's limp form and extract the knife at the same time. Realising he wouldn't make it, he switched his attention to the fire, and as Ashley neared, he swung a burning piece of burning four by two wood into Ashleys upper arm. The force of the blow sent him reeling, stumbling across the garden and beating at the spot on his arm the fire had scorched. He straightened in time to see the man abandon the wood into the fore slowly spreading across the lawn, and pull the knife from his dad's neck. Tears poured down his cheeks as he watched his dad's body lay still. 

He charged towards the man, blocking a horizontal stab with a rigid left forearm. He ducked low, still holding the blade away from himself, and punched the man's injured thigh once, and twice, and a third time until it buckled. The men let out a pained grunt through gritted teeth. He held himself up on his other arm, still slashing with the knife. Ashley looked at him, and bent to pick up the burning piece of wood. The flame had spread, encompassing half of the lawn now, struggling to navigate the smooth stone pathway that split it. Fear now, in the man's eyes. Real fear. Ashley knocked the knife hand with the wood, the man's hand grasping after it. He smashed the wood into both knees, savouring the anguished shouts as he did so. He left the burning end on the flesh for a few seconds, satisfied with the blackened flesh he saw when he removed it. He waited for a few seconds, letting the man cry and blubber. Then he lifted the wood high above his head, and brought it down with all the force he could muster, almost splitting his skull with that single strike alone. The rebound nearly snapped the wood from his grip. He grunted, and then lifted it again. Brought it down. The man made no sounds any longer. 

He straighten up, and the wood clattered out of his hand. He dropped to his knees by his father's side, oblivious to the fire heating his back as he did so. He turned him over, onto his back, the blood coating his face. His eyes remained closed, sparing Ashley the duty of doing so. He crossed his arms over his chest, and straightened his legs. He leant over him, crying. He didn't even feel the loss yet. He knew he would, though. He cried for the look of pain on his dad's face, and the senseless reason he'd been killed. He tried to pull himself together. He had to rescue His mother and Alice as soon as he could. He stood, content to let the fire consume his father's body. He wished he could bury it, but he had not the tools nor the place to do so, and not even close to the right state of mind. He rushed into the hallway, where he found his mother laying. She lay crumpled, most of her body on the floor, but her head and one shoulder held up by the wall where she'd slid down it. A trail of blood ran down the wall, as though she'd had her head bashed into it and fallen where she lay. Ashley realised that was probably what had happened. A feeling of utter dread was coiling in the pit of his stomach as he walked down the hallway into the kitchen. He needed to find Alice. She matter most, more than him or his parents or the charred corpse he'd left on the lawn.The hardwood floor gleamed. The kitchen counter was black marble, and the island matched it. And there, on the other side of the dinner table, his sister's shoes poked out. 

He let out a single sob, followed by a shaky breath in. He rounded it and crumpled to his knees. She lay in a pool of crimson, on her belly, one arm above her head and the other underneath her. He rolled her over, and saw the gaping wound in her midriff. He held her in his arms, rocking back and forth, his forehead pressed to her face. He let out huge, wracking sobs, moans of grief overwhelming him. He didn't know how to comprehend such pain. He'd never imagined he'd feel such a sense of loss, and emptiness. The people that loved him, truly, had been taken from him forever. And over some food, or clothes. Taken from him by a thuggish man... and a boy. 

He went back outside, the front garden having become a raging fire. He saw the boy, trying to crawl away but possibly brain-damaged by his earlier beating. He walked towards him with dark intent. He grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and dragged him off of the lawn and to the tarmac. He dropped him onto the asphalt. Used his foot to push him onto his back. The toe of his trainer was worn now. He let the boy see him. He lifted his foot above the boy's face. Wanted to bring it down. Wanted to bring it down, and then down again, and again until his head was a pulp on the road, grey matter spattered across both lanes, a grisly tapestry to his unbridled hate. But he couldn't. Other people were coming out of other houses now, looking towards him, pointing, shouting. Someone started running towards him from the end of the street. He lowered his foot, and then rammed a kick into the boys side, and when he curled up, another. Hopefully he had a few broken ribs. Someone shouted 

"Todd!"

And another 

"No! Leave him be!"

Ashley ran back inside at the sight of the man running at him. They must've been doing some kind of co-ordinated scavenging, as they all seemed to know each other from the few glances Ashley was able to take as he bolted back inside. He ran through the corridor, stopped his run by slamming his shoulder into the back door, opened it, ran through, hearing the man's steps coming up the path. He jumped over the raised plant beds and jumped again to grab the top of the fence, hauledhimself over, and running once more, not looking back.