Dusk Harbor 1999

Just Coffee

He parked his car in a shallow ditch not far from the wrecked box truck. About forty yards from it. He climbed out of his car, closed the door carefully, and went up to the grassy side of the ditch. Grabbed two handfuls of weeds above his head and pulled himself up. Dug the toes of his boots into the dirt. Hiked up to the guardrail and jumped over it. Started marching across the hard pavement.

Ice Breaker was there, with her hair all frazzled and blown back. She was staggering around, leaning against the fallen top side of the truck.

He was coming up behind two strangely dressed figures who were standing next to a red pick up truck that was blaring Shout at The Devil by Motley Crue. It was insanely loud. Unnecessarily loud. Ice Breaker was launching spears of ice at them. The spears missed. Flew right over their shoulders and shattered on the ground. She was hunched over slightly, struggling to stay on her feet.

What happened here?

Jordan drew his ivory-handled dagger from his belt and clicked the tiny button on the side of the hilt. The silver-white blade popped with electricity. He ran up behind the truck, gripped the handle of the knife in his teeth, and grabbed the tailgate. Hopped up into the bed of it on his hands and knees. Silent as a feather.

He crawled forward. Taking care to breathe slowly and quietly. Whenever he was sneaking up on someone he felt like he was a hundred times noisier. He hoisted himself up onto the roof of the truck. All he had to do was leap off the roof and grab the red tiki mask guy. He crouched in a frog-like position and focused on the guy's shoulders. Took his knife out of his mouth and gripped it in his right hand. Held it point side down.

He jumped. Over the hood. Landed with his legs wrapped around Tiki guy's waist and his arms around his neck. The dagger slipped into an inch of thick padding on his upper arm, that made him look far more muscular than he probably was. Stabbed into flesh. He kept it there while the man thrashed around screaming. Jordan pressed the button on the side and sent nineteen pulses of electricity per second into him.

"Gaaahhh!" He yelled out. "What the hell?!"

Jordan drove the knife a little deeper.

Tiki guy threw himself backwards, onto the hood of the truck. Smushing Jordan under his weight. The back of the guy's head was digging into his spleen. Jordan twisted the knife and yanked it out of his arm.

Then his opponent reached back, grabbed Jordan by his knife-arm and dragged him up off the hood. Jordan couldn't even react before he was flying in a low arc over the guy's head. His jaw met the pavement with a loud cracking sound. Some bones shifted in his face. He could feel something almost dislodge up near his ear. Metallic-tasting blood pooled in his mouth. One of his back teeth fell onto his tongue, and he spat it out onto the ground.

"Haha, he lost a tooth." The tiki guy said.

"Well don't just stand there, Backfire. Finish him!" The other guy yelled.

Jordan pulled himself out of his bloody daze as Backfire stepped over to him. A foot shot down from behind and Jordan rolled out of the way. The fish scale covered boot landed an inch from his ear. It jangled softly. Jordan grabbed Backfire's leg and pulled it out from underneath him. He toppled over and landed on his hands and knees beside Jordan.

He suddenly jolted back and sat on his knees screaming. Holding his right arm. The one that Jordan had stabbed. There was a small ice spear sticking out from the stab wound.

"Ow! Ice in the wound! Oww!" He yowled.

The other guy put a palm to his face and shook his head.

"The expression is salt in the wound."