Wickerman Cove

Part 13: Hurray for MCMAP

The first blow wasn't worth much. It came from behind, just below her floating rib. A nothing strike with little more legacy than a bruise. Steph ignored it and used the tire iron to force the guy next to her to take a step back. Then she drove the knife at Skinny-Fat's centre mass but someone grabbed her arm. Shit.

Another blow hit her in the side of the face. This was a good one. It made her see stars for a second. It was one of the guys – she made him pay: it wasn't hard to get out of the hold on her wrist and use the Ka-Bar to ventilate his throat. He went down with blood pouring out between his fingers.

She got an elbow strike against someone who tried to get an arm around her neck, and managed to hit the Charles Manson looking guy over the head with the tire iron. She was about to finish up and look for Skinny-Fat when someone grabbed the hand she was using to hold the knife again, and sank their teeth into her wrist.

It didn't hurt as much as she'd expected, but that was probably just adrenaline. Steph used another elbow strike to free herself from a pretty disappointing rear choke hold, and used the tire iron to deter the biter – who turned out to be the woman who wasn't Throat Strike – before using three blows with all her body weight to make sure the little bitch was out of the fight.

It was hard to tell who was getting back up and who was retreating. There were still more than five around her, but everything was a blur. The knife was on the ground. She must have dropped it when the bitch bit her wrist.

That was when she saw Skinny-Fat. He had the same ball of... whatever it was... between his cupped hands as at the gas station. It looked like something between water and molten glass – turning slowly, reaching out with stubby translucent limbs. Two of the other guys came for her from the sides. Light from the ball caught Skinny-Fat's face, illuminating the curves like a kid with a flashlight under their chin.

Steph decided to take the one on the left. He led with a punch, overextending himself enough that she could use the tire iron to get him in a lock. She tipped him forward, and used the leverage to ruin his right arm. The crunch was almost as loud as his scream.

The guy on the other side hit her almost at the same moment as she dealt with Left. He grabbed her by the throat and jackhammered his fist into the side of her face. The world dimmed, but he staggered back whining about his broken hand.

Steph could feel she was starting to lose it. Things were getting fuzzy and her feet felt like they were being operated from somewhere else. She battled to stay upright, managing another stomp-smash combo as a cultist grabbed her from behind. His closeness filled her nostrils with a mixture of foul sweat and cheap incense.

Then Skinny-Fat yelled for them all to get clear. Whoever was behind her staggered back, shoving her away. That alone was almost enough to send her sprawling onto her face. Steph tried to clear her head by sheer force of will.

That semi-liquid ball hit her full in the chest.

The world flashed from positive to negative. For a second, she thought it was going to just turn her off like a switch – an instant ticket into the darkness, whether it was unconsciousness or the final nighttime of death – but it didn't. She was on her feet but not moving. It was like the dream – her body was made of lead. She could feel them moving around her. There were four, plus Skinny-Fat.

Skinny-Fat looked shaken. Whatever that was supposed to do to her, she wasn't supposed to still be standing.

Still, they used the time well – someone hit her in the stomach and another cultist swung for a blow to the head. It was faintly satisfying to hear them yell out in pain as they too found out that you need training before you punch a skull with your comparatively fragile hand. Only faintly, because it hurt like a m**ther***cker and the world was starting to swim.

The tire iron wasn't in her hand anymore, but she managed a slow-motion grab that got someone by the shoulder and spun him into a choke hold. He made a panicking, wheezing sound and folded at exactly the time her instructors had said he would. She kept a hold of him, blows raining down against her back as he shuddered into death. Steph dropped him and stepped, getting another one with a blow to the diaphragm.

He curled up around her fist, the fanaticism gone from his eyes for a second, until one of his buddies grabbed Steph's hair from behind. His fist exploded into her stomach before she could resist.

With a feat of athletics, she got the guy holding her hair straight in the balls. There were only two left now, plus Skinny-Fat. Everyone else was out of action, bleeding, or dead. It occurred to her that even if this was sanctioned by Hitch's superiors, there was a distinct possibility she was going to prison for a very long time.

The two guys left – one skinny and tall with a shaved head and one with long hair and a full beard – didn't look too happy to still be in the fight, but everyone could tell she was almost done. The world kept slipping away from her, just for a second at a time, and every time they were a little closer.

Penny still hadn't pulled the car out. What the fuck was going on? Had they got to her? Was she watching and Steph was just too out of it to tell?

Her own goddamn tire iron hit her over the back of the head. Or at least, she assumed it was her own tire iron. Maybe they brought one too, it wasn't as if they were restricted. The world spun. She stumbled forward, breaking free of the pack, even if it was just so that she could try not to fall on her face.

Then she went down.

Throat Strike was croaking orders but she couldn't hear them over the other yelling.

She wasn't sure who it was, but the whole road suddenly seemed flooded with light – white and red, flashing. Everything tilted left and right, before doing a barrel roll that put her on her face. Steph dug her fingertips into the asphalt to avoid falling into the black sky as the world whirled around her.

Nobody hit her for a while.

Slowly, the Maine highway stopped doing loop-de-loops. Her head still hurt like hell where she'd been hit, but by now she'd pretty much expected to be dead.

If only they could turn out the light.

"I will," a woman said – she sounded older than Steph, "but I need it to see what they've done to you."

Things were starting to make sense again. Whoever it was smelled of tobacco and cloves, with maybe a hint of fresh sweat. Also, she was talking out loud.

"Sorry," Steph said. "I think they hit me with a tire iron."

Fingers picked their way over her skull, moving her head this way and that. "And a lot of other things," the woman said. "I'd advise you to go to hospital, but that would be a two-hour drive. I can take you to town though, get Doc Withers to check you out."

"Check on the weirdos too, I think I might have—" Suddenly, Steph remembered Penny. "Wait, my friend and her dog—" she said, starting to rise before the sheriff shoved her down again.

"They took their people away in that van. And she's fine, they're both in the car," the woman said. "I was told to expect you both. My name's Mansfield, I'm the local sheriff."