The Troll (23 page)

He
wanted to see Iris again. He wanted to recover the Rainbow and save
the world. He wanted to defeat an enemy like The Troll had. At the
precinct, he’d told The Troll that he took down a helicopter
and asked The Troll what he’d ever done. Supposedly, The Troll
was all about one-upping, but if The Pilot was out of the picture,
the game was on. Killing two more bounty hunters and hitting the road
would be just the type of act that if the world saw, could create
ripples.

He
watched Iris protectively as she made a wide circle toward the
bridge. Before long, she would move far enough that Coach and
Mortician would notice her. It was now or never. He moved fast,
emerging from behind the building and running toward the fountain,
tightening his body and preparing himself for the most important
fight of his life. As The Coach and Mortician were closer in his
sights, he could see they had realized The Guide and Iris had escaped
and he could see the wreckage below. The odds were swinging back
toward The Guide, but this moment would determine everything.

The
Coach was closer, and stood against the base of the fountain. He saw
him look up and notice The Guide barreling toward him at full speed
without enough time to react. He dived in the air and wrapped his
arms around The Coach’s midsection, sending both of their
bodies into the water.

Chapter
6

The
Pilot and The Troll circled each other, both searching for an
opportunity to lunge at the other. The Troll suspected he was right
to believe The Pilot wasn’t really a fighter and used silence
and machinery for intimidation. His eyes were hidden behind his
sunglasses, which could easily cover any fear he had and he surely
must have some. Twice his aircraft had been taken down and now he was
left with what amounted to a bar brawl on his hands.

The
Troll had been in a fight or two, but never by his choice. His tongue
got him into trouble and sometimes fists were thrown at him, but
mostly it would result in a tussle on the ground until both fighters
were breathless and tired. This was different though. This would have
to be to the death. On either side of the road was the edge of the
bridge and The Troll knew that was his only winning scenario. He
couldn’t pummel The Pilot with punches. He could only force him
over the edge.

He
thought maybe The Guide would show up, but for some reason he
couldn’t understand, he wanted this fight. He had a chance if
he could catch The Pilot off guard though—if he could cause him
to lose his focus.

“
You
might as well speak at this point,” The Troll said. “You’ve
exposed you’re not as cool as you try to be when you crashed
your plane.”

The
Pilot’s face didn’t move. Instead, he swung an arm out,
but The Troll leaned back and The Pilot only hit air.

Wear
him down
, The Troll thought. I’m not a fighter but I erode
people’s souls until they’re too angry, too tired, too
exhausted to fight. That’s verbal, but does the same work when
it’s physical?

“
Maybe
we should figure this out another way,” The Troll said, backing
away. “We both know your moderator isn’t going to be
happy with your performance here today.”

The
Pilot swung again, and this punch connected, but when The Troll tried
to dodge it, he managed to put his shoulder in front of him. The
punch connected, and it stung, but The Pilot put everything he had in
it and was slow to recover. Before The Troll could reposition, The
Pilot started to lash out, throwing fists at him from every
direction. Some missed, but most hit, and even as he felt the
stinging pain hitting him over and over, he could see that The Pilot
really wasn’t a fighter. He was sloppy with his swings. He
would have celebrated the fact if not for the constant pain. Finally,
he fell to the ground and covered himself, rolling away as quickly as
he could. When he finally was a few feet away, he pushed himself to
his feet and told himself that this was just a battle between two
inexperienced fighters…that the least awful of them would rise
above.

He
stepped forward and guarded his face, ready to fight, but mindful of
the fact that The Pilot likely had less energy. He wanted to fight,
but he wanted to break him down, little by little, until one good
shove would send him to the water below. He needed The Pilot to throw
the punches and he needed most of them to miss but all of his own to
hit. This wasn’t a fight of strength. It was a mathematical
game.

“
Oh
my gosh Pilot. Were you hitting me or is there a draft out here?”

The
Pilot didn’t flinch, but The Troll knew he had to be angry. He
was coming at him faster, with more aggression, and The Troll found
it wasn’t easy to punch a person, but it was easy to dodge
someone who used emotion to fight. He sidestepped as The Pilot swung
hard, and paused as if catching his breath.

“
I
was almost your dad you know,” The Troll said. “But the
guy ahead in line had exact change.”

The
Pilot spun and backhanded The Troll. It was the best connection he
made yet and the sound of flesh on flesh made a loud slap that sent
The Troll backward and almost off his feet.

“
When
I beat you, and people ask about you, I’m going to say
you
cried and begged for your life,” The Troll said. “I’m
going to say you wouldn’t stop talking.”

The
Pilot came at him again, as if to tackle him. In that moment, The
Troll could see his whole body weight barreling toward him. He backed
up quickly and The Pilot lost his footing. He didn’t fall, but
he fell forward for a moment before regaining himself.

The
Pilot tried to move closer, but The Troll blocked him with his arms,
keeping him at length. Instead, The Pilot threw another punch that
connected, right in the side of the head, causing a shooting pain.
This time, his vision went fuzzy and he spun and stepped on a piece
of the plane’s shrapnel, which slid under his feet and sent him
to the ground. His ass hit the pavement hard, and he swore to
himself, knowing that punch could be the one that ended the fight.

Then,
before he could recover, The Pilot came down on him with full force.

Iris
could see the fight on the bridge. It seemed strange to her that The
Troll was fighting at all, but as she got closer, she could see he
was losing. If he could hang on until she got there, they could team
up and take The Pilot down together.

She
ran through the streets, only turning back to see that The Guide was
in the fountain and had The Coach pinned under the water. He was
strong, but she hoped he’d be able to fight both. She hoped he
hadn’t underestimated who he was fighting. He’d told her
to help The Troll, but she felt as if she was choosing between them,
and she felt that The Troll was valuable. She hated believing that,
since The Guide had been loyal and had always fought for the
take-down of Psi, and The Troll had only proved unreliable and
untrustworthy.

She
picked up the pace and as the bridge became clearer, she could see
that the plane had tore up the pavement straight down the middle in
large chunks. She could see pieces were shifting all around The Troll
and Pilot, but they carried on and so did she.

As
she reached the foot of the bridge, she caught movement out of the
corner of her eye and her breath stopped in her throat as she
recognized the face of one of the men at the bounty hunter dinner.

“
Oh,
endurance!” The Poet shouted with a smile. “Why is the
cold wind at your back?”

She
stopped and fixated on him. He stood still, as if to let her pass,
but she knew if she tried to keep moving, he would stop her. “I’m
helping The Troll,” she said.

“
You
might want to rethink that plan,” The Poet said. Iris turned to
see he was holding Rainbow. “If you walk away from me, I will
destroy this.”

The
Guide held The Coach underwater with all his force. The Coach seemed
to be the stronger of the two and if he could eliminate him quickly,
The Mortician would be a piece of cake. Water splashed as The Coach
reached for air, thrashing in the water as he used every bit of
energy from every part of his body to find air. The Guide tried to
find The Mortician out of the corner of his eye, but saw no movement.
Instead, he focused on using his strength to drown Coach quickly and
assumed The Mortician was hanging back, too afraid to jump in.

Suddenly,
a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. It didn’t squeeze,
but the touch was cold and sent shocks into The Guide’s body
which started at the touch, but slowly spread, paralyzing him. In
that moment, he realized that The Mortician had a weapon. He was a
man obsessed with death, and was wired to rot whatever he touched.
The Guide could feel his skin and muscles numbing under his touch and
could feel the spread of whatever poison was inside him.

The
Coach gasped for air as he came up from under the water and standing
between them, his legs about to give way, The Guide closed his eyes,
feeling defeat.

Then,
The Mortician deliberately let go. The Guide fell into the water and
the numbness of his body slowly dissipated.

As
The Coach was still catching his breath, he grabbed The Guide by the
collar and tossed him over the stone foundation. The Guide crashed
into the ground, sending pain through his midsection, and rolled
away. As his rolling slowed, he forced himself to keep going anyway,
putting as much distance between himself and the bounty hunters as he
could. Finally, he rolled and pushed off the ground with his hand,
jumping to his feet in one swift motion. He turned, where he found
himself facing both men at a distance.

The
Coach stepped forward. “You’re in over your head Guide.
That was real dumb what your friend did. I was going to make it easy
on you.”

“
You
have the disadvantage,” The Guide said. “Iris and Troll
are long gone.”

“
If
that were even true, we’d catch them. This game was never
designed to be won.”

“
Then
how about we keep this between us?” The Guide said, motioning
for them to come at him. “I’ll take you both.”

“
I’m
afraid not,” The Coach said, walking forward and reaching into
his jacket. He came out with a gray pouch which looked like a high
tech water balloon. “I’m not a player. I’m a Coach.
So catch!”

He
tossed the pouch, which arched in the air quickly and came down
toward The Guide. If The Guide had more time to think about it, he
might have dodged it, but it looked harmless—like something he
could throw right back at him. Instead, just as a water balloon
would, it burst open on impact and the liquid inside spattered all
over The Guide’s chest and arms.

He
stared at the liquid, which was thicker than water and had a metallic
glow to it. “What the hell is this?” he asked, noting it
didn’t hurt or sting, or have any effect.

“
That
is what my players use to track.”

“
Players,”
The Guide said, slowly.

Suddenly,
The Coach’s duffel bag opened and scraps of metal emerged and
fell together, forming larger and larger masses, bouncing off each
other and clinking as the scrap assembled into shapes that were
clearly forming the resemblance of a human torso and arms, but no
more. Six bodies were brought together and as the finishing touches
united on their large metallic torsos, they began to turn and move
toward The Guide.

“
You’ve
got the ball,” The Coach said. “A liquid magnetic gel
that serves as a guidance system for my
players.
They will not stop moving until they’ve consumed it and
anything attached to it.”

The
players continued to move toward The Guide, picking up pace and
readying their long arms. If they caught him, he didn’t know
what they could possibly do, other than batter him with their large
frames. There was no way he could escape, other than to get the gel
off his body. He turned and ran and felt the pace of the players pick
up on his tail. The Mortician and Coach followed at a slower pace,
confident that the players would put him down so they could finish
him off.

One
of the players hit the back of The Guide’s shoulder and spun,
tearing a sharp edge across his skin and causing a spurt of blood to
trickle down his back. He ran faster, running to the side and edging
his way to where it wasn’t so open—somewhere he could
find something to use against them. Even if that happened, he still
had two bounty hunters on his tail.

From
a distance, he spotted a scrap-yard and headed for the factory beyond
it.

The
heat of the fire burned The Troll’s eyes as he stepped around
the plane, carefully placing his steps to stay upright and balanced.
He circled the wreckage slowly as The Pilot followed at a steady
walk, as if he didn’t feel any urgency. In The Pilot’s
head, The Troll had no chance, and The Troll knew his only chance was
to use that confidence to allow himself to be underestimated.