Blood Games

    From off to the side came quick footfalls and huffing breath.

    Jim yelped and tumbled off her. There were thumps, gasps.

    Abilene rolled over, scurried toward the sounds.

    A smack like a fist hitting flesh. A grunt. A whimper from Vivian. More sounds of blows landing against skin.

    She hurled herself forward, arms spread. Her cheek bumped something. She clamped her arms tight around the body in her way, realizing her mistake when she felt breasts against her left arm, realized that Vivian had been on top of Jim.

    Together, they plunged through the darkness. A quick thud jolted Vivian. She flinched and went limp, but fell a little more before the floor stopped her and her shoulder rammed Abilene’s cheek.

    Abilene’s left hand was trapped under Vivian’s armpit. As she pulled it free, wincing at the pain of her broken finger, she reached up with her other hand. Touched Vivian’s face, her hair. Found the wood of a support post.

    I drove her right into it!

    ‘Hold on!’ Cora called.

    And Abilene felt fabric rub against her shin. One of her legs was on Vivian’s leg, but the other, she suddenly realized, was stretched across Jim.

    Why hadn’t he grabbed her yet?

    Had Vivian been up there, pounding on him so hard that she’d dazed him?

    He must still be out of it!

    Pushing herself off Vivian, she scurried backward and dug her knee into the denim. Jim let out a grunt. As she crawled onto him, she heard a distant thump, a surprised cry of pain, then loud tumbling sounds.

    ‘Cora?’ she shouted.

    ‘Shit! Shit!'

    She straddled Jim. He squirmed, but so far he wasn’t striking at her. She slid her hands over his chest, felt it rising and falling as he panted for air. The rope suspender didn’t seem to be there, but that wasn’t what she was searching for. She found his shoulders.

    The knife had been in his left hand.

    ‘What’s happening?’ Cora called. Her voice sounded shaky.

    Abilene ran her right hand down Jim’s left shoulder and along his arm. The arm was sticking straight out away from his side, bent at the elbow. She slid her hand up the slick skin, past his wrist to his bunched fingers. She didn’t need to feel the knife to know it was still in his fist. She pinned his wrist to the floor.

    ‘I think I’ve got him,’ she said.

    ‘Hope so,’ Cora answered. ‘Wrecked my other fuckin’ leg.’

    ‘Just stay put. I’ve got him.’

    ‘Where’s Viv?’

    ‘Over here. I think she’s knocked out.’

    ‘Shit’

    Keeping Jim’s knife-hand tight against the floor, Abilene hunched down and pressed her left forearm against his throat. She pushed.

    ‘What’re you doing?’ Cora asked.

    ‘Strangling the bast…’ The blow caught her just above the hip. Her breath burst out. She felt as if her side had been caved in, but she stayed on top of him. When he started to buck, trying to throw her off, she dropped down against his chest and thrust her arm as hard as she could against his throat. He punched her again, this time hammering her rib cage.

    And his knife hand got free.

    In an instant, the blade would be driving down into her back.

    She flipped herself off Jim - away from the knife - and hit the floor rolling.

    Jim growled. She heard him scuttling after her.

    She rolled over again and again until a post blocked her across the belly. She dropped onto her back, sat up, glanced into the darkness toward the sounds of Jim rushing closer, then hurled herself over to her knees and scrambled up and ran.

    Ran and saw twin patches of dim gray light off to her left and dashed toward them.

    Windows.

    The two at the rear of the dining area?

    She wasn’t sure, didn’t care. They were a way out.

    If Jim doesn’t get me first.

    She could hear him huffing, pounding the floor, gaining on her.

    The gray window straight ahead grew.

    She couldn’t see whether it was a broken one.

    If it’s not, I’ll be cut to ribbons!

    They do it in the movies.

    In the movies, it isn’t real glass.

    But Abilene knew she would rather risk glass than face the certainty of Jim’s knife.

    Arms hugging the sides of her head, right hand clutching the nape of her neck, she dived at the window. She rammed through. Glass exploded. Her head and neck got outside before the shards began to drop on her. She felt them bite and slice through the back of her blouse. The denim of her skirt seemed too heavy for them to penetrate, but they got her bare legs.

    The dive took her clear of the window. She glimpsed the moonlit floor of the porch. Then its edge. Then the ground far below. She yelped ‘No! ’

    Her hips and thighs pounded the floor, skidded. She flung her arms back, hoping to grab hold. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the porch as it slipped away. She dropped headfirst. Her legs flew up. Her heels struck the railing.

    Oh, my God!

    Then there was only the warm night air rushing around her.

    This is it.