Nicola Griffith - Always

“Die!” bellowed Suze, and I caught two or three halfhearted no’s and a weak blam from Nina.

I laughed. Suddenly it was all quite ridiculous. “Apart from Suze, you may as well be asking them in for tea. We have four minutes to get you ready. So once more, with feeling. Up. Breathe. Long and slow, long and slow, and this time when you go down, I want to hear you. And down. ”

I went down with them and bellowed. “ Hoo! And up. And again. Hoo! ” More noise now. Suze was enjoying herself. Christie began to cut loose.

Three minutes.

“Stand tall. You are about to be attacked. You’re about to defend yourself as though your life depends upon it. I want you awake. I want you ready. Yes, you’ve just come from work or picking up your children. Yes, this is a basement room with bad carpet. Yes, essentially you’re safe. But if you can do this now, you can do it anywhere. Anywhere. So this is a real test. Feel your pulse beat. Feel your breath. Feel how solid, how strong you are. Remember that no one has the right to hurt you, no one. Who has the right to hurt you?”

“No one,” Suze said.

“I can’t hear you.”

“No one!” barked Tonya.

“That’s right. On the count of three, everybody: Who can hurt you? One, two—”

“No one!”

“Who?”

“No one!”

One minute. “With me, now.” I lifted my hands. Clap-clap, stamp; clap-clap, stamp: the opening beat of Queen’s anthem, "We Will Rock You.” "With me.” Clap-clap, stamp. Clap-clap, stamp. Clap-clap, stamp. They all picked it up. You’d have to be dead to be impervious to that rhythm. Clap-clap, stamp. Clap-clap, stamp. Now they were lifting their arms with the stamping.

The air-conditioning began to grind. It added another layer to the rhythm.

Thirty seconds.

Clap-clap, stamp. Clap-clap, stamp. The concrete floor trembled. “Face front!” Clap-clap, stamp. The line was straight, facing the door, an army focused on a weak and contemptible foe. Clap-clap, stamp.

The door opened.

Dornan lumbered in. He moved slowly, deliberately—the only way he could—and the rhythmic breathing along the line matched his steps exactly: harsh breathing, protect-the-homeworld breathing.

His helmet was huge, padded inside and out, with protective plates welded on the front, back, and sides, and themselves padded; triangular eye holes covered with Perspex, a mouth grille, ear grilles—a big metal pumpkin head. He wore a quilted suit covered with body armor and then more padding. Special braces at wrist, elbow, and knee made him move awkwardly. I’d sprayed parts of it silver to look even more otherworldly and menacing.

He stopped at the far edge of the mat, as I’d asked him to, and swiveled his head this way and that. No doubt he was simply trying to see through the triangular eye holes, but it was a particularly machinelike and alien movement.

I felt—or at least imagined I could—the women on either side of me draw together like a muscle: organic, flexible, strong.

I stepped out of line, surveyed them, nodded, and said, “Tonya. You will walk along the center of the mat. When he attacks you, fight back. Do not stop until he touches his head or until I tell you otherwise.” I gestured her forward.

Her legs shook. The air-conditioning shut off abruptly. She walked with very small steps to the left-hand edge of the mat. Dornan had strict instructions not to attack anyone until she began to walk across the mat. As she passed me I realized she was whispering something to herself that might have been “No one, no one.” At the edge of the mat she stopped, and turned, and hesitated.

I looked her full in the eye. “No one,” I said, and gave her an encouraging nod, and she took that first step. Dornan simply stood there. She took another. Tiny steps. “No one,” I said, and raised my eyebrows at her.

“No one,” she said tremulously. “No—”

Dornan moved.

“— one .” It was a shriek.

She flailed at him, he lowered his head slightly and stood while her first three blows—they couldn’t really be described as punches—bounced harmlessly from his chest and shoulder.

The class tightened, groaned and gasped.

I tuned my voice to cut through the noise. “Put him down: throat, knee, eye.”

She was so far down the tunnel of the Adrenaline Now that I wasn’t sure she would hear me or even see anything. Dornan lifted his arms and stepped forward again to engulf her but with a shriek she threw herself at him: double-fist slam to the chest and then, astonishingly, a head butt right over his nose, wham, and over he went.

“Finish him,” Suze yelled.

Tonya dropped to one knee and drew her hand back. I saw the supported finger a second before she launched a knuckle strike at his throat that would have put an unpadded attacker in the hospital, if not the morgue.

Dornan patted his helmet but no one noticed. Tonya threw back her head and ululated, tears streaming down her face. The room exploded with hoots and screams and cheers. “Next!” I said, and while Suze gradually realized that was her, I helped Dornan to his feet. He managed a wink before resuming his place at the edge of the mat.

“You are going to die, you fuck,” Suze said. Her face was pale and she had both fists up. Everyone cheered. “Totally die. Come and get it!”

“Suze, you have to walk on the mat.”

“What?”

“On the mat. He won’t attack you until you walk.”

“Right. Okay.” She didn’t move.

“Just take a step.”

She looked unsure.

“Kill him, Suze.” “Yeah!” “You can do it.”

“No one,” Nina said. “No one!”

Suze took one step. Another. Her shoulders tightened. Dornan just stood there.

“Walk,” I said, implacable.

She ran, and Dornan ran, and they both went down, and Suze went berserk: her knees, her elbows, her feet, her fists pumping like wild things. Somewhere in that blind rain of blows, something must have hit something vital because Dornan patted his helmet decisively and rolled away.

Suze stood up and blinked. I went to her and said, “Good, that’s good.”

“Yes,” she said.

“You can stand with the others now. You did well. Stand with the others. ” Dornan was already up and in position, the class was clapping. I stood by him a moment. “Avoid the next one’s shoulder if you can.” He nodded. I returned to my place. “Next,” I said. “Sandra.”

The class started to call out encouragement but she smiled and strolled to her edge of the mat as smooth and cool as a cup of cream and the yells clotted and died. In the silence she looked at Dornan, nodded, and stepped onto the mat. He didn’t make her wait.

She jumped to one side and with eerie precision kicked his left knee out from under him. He went down like a stunt horse in a cavalry charge. I could have sworn I saw a hint of a smile on her face in her split-second pause, but then she fell to her knees, raised both hands as though to God, and slammed two elbows down on his spine. Axe kicks are a more efficient use of power, but without body armor, even those blows might have paralyzed Dornan.

He patted his helmet. She stood, looked down, then deliberately balanced and gathered herself.

“Sandra!” I shouted, just in time to spoil her aim slightly, and the axe kick she’d aimed for exactly the same spinal target missed and hit his ribs instead. “Dornan, move away. Move away.” He didn’t move. “Sandra.” She turned. She was definitely smiling. “Sandra, it’s done. Over.”

“Over,” she repeated.

Dornan stirred. She turned back.

“Sandra, it’s done. You did it.”