F. Paul Wilson - Reborn

Jim ducked and charged forward, driving his shoulder into the creep's solar plexus, ramming him up against the front of a building. It was almost like football. But these guys were playing for keeps.

Behind him, Carol screamed.

Jim called out to Bill, "Get her to the car!"

That was the all-important thing: get Carol to safety.

Then somebody or something slammed hard against the side of his head and he saw lights flash for an instant, but he held on to consciousness, drove a fist at the source, and heard somebody grunt. Somebody else jumped on his back and he went down on one knee. Screaming in the back of his mind was a white-hot mortal fear that he was going to get kicked to death here on this dark, nameless street, but he could barely hear it. He was pissed and he was pumped and he knew that despite how badly he'd let his body go since his football days in high school, he was in better shape than any of these shitheads and he was going to make some of them very sorry they'd messed with him.

He shook the guy off his back and rolled over just in time to see somebody start to swing a short length of heavy chain at his head.

10

Bill stood paralyzed for an instant at the sudden chaos around him. He and Carol seemed to have been forgotten for an instant as the gang converged on Jim. Carol screamed and started forward to help him but Bill grabbed her and steered her toward the street instead, toward the car.

He was torn between seeing her to safety and helping Jim. He didn't want to leave her side, but he knew Jim wouldn't last long in the center of that melee.

"Get to the car and get it running!" he told her, pushing her down the street. "I'll get Jim."

This is not what I'm about , he thought as he turned toward the fight. He was a man of God, a man of peace. He didn't fight in the streets. March in them, yes. But he didn't fight in them.

Then he saw the gleaming links of a doubled length of nickel-plated chain rise up over the squirming tangle of bodies. He charged. He grabbed the chain as it started to swing down, jerked its wielder around, and rammed a fist into his face.

God forgive me, but that felt good!

Then Jim was on his feet and they were back to back. There was an instant's respite in which he heard Jim's whisper.

"Carol's safe?"

"On her way."

I hope!

Then the gang charged again.

11

What am I going to do ? Carol thought as she fumbled in her purse for her keys.

What was better, go for help or back the car up to the fight and shine J. Carroll's headlamps on the scene? Maybe the bright lights and her leaning on the horn would scatter the rats.

The purse was suddenly snatched from her hands.

"I'll take that, babe."

Carol cried out in fright and turned to see a scraggly-haired youth standing beside her. There was enough light at this end of the block to make out the leer on his face beneath his dirty wool cap. She reached for the purse.

"Give that back to me!"

He dropped the purse on the hood of the car and grabbed her. In one rough move he twisted her around, swung an arm across her throat, and pulled her back against him. Through the coat she felt his hands slide over her breasts.

"This is gonna be fun!" he said. "Gonna fuck you three ways from Sunday, babe, and you're gonna love it!"

Carol struggled frantically against him, trying to kick back at his shins and twist free, but he was strong despite his frail appearance. He started to pull her between two of the cars.

"Babe, when I'm through with you you're gonna beg for more. You're gonna—"

Carol heard a dull thunk !, felt her captor jerk, then stiffen, then release her. She broke away and glanced back in time to see him topple face first to the pavement. In the faint light she could see that the top of his skull was caved in, and blood was beginning to soak through the cap.

Over the tops of the parked cars she saw a tall, dark figure gliding away toward the fight.

12

Jim struggled for air. He was pinned on his side. Someone had the chain wrapped around his throat and was pulling it tight while somebody, else was kicking him in the gut.

He knew he was going to die. He didn't have it anymore. The old black ferocity from his football days that would have sent punks like these running for their mothers was gone. When he needed it most, it was gone.

Where was Bill? Was he down too? He just hoped Carol got away. Maybe she could flag a black-and-white and get some help. Maybe…

He twisted violently. If only he could get some air! One breath and he could hold on a little longer. Just a puff—

Suddenly the chain around his throat went slack. He gulped air and looked up. The one who had been kicking him paused and looked past Jim. Just then something blurred in from the left and caught the punk on the side of the head with enough force to lift him clear off his feet.

Something warm and wet and lumpy splattered Jim. He didn't have to look to know it was brain tissue.

He twisted around and saw two more of the gang sprawled on the sidewalk behind him. One lay still; a length of chain rattled softly in the twitching grasp of the other.

He heard a meaty thunk ! and saw a tall, dark figure swing something against the head of one of the guys over Bill. The guy dropped into a boneless heap.

The last creep took off with the dark man chasing him.

Jim got up and staggered over to Bill.

"You okay?"

"My God!" Bill gasped. "What happened?"

" Jim !" Carol ran up and threw her arms around him. "Are you all right?"

"I think so. Bill? You there?"

Bill was on his feet, swaying. Jim couldn't make out his expression, but his voice shook as he spoke.

"I…I don't know. My stomach…"

He turned and staggered a few steps away, retching in the darkness. A moment later he returned.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, Bill. I may join you in a moment."

"Let's get moving before these guys come to and—"

"I think they're dead," Jim said.

He knelt and checked for a pulse in the throat of the nearest. He had no experience with this sort of thing, but he'd seen it done on TV. He found no pulse, but he did get a close look at the ruin of the guy's skull and his open, staring eyes.

He leapt to his feet.

"Let's get out of here!"

"Shouldn't we call the police?" Carol said.

"We will. From a pay phone somewhere. But I'm not hanging around to get blamed for this."

"But who did it? Who was that?"

Jim wasn't sure what it was, but there had been something disturbingly familiar about that dark figure.

"He helped me too," Carol said.

Jim felt spicules of ice run through his blood. " You ?"

"One of them grabbed me by the car. If the guy with the club hadn't—"

Jim pulled her close against him. If anything ever happened to Carol, he knew he'd go mad.

"Maybe one of us has a guardian angel, Carol."

"That was no angel," Bill said.

Jim was not inclined to argue.

"Let's get to the car."

13

Carol had managed to hold it in while Jim drove the three of them around in aimless circles, hold it through the violent shakes that had started as soon as she slipped into the front seat, through the cold chills that tremored through her despite the heater going full blast. But when Bill got out to call 911 at a phone booth they found at Houston and the Bowery, leaving her alone in the car with Jim, it all came out. Loud, deep, racking sobs burst from the deepest part of her.

"It's okay," Jim said, hugging her tight. "We're safe now."

"But we could have been killed!"

"I know. I'll never forgive myself for endangering you like that."