There was no more time. His end was coming. It was well past fight or flight; the fight in him was gone, and flight wouldn’t save him in the end. Something flared to life in his memory, and he saw a mangled body crashing down onto his own table as he sat eating a tender steak. Was this the new loop?
He gritted his teeth and brought his left arm up to tap the transporting node of his watch against the overhanging lip of the table. Agony slowed his progress, but he knew he had to give the warning, even though it would be his dying breath that sounded the alarm. It gave him some comfort that the meteorite would be saved, but the doctor had yet to finish his work. Which meant that his Other had to start this all over again.
Gernot was in so much pain that he wondered if he’d even be able to make this work. But of course he could. He’d already done it once before, hadn’t he? He cursed himself for not traveling sooner. His arm shook as he brought it into position, then let it drop.
The node clicked.
There was a sudden whirling in the air, followed by a sucking noise and a violent crack as the floor beneath him was ripped from its foundation where he lay with the table at his back. A portion of the table splintered and shredded as it was pulled with him back in time — to a small kitchenette where his Other sat enjoying a succulent steak, oblivious to what was about to come hurtling down in front of him.
41
The Sword in the Bone
Wakizashi blades flew in a rapid pattern, slicing the air inches in front of Blake’s face, torso, and arms. He jumped back as an attack barely missed his right thigh. Shit! That was close!
The Japanese man’s conditioning seemed to be infinite. Blake’s body had been through too much in the past few days, and he felt his reserves depleting.
In his left periphery, he saw the frail doctor being knocked way from Gernot. There was a loud sonic boom-like crack that threatened deafness. Blake didn’t have time to check his ears for blood, but both he and Satoshi stopped and stared at the cloud of smoke, wood splinters, and dust where Gernot had been seconds ago. A large crater was left in the concrete, caved in like a giant footprint in the snow.
Son of a bitch! He was gone.
Satoshi shot forward again, angry eyes reflecting madness in the fiery room.
Dodge. Shift footing. Change positioning. Alter between defensive and offensive stances. His years of martial arts training were paying back with huge dividends, for he’d have surely been dead by now.
Blake parried the next blade attack that came from Satoshi’s left hand, and the man followed through with the spin of his momentum, bringing around the butt end of the short sword held in his right. Training apparently wasn’t all the Asian man received — this was his lifestyle.
But this attack had been wild, and Blake avoided the strike with ease. This gave him time to see Satoshi’s overhead slash with the left blade as he finished the three-sixty spin. Blake rolled underneath the spin, but it wasn’t enough and he felt the sting of hot pain as his calf was clipped.
The cut was deep. A spasm exploded through his leg and caused him to stumble as he came to his feet. He grabbed for the edge of a nearby lab table and pulled himself up. He glanced down at the injury and saw that his black pants hid the true extent of damage and amount of blood pouring from the wound. His newly acquired limp would tell Satoshi a different story.
This could be it for me.
Satoshi noticed Blake steadying himself with the table and took the opportunity to surge forward, striking out with another flurry of his blades. One came in with a high arc, and Blake pushed off the table, launching himself forward.
The blade in Satoshi’s other hand was positioned harmlessly backward. Blake used this to his advantage, bringing his forearm up to block the man’s arm as it descended, then caught his wrist and wrenched it beyond its normal pivot. The Asian’s fingers flexed open in response and the short sword clattered to the floor.
This made Blake’s odds better. Still, they needed to be evened out more. He dove for the wakizashi, but Satoshi read his thoughts, kicking the blade beyond reach and whipping into another spin. It was uncanny how the fighter managed to maneuver with such speed. Satoshi came around with the left-handed wakizashi, going for Blake’s midsection.
Blake sidestepped as best he could given his injury, and collided with the lab table he’d grabbed onto earlier. Now he was cornered, and Satoshi rushed in for the kill. Blake knew throwing a kick of any kind would be useless; his injured leg wouldn’t support his weight, and if he used it as the lead it would do little more than flop through the air ineffectually. A punch was now the only weapon he had.
He tossed out his left arm, but Satoshi’s sparring mind must have seen the volley coming. The man caught Blake’s arm by the wrist with his right hand, and brought up the wakizashi with his left, closing the distance between them.
Time seemed to slow. Blake felt a pin prick in his left forearm. Then it transformed into a mountain of pain as his skin ripped open, splaying apart like a tomato. His fingers numbed, but he felt his arm being thrust back. Agony shot through his body as the blade created an exit wound, severing nerve endings along its way.
There was another jolt on his arm. Blake grunted, barely able to breathe. Then the Japanese man came face to face with him, muttering something in his native tongue. Blake felt Satoshi’s hot breath on his face and dimly registered that the man wasn’t even out of breath, despite his exertion moments before. Satoshi walked away, still vocalizing his displeasure in broken snatches of sound. Blake clutched at his throbbing arm and saw that it had been firmly staked to the table top.
He was running out of options and everything hurt. He’d lost a lot of blood, and the intense throbbing in his arm threatened to put him into shock. The Asian spat out a few more incomprehensible words — probably something along the lines of, “You took Gernot’s arm, so I will take yours — then your life!”
The man bent to pick up the sword and spun it masterfully in his hand. Jesus, it seemed like a lifetime ago he’d knocked that blade from Satoshi’s grip.
Blake couldn’t move; he was easy prey. All he could think was — Maybe I haven’t failed completely. Maybe something in the future will be changed just because of this encounter. But that was a foolish notion.
In desperation, he pulled on the blade that affixed him to the table’s surface. It wouldn’t budge, and all he accomplished was sending another jolt of agony through his body. He wasn’t going anywhere.
He glanced over at Satoshi. The man was walking back for him, but taking his time like some Halloween horror movie — Michael Meyers methodically stalking his next victim. Blake turned, giving his back to the predator and gripped his left wrist with his right hand, trying to pry it free.
His fruitless efforts rewarded him with another brutal cascade of pain as his arm raked up and down the length of the exposed blade. He felt himself beginning to pass out but managed to blink away the encroaching blackness. He glanced back at Satoshi, who was now less than ten feet away. There were no options left.
It’s over; Satoshi has won.
Still, something inside wouldn’t let him give up. He’d resist death until the end. As Blake held on to his injured wrist, he pulled down as hard as he could, putting his full weight behind the movement.
The pain was white hot, immediate. Nausea washed over him, temporarily removing his fear of being skewered through the back. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep pulling. There was a harsh snap as the radius in his arm broke, sending new shockwaves through his pulsing nerves. In the far depths of his mind, Blake noted that it would have been easier to break the ulna, but the sharp side of the blade was facing the wall, and he didn’t have that choice. With the impediment of bone now gone, the remaining bit of flesh was sliced clean through.