Wareagle had stopped the elevator two floors down. The automated pulley system shut down, he had hoisted himself up the rest of the way manually to keep Abraham from hearing his approach. He had watched helplessly as the Wakinyan yanked the steel cable free of the pulley on the platform’s left side and lunged to grab hold of it at the last moment to keep from falling himself.
The move met his expectations. The results exceeded them.
The burden of the platform’s entire weight forced the attached right cable into a grinding downward slide, the momentum of which drove the loosened left cable straight upward. Johnny felt himself launched like a rocket and drew his legs inward. As soon as Abraham’s frame flashed before him, he kicked out, throwing himself forward through the air. The move carried him over the edge and head-on into Abraham.
Impact between the two giants was stunning. Equally stunning was the fact that both gave only slightly. Abraham grabbed hold of a support beam to steady himself; Wareagle lowered himself to a crouch to lock home his balance. Then he rose to the full breadth of his seven feet and squared off against his foe. Johnny knew a gun might have finished the job quicker, but a gun was not a weapon his ancestors knew; if they were to help him here today, he would have to fight on terms they would understand. Against Abraham, he’d choose his ancestors over a clip of shells any day.
The steel girders that created a checkerboard effect of open air fifty stories high severely limited mobility. They were on the same girder briefly; then Wareagle leaped to the adjacent one and faced Abraham on a diagonal. Abraham’s eyes darted sideways and he leapfrogged away from Johnny. At first it looked as if he were retreating, but then he stooped to pick up a six foot steel rod used to fasten the girders together.
He had barely grasped it when he was airborne again, this time skipping a girder entirely and landing on the one next to Wareagle’s, the rod already coming overhead. Wareagle dodged the blow and lashed out with a dangerous kick for Abraham’s left wrist. But the Wakinyan let go of the steel rod with his left hand, so Johnny’s foot struck only steel. Abraham took advantage of the moment by swinging the rod sideways, aiming for Johnny’s planted leg, but the big Indian jumped deftly into the air, the rod passing harmlessly beneath him.
Abraham kept the heavy steel’s momentum going in the same direction by rerouting its force into a baseball-like swing directed higher, for the ribs. Wareagle ducked under this blow and jumped backward, to the next girder, as yet another swing whistled for him. The Wakinyan came after him, but Johnny’s eyes had spotted a stray piece of chain generally used to fasten the girders together. He gambled and dipped to grasp it; the gamble paid off when he managed to bring the chain upward in time to deflect the blow.
Abraham went for a straight thrust with the steel rod next, reaching across the open space separating the girders. Johnny whipped the chain in a downward snapping motion and forced it aside. Abraham came around fast for another overhead blow, and this Wareagle blocked by stretching the upraised chain taut between his hands. The Wakinyan responded by switching his strike to an uppercut, but again Johnny was equal to the task. He used the chain to parry the thrust, then forced the steel rod downward. This latest strike left the right side of Abraham’s head exposed, and Johnny used the opening to lash his chain against the Wakinyan’s face.
The blow mashed Abraham’s flesh. He grunted in pain as blood spurted upward, some spraying into his right eye. He sensed the next blow coming in time to snap his steel rod upward, in a diagonal line in front of him. The chain clanged home, and Abraham used the higher end of the rod to jab at the Indian’s ribs. He felt a bone crack under the blow and brought the rod around for what should have been a killing strike to the head.
Instead, Johnny locked his hands on the steel bar that the Wakinyan controlled. Using it as a pivot point, he hurdled across the space between girders and joined Abraham on his. They grappled, each trying to shove the other over the edge with brute force, neither about to relinquish their hold on the rod. But Johnny still held on to the chain with two fingers, a fact that was clear to him, though not necessarily Abraham. The next time the Wakinyan thrust forward against the steel they jointly held, Johnny let him complete the move, ducking down and coming up behind him. Before Abraham could respond, Johnny had wrapped the chain around his throat from the rear. He pulled his hands across each other, fighting against the incredible strength of the Wakinyan’s neck muscles.
Abraham pummeled Johnny’s broken rib with a series of elbow blows. The Indian winced and bit his lip, but did not release his death grip. Abraham flailed desperately with the steel rod, his blows finding nothing. His eyes dipped downward and saw Johnny’s boot next to his shoe. With the last effort of strength he could manage, the Wakinyan slammed the rod down toward the boot, then let go of it.
Johnny howled in agony at the impact. His grip on the chain slackened enough for Abraham to pry his hands up between his flesh and the chain. He yanked powerfully and dipped his shoulder at the same time. Wareagle flew up and over him, coming down hard enough to shake the steel girder they shared. They both had hold of the chain now, and the Wakinyan leaned over to yank it from Johnny’s hand. Wareagle’s response was to launch a kick behind him that caught Abraham square in the chin. He reeled backward and slammed against a steel support beam.
Johnny turned around and tried to get up again. By the time he had started to rise, though, the steel rod was back in Abraham’s hands and whipping around. The blow caught Wareagle in the hip and buttocks and pitched him sideways off the girder. The force of the blow was potent enough to drive Johnny all the way to the next girder over; he managed to grab a desperate hold of the steel rim, saving himself from falling all the way down. Abraham leaped on the girder after him and began slamming the rod down in the direction of the Indian’s hands. Johnny jammed his fingers into a precariously small groove cut in the girder and began to shimmy across it.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
Abraham’s blows were preceded by wails now, as Johnny swayed back and forth fifty stories up. He had only one chance left. Abraham had dropped to his knees, one hand holding the girder for support while he used the other to lash Johnny with the steel rod. Wareagle let go with his right hand and relied only on his left to hold him there dangling, while his right slid into his belt and withdrew the hunting knife that had been passed down through his family for generations. It was bulky and poorly weighted compared to the Gerber MKII he was used to, but it had worked for his ancestors, and that was good enough for him. The palm Abraham was using to support himself was visible through a slight crack in the girder, and Johnny jammed the blade upward.
Abraham’s wail turned into a scream of utter agony as the blade cut all the way through his palm and hand and emerged coated with blood and gristle. The incredible force of the blow had actually wedged the sides of the knife into the steel of the girder. Abraham yanked his mutilated hand up off the blade with a cry that bubbled in Johnny’s ears and heaved himself backward.
Wareagle seized the moment to swing himself back up on the girder. When he regained it, ready to spring, Abraham, leaning uneasily against a support beam, grasped something black in his hand.
“You’ve failed,” the Wakinyan said calmly, the presidential motorcade moving ever closer to his mark. “You’ve failed.”
Johnny froze. He could see that Abraham was holding a detonator in his hand, and that if he lunged for him it would activate. The Wakinyan was smiling, his eyes on the approaching motorcade.