The Paladin raised his hand and pointed a Taser at him.
“Let’s party,” said Nick.
With five minutes left, Will crested the last hill and Lake Waukoma came into view. Veering inland to avoid the shore, he ran under the cover of the tree line, and soon the boathouse appeared. He slowed and his legs sank into the snow as he closed to within fifty yards.
As Will had expected, there were sentries on either side of the shoreside front door. They patrolled a porch that ran along either side of the building to the waterline. Will took out the binoculars Ajay had given him and focused on them.
The one-eyed Pirate and the Pigtailed Girl were guarding the door. Too cold for their oddball hats, they wore black woolen watch caps pulled tight around the tops of their masks.
Will checked the time: less than two minutes. His walkie-talkie clicked on and he heard Nick: “Chuck Norris to Base. They bought it. I’m headed for a Barn dance. Going in. Over.”
They’d all be focused on Nick now, for a short while anyway. Will scurried toward the boathouse, then crept down a slope that angled to the shore—the side where they wouldn’t expect anyone to approach from: the water.
The snow hadn’t yet collected under the eaves by the big lakeside doors. The doors were padlocked on the outside but ended just above the waterline. When he leaned down and looked under them, Will could see hulls of boats in their slips bobbing gently.
Will clicked on his walkie-talkie and spoke softly: “Base to Chuck: In position. Two masks on the door. Go, dawg.”
Will peered around the corner and saw a side door.
“Get him!” shouted the Paladin.
All six masked figures ran toward Nick, shouting and raising their batons. The Paladin fired the Taser but Nick was ready for it. He leaned back, arching all the way down until his right hand found the floor, and felt the three darts pass just under his chin. The Paladin dropped the Taser and bolted for the door.
Nick pushed back up and twirled around. He snaked out the length of rope and whipped the handle around the knee of the nearest mask: the Wild Boar, charging at him, as enraged as its namesake. Nick yanked hard and pulled his leg out from under him. The Boar flipped a full 360 in the air, and crash-landed.
Nick dodged the first blow from a baton, turned, and smashed a hard straight right into the face of the Jack-o’-Lantern. His fat pumpkin head imploded; Nick felt the contact points of Ajay’s knuckle-duster connect with his face and pushed the button on the bend of the knuckles with his thumb. A burst of forty thousand volts shot through the guy, with a sound like a vulture hitting a gigantic bug zapper.
Pumpkinhead went down and out.
Nick pivoted to narrowly avoid another blow, but a second baton came in from an awkward angle and cracked him above the left hip. That whole side of his torso went numb. He ignored the pain, whipped the rope back out, and snaked it around the neck of the Horse. The Horse dropped his baton as his hands flew to his throat. Nick reeled him into a head-butt that flattened his long equine nose, then unspooled him toward the Boar, just getting back to his feet, knocking them both to the ground.
Nick heard a whoosh and dropped as a baton sailed past his ear. He rolled to avoid another that skipped off the ground, but a third baton smashed him square flush just below the right knee.
In a minute that is really going to hurt.
He sprang off the ground, landed on the balls of his feet, coiled, and hopped straight into the air as the Clown ran under him. As he came down, Nick twisted his legs around the Clown’s neck. He gripped hard with his thighs and punched him five times on top of the head with the knuckle-duster. Fast, like a hammer pounding in a nail. On the final punch Nick pushed off, lifted straight above him, and pushed the button on the knuckles. The Clown crumpled as the current blasted him, out cold before he reached the ground.
Nick half twisted and landed on his feet. A painful throb shot through his knee, and he nearly collapsed. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the Boar rushing at him again, aiming low. Nick spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to the Boar’s jaw that put him down and out.
The last two, the Devil and Fox, stood nearby, panting with exertion. They looked at their four friends, out cold on the ground, then at each other, and turned to run.
Nick flung the jump rope at them like a bolo. It snared them both around the ankles and sent them flying. Nick backflipped toward them and slammed them into the ground with a foot in each back, knocking out what was left of their wind. They turned, gasping for air, and saw twin fists descending toward their masks.
Nick stood up, looked around at the carnage, took a deep breath, and couldn’t resist a little breathless commentary into an imaginary mic: “Hope you enjoyed our main event here at Laughton Field House today. Another impressive outing in the steel cage grudge match for this outstanding young talent. Nick McLeish six … masks nothing.”
Nick tested his throbbing right knee; it was his only serious injury, but he could already feel it swelling. He’d have a doorknob there soon unless he got ice on it. He hobbled over to pick up his rope and parka. He took a handful of plastic garbage bag ties from the pocket, ready to hog-tie the six losers and rip their masks off.
When he heard heavy footsteps nearby, Nick looked up and was surprised to see the Paladin standing in the shadows of the aisle leading back to the front doors.
“Really, Lyle?” asked Nick. “You decided to stick around after watching your boys get schooled? Now I know you’re crazy.”
Nick started toward him. The Paladin stepped into the light and Nick realized it wasn’t Lyle. Lyle was nowhere near seven feet tall, and Lyle didn’t clank when he walked like he weighed two thousand pounds and was made of bronze.
“Farting rabbits,” said Nick.
Nick stopped but the Paladin kept coming. It lowered its head, raised its sword and hatchet, and stomped across the running track, caving in planks with every step.
“No way,” said Nick. “No freakin’ way.”
Nick retreated to a rack of track-and-field equipment. He grabbed a javelin, turned, and hurled it at the Paladin. The spear flew straight and true but clanked harmlessly off the Paladin’s chest. The Paladin kept coming. Nick whipped two discuses at him; they shattered on his shoulders like clay skeets. Nick picked up a hammer and chain, whipped it around in a tight circle, and let it fly.
The hammer arced down and caught the Paladin flush in the head with a hollow boom. The Paladin froze. “How’d that taste?” said Nick.
The Paladin shook its head once. Twice. Then continued toward him.
“Okay, dude, that’s just not fair,” said Nick.
Nick picked up a vaulting pole and ran in the other direction, his injured knee making him gimpier with every stride. As he neared the seats, he planted, pulled back on the pole, rose into the air, and cleared the grandstand. At the top of his arc, he let go of the pole and sailed toward the basketball court. He tried to tuck and roll but his injured leg buckled on impact. When Nick stood back up, his knee refused to take any weight. He hopped across the court, dragging his injured leg behind him.
He heard the Paladin crash into the grandstand he’d just cleared, hacking and slashing through a mass of wood and metal stanchions. Nick fumbled out the walkie-talkie:
“Yo, Chuck Norris to Base,” said Nick. “Six masks down, but the Paladin flew the coop. Could be headed your way. But, uh, there’s another Paladin here? Only this time—and, dude, I know how freaky this sounds—it really is the statue.”
No response. Sword and hatchet whirling like thresher blades, the Paladin broke through into Nick’s side of the stands. The Paladin spotted Nick and headed toward him, steel boots leaving cracked footprints in the hardwood court.
“Uh, over,” said Nick.