“Do you know how easy it was to overtake you?” Reid asked again, standing before him now with knife in hand. He handled the knife casually, even showed off with it by flipping it into the air end over end and snatching it firmly by the handle each time. “It was a simple matter. The trail makes a great curve over the last half-klick.” He swept his arm to encompass the woods to his right. “We simply cut across, pup; knowing you’d be slowing here at this tree.”
Eric looked up at his tormentor. Feel free to hide your fear and anger from your enemy, he recited inwardly, remembering what McLaren had taught him. But tell the truth about your feelings if it may help you defeat him. Above all, let him know the contempt you feel for him.
“Three of you, one of me,” he said, using every bit of self-discipline he possessed to make the words sound stronger than he actually felt. “Your years of knowledge and experience in the backwoods, against those of a stranger in these parts.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow and tried to make his voice sound as sarcastic as possible before adding, “It must have been very hard for you.”
Reid stared in disbelief, as did his companions, at the twelve-year-old who’d just dared to stand up to him. His smile vanished. “You should be taught,” he said, no longer flipping the knife, “not to speak with such disrespect to your elders.”
“My elders?” Eric replied, hoping the fear he was beginning to feel didn’t show in his voice. He forced a smile and looked directly at Reid. “My elders have more than fuzz on their faces.”
One of the other boys—Eric didn’t dare take his eyes off Reid to see which one—chuckled under his breath, and Reid cut him off with a sudden, icy stare. He turned back to Eric, approaching him with the knife. “Here’s something to think about, pup, next time you decide to spy on us.”
Eric wanted to tell them who he was, threaten them with the full might behind his family name, but something deep inside him made him want to see this through on his own. Besides, he realized, they’d probably never believe him anyway. Instead, he stood his ground, hands balled into tight fists at his side. Wait, wait for the moment, he thought. Wait until he is vulnerable—or until there is nothing left to lose.
Reid lightly ran the back of the blade against Eric’s neck and up under his chin, then inserted it—blade edge facing away from his skin—into the collar of Eric’s pullover shirt. He slid the knife downward, at an angle, easily slicing the fabric with the obviously razor-sharp edge. Once he’d reached the bottom of the shirt, he returned the knife briefly to Eric’s neck, then cut the shirt from his left shoulder down the length of the sleeve before repeating the procedure with the right sleeve. Eric stood motionless, staring straight into Reid’s eyes as his shirt fell away. The other two—Mobo and Paulie—laughed aloud as they watched. “Cut him!” Mobo cried again, then they both laughed even harder, urging Reid on.
The breeze played across Eric’s bare back and chest and he started to shiver, both from fear and from the chill wind. Wait… wait.
A sadistic grin beamed from Reid’s face as he stuck the knife into the waist of Eric’s pants. He sawed at the waistband and thin belt until they finally severed, chuckling as Eric’s shirt—which had been tucked into his pants—fell to the ground. Then he quickly ran the knife down the length of the right pants leg. He needed to cut only a few centimeters down the remaining leg before the pants fell away.
Reid laughed aloud and turned to receive the approving laughter of his companions.
In the brief moment his attention was drawn away Eric slapped as hard as he could at Reid’s outstretched hand, sending the knife flying into the scrub. The surprised boy turned back just in time to catch nearly the full force of Eric’s right elbow as he brought it up forcefully under his chin, causing him to stumble backward, momentarily dazed.
“Come on, bastards!” Eric crouched in a defensive stance when the other two pressed forward—none too surely, having seen what he had just done to Reid—and snapped sharply to each in turn, hands held in fighting position before him whenever either got too close. He knew he couldn’t outrun them, especially with the remnants of his pants still dangling from one leg, so he continued to stand his ground hoping to bluff them or, at the least, stall for time until he could think of something else.
Reid staggered to his feet, rubbing tenderly at his jaw, and laughed softly. Eric noticed, however, that he stayed just outside arms’ reach even as he seemed to grasp control of his situation.
“Look at this!” he shouted to his friends, pointing. “I do think we’ve been attacked by a naked man-child.” Reid turned and roared in amusement, with the other two quickly joining in the derisive laughter.
Eric let his guard down slightly, taken aback by what Reid was saying. He looked down at himself, naked but for his boots, underwear and the remains of the unsevered portion of his pants hanging in tatters from his left leg, and admitted inwardly just how ridiculous he must have appeared. The reflection took only a moment, but it was enough time for Reid to swing around with his leg, kicking him squarely in the ribs.
His chest felt like it was exploding as he twisted around with the force of the blow and crumpled facedown on the path. Reid was immediately on top of him, forcing the breath out of his lungs. The older boy grabbed his wrists and held them flat against the ground, while at the same time forcing a knee into his back, pinning him helplessly. His ribs ached and Reid’s knee in his back hurt like hell, but the pain couldn’t match the shame he felt at ignoring his training and letting himself be taken by surprise in this manner. He was glad McLaren was not here now—much less his father—to see how he had failed one of the most basic lessons of self-defense.
“What say you now, pup?” Reid spat, thoroughly enjoying the humiliation he was inflicting. He pulled Eric’s wrists backward, pinning them behind his back. Each time he spoke, he twisted his aims higher and higher behind him until Eric thought they might snap. The weight of the knee in his back was so great that Eric could barely draw a breath and he felt himself dizzying; if he couldn’t get up soon, he’d surely pass out. “Perhaps this will teach you something more important than respect.” He stood up abruptly, and Eric felt a moment’s relief spread through his aching limbs.
Reid took the whip from his belt, then played it out and snapped it loudly over his head. “Perhaps this will teach you the meaning of territory.” He nodded sharply at his companions, then flicked the whip back and forth as they tied Eric’s wrists around the nearest tree.
Eric hung helplessly from the tree, the bark rough against his bare chest, and waited for the whip to strike. He heard them laughing behind him, enjoying every minute of the torment, and tried, unsuccessfully, to look over his shoulder to where Reid stood. There was another sharp crack! of the whip and Eric jumped, certain that the next time the whip lashed out would be against his bare back. Crack! Again Reid chose not to strike him, and Eric realized what he was doing: More than causing direct pain with the whip itself, Reid wanted to frighten him, terrify him so deeply that he would beg to prevent the inevitable beating. But that was the key, Eric knew. The beating was inevitable, but there was no need to give Reid the satisfaction of knowing he was beaten. Hide your fear, hide your anger; but show your contempt.