World on Edge: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (World on Edge Book 1) by Chris Pike (top ten ebook reader TXT) 📗

he backed down now he’d lose respect he had weaseled his way into, and no way would he let this gringo take away his respect.

Without warning or indication, Miguel struck at Ethan, who blocked the swing. Ethan pivoted and swung his fist up toward the guy’s chin, making a solid strike. The leader’s head snapped back and he stumbled. Gaining traction, he lowered his head and charged Ethan like a bull would a red cape. Ethan looped his arm around the guy’s neck and held him in a choke hold, reminiscent of when a famous aging and future Hall of Famer National Baseball League pitcher put a much younger opponent in a headlock, punching his head, proving age was only a number.

The other two rushed Ethan.

Ethan took one of them down with a well-placed kick to the stomach. The guy grunted and fell to the floor. He clutched his stomach and writhed around, his legs flailing and kicking air.

The third guy stopped in his tracks and swiveled his eyes from Miguel to Tomas. His mind worked quickly to assess the situation, and didn’t take him long to make a decision. “I’m outta here.” Like a coward, he took off running in the other direction.

Bent at the waist and struggling against the headlock Ethan had on him, Miguel reached into his back pocket. He withdrew a switchblade and flicked it open.

“Watch out!” Kinsey screamed. “He has a knife!”

Ethan was angry that he did not have his knife. Under normal conditions, each pilot would have a survival kit that included a knife and a PDW (Personal Defense Weapon) in case the pilot had to eject in hostile territory. Since today’s “mission” was public relations, the higher ups decided that all weaponry would be removed from the aircraft to protect the civilians and the reporters running around the area.

Lacking an alternative, Ethan flung Miguel away from him, and the smaller man lost his balance, hit the floor, and rolled once.

Ethan readied himself for a knife attack and swung his backpack in front of him.

With the insanity of a madman and with his chest heaving, Miguel held the switchblade in front of him, tossing it from hand to hand for show. “I’m gonna cut you.”

Ethan’s training kicked in and he took the stance of a fighter. Ethan could hear his SERE (Survival Evasion Resistance Escape) trainer’s voice telling him, “You’re going to get cut in a knife fight. Expect it, so relax and focus on the location of the blade. You can be hurt by a kick or a punch, but a knife blade in the right place can take you completely out of the fight. Make sure the blade does not reach a vital spot, even if you have to sacrifice a limb.” Those abstract concepts were now becoming very real to Ethan.

Before Miguel could charge him, Ethan swung his backpack around his shoulder and thrust his left arm deep into the center interior of the pack, grabbing the interior’s bottom tightly with his fist. His left forearm was now surrounded by 360 degrees of 1000 denier Cordura nylon fabric that would help reduce the effect of any slashing technique. Straight in thrusts could penetrate Ethan’s backpack/shield, so he would have to stay alert and be ready to parry any stabbing attacks.

Miguel opened with a slash to the left and a backslash to the right, hitting Ethan’s left forearm with both strokes. Frustrated by the lack of anguish on Ethan’s face, Miguel thrust full speed toward Ethan’s middle with a series of stabs, looking very much like a sewing machine creating a buttonhole.

Ethan was a bit slow and felt two of the stabs penetrate into his left forearm. He cursed himself for slowing down with age, gritted his teeth, and pushed Miguel’s knife hand downward with his right arm. He threw a haymaker punch with his heavy backpack encased arm right at Miguel’s head. The full strength punch made an audible sound as it impacted Miguel’s cheekbone.

Either Miguel was on drugs or his adrenaline had redlined to the point he didn’t feel any pain because the heavy blow didn’t faze him. Anger flashed in Miguel’s eyes and he thrust the switchblade towards Ethan’s stomach.

Ethan curled inward and jumped back as the switchblade sliced through the air, missing his belly by millimeters.

Seeing his chance, he went on the offensive and rushed Miguel, who was off balance after the full extension knife thrust. Ethan trapped Miguel’s knife hand by looping his left arm around Miguel’s right arm, setting off a vicious ground fight. Both men struggled. Both men’s faces were bloody in seconds.

Beads of sweat trickled down Ethan’s forehead, onto his brows, then dripped through his eyelashes, momentarily stinging his eyes.

Rolling left, then right, back and forth, each man tried to pin the other in preparation for the finishing blow. The men were facing each other when Miguel looped his foot around Ethan’s ankle and anchored Ethan beneath him. Miguel struggled to free his knife hand as he used the other to strangle Ethan. Ethan could feel himself weakening from the lack of oxygen.

Kinsey screamed, frantically searching for a weapon. Anything to help Ethan.

The hammer! He must have forgotten about it.

As Ethan struggled with Miguel on the floor, Kinsey waited for her chance. When the men stopped swaying for a moment of rest, Kinsey reached in to remove the hammer from Ethan’s belt. She held the hammer high over her head, gripping it tightly in her right hand. Using all her strength she swung the hammer down on Miguel’s head like she was swinging an axe on a log.

The blow stunned Miguel, yet was not enough to get him to release the switchblade.

Kinsey struck him again, again, and again, until Miguel’s hands fell to the side. His body spasmed, his legs stiffened, his hands twitched, and he slid to the ground.