Dead Water Zone - Kenneth Oppel [19]
“Don’t do this, Sked,” Monica warned him. “Remember last time?”
Sked lunged for her as the other two came crashing in on Paul. His fists flew out, driving them back. In his sudden explosion of adrenaline, he felt like a machine: steel tendons, spring-loaded muscles, iron limbs smashing forward like pistons.
He watched Monica weave around Sked, avoiding his outstretched hands. Paul tried to get over to her, but the boys were blocking his way. They surged forward together, grabbing hold of his shoulders, kicking at his kneecaps, and slammed him to the planking. He twisted over onto his side, legs instinctively pulled up.
“Where’s your brother?” they shouted at him. “Where is he?”
For just an instant he was Sam, pinned on the ground, Randy Smith’s spit smeared across his face. So this was what it was like. Not the pain but the humiliation.
He intercepted a boot aimed at his ribs, locking his hands around the ankle and pulling with all his weight. The kid kicked frantically, arms flailing for balance, and toppled. Paul scrambled to his feet. Where’s your brother? Where’s your brother? He took a punch in the face—no pain, only a moment of blackness, and he felt a wet trickle in his nose. He lashed out again, the staccato pounding of his heart in his ears. They couldn’t do this to him. But they had him in a headlock, gasping for breath.
“Where’s your brother, you rich City wimp?”
Through the tangle of limbs, Paul saw that Monica had Sked’s arm pinned against his back in a painful hold.
“You want me to let go?” she panted in Sked’s ear. “Tell your high-fashion friends to let him go, or I’ll break it for you.”
“Try it,” Sked breathed, his face ashen. Monica adjusted her grip on Sked’s arm and he suddenly winced. “Let him go!”
Paul shrugged his way out of the headlock and moved past the two spider boys warily. Still holding Sked’s arm in a pincer grip, Monica followed after him along the jetty.
“Don’t move,” Monica called back to the two boys, “or you can figure out how to sew his arm back on.”
They were clawing at Sked’s cash, crushing it into their pockets. The jetty opened out on one side, revealing discolored water licking around the pilings. Monica brought Sked up short.
“Not much fun, was it?” she said.
“Yeah, sure, maybe if I had what you all had—”
“Shut up,” Monica said sharply. “Tell us what you know.”
“Up yours.”
Monica encouraged him with a slight rotation of his arm.
“They asked me if I’d seen this kid, your brother.” He jerked his head at Paul.
“When?” asked Paul.
“A while ago, I don’t know. They show me a photo. You’re in it, too. I go, No, I ain’t seen him. But I might get around to it. How much is it worth to you? And he says, Lots. Do I look rich? I need that cash. So he gives me some. Tells me to find out where your brother is, fast, and I’d get twice as much again.”
“Why are they looking for him?”
“You tell me!” Another grunt of pain. “They didn’t say, right? They didn’t tell me nothing else. I saw you, thought you’d know.”
Paul noticed that Sked’s two friends were edging forward along the jetty. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Yeah, why don’t you,” Sked snorted, twisting his head around to look at Monica. “You’re running out of time. Freaks like you can’t last forever, right?”
Monica gave him a shove that sent him over the edge of the jetty.
“Run!” she shouted.
Paul bolted after Monica, through the maze of floating alleys, ducking beneath lines of laundry, soaring over gaps in rotted planking. He was pushing to keep up; his lungs began burning. He was grateful when she began to slack off, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they’d lost Sked’s friends. He staggered to a standstill, hands on hips, breathing hard.
“Your nose is still bleeding.”
He grunted and pinched his nostrils. He could feel the bruises on his body. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
She shrugged. “Pretty standard stuff. It only works on Sked because he’s so stupid.”
“I don’t get it. I mean, I’m getting the crap knocked out of me, and you just twist Sked’s arm—game over!