Chapter 8
Within five minutes of the first sound of combat, the noise grew so loud, so intense, and was intermingled with so many shouts and calls, screams, yells, and the sound of motors and men, that Darcy could not bear to remain in concealment at the deserted boat house another minute.
She pushed away from where she had been sitting on the cool sand. She went to the entrance of the boat house, paused, took another few steps, then stopped and looked around. There was no one in her immediate vicinity. She looked toward the bonfire and saw flashes of bodies grappling and the gleam of chrome from dozens of motorcycles and Hondas. It was toward these that she carefully made her way, still nude, her body swaying a bit, her breasts very heavy. She bent over in a crouch in order to take advantage of the sand dunes as she passed them. The sound of battle grew louder, nearly blistered her ears by the time she attained a close view of the fight from around the edge of a small dune. As soon as she reached it, she fell forward, knees to ground first, belly cuddling the sand as she fell, using her elbows for support. She looked around the edge of the sand dune, then raised brazenly to view all that was happening.
It took several long seconds for Darcy's eyes to adjust to the flames of the fire and to the rapid action. But when they did adjust, she viewed a combat that would do justice to the Green Berets. By twos, threes, and fours, boys wrestled, boxed, slugged, used tire irons on each other and flashed the gleaming edges of knifes. Darcy recognized many of the boys. She saw Rod Baker making a real account of himself-one she had not considered him capable of performing-against two of the Devil Cats. When one of the Cats achieved a hold upon Rod's arms and pinned them behind his back as the other Cat approached to place a well-aimed kick at Rod's groin, he shifted his weight, flung the behind-Cat over his shoulder, then timed a crashing uppercut to the attacking Devil Cat's throat. The cat clutched his neck, gurgled, then fell face forward in a direction exactly opposite to that of his mate, who had landed on his back after sailing briefly through the air. Quickly, Rod looked around for a new enemy. He found him a dozen paces away. He ran, then leaped to the new assault.
Darcy turned from Rod Baker and darted her eyes through the crowd looking for Zip. When she saw him, she could not prevent the scream from escaping her lips.
Zip was on his back, flat on the sand. A large rock had just nicked at his forehead, and he had drawn his arm across it as a large man in front of him descended with a knife, poised ready to make its mark.
Darcy screamed again as the knife started its downward plunge. But just as it appeared that it would surely find its mark someplace amid Zip's chest, he rolled to the side and the knife sliced harmlessly into sand. Zip was on his feet before his attacker pushed to a sitting position. Zip leaped through the air, landed upon the big man and pressured him to his back. Zip's fists flayed wildly. Darcy heard the clip of broken teeth and the crunch of cheekbones crushing. And then the man was quiet, on his back, and permanently out of action.
A sigh of relief escaped Darcy's lips, but before it was complete, and long before she moved to draw a new breath, Zip was besieged by two fierce-looking men. She had never seen them before, and it flashed to Darcy's mind that the men were strangers perhaps professional toughs who had in some way, and for some reason, joined the Honda group for their fight against the Devil Cats.
Zipper backed up as the two men approached. Each of them carried a tire iron. The irons were raised and ready. Slowly, they moved toward Zip as he moved backwards, looking at the ground from side to side as if seeking some weapon he could use. There was nothing. Only the flat sand of the beach. Then men moved apart, each on one side of Zip, the tire irons raised higher as they started to move in on the Devil Cat leader. Zip looked from left to right, constantly left to right, keeping both of the men in view as he brought his hands before him in a position of readiness. Then, with the speed of light, it seemed, the man on Zip's right lunged forward and made a swipe with the tire iron. Zip easily side-stepped its descent, but the action had been one of feint, a movement that had been made only so that Zip would lose sight of the man on his left. And that man had raised the tire iron high and was starting to crash it downward even as Zip turned, too late to prevent the crushing of his skull.
Again, even though she knew that it could not be heard above the din of battle, Darcy screamed. And then she gasped as a dark form seemed to fly out of nowhere and clip the enemy to the ground with a vicious football block. When the bodies disentangled, Darcy saw that it had been Ham who had saved Zip from violent injury. He raised quickly, then crashed his big black fist into the man's face, sending him reeling backwards, bleeding torrents from his face even before he landed on the ground. And then Ham turned and saw himself saved from the other enemy's crashing tire iron as Zip leaped upon the man's back, wrested the iron from him, then laced his hands around the throat and throttled him to unconsciousness upon the ground.
Darcy breathed again as Ham and Zip stood straight, grinned at each other, then hurried to do battle with the other intruders.
The battle raged. Zip and Ham fell out of sight as they both exchanged frantic blows with three large men. For a moment they stood on the very last edge of light offered by the bonfire. Then they were out of sight and Darcy knew the greatest anxiety of her young life. There were only shadows where the three men had disappeared. She wondered who would emerge victorious. Then she thought, Zip, Zip, Zip-it has to be Zip.
Darcy was still looking at the black spot where Zip, Ham, and their three enemies had disappeared when her attention was diverted by a new sound-one that was foreign to all the other sounds of fighting. She looked to her right and saw new lights descending down the hill. Then she saw that it was a long, sleek car. A hint of something familiar tugged at her mind and teased for recognition. But it did not come until the big car braked upon the flat stretch of beach less than fifty feet from Darcy's sand dune fortress. Then, even before he stepped from the car, she knew that it was Kenneth Masters who had arrived at the scene of battle.
Darcy gasped. Involuntarily, her hand flew to her mouth, made a fist and squeezed against her lips. Her eyes bugged when she saw Masters step from the car, straighten, then slowly look at the battle as if he were a general arriving at the scene of victory at precisely the right time. Darcy had a lightning memory of herself with Masters. She felt embarrassed because of that memory. She brought her arm in front of her, hiding her breasts, although she knew that the assistant principal of Sanford High School had not yet seen her.
Masters looked in the rear of his car, appeared to be talking to someone, then turned and again viewed the battle. Darcy glanced once more around the milling, brawling boys and men. Zip Hardy was no place to be seen. Darcy's eyes traveled to that place where she had last seen him. Still, there was only darkness. Her heart sank. She felt sick at the pit of her stomach. And even her breasts seemed to bow as if they paid homage to a love that was lost before it had started.
It was a long time before Darcy moved her eyes from that last scene of Zip, with Ham, fighting against odds and disappearing into the darkness. And because she had given up interest in everything except Zip and his hoped-for reappearance, it seemed like another entirely different night when she finally turned her eyes away and glanced to her right.
First, she saw what appeared to be two clothed, tall, dark-formed stilts. Then she lifted her eyes and stared from legs into Kenneth Master's smiling face.
"Hello, my dear," he said softly.
Darcy recoiled. She jumped back a pace and stumbled when her knees and feet became entangled, when they went wishy-washy at the sight of the big, handsome man. She fell with her back against the wall of the sand dune.
"My, my," Masters said, still smiling. "That's quite a reaction, especially for one who only a few nights earlier was so very intimately involved with this humble assistant principal."
"What-what are you doing here?" was the only thing that Darcy could think to say.
"Now isn't that an absurd question?" Masters said.
"No."
"What am I doing here?" he repeated. "Good heavens, girl, this is war!"
Darcy looked up at him as he ended the sentence with a sharp exclamation. She saw that his face looked different, that it had grown kind of puffy and that the eyes were slightly rimmed with pink. And his bearing was different, too. Very different. And it occurred to Darcy that in some insane way this man-this man vested with the education of children-had come to identify with the battle that was raging, that he had, preposterously, left the world of education and had, physically, become one of the youths rumbling upon the beach. And in that instant Darcy sensed that this was the reason Masters had wheedled the Honda Set into combat with the Devil Cats. It was why he sponsored the motor bike club, why he disdained the call of police, why he had decided that a "rumble" was the only way to rid the city of the Devil Cats' influence. And, even though it was remote and beyond her comprehension, Darcy sensed that this-all of it, the boys, the bikes, the battle, the brutality-was the very reason that Kenneth Masters had become a teacher and finally an assistant principal. Identification with youth was the reason, Darcy was sure. She could not put it into words that would find any orderly place in her mind, but she knew that it was true.
And she was afraid, very afraid.
"What am I doing here?" Masters repeated a third time, his voice rising as if in sudden panic. "Shouldn't a leader always be with his men? Shouldn't a general review his troops at the very moment of their commitment to combat? Shouldn't he?"
"Y-e-s," Darcy answered, cowering tighter against the sand dune wall as she brought the bunch of clothing in front of her nudity, pressing it tightly to herself, trying to hide her body from the glistening eyes of Kenneth Masters.
Masters took another step closer to her. He smiled. Darcy glanced over his body. Only then did she realize that his right hand was occupied. He held a riding crop. It was of the type once carried by military men the world over. She looked from it into his face and saw that perspiration bathed his face, that it dribbled down his open-throat sport shirt, stained at the arms and waist, and that very-likely it carried on to lower places that were concealed by his slacks.
"Yes, this is war," Masters declared. "It is war and you have failed your warriors at their greatest hour of need-you did not bid them adieu as they left for the fields of battle-you did not cheer the hearty and nurse the sick-you did not bid them well in their hour of adventure. Instead, you slunk like a traitor to the enemy camp. And you have served that enemy, served them amply, I can guess by the indecency of your naked body."
Darcy looked down and tried to cover more of her body. But it was useless. Utterly. Bareness peeked at Masters' from every position she attained.
"But there are fruits of the battle to be had," Masters continued. "Glorious fruits-ripe fruits-pink and white little female fruits such as you, Darcy."
Now, Darcy knew that Masters had gone insane. Completely mad. A lunatic gone crazier. She sought to offer words that might calm him-or delay him-from the vengeance she knew he sought from her.
"Why don't you join the battle?" she asked.
"Battle?" he questioned, looking around bewilderedly. "Battle? Here?"
"Yes," Darcy answered quickly. "After all, doesn't a general fight with his men?"
A new flash of identity and inspiration creased his face. "Ah, no, my dear, that's quite wrong. Quite wrong. Very wrong, actually. You see a general-a leader of warriors-must remain aloof from battle. He must oversee and direct, view, discharge all duties of leadership, but he must not risk his loss. Not ever. It would be unforgivable, for you see, a general-a leader of men-is quite indispensable.
"Oh, I see," Darcy said, humoring him.
"But enough," he suddenly blurted out. "Enough of the drivel of conversation. This is war. You are one of the prizes of this war, and the general has come to claim his prize-to liberate you, to free you from the bondage of the enemy."
Darcy breathed deeply and straightened. Her eyes darted from side to side, seeking the very best avenue of escape. But every path looked hopeless.
"No, little prisoner," Masters said, chuckling softly. "You cannot escape. Don't try it. It can only cause you the very worse kind of trouble."
Darcy didn't wait to hear more. She made a plunge for the side of the sand dune and had even achieved two quick steps toward the bonfire before Masters caught her by the arms, pinned them behind her, then wrestled her flat against the sand wall.
Darcy kicked and fought, tried a bite or two at Masters' hand, and failed at it all. Then she quieted. And then he slackened his grip, turned her around, and forced her to her former cowering position.
Masters took a pace away from her and sighed. "Ah, if only fate allowed that it should be I who was to collect this prize for myself rather than suffer, as I do, your acquisition for another."
"Another?" Darcy exclaimed.
"Of course, my dear. I do have younger officers in the regiment, you know."
"No, I didn't know," she said, stalling for time again.
"But of course. And I have promised you to the finest of them all."
"You have?"
"Naturally. A general rewards best those who serve the best."
"They do?" she said, feeling a little stupid but knowing that any words might serve to delay Masters.
"This general does," he answered proudly. "Yes, always thinking of my men. It'll be my undoing some day, I'm afraid. Yes, yes, but I cannot help it."
Again Darcy, her clothing now lying askew upon the ground, crossed her arms in front of her large, naked breasts. They stung just as all of her body stung, and she knew that it was from the grinding sand.
"But enough," Masters declared again. His tone was stern. "As I said before, enough of conversation. It is time for my brightest young officer to take you as his captive."
Darcy felt a lump grow large at her throat. And then it seemed to clog all her breathing as Masters turned from her a moment, looked toward his car, inserted two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply.
Darcy did not have to turn and look to know that a dog was bounding out of the car and in their direction. She sensed it, vividly and correctly. Then she heard the dog's yelp and felt the fine spray of sand strike her body as a mammoth Great Dane jerked to a halt at Masters' feet. The dog whined, his big mouth open wide. Then he turned his head and looked at Darcy.
"Good old Lieutenant," Masters congratulated. He patted the dog's head.
"Please-please, don't," Darcy begged.
"Don't be absurd. A liberated female should be delighted to meet with her liberator."
"I don't-I can't."
"Silence!" he boomed.
Darcy obeyed. And then, after looking at the animal again, Masters moved as close as it was possible for him to get to Darcy.
"Down, girl," he commanded. "Down upon the ground and greet your liberator."
"No!" she protested sharply.
Masters, much quicker than Darcy thought he could move, leaped at her, raised his riding crop, then brought it down again and again upon her shoulder at that place where it joined her neck.
Pain seared her. She could not help but crumble to her knees.
She glanced toward the dog. He was sitting on his haunches. His body trembled.
Masters whipped his riding crop in a short arch through the air, making it sing. Then he issued a command in a foreign language. It sounded military and of an age long gone.
And then all thoughts blacked out for Darcy. The dog sailed through the air, clawed at her back, hunched and trembled and jerked and convulsed as he tried to bring his body into a position for lust. Darcy fought back, tried to regain her feet, could not, fell, started to rise again and was again wrestled to her knees by the thrusting beast. And above it she heard the heavy breathing of Kenneth Masters as he watched.
The dog lunged, then tried again when the sleekness of Darcy's body prevented him from the clamp of his paws. But then he did secure his paws. He lunged again. Darcy fought fiercely for freedom. The dog slobbered and growled and panted and then-very abruptly-was quiet, as a new sound came to the scene they played. Darcy turned her head slightly and saw Zip, bleeding profusely, but strong and straight, confronting the startled Kenneth Masters.
"Call that dog off," Zip ordered panting hard.
"Never!" Masters wailed.
"Call him off-right now-do it!"
Masters shook his head. And then it seemed to Darcy that he was shaking it very vigorously from side to side, that he had turned it so hard that it seemed about to fall off. And then she realized that Zip had struck Masters a vicious blow at the side of his head, that the man had spun around and was reeling to the ground. There was a groan. And then, just before he landed upon the sand, there was another sharp order from Masters to the dog.
Darcy felt the dog leap away from her. She turned just in time to see the dog leaping through the air, his great teeth showing as he snarled and snapped for Zipper's throat.
The Great Dane knocked Zip off his feet. And then he was atop the Devil Cat, snapping viciously, snarling, clashing and grinding his teeth closer and closer to Zipper's jugular. Zip snapped both hands around the dog's throat. The Dane's teeth clashed together, nicking Zip's throat. Zip strained hard, trying to push the heavy animal off his chest, away from the target of his throat. And for a few seconds, he succeeded. But then the beast, incensed by his first taste of blood, lunged again and achieved a wide grip around Zip's throat. like a vice, the dog's jaws slowly closed. Zip's skin pinched, then ruptured, then oozed blood.
Darcy screamed and staggered to her feet. Her head buzzed and for a moment she thought she would faint. She reeled and turned and lost all sense of direction. And then she forcefully righted herself and sighted straight ahead at Zip and the huge Great Dane.
Zip squeezed with all the strength of his fingers as the dog's jaws continued to close. And finally, with a mighty effort and by shifting his position, Zip gained an advantage. He raised his body a bit and exerted more pressure on the Dane. And slowly, gradually, the dog's jaws relaxed their hold upon Zip's throat. Zip pushed to a sitting position, all the time keeping his arms straight before him as he squeezed harder and harder around the hairy throat. And then Zip was on his knees and adding leverage to his hold. The dog choked. He snarled and tried to snap at Zip's hands, but it was no good; they were out of reach. Then a wheeze issued from the dog's nostrils as Zip raised higher and squeezed even harder. Suddenly, the dog's body went limp. It rolled to the side. It convulsed a half dozen times, then quieted.
Zip did not release his hold upon the Great Dane's neck until blood gurgled, then ran from the slack mouth, over the lifeless tongue and onto the sandy beach.
For a long time, Zip stood over the dog looking at the lifeless body. But when he turned, Darcy was beside him, her eyes wide with questions, her arms demurely crossed in front of her breasts.
Zip grinned at her. Then he hooked his arm around her waist and pressured her close.