Book One of the Travelers by D.J. MacHale

Author:D.J. MacHale
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2009-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

NINE

There seemed to be nearly as much laughter as cheering when Gunny stepped into the ring. The shorts the owner found for him to wear were ratty, and the sleeves on the robe were miles too short. The gloves didn’t fit much better.

There was a flurry of activity throughout the club when the patrons realized this wasn’t some joke. Changing their bets, Gunny figured. The only person who sat still in his seat, a big grin on his face, was Ambrose. He must have bet on Action in the first place.

“Grandpa!” Action Anderson jeered. “This is going to be easy!”

“I’m not your grandpa,” Gunny snapped.

The referee had them touch gloves. “Have a good clean fight,” he said.

Gunny suspected that “good” and “clean” weren’t in Action’s vocabulary.

Clang! Action’s fist connected with Gunny’s cheekbone before the final reverberation of the starting bell had sounded. Gunny’s head whipped back, but his hands instinctively blocked Action’s next move.

Gunny sprang backward. He had to get a sense of Action’s style. Action was younger, more experienced, outweighed him, and had serious power behind each blow: Gunny needed to fight smart, not hard.

They circled once around, Action tossing out little jabs and laughing, as if it were all a big game. Gunny stayed focused, moving, studying, learning. Action leans to the right, Gunny noted as he blocked an uppercut.

A shout from the crowd made Action’s eyes flick to the ropes. He grinned, then he came in with another hook. It missed the mark.

That failed punch gave Gunny crucial information: Action wasn’t paying complete attention. And he lurched off balance if he had to reach out to connect with Gunny.

Good, good, Gunny told himself, moving in an ever-widening circle. That’s it, keep laughing, Action. I’ve got some surprises for you.

Everything beyond Action fell away for Gunny. The room became a black backdrop, the shouts and calls from the crowd a dull, oceanlike roar. All that mattered was sensing Action’s next move.

Gunny had done some boxing in the army, and his muscles began to remember the training from long ago. His body recalled the twists, the ducks, the feints. His hands picked up speed, letting him land now more than he missed.

Action is a brawler, Gunny noted. A slugger who relies on a power punch, not footwork or finesse. Action’s follow-ups were slow—he didn’t work combinations. And, more important, he followed a predictable pattern.

If I can stay out of reach, avoid Action’s one good punch, I might have a shot. Gunny couldn’t match Action’s power, but he had speed that the big lug didn’t have.

“Don’t want to get in and dance, Grandpa?” Action taunted. “You’re staying awfully far away.”

“Don’t like your breath,” Gunny snapped. But Action’s comment made him think. Action wasn’t paying complete attention because he underestimated Gunny. Let him.

Gunny began to slow down a bit, breathing heavily, as if he were already getting worn out. The more he faked it, the more Action smirked—and the sloppier Action became.

Crack! Blood spurted from Action’s nose. Surprise crossed Action’s ugly broad face, swiftly replaced by anger.

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