The Ring by Piers Anthony & Robert E Margroff

Author:Piers Anthony & Robert E Margroff [Anthony, Piers & Margroff, Robert E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497658110
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Alice saw the four youths: one with knife, one with chain, one with bat, and the last, who was staring directly and lewdly at her, with no weapon in evidence. She heard Jeff, still clasping her hand, shout “Stop!” but it was a distant cry. All she could think about were Dave Paxton and the broken cashbox. They had—

Paxton moaned. The boys looked down and sneered.

Jeff dropped her hand and took up an odd spread-eagle stance. His legs were splayed, toes pointed outwards. She could not understand what he was doing, but he seemed determined. Some kind of defensive posture? She was sure he had forgotten the ring again.

“Jeff,” she said. “We’d better run. You can’t—”

“You run, Alice,” he said, watching the group ahead. “To the call box. When you can do it without being spotted. Meanwhile, stay close.”

Such foolish bravery! “You can’t fight—can’t win. Not with the—”

“I can try. I can’t leave Dave in their hands. I may be able to divert them, and the ring should let me try to do something honorable. It’s the only way.”

“It doesn’t work like that, believe me. They’ll kill you. They’ll—”

“They sure will, Ringee!” one of them called.

“Well, you run while they’re doing it,” Jeff whispered. “If you can get the police here before they finish—”

She saw him making little practice gestures, and knew he was trying to remember which moves were purely defensive and which were not. But she also knew it was useless—a ringer could run, but he could not fight. Yet if she ran now, the fourth punk would go after her, leaving three against Jeff.

What real difference did it make? He could not defend himself against one, let alone three or four.

The toughs closed in. They were strangely slow and careful, as though they held their opponent in respect, for all their wild talk. How could—but yes, they had recognized him from somewhere. Had he fought them before, when he wore no ring? Still, it could make no difference.

Suddenly they were rushing, the three at Jeff, the fourth circling toward her. Her only chance to reach the alarm would be if Jeff, somehow, impossibly, engaged them all, while she escaped. He would surely die—unless they took time to play with him. They might; punks were like that. At any rate there was no alternative.

Jeff’s leg shot out in some kind of kick, held straight, and the leader ran against it with his kneecap. The chain went whistling, slicing air by Jeff’s cheek and stirring her hair with the breeze of its passage. She saw the chain crash into Jeff’s shoulder and glance off. He staggered to the left, shoving her to the side with a quick sweep of his arm, and chopped with the edge of his hand down upon a wrist that just happened to be there supporting a knife. She saw Jeff flinch, not from the knife blow but from the shock of the ring. She knew what that was like. She was amazed he had

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