Blind Rage by Michael W. Sherer

Author:Michael W. Sherer [Sherer, Michael W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-04-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

The commons fell as silent as a library after closing, and every neck craned, every head swiveled toward the source of the lunatic outburst—mine included. Carl’s friend Tad barreled through the crowd, knocking people aside. He charged, head down, snorting, an enraged bull. When I realized he had us in his sights, adrenaline surged through my veins, kick-starting my heart.

As a kid, I’d never gone out of my way to avoid a fight, but I’d never picked one, either. By minding my own business, I’d managed to avoid involvement in schoolyard spats, and since I was always a year or two younger than my classmates, they viewed me as too easy a mark and not worth hassling. I’d never feared bullies, but rather had calculated how badly I might get hurt before allowing myself to get swept up in one altercation or another. As pissed as I was with my current situation—Tess’s bad attitude, killers potentially still lurking out there somewhere, and an empty pocket that had forced me into indentured servitude—I was damned if some dumb high school jock was going to hurt Tess. I’d promised Kenny and Luis I’d take care of her.

I got a few steps out in front of Tess and leaned my shoulder into Tad as he rushed us, absorbing the brunt of the hit. Grabbing on as he bulled forward, I managed to twist aside and use his momentum to push him to the floor. A geyser of noise erupted into the commons as the cry of “Fight! Fight!” flowed through the hall like magma. Tad scrabbled to his feet before I regained my balance and came at me with a snarl and enough hatred in his eyes to poison a well.

“You killed him!” he shouted.

He took a swing. I didn’t duck fast enough, and it caught me a glancing blow on the head. A small starburst of pain exploded in my skull. I got my hands up and hunched my shoulders.

“He took the car, dipstick,” I said. “I didn’t know. Tess didn’t either.”

He shook his head slowly. The chants around us grew louder, energizing him.

“You killed him,” he said. “Whoever shot him wanted you. Or her. Maybe both of you.”

“How do you know? Maybe he just pissed somebody off. Road rage. Carl was a jerk.”

“Screw you!”

“Get him, Tad!” someone shouted.

His muscles rippled under his shirt, and I tensed, ready for his move. He came at me swinging, expecting me to back up under the onslaught. Instead, I ducked and moved forward under the arc of his arm. I slammed a palm up under his chin. His jaw clacked shut and his head snapped back. He clutched at me as he went down, nearly pulling me over with him. I jerked back, and my shirt ripped away from his grasp. He fell hard, banged his head on the hard floor, and lay there, dazed.

“Hey! Hey, break it up!”

A human mountain hustled over to see what the commotion was about. Students backed away to clear a path for him, boys cowing involuntarily as he passed.

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