Free Last Train to Retreat by Gustav Preller

his conditioned reflexes than his mulling, mulish mind. He positioned himself between Curly and the girl while keeping Gatiep in sight. The carriage floor shuddered beneath his feet and into his body. Was it
him
shaking? Sensei Simon’s words came to him, ‘There’s no first strike in karate,’ and he heard Hannibal say mockingly, ‘I’ll make a man of you yet.’ He locked eyes with Curly; all movement started in the eyes. He could feel the train slowing down again.
Let the man go for me so I can find out who I am!
It barrelled up inside him like a prayer for deliverance.
    It wasn’t Curly’s fist but the cigarette that came – flicked into Zane’s face making him pull his head back sharply. Curly’s knuckles followed, thudding into Zane’s mouth turning it crimson. Zane fell against the inter-leading door, salt stinging his broken lips. For the first time the girl cried out. Through teary eyes he saw Gatiep going for her, free hand rubbing his bulging crotch. Was he on
tik?
The doors opened but there was no escape – Curly came in fast, his grin now a scowl. From two paces away Zane’s body blurred as he spun around and caught Curly below the breast bone with a back kick. The man wrapped himself around Zane’s heel, losing air like a popped balloon. Gatiep held the knife to the girl’s neck while he groped between her legs with this other hand.
‘God,
hierie pompding moet ek hê!
’ he slobbered to God of his intention to have her. Curly was still bent-over when Zane delivered an elbow strike to his temple flooring him.
    As Zane went for Gatiep the girl screamed – a howl of pain and rage. Gatiep had knifed her in the thigh above the knee. Zane grabbed Gatiep from behind and pinned his arms by his side. Seemingly from nowhere a knife appeared in the girl’s hands, her thumb flicked open the blade and without a sound she plunged it into Gatiep’s chest. Zane felt sudden pain as it nicked his arm, he let go of Gatiep, the rumbling of the train a roar in his brain.
    When Zane re-focused it was on the girl – slim, boyish, hair cut squarely across her forehead, eyes like embers hinting at the fury that had driven her. Curly rolled onto one knee, face contorting at the sight of Gatiep’s body. The girl eyed him coldly still clutching her knife. Zane was about to shout ‘no, no more!’ when she reached out for the handrail, face ashen. He sat her down, blood streaming from her leg. Curly stared at them. ‘We’ll get you, I know your faces,’ he said and stumbled through the door to the next coach.
    Gently Zane removed the knife from her hand. ‘Here, press on the wound … you have to stop the bleeding.’ His calm voice surprised him. He glanced at the blood on his arm. How much of it was Gatiep’s?
    She ignored him, went down on her knees next to Gatiep and feverishly patted his body, taking his mobile phone, wallet, some note paper, and a comb. She threw away the comb and stuffed everything else into her jeans pockets but did not touch the knife still in his hand. ‘For Christ’s sake, what are you doing?’ Zane asked.
    She managed to give him a wan look before her legs buckled and he had to catch her again. He heard the changing sound of the wheels as the train slowed down. He had to get her to hospital but if he made her run she could bleed to death. He half-draped her over his shoulder, ripped off his belt and tied it around her thigh above the gash in her jeans.
Was the next station Wynberg?
He suddenly realised it didn’t matter. He was on a train with two thugs – one dead, the other God knew where – and a girl who had not thought twice about plunging a knife into one of them, a man he, Zane Hendricks, had held for her to kill.

Ten
    H annibal was making love to Lulu for the third time when his mobile phone rang. It was only 8.30 pm. He should have switched the fucking thing off. He could let it ring itself off but its invasiveness was affecting his erection. Or he could smash it