Free Terror by Francine Pascal Page A

other guy, stumbling around, punch-drunk but still cognizant enough to talk. “That ain’t what we came to do.”
    â€œI don’t care. I’m gonna be the one to finish this. I’m sick of playin’ around.”
    He was less than ten feet away now. His hand was still raised in a menacing way. Was it a gun? A knife? A Taser?
    Gaia didn’t feel like sticking around to find out. That guy was holding something. He was threatening to
kill
her. And the magic bubble that her fearlessness had always provided was now rendered moot.
    Whatever this little confrontation was about, it sure as hell was not worth dying over. Against all her better instincts, Gaia did exactly what she knew she shouldn’t.
    She bolted left and ran for her life.

Blindsided
    JAKE FELT LIKE NEO FROM
THE Matrix,
only instead of the guy in the black suit, he was fighting some smelly punk street kid. From the moment he had been hit in the side, Jake had snapped into “on mode,” alert but relaxed and completely absorbed in the moment. The day before, he had watched a couple of guys in the park doing capoiera, that Brazilian martial art dance form, and he found himself unconsciously imitating the rhythmic bob and weave of their motions. His assailant, on the other hand, was clearly untrained, and though strong as an ox, the idiot’s ragtag strategy of plowing into Jake and punching wildly simply wasn’t cutting it. Here he came again.
    Jake focused all his mental energy on a simple full-force kick to the belly.
Bah!
Having broken a three-inch block of wood a week before with this same kick, he felt convinced of its ability to penetrate. The guy grunted and flew backward like a cartoon character catching a bowling ball. Jake shuffled forward, prepared to finish him off.
    A sharp pain stabbed the back of Jake’s head. Blindsided. He lurched forward, his brain vibrating against his skull. Where had that come from? Maybe he wasn’t Neo after all. Just being focused couldn’t save him from being nailed from behind.
    Jake retreated, backpedaling away from the skirmish.He shook his head and forced his eyes wide open. From this perspective he could see who the sneaky bastard was. It was the second guy. So where was Gaia? Had they done something with her? Had they knocked her out? Jake strained his blurry vision, probing the sidewalk, road, and bushes for evidence of her body. Nothing. Was it possible? Had Gaia run from the fight, leaving him alone for a two-on-one?
    No time to develop that thought. Assailant number one had somehow recovered from the stomach shot and was slumping toward him, night-of-the-living-dead style. Assailant two walked beside him. Despite their numerical advantage, Jake stood his ground. They walked like a couple of crippled veterans heading to the infirmary.
    â€œYo, man,” assailant one said to his comrade. “We don’t need to jack with this guy no more. We got what we came for.”
    Assailant two shrugged. “Yeah, but I kinda feel like slicing up boyfriend here to send that skank a message.”
    â€œNaw, man,” assailant one said. “That ain’t the way it was supposed to go down.”
    But this argument wasn’t persuasive enough. Assailant two had already pulled a long, curved knife from his pocket. He was flashing it back and forth and cackling. He seemed—for the moment—less interested in cutting Jake than amusing himself with the knife. In the process the guy’s hood had fallen off hisface. His nose was busted, and his face was painted red with blood.
    â€œYou want a little taste of death?” he asked Jake.
    â€œNot particularly,” Jake answered.
    â€œToo bad, smart-ass.” The guy stopped waving the knife for a second. He put it to his side and took a step toward Jake, looking him in the eyes. Jake saw that the blood-splattered face was actually not this guy’s most disturbing feature. It was his eyes. They