Free Dead Pulse by A. M. Esmonde Page A

warning, his hair was grabbed, yanked from behind and the blindfold was ripped off. Jack was ready to take the monster’s head off and swung round ready to start the battle, until he saw who it was. Tim stood before him pale and drawn.
    For what seemed like minutes, Jack stood frozen staring into t he face of his childhood friend. He didn’t do it, but I heard a shot. I never should have abandoned him.
    Adrenaline kicked in and they started to circle each other stumbling on the uneven floor which was covered with bark chippings. Jack looked at his lifelong friend standing in front of him swaying awkwardly, an empty shell of the man he once knew. Jack raised the sharpened metal blade, but again hesitated.             
    “Do it!” yelled the crowd.
    Seconds seemed like hours. The crowd got louder, raucous shouting and chanting began.
    Jack threw down the blade to the disappointment and bewilderment of the crowd. Tim lunged forward, this time gripping Jack with his icy grey hands. Leaning forward his discoloured mouth gaped open, as he attempted to bite him.
    BANG! Sounded a shotgun, silencing the crowd. Jacks face was splattered with blood once again, but this time it was the blood of his friend that covered his face. For a moment he stood, dazed. If Tim’s life had flashed before his eyes once again, Jack was sure he would have been in the vision throughout. His eyes dampened and a single tear trickled down Jacks face.
    The crowd gathered around the man brandishing a shotgun.
    As it began to rain, a heavyset man opened the pen, moving through the open gate he pushed Jack to the damp bark. The crowd started cheering he raised his fist to beat Jack.
    “ Jackson you’re a wimp! Why didn’t you just do it?” he howled as he pounded his fist into Jacks face as he picked up the machete with the other hand.
    “You’re no good to us!” he growled deeply.
    He went to bring down the machete in a blow that would have ended Jacks life. Jack closed his eyes, fearing the worst, he knew that the penalty of not killing Tim, but how could he, and after all they had been through together? Suddenly there was a thud on the ground next to Jack. Cautiously opening his eyes and letting his head turn to the side, he saw that the body of this attacker was now lying besides him, but his head had rolled off a few feet away.
    Jack took the out stretched arm that was reaching towards him and was pulled from the floor by the man with the scarred face that had told him of this initiation the previous evening. “Thank you,” Jack gasped.
    “Maybe one day you’ll repay the favour, Jackson. I’m Sam.” Quickly the man scanned the faces around them. “I think we’d better leave now,” he said wiping his blade clean on the edge of his shirt.
    Sam paused, looked at Jack’s face. “You were going to let the corpse kill you?”
    “Yeah, I suppose. The thing is I knew him. We were best friends, forever. I thought he was dead.”
    Sam was relieved that Jack appeared to have a conscience and was someone that he could trust. Instinctive he knew they could be friends.
    “You just learned your first important lesson, Jacko.”
    “ Thanks,” shouted Jack with a comforting feeling. Jacko, that’s what Tim called me . He though as the jeering crowed, stared gearing up to turn nasty.
    “Well Jack o,” Sam slapped the weighty machete in his hand and they left the pen, “never hesitate again.”
    The enraged crowd congregated around the two men, infuriated that their entertainment had been cut short they stopped them from advancing. A woman removed a black gasmask as she stepped forward. She was a tall, muscular and attractive with a shaven head, dressed in tight black clothing, boots and a bulletproof vest. Two fingers were missing on her right hand, an aesthetic that made her more intriguing.
    She looked them up and down, “very brave,” she snorted, “I commended you, scar face,” she moved her long neck giving a sideward