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Atticus stood over him long enough to pull the heavy blade free from the muscle.
The crowd cheered again as he raised the axe above him, dripping blood onto his shoulder. “AHH!” His face, twisted with rage, looked out at the crowd, turning a full three-sixty to see them all. “AHH!” His teeth were bared and gnashing; his eyes churned with everything dark. “AHH!”
My hand cupped my mouth; tears burned my eyes; I needed to sit, to catch my breath and steady my heartbeat, but I could not sit—I could not move.
Three more fighters stepped onto the arena floor—two men and one woman—and the only thing that gave me any hope in Atticus being outnumbered was this time he seemed to be the only one with a weapon.
The fighters circled him like a pride of lions corralling their prey, their backs hunched over, their feet moving in a sideward motion, their battle-ready stances locked solidly, ready to pounce on him. Atticus turned round and round, keeping them away from his back, the axe locked firmly in his right hand, prepared to strike.
The woman lunged first from Atticus’ left, while the fighter with black, curly hair lunged at him from the right. Atticus swung the axe at the woman, but missed as she jumped to the side; he swung the axe at the black-haired man, and again he missed, but before he could turn one-eighty to gauge their new positions, the third fighter ambushed him from behind.
No…
Atticus bucked like a bull, trying to throw the man from his back, simultaneously he swung the axe wildly above him, but struck only air.
God please no…
The woman dropped to the floor and swiped her leg outward, knocking Atticus from his feet. The black-haired man ran around in front of him, kicking the axe away from Atticus’ hand. Atticus cried out, and for a moment I thought it was when the man’s foot made contact with his wrist, until I saw the spray of blood near the waistline of his pants.
Kade’s hands were around my waist, pulling me back again before I even knew what I was doing.
“Let me go!” I swung my arms wildly at him, turned around and shoved my knee hard into his groin, dug my fingernails into something fleshy.
I felt gravity betray me, and my body tumbled downward, my arms trying to brace my fall; the back of my head struck something soft, but it still hurt, and when I looked up I saw the woman who’d been seated in front of me, looking down into my face.
The woman smiled, of all things, and did not attempt to restrain me for Kade, who was shouting: “Give her to me!” and leaning over, trying to grab me with short, furious arms.
I rolled off the woman’s lap and hit the bleacher floor—almost fell through the gap that separated the seats—and I grappled for anything to help pull me up: a man’s leg, another man’s neck, a woman’s hair—“Watch it, bitch!”
“Grab her, Madera!” Kade barked.
“Get her yourself, asshole!” I heard the woman say.
Before Kade could get past the people sitting near the aisle, I found the aisle first and ran down the steps toward the arena floor.
62
THAIS
The crowd separating me from Atticus was as difficult to navigate as trudging through a swamp. Using my elbows, I drove myself through the people; my legs fought to keep my body upright as others pushed in on me from all sides, nearly crushing me; the suffocating heat encapsulated me in a tomb of bodies. But I forced myself forward, shoving and elbowing and cursing and screaming. Caught off-guard by this fierce show of power in such a small body, everyone I touched or screamed at moved respectfully out of my way. I could finally see the exit, a slim opening between the people at the front of the crowd, and I could see men and women on the arena floor, but I could not see Atticus. I could not see him because they were surrounding him, fists flying, legs kicking.
I forced myself through the last line of bodies, and I fell onto the arena floor; breath filled up my starved lungs; cooler air rushed over my body, relieving me of the stifling heat.
“Atticus!” I stumbled to my feet again, slipping on blood and sweat that covered the smooth floor, and I sprinted toward him ungracefully. “Atticus!”
I flung myself on top of the bodies and beat my fists against someone’s back.
“Get off of him!” I shrieked, my voice becoming hoarse.
My fingertips dug into something wet, and it took a moment, when I felt the teeth biting down on my fingers, to realize that they were in someone’s mouth.
“Stop now! I demand it! I DEMAND IT!” My fingers gripped tighter, stretching the fighter’s mouth out on both sides.
I saw the ceiling briefly as I was tossed from the fighter’s back; when I hit the floor, a shockwave traveled up my spine. “Oomph!” Biting through the pain, I scrambled on my hands and knees toward Atticus once more, still slipping through the blood and sweat beneath me. And I didn’t care to wonder why no one was trying to stop me, or why the fighters—six now—were moving away from Atticus as I clawed my way forward. I didn’t care that there were a thousand eyes watching me, or that Kade’s strident voice continuously called out curses at me, and was getting closer.
The moment my hand touched Atticus’ as he lay unmoving in a pool of his own blood, I felt the cold of his absence become warm again, and the ache from the emptiness I’d felt being away from him for less than a day, dissipate, replaced by emotion I could not name that ravaged me from the inside-out and reduced me to a blubbering mess. I only cried for three seconds before forcing myself to be strong, but that three seconds felt endless.
Kade’s black hair and twisted face moved toward me in a furious blur. I jumped to my feet and stood my ground, standing in front of Atticus to protect him.
