Last Man Standing

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

He whirled, but Coyote was already on him, striking again and again, a pure killing machine. This time he made his punches tell; breaking ribs, jabbing at eyes and behind the ears, but it made no difference. Coyote was above it, beyond it, transported from a singular hell into a world of sudden chance — the world where she could again be Shelly — and now back to a life of pure torment and terrible desire. Choice made, she gave it her all.

Drake wilted slowly. When Beauregard appeared behind Coyote — a black angel of death — he knew the game was up.

Last man standing? Beauregard would win the day.

“I’m so sorry,” Coyote muttered even as she pounded at him.

Beauregard’s knife glinted with the fire of the rising sun.

The noise Drake would never have expected, the one that changed it all, was the roar of a motorbike. From the corner of his eye he saw a trial bike, ridden by Torsten Dahl, ten feet off the ground, soaring above them like the veritable bat out of hell. Dahl dangled from the seat and plucked the very blade from Beauregard’s hands as he started to plunge it downward, then threw it back at the Frenchman.

Beauregard fell hard, avoiding the knife but hurting himself in the process. Dahl landed and turned the bike on a penny, mud and wet grass shooting from the spinning wheel. Coyote still struck out at Drake, but her attack was distracted.

Dahl shot between the two of them, blasting both their bodies and faces with dirt and thick sludge.

They fell back, opening a gap. Drake suddenly found himself with allies at his side. Standing in a line behind him had been Mai, Alicia and Crouch, now joined by Dahl on his bike.

Facing them were Coyote and Beauregard.

The titans of combat came together.