The Ghost Ships of Arizona

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Mai suddenly flashed on the best part of her life. It wasn’t now, it wasn’t recently, but it was a great portion of the last few years. It was the dumb Yorkshireman and all his eccentricities, his intelligible language and odd foibles. His successes.

His quirks.

And so the only idea wedged inside her head at that moment suddenly offered a slight chance of a way out. He often referred to it as a Yorkshire Kiss. Something about—it’s been donkey’s years since I last saw a good Yorkshire Kiss.

Mai gathered herself, expecting the pain for her action would force the blade even deeper. But it would be fast and it would be hard. It would be the best Yorkshire Kiss of her entire life. Pushing her skull as far back as the soft soil would allow she met Aoki’s eyes, saw him come another inch forward and then let it all loose. Striking incredibly hard she smashed her forehead into Aoki’s face, aiming directly for the bridge of the nose. The impact was huge. Blood spurted from Mai’s already deep wound but Aoki, experienced warrior or not, reacted as anyone would — his hands flew to his face, blood erupted from the broken nose, and he screamed.

Mai slithered free, but she didn’t escape his clutches, had no intentions of doing so. With blood streaming and flying from her deep laceration she jabbed again and again at Aoki’s eyes and neck and cheekbones. Another bone broke. An eye almost dislodged. More screams came from the warrior.

This was pure down-in-the-dirt survival combat now, no fancy moves, and Mai was as comfortable with it as she was with breathing. Both hands struck directly and hard, fingers and palms. As Aoki rolled Mai went with him, now targeting an eardrum and popping it, now mashing lips and dislocating the jaw. Aoki began to forget his training such was the mounting pain. Mai bled and never gave up. Her blood coated his face, his hair. Two knuckles broke against his cheekbone as they shattered it. Aoki’s elbow flew backward, connecting with her left eye, instantly blackening it and causing an unexpected lance of pain that caused her to scream. She staggered onto hands and knees, momentarily blinded by the agony. She collapsed onto her elbows. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she fought for more. Aoki’s face swam into focus, distorted and broken and bloodied, no doubt a mirror of her own. One huge arm scrabbled for a sword.

Mai went flat as the sword came down, swung almost blindly. The blade passed over her horizontal back, digging into the grass. Mai rolled quickly on top of the flailing warrior.

“No quarter,” she heard from the Yakuza head. “This is our judgment.”

Mai knelt with her knee across Aoki’s throat, pressing down. The sword rose behind her. Its length made impaling impossible but its cutting edge could be brought to bear. Mai bore down with every ounce of strength she had left, watching the fight die from Aoki’s eyes. The sword came closer and then the blade was again at her skin, cutting through her clothes to her shoulder blade. Aoki sawed as if he was carving a turkey joint, strength waning. Mai ignored it all, using every ounce of her old training and focus techniques to compartmentalize both the peril and the pain. Everything would pass and when the end came she would be where she was supposed to be.

Then came the hammer blow. Aoki had been distracting her with the sword, gathering his strength for one final effort. His right fist struck the side of her head like a hammer striking an anvil. Stars exploded and they would for an eternity. Where did he find such staying power, such incredible will and admirable potency? The unbeaten devil had tricked her at the final moment.

Mai toppled off Aoki, barely conscious. Her body toppled to the ground, arms flopping. Her eyes closed. Did she breathe? I no longer care.

Blood pooled all around her. Muscles had seized and an incredible blackness floated into her brain, overwhelming all. Without conscious thought or even the benefit of vision she sent her fingers searching through the grass.

Aoki struggled to his knees at her side. Through experience she knew he was evaluating her. The decision would be quick. Blindly, painfully, optimistically, she clasped the hilt of the discarded sword and brought it around in the instant that she believed Aoki would strike.

Instinct. Nature, inbred at birth. Reflex. A true sixth sense.

Aoki’s lunging body impaled itself on the thick blade. Mai forced it all the way through before collapsing into unconsciousness.

Dai Hibiki’s guttural cheer told her the real truth.