Chapter 2: The Alley

When I scored perfect on the written portion of the drivers licensing exam, the tester accused me of cheating. After resolving that problem, I turned in a professional performance in the hands-on portion. My excuse was that I had a driver’s license in Europe and was experienced. Eventually, I was given my temporary license.

“Meet us at the Robin Hood,” were my orders. I phoned to let Billie know that I was inbound. The Robin Hood was three blocks away from the Department of Motor Vehicles office and a short walk on a cool day in Barstow, California. I noticed them about a block away from the DMV. One was across the street pacing me, walkie talkie in hand. One was behind me. I recognized those filthy rapists from a few days ago. I didn’t see the third boy until I was at the alley and all three began to run in my direction.

I’ve survived enough ambushes to recognize that I was being stampeded into a kill zone. Except for the three boys, there wasn’t anybody visible. I could see the Robin Hood at the other end of that alley, so I dashed into the alley—and the other three boys stepped around the corner and into the alley. The best tactical position was near a collection of trash cans. I positioned myself and steepled my hands as if praying.

“If it ain’t the girl whore! Let’s kill her, boys!” one of them sneered. I couldn’t help but smile as time slowed and his filthy hands grabbed my collar. Whatever else he was saying ended in a gurgle as I executed a textbook spear hand to his throat followed by a bone-crunching scoop kick to his crotch.

The rest of the fight is a blur. I recall using trash can lids as weapons and shields. Someone had a pistol, a small caliber gun that fired once when it bounced off the ground. Someone stabbed me in the back. The impossible happened! I was standing over six inert bodies. True, only the sock on my left foot and the shoe and sock remained on my right foot. I was naked and bleeding. At least two of them were obviously dead and the rest were no longer complaining. I opted to walk to the Robin Hood for assistance, leaving behind my purse—wherever it went. Neo-adrenal backlash and agonizing pain staggered me as a police car pulled up at the end of the alley and a deputy sheriff in his brown uniform stepped out. I sagged to the ground and blacked out.

“You can wake up now,” the speaker was Zara, Athena’s sister. I opened my eyes and immediately noted that my left eye was covered in bandages. The room appeared to be a generic hospital ward. “You have visitors. Tell them what happened.”

There were two men in generic suits. They introduced themselves and waved badges. I requested to know what their agency was and one was California Bureau of Investigation and the other San Bernadino County Sheriff.

“What happened, honey?” the CBI agent asked.

“They trapped me in the alley and promised to kill me,” speaking was difficult due to mouth injuries. “So I turned into a monster and killed them.”

They didn’t believe me, so I asked them to tell me what happened. Within minutes of my attack the alley had been flooded with police. The evidence was that I had been trapped all alone in the alley with six men—that didn’t make any sense. There wasn’t any way that I had survived. My skills at hand-to-hand combat were left behind in my old body. No way that a five-foot 98-pound girl had killed six armed men, even if I did make use of expedient weapons such as trash can lids and a fire hydrant. During the fight they had ripped off my clothes and someone had stabbed me in the butt with a switchblade that was recovered from my body when the police rescued me. I had a few broken teeth, some odd cuts, contusions, abrasions and bruises, my right hand was in a cast up to the elbow and my left hand was bandaged, my left leg was in a cast as well—yeah, I had been beaten up.

“What does the evidence say, sir?” I asked the deputy.