Synopsis: Jack and Rayne are treated to an abrupt awakening by Jack's two uncles and have to fight to escape.

Author's Note: Alright, it's been like two months since I've posted anything, but, it isn't like anybody reads this stuff anyways. So, here is a chapter featuring the second very detailed and extended fight scenes. If you read this, please enjoy it, favorite it, and please treat me to a comment, if you don't mind. Have a good one.
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Chapter 14: It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World

“Jack.” A voice quietly says. “Jack, come on, get up.”
A set of gentle fingers poke into my side and my mind slowly emerges from the warmth of sleep, having been lulling just above semi-consciousness for the past few seconds. Grunting, I roll my head onto my side and a spike of pain rushes from my back. I gasp for breath and then reach under my body.
I feel over the hard surface of the pew that I slept on all night and it makes me wonder how I got to sleep in the first place. Slumping onto my side, I let my body come back into control and feel everything from the hard pew under my back to the cool chill of the wooden floor where my limp left arm touches it below. I clear my throat and begin to open my eyes, but groan when the light hits my pupils and clamp them shut once more.
“W-what is it?” I ask with a dry mouth.
“Come on, you have to wake up, we have to go.” Rayne replies with a slightly frantic tone.
Prying open my eyes again, this time without the shock of morning light, I look upwards and see Rayne standing there, looking down at me. Her hair is falling over her eyes and her clothes have been changed into a new pair of tight-cut jeans and a Def Leppard band t-shirt with holes in it.
Looking past her, I see light streaming in through holes in the roof, through more in the dirty, grimy windows surrounding me. The dust fills the air and hangs heavy through the entire church. Rayne huffs and, impatiently, puts her arms onto her waist and begins to thrash her tail around.
“I’m up; I’m just . . . not a morning person.” I say and begin to sit up.
More pain streams from my lower back, making me throw my left hand there while I hoist my frame up with a strong right hand. The back of the pew, which I grabbed with my hand, groans and nearly snaps under my weight. Throwing my legs off of the seat, I sit up and then let my weight fall onto the seatback with a comfortable groan. My hands rest along the back and I gaze towards the ground as the pain dissipates.
“My back is killing me.” I say with a groan. “I shouldn’t have slept in here.”
“Maybe,” Rayne replies in a half-mocking tone. “Man, you really trashed this church.”
Lifting my head back up, I look to Rayne and watch as she turns her head to survey the front of the church, where dust and debris fill the floor and broken glass is strewn everywhere. The impaled organ, with the candlestick still in its face, sits a dead corpse in the corner. I swallow hard and wonder if she suspects anything, returning my eyes to where she stands. How did she know I did this?
“You said something about us going?” I ask slowly, still groggy. “Why?”
She turns her head back towards me; immediately her brow lifts up in surprise and her jaw falls open just slightly. Even her arms fall limply to her side in a way that makes me wonder if she wanted to do it. Whatever it is, she obviously doesn’t like it.
“There are two men here.” She says. “They pulled in on two Harleys and parked at the front of the church. I saw them walk around the other side of the building. We should leave, now.”
Suddenly she leans forward and grabs my hands, which I’ve let rest in my lap, and begins to haul me up onto my paws. Nearly losing my balance because of the speed at which she grabbed me, I stumble upwards and towards the door. Before she can lead me too far, I snatch my hands back from her grasp and stop myself.
Rayne halts a few feet from me and swings her head around to look back to me. She has a look on her face as if she doesn’t understand why I just did that. I’m not sure why I did it either, but, I did it anyways. Slowly she turns around and begins to step backwards, towards the door that leads to the truck.
“Those men are my uncles, to be sure.” I say.
“Better the reason for us to run, then.” She quickly replies.
“We shouldn’t have to run.”
“But Blackjack controls them.”
“Maybe we can break the spell.” I say.
I hadn’t really thought of it at first, but, it’s true that although Blackjack may be powerful, he isn’t God. My two uncles are his meat puppets, but not permanently. There must be a way to get them away from the ringmaster’s control so that he cannot control them anymore. I don’t want to have to fight my own flesh and blood for freedom.
“There isn’t a way.” She says. “He would have to give them up or you’d have to kill him.”
I’m silent at first and, taking it as if she’s won some argument; she turns around and rushes to the door. Slamming it open, she goes to step out but stops. As if not understanding, she backs up and turns around to look at me. I haven’t moved even an inch towards that door and it must frustrate her.
Looking to the floor for a few moments, I ponder to myself. Then I take a few steps forward, to the end of the row and along the wall. Once I’m past the entirely destroyed front row of pews, I turn and begin to waltz towards the center of the little chapel. Then, about seven feet from the door and Rayne, I stop and look over my shoulder towards her.
“How do you know that?” I ask her solemnly.
“I don’t know . . . I’ve read too many books, seen too many movies. It’s just a guess, I don’t know, what does it matter?” She says loudly, frantically.
There was no way that he could be right, could it? I mean, there’s no way in hell that that freaking psychopath could possibly be right about Rayne could it? He must have just guessed it, there’s no way! I look to her and shake my head. Then I look towards the other side of the room.
“What’s wrong, we have to go, we can’t screw around her much longer!” She yells.
From the other side of the church, through the broken windows and wall, I begin to hear chatter and I turn my head to look. At first it’s just low and quiet, and then it becomes louder. Through a dirt-filled window, I see two figures rush by, going towards the front of the back of the church where a door must lead inside through that back room.
“They’re inside!” David yells.
“Then what the hell are you waiting for, get them!” Daniel replies.
Their voices aren’t their own, they sound gravely, demonic even, like they’re possessed by some black force from below. Past another window they run and then the one that I’ve broken. When they’re out of sight, I turn on heel towards Rayne. She is beginning to back out of the building again.
“Go,” I yell, “get the truck started, I’ll take care of them.”
“No, you stupid ass, they’ll kill you!”
“If God wanted me dead, he’d-a done it by now!” I reply. “Just go!”
She backs out and begins to run towards the truck. The last thing that I see on her face is anger, probably about my stubbornness or something along those lines. I don’t really care; I’m not going to be her friend. I want to believe that she isn’t leading Blackjack right to her, and, indirectly, me, but that’s come into question now.
I turn my head back towards the wall as the sound of breaking wood fills my ears. Outside of the window I can see a cloud of dust kick up followed by the sound of heavy boots on warped floorboards. Within moments, the door leading into the main room smashes open, sending splinters and dirt everywhere.
David marches through the door and then stops in the streams of light pouring in through the broken window. With each step the sound from those heavy boots on his feet reverberates off the ceiling. The last boot step slams onto the wood and David stops like a statue.
Slowly he lifts his hands up, smoothes out a jeans jacket that has replaced that heavier jacket, covered in biker pins and patches. His hand then goes up to his hair and he pulls a comb through it before shaking his head. As he lowers his hands down, he cracks his knuckles and then turns in my direction.
When the eyes meet me, I feel a chill run through my very being. Those empty shells stare at me while the body below courses with life. Daniel strolls into the room, his entire figure covered with a long, tan duster coat covering long jeans, a pair of snake boots and a white shirt with pockets sewn into it.
As usual, he wears his cowboy hat and aviator sunglasses, hiding the empty eyes behind them. But unlike David, he doesn’t have the same aura that his younger brother has. Daniel’s is much stronger, but much more reserved. Taking his place beside his brother, he spits onto the floor and then clears his throat.
“My brother came to apprehend you in the kindest of ways.” Daniel states.
“The absolute kindest,” David adds.
“He doesn’t appreciate when his indentured servants refuse to honor their side of the bargain.”
“He doesn’t like to be cheated.”
“Now we’ve come once more to take you back. The master doesn’t care whether you are unharmed or . . . otherwise. He’s ordered you to bring you back peaceably or by force, the choice is yours. He just wants his due.”
“He only wants what is his.”
“I don’t plan to honor my side of the bargain because he doesn’t plan to honor his.” I say, not sure who I’m exactly talking to. “And indentured servant is just a nice way to say slave and I don’t intend to be the slave of some magical stage performer with a fetish for twenty’s clothes. Tell your master he can go play with himself.”
For awhile the two men stand shoulder-to-shoulder, not moving and not talking. Their faces are rock hard and their stare, well, David’s since his is the one that I can see, doesn’t change or even shake. The dust around them begins to settle, shuffling around in the awkward, ominous silence. Finally, Daniel licks his lips and spits on the ground again.
“Then we’ll take you by force,” Daniel informs me, “If that is your wish.”
“I am His Highnesses’ dog at Kew; pray tell me sir, whose dog are you?” I mockingly say, jabbing a finger at the two men.
David’s eyes narrow and then he begins forward, slowly at first, and then accelerating quickly. Daniel hangs back, standing like a statue, obviously assuming his brother will have no problem taking me. In fact, he doesn’t even watch him charge forward. David, soundlessly, rushes forward, his arms lifting up to his chest.
Without thinking, I spread my legs and plant my paws down onto the wood. Letting my arms pull backwards, I watch and wait as my uncle approaches me with his arms lifted upwards and ready to strike. His right shoulder begins to move backwards and finally a cry begins to seep from through his lips.
Rushing through the masses of debris scattered across the floor, kicking some of it across the room, David winds back his right arm and swings it. Rocking backwards on my own feet, I let the momentum of his arm carry him through and as he pulls back his arm, his fist just barely touching my jacket, I jab him in the face with my left hand.
David tumbles to the ground and I take several steps backwards. Grumbling, the man, more surprised than hurt, stares at me from the ground. Slowly he climbs to his knees and then stands up with one hand rubbing where a punch has been planted on him. Again he approaches, this time not running forward like a fool.
I take two quick steps forward and then jab David in the face with my left hand and then plant a heavy right fist into his gut. But the punches do nothing more than wind the much larger man. He quickly retaliates with a heavy punch to nose, which makes me stumble backwards and grunt in pain. I’ve never felt so much pain in my nose before.
Throwing my arms down again, I cough and then approach him again. For several seconds, we hurl punch after punch with each other, nobody really making headway. But finally I land a punch directly into his gut, which makes David double over and take several steps back.
“Sorry David.” I say.
Reeling back my right arm, I put all the weight in my arm onto my fist and then smash him across the chin. Already leaning forward, his hands on his gut, David tumbles to the floor where he knocks his head off of the boards and then stays there. Gasping for breath, I stumble backwards, nearly over a board from the pew I smashed.
A stream of blood rushes from my nose, matting my fur and hardening over. Another trickle of blood stems from a split in my black, thin lip. My right eye hurts where I took a clean hit and my temple has taken a couple punches and now I begin to feel lightheaded. My stomach feels tense, bruised, making me nauseous and like I’m going to throw up. I overall can’t take a beating like this anymore. I’ve never fought an actually competent fighter and won only because I got the quickest, best-placed hits out first.
Looking upwards as I huff, I watch Daniel and see him watching me emotionlessly. Seeing his brother down on the ground in a curled-up ball, he looks to me and then begins forward. I’m already tired beyond all belief and know that I can’t beat Daniel, especially if David were to get back up.
“My mom never told you.” I say between huffs. “Back home I fought everybody and anybody. I’m not just some idiot.”
Daniel doesn’t respond, instead he just continues forward, his boots kicking debris free from his path. I can almost see the hatred burning through his eyes and the determination on his face. Rocking on my paws, hardly able to control my own balance, I know I have to get out of here.
As Daniel charges forward, I look around for a chance to escape. Eyeing up a board near my paws, I find one and my eyebrows shoot up as a small smile tugs at my lips. Turning my eyes back to the ensuing ass-kicking, I watch Daniel march forward. His rattlesnakes paw forward like the hooves of a bull at the fights.
His arms go out as he crosses the sun setting on the warped wooden floor through the thick of the dust and then curl into fists. His face tenses up, mustache twirling up, and eyes no doubt narrowing hatefully. Finally his march turns into a full-blown charge. His teeth born angrily, he grunts and bears down upon me.
I yell out too and as he closes in on me, I kneel down and grab the end of a broken board on the floor. Whipping it upwards, I clip Daniel’s chin and snap the piece of wood in two as if I just struck a steel fridge. Daniel stops his charge and stumbles to the side. A shocked hand goes up to his chin and he rubs it.
Then he grunts, shakes his head and looks back to me with a smile. I look to the smashed board with surprise and then drop it. Turning around, I drop down and begin to run as fast as my lupine body can carry me. As I near the door, I put a hand out and slam it open. Upon getting outside, I cross the open parking lot to where I thought the truck would be.
I skid to a stop in the dirt parking lot and look around, my lungs burning and my fear heightened to its limit. Looking around, I see no truck in sight and wonder what I just walked away from. I dance around, looking in every direction, knowing that my ride just ditched me, with my boots in the truck too.
“Goddamnit,” I yell out as loud as I can, throwing my arms down towards the ground.
Turning around, I look back towards the door leading into the church. Daniel stands there, his coat outlining his frame, eerily calm and rock solid. His face is almost untouched and it seems I’ve done nothing but piss him off. Slowly he begins forward again, this time with his fists slowly rising to meet the challenger.
I raise mine up as well, more like frightened balls of flesh than fists, and wait for him. As he nears me, he yells out and then clips the right side of my face with a mean hook. Tumbling to the side, I hit the ground with such force as it nearly makes me vomit. I quickly roll over and look upwards, back towards the man who is about to bring me within an inch of my life.
He towers over me, his fists clenched together in front of his abdomen. Grunting and drawing breath through teeth clenched tight, he lifts his fists above his head, ready to bring them down upon me like a sledgehammer. But as he cries out his anger to the world, I curl up onto my back, lift my legs into the air and kick him just above the beltline.
The fists above his head part and he reaches down to where I kicked him. Stumbling backwards, uncontrollably, he can’t stop walking until he’s nearly ten feet away and appearing as if he’ll collapse as well. Suddenly the sound of a loud engine fill my ear and I look to my right to see Rayne with the pickup truck ring the front of the church.
She leads the ton-and-a-half of V8-powered, torquey Detroit-steel towards me and hits the brakes so that the truck slides to a stop between me and my psychotic uncles. A dust cloud kicks up and passes over me as the vehicle comes to a clinking, cluttering stop. I prop myself up with both arms and look towards the door just as it clicks and swings open.
“Come on, Jack, get in!” Rayne cries, leaning across the bench seating, one arm still clinging to the steering wheel. “Let’s get out of here.”
I roll onto my side and immediately launch myself up onto my paws. Grabbing the end of the door, I step onto the running board and climb up into the cab. My trailing arm pulls the door to a loud shut behind me. As soon as my jeans touch the vinyl seats, Rayne jams down the accelerator and the V8 under the hood kicks into action.
Rayne looks out of the window just in time to see Daniel lifting his eyes up from under the wide brim of his hat. I look over as well and see some flames flick up in his eyes, which peek out from under the frames of those deep, dark sunglasses. His lips curl up and something tells me that this fight isn’t over.
The truck slides in the dirt as Rayne leads it around the back of the church for a second time. She then guns it to the edge of the road and slams the brake just in time to spin the truck up onto concrete. The engine then revs as she guns the pickup truck down the road on our way east. As soon as we touch concrete, she hoots and hollers as if we’ve already escaped.
Leaning to my right, I look into the chrome-edged mirror hanging from the passenger side of the truck. I watch as the church behind us grows smaller and smaller, the two Harleys, one Sportster and one of the heaviest Softail classics I’ve ever seen. I lick my lips and then wipe my face of what blood still clings to it that hasn’t been knocked off into the dirt.
“I don’t think we should celebrate yet.” I say, sighing loudly, as I lay my head back into the headrest.
“Why not, you just pummeled two huge guys and we escaped!” She demands of me.
“Because I don’t feel like the victor of that fight, that’s why.” I reply as I keel forward, my hands gripping my torn-up abs, my stomach convulsing underneath. “And they have motorcycles, fast, powerful, intimidating motorcycles.”
I groan out loudly and then put my head onto the dashboard. I roll my head over and look to Rayne, who watches me with absolute sympathy, those eyes twinkling as if she’s about to cry. I smile a little bit, forcing myself to do so and then she mimics me. I don’t want her to start crying or even get close. It would just be awkward from then on.
Leaning back, I reach out and throw on the A/C and turn up the radio just to fill the silence. Rolling my head over in the headrest, I watch the mirror and then close my eyes. The pain I’ve just gone through is intense, but, nothing I can’t handle. It’s just the fact that knowing that this fight can’t possibly be over. Not for these two men, knowing who pulls the strings.
“Are you alright?” She asks me softly.
“Never better,” I try to say sarcastically before coughing loudly. “Oh, who am I kidding, I got my ass kicked . . . hard.”
“It’ll be fine, we’re driving away from them at eighty miles an hour. There’s no way that they can continue this.” She tries to console me.
Opening my eyes, I look towards the mirror and shake my head as it confirms my fear. Two heavy motorcycles have just kicked up dust in the lot of that church and are now rumbling towards us as fast as hogs can fly. Trust me, pigs can fly. I shake my head and grunt loudly.
“You gotta be shitting me.” I say through clenched teeth. “Don’t bet on that. Look.”
I weakly lift up a hand and point towards the mirror as I look towards Rayne. She glances at my mirror and then turns to the one hanging off of her side of the truck. Her eyes go wide, her tail flits around in frustration, and then she slams the top of the steering wheel with frustration, her teeth glared and her ears folded back.
“Goddamnit, can’t anything bring these men down?” She demands loudly, angrily.
“No. You have to drop two atom bombs on Japan before they surrender, and, Truman, I think we’re all out of them.” I say to her with a weak voice.
She turns and peers at me with this face that I can only describe as saying ‘this is no time for jokes’ and then looks away, breathing heavily through her razor-sharp teeth. Sitting up straight, I prepare for anything. Turning my eyes towards the mirror, I can only sit back and watch as our doom approaches, riding 1655 CCs each of American-made muscle.
David, riding that Sportster, guns it forward and swings across the riding path of his brother, who stays steady and true to where he is. The light, agile bike then bumps along side the end of the pavement and aims to ride up alongside the pick up. I’ve seen bikers do this before, but only with semi-trucks, and with shotguns. It’s violent, it’s quick and it’s terrifying.
Daniel then pours some more gas into that V-twin and then begins to lead the motorcycle up alongside the truck towards where Rayne sits. But I can’t focus on that with David bearing down alongside me. The constant, one-note rumble of the motorcycle engine fills my ears, reaching above Deep Purple’s Highway Star, which blasts through the radio.
“Shit.” I whisper.
“They’re bearing down on us!” Rayne screams. “Jack, what do we do?”
“This truck can’t go any faster.” I whisper, shaking my head.
“Jack, what’s wrong, what do we do?”
“I don’t know.” I say loudly, but not angrily, looking towards Rayne with sullenness for but a moment.
Turning back, I sit up straight and look through the window. David’s angry eyes turn towards me as soon as his head comes into view. He then turns his shaggy head towards me and smiles a sadistic, screwed-up smile. Revving the engine a bit more, he gets the motorcycle just barely in front of the door and suddenly reaches over with his left hand.
Before I can slam down the lock, David yanks open the door and then falls back for a second before leading the bike forward. His arm reaches inwards and grabs the seat at first before grabbing my jacket. Leaning forward, I grab his arm and try to fight with him, but he won’t let go.
“I’ll throw you onto the ground if you struggle any more!” He yells. “You’ll be road kill before you go free!”
“I doubt Blackjack would care to scrape his people off the highway!” I reply angrily.
“Oh,” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up, “how about we just throw your girl onto the highway instead?”
Suddenly the door on the driver’s side whips open and Rayne screams out in fright. She pounds at the accelerator but the truck is already going beyond 85, the speed ceiling on the speedometer. She then screams even louder when Daniel, already neck-and-neck with the truck, reaches inwards to grab her.
Swinging my head around, I stare across the cab of the truck and watch as Daniel goes to yank Rayne out. Unlike David, he has an easy target and grab’s one of Rayne’s legs and begins to pull. Rayne screams and fights to get control of her own body back, but is unable to do so.
“Rayne,” I yell out, turning back towards David. “Let go of her you demented fuckers!”
David just laughs and continues to pull at me. I lift up my right leg and then kick at him again and again, missing his body. Finally I just settle for kicking him at the elbow, but it doesn’t seem how hard I kick him, he won’t let go. Instead he lets free my jacket and grabs my paw. I yelp out three times like a dog about to get a shot and then yank back my leg.
Rayne screams again, this time angrily, and throws the steering wheel to the left. The heavy truck swerves out into the middle of the, thank God, empty roadway. I feel my body slide across the vinyl seats, but David keeps with the moving truck, no doubt more afraid of Blackjack if he loses their prize, than me. She yanks at the steering wheel again and again, the truck swinging around like a piñata.
Finally, leading the truck far out to the right, she swings it back into the oncoming lane and David lets free my paw. I slide into the truck’s cab and the door slams shut on its own. Looking across, I see that Rayne is just barely inside the vehicle. Her right leg uses the accelerator to keep her in while she holds onto the steering wheel and column to support her body.
Daniel has a good grip on her paw just above the ankle and doesn’t seem like he wants to give up. Beneath his hat and glasses, which must be glued on or something, he scowls like a madman and tugs with his left hand as hard as he can. I don’t know what to do; I can’t reach him to help her!
Crawling across the vinyl bench seat, I reach across her lap to try to reach, but I can’t. Instead, I grab her lap and try to pull back, but Rayne immediately screams out in disapproval of that. Panicking, I finally get an idea, no doubt being really stupid. My arms shaky, I reach inside my jacket and grip the ebony-handled .357 Magnum holstered there.
Whipping it out, making that strange sound that’s made in old western films, I put my uncle Daniel down the barrel of his own pistol and hold it there. The intricately carved nickel-brushed pistol gleams in the sunlight and seems to be as steady as the Iowa about to bombard the Yamato at sea.
Daniel’s look of pure resentment and hatred quickly melts down to fear. After a few strangely quiet seconds, my indoctrinated uncle lets free his grip. Rayne yanks her leg back into the vehicle and then slams shut the door. I pull the pistol back and sit upwards, watching my uncle’s vehicle begin to trail behind ours.
I rise back up into a sitting position and then scoot over to look into the mirror. Behind me, I see the two motorcycles join and then slow to a stop in the middle of a crossroads surrounded by growing corn. Then they become nothing more than fading figures in the distance.