On the Fifth Day Read Online Free PDF
Author: A. J. Hartley
"what do you want?"
But the other man said nothing. He raised his right arm and Thomas saw that the fist was large and clublike, as if he were wearing an absurdly large glove or had wrapped something heavy around his hand.
Thomas backed up against the window, feeling the ledge against the backs of his thighs. He raised his fists and splayed his legs, waiting for the other man to come at him. Jim was still down and silent.
24
A. J. Hartley
Parks now showed his other hand and Thomas felt his heart skip with panic that was as much alarm at the strangeness of the thing as it was fear for his own safety. The man was hold
ing what could only be described as a sword, short--only eighteen inches or so--the blade leaf-shaped, sweeping to a point long and lethal-looking. It was the weapon of a psy
chopath or a cultist. Thomas faltered, unsure which way to go.
"We don't have to do this," he said, his voice unsteady.
"Au contraire," said the other with a grim smile. He took a step forward and swung the sword in a broad arc toward Thomas's face.
Thomas reacted instinctively, ducking back, swatting at the blade with his left hand as he closed to punch wildly with his right. He felt the stinging thwack of the sword's cold steel against his splayed palm, a pain so sharp and sudden that it was a moment before he could be sure that he had caught the flat of the blade and not its edge. Parks pivoted his shoulder toward him, dodging his punch, and that was when he brought his right hand crashing down on the side of Thomas's head. It was no glove, no fabric wrapped around his fist. It was as hard and unyielding as iron, and it sent Thomas to the floor as if his legs had been cut from under him. For a second he saw only blackness, and while he knew he was falling he could do noth
ing to prevent it.
He barely made a sound as he crumpled to the carpet, and though he didn't completely lose consciousness he was, for a few moments, so completely disoriented that he could not move at all. He sensed Parks only vaguely as he clambered over Thomas's stricken body, knowing only that he had gotten out the window to freedom long before Thomas was in any shape to do anything about it.
Even when he felt fully alert Thomas stayed where he was, gingerly testing with his hand the back of his head where he had been hit, and only then hunching himself into a cautious squat. A few feet away, Jim groaned.
"That went well," said Thomas.
"What the hell was that thing?"
25
O n t h e F i f t h D a y
"The sword?"
"Sword? What sword?" said Jim. "I didn't see a sword."
"I think you were already down for the count by then," said Thomas, resting his weight against the wall and sitting flat on the floor.
"You didn't do so well yourself, Rocky," said Jim. "Hell
fire, what did he hit me with?"
"Same thing he hit me with," said Thomas. "It was like a glove made of metal. Something between a gauntlet and the world's biggest knuckle duster. You okay?"
"I think so. You?"
Thomas rose slowly, nodding only when he was com
pletely upright and didn't find the floor swimming back up at him.
"That thing could have cracked my skull," he said. "I pre
fer not to think what he could have done with the sword."
Jim was running his fingers over his left temple. There was a thin trail of blood where the blow had broken the skin, but the cut was nothing to the lump that was already rising.
" 'Wait,' I said," he intoned. " 'He could be armed,' I said. But no. In the red corner we have Thomas Knight, all the way from Idiot's Landing."
"Thanks," said Thomas. "Sorry."
He turned and looked out the window to where footprints in the snow on the porch roof ended in a confused scraping at the edge. He leaned out to look down the street, but the im
postor was nowhere in sight. He couldn't even make sense of where the footprints led.
Goddamn it.
He wasn't sure why he was so furious, and as he stood there leaning out into the cold the rage seemed to blow off him so that he felt
But the other man said nothing. He raised his right arm and Thomas saw that the fist was large and clublike, as if he were wearing an absurdly large glove or had wrapped something heavy around his hand.
Thomas backed up against the window, feeling the ledge against the backs of his thighs. He raised his fists and splayed his legs, waiting for the other man to come at him. Jim was still down and silent.
24
A. J. Hartley
Parks now showed his other hand and Thomas felt his heart skip with panic that was as much alarm at the strangeness of the thing as it was fear for his own safety. The man was hold
ing what could only be described as a sword, short--only eighteen inches or so--the blade leaf-shaped, sweeping to a point long and lethal-looking. It was the weapon of a psy
chopath or a cultist. Thomas faltered, unsure which way to go.
"We don't have to do this," he said, his voice unsteady.
"Au contraire," said the other with a grim smile. He took a step forward and swung the sword in a broad arc toward Thomas's face.
Thomas reacted instinctively, ducking back, swatting at the blade with his left hand as he closed to punch wildly with his right. He felt the stinging thwack of the sword's cold steel against his splayed palm, a pain so sharp and sudden that it was a moment before he could be sure that he had caught the flat of the blade and not its edge. Parks pivoted his shoulder toward him, dodging his punch, and that was when he brought his right hand crashing down on the side of Thomas's head. It was no glove, no fabric wrapped around his fist. It was as hard and unyielding as iron, and it sent Thomas to the floor as if his legs had been cut from under him. For a second he saw only blackness, and while he knew he was falling he could do noth
ing to prevent it.
He barely made a sound as he crumpled to the carpet, and though he didn't completely lose consciousness he was, for a few moments, so completely disoriented that he could not move at all. He sensed Parks only vaguely as he clambered over Thomas's stricken body, knowing only that he had gotten out the window to freedom long before Thomas was in any shape to do anything about it.
Even when he felt fully alert Thomas stayed where he was, gingerly testing with his hand the back of his head where he had been hit, and only then hunching himself into a cautious squat. A few feet away, Jim groaned.
"That went well," said Thomas.
"What the hell was that thing?"
25
O n t h e F i f t h D a y
"The sword?"
"Sword? What sword?" said Jim. "I didn't see a sword."
"I think you were already down for the count by then," said Thomas, resting his weight against the wall and sitting flat on the floor.
"You didn't do so well yourself, Rocky," said Jim. "Hell
fire, what did he hit me with?"
"Same thing he hit me with," said Thomas. "It was like a glove made of metal. Something between a gauntlet and the world's biggest knuckle duster. You okay?"
"I think so. You?"
Thomas rose slowly, nodding only when he was com
pletely upright and didn't find the floor swimming back up at him.
"That thing could have cracked my skull," he said. "I pre
fer not to think what he could have done with the sword."
Jim was running his fingers over his left temple. There was a thin trail of blood where the blow had broken the skin, but the cut was nothing to the lump that was already rising.
" 'Wait,' I said," he intoned. " 'He could be armed,' I said. But no. In the red corner we have Thomas Knight, all the way from Idiot's Landing."
"Thanks," said Thomas. "Sorry."
He turned and looked out the window to where footprints in the snow on the porch roof ended in a confused scraping at the edge. He leaned out to look down the street, but the im
postor was nowhere in sight. He couldn't even make sense of where the footprints led.
Goddamn it.
He wasn't sure why he was so furious, and as he stood there leaning out into the cold the rage seemed to blow off him so that he felt
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