Chapter 12 - Iron and Salt
A heavy, rusted iron crowbar came down through the dark like a butcher's cleaver.
CRACK!
The flat iron end struck Vance’s right shoulder with immense force, shattering his collarbone.
Vance screamed—a raw, guttural sound of agony—and his grip on Maya’s throat instantly snapped. Maya collapsed onto his chest, coughing violently, gasping for air as cold, sweet oxygen rushed back into her lungs.
Standing above them in the creek bed, chest heaving, covered in sweat and grease, was Arthur.
He looked like an ancient spirit of vengeance. His white apron was torn, stained with black oil and blood, his paper diner cap gone, revealing his thin grey hair wild and standing on end. In his massive, calloused hands, he held a two-foot steel tire iron he had pulled from the back of his pickup truck.
"I told you," Arthur growled, his voice vibrating with absolute rage. "I've seen men like you before."
Vance, clutching his shattered shoulder, tried to reach for his dropped knife with his left hand.
Arthur didn't give him the chance. He kicked Vance square in the side of the head with his steel-toed work boot. The force of the blow was devastating. Vance’s head snapped sideways, his eyes rolling back, his body going completely limp in the freezing mud.
Arthur dropped the tire iron into the creek. It hit the water with a heavy splash.
He fell to his knees beside Maya, his large, rough hands gently lifting her shoulders out of the dirt.
"You okay, kid?" Arthur asked, his voice trembling now, the adrenaline beginning to leak out of his old frame. "Did he break anything?"
Maya sat up, clutching her throat, coughing until her ribs hurt. She looked at Arthur, her eyes wide with disbelief and profound gratitude.
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"You... you came..." she sobbed, throwing her arms around the old cook's neck, burying her face into his greasy, sweat-soaked shirt. "You came for me..."
Arthur patted her back awkwardly, his broad hand covering her shoulder blades. "Of course I came, sweetheart. Nobody gets hurt on my shift."
