The Journey Ch. 07

Angela had had enough, and screamed, not in fear, but in rage, and grabbed one of the grubby arms in turn tugging hard and fast, twisting as she did, coming down with an elbow. She was by no means an expert, but had taken a few months worth of jujitsu, as well as some kickboxing for fitness reasons. She was angry, and she had them by surprise, and at the very least, hitting someone was enormously satisfying right now. The first fellow hit the ground and she ducked the next arm swung to grab her, and used an arm bar to free herself of a third. The fellow on the ground got ahold of her leg however, and though she got a solid kick in, she fell delivering it. She fumed as the less-than-hygienic trio got ahold and over-powered her.

"Bitch!" spat the one she had managed to kick, spitting out blood. His nose was at an odd angle to his face, Angela noted with some pride. He raised his fist high, and was about to deliver his own blow when his fist was grabbed. It was the spokesman from earlier. "You didn't ask nicely, Jones. How about you try letting the girl up, and see if she'll join us for dinner voluntarily. If she says no, then I'll let you...persuade her." Despite her defiant stare, Angela was grateful for the reprieve.

"The bitch is going to bleed." said Jones, growling.

"Alright. But first, she gets up, and the other two will let her go. I'm not polluting the gene pool with someone who can't get any except by having someone hold 'er down." He smiled coldly. "You like your chances in a stand-up fight, Jones? She's clocked you twice already. I warn you, you keep that fist raised while she's down there, and you'll lose your arm, I swear it."

Jones blinked. He was pissed off, but the idea of the bitch being able to hit back didn't appeal to him much. Unfortunately, he was now in the position where he just might have to put up or lose face in front of the others. He stepped back, grudgingly. "Get up, bitch."

Angela shook off the other two, and stormed to her feet. "C'mon, big man. Can ya hit me now?" She spat, glaring at him. She looked past him and to the apparent leader of this motley crew. "Let go of my brother, or after him, I'm coming after you."

He blinked, and laughed. "Jones, I'd back off if I were you. This one'll have your balls for breakfast."

Jones muttered something obscene, and glared at his 'boss', and turned back to Angela.

"Ready when you are, choombah." It was pretty much the only street slang Angela knew, but she hoped the delivery was more important in this situation.

"C'mon, Jones, ask her to dinner. She's protecting her brother. You think she's gonna stay down, even if you get her there?"

"Alright, alright, Helix." Jones muttered. "You wanna come to dinner, bitch?"

"Oh yeah, that's convincing." Laughed the spokesman. Angela supposed Helix was his name.

"Please come to dinner, miss...we'd be soooooo glad to have you." Said Jones, gritting his teeth as if to contain the dripping sarcasm.

"Better." Smiled Helix, with something approaching genuine humour. "C'mon, miss. You're coming one way or the other. We'll let you walk with your brother if you come nicely."

"Fine. We'll come, but I promise you, anything done to me and mine, you'll get it back twice over." Angela said. She wished she had enough confidence that she could deliver on her bluster. Adrenaline nearly gone now, she had to fight hard to keep from shaking. She gritted her teeth, and stood tall, walking to the distraught Michael, who was now pulling his hair with his free hand. She pulled him close, and sang to him softly, an old tune she had sung to him when he was little.

Satellite in my eyes
Like a diamond in the sky
How I wonder.
Satellite, strung from the moon
And the world your balloon
Peeping Tom for the mother station

Winter's cold spring erases
And the calm, by the way the storm is chasing
Everything good needs replacing
Look up, look down, and all around, hey satellite

Satellite, headlines read
Someones secrets you've seen
Eyes and ears have been
Satellite dish in my yard
Tell me more, tell me more
Who's the king of your satellite castle?

Winters cold spring erases
And the calm by the way the storm is chasing
Everything good needs replacing
Look up, look down all around, hey satellite…..

The song, a soft melody by Dave Matthews Band, had been a favourite of their parents, and one she had sung to comfort him many times after their death. She had cared for him since he was eleven years old, and she hadn't let him down yet, and she wasn't going to now. She looked up, humming softly in continuation to the tune as Michael relaxed, his shoulders hitching now, rather than shivering. "Hush now, Mikey...Gee-gee's got you." She blinked, fighting the tears that threatened to expose her fear and uncertainty at the current situation. She gave a hard look to the surrounding gang, acutely aware yet again that she was less than ideally dressed. The way they were looking at her was disconcerting. Even Jones seemed to regard her with less hostility. It was not a predatory, sexual stare though. She'd seen that before. This was almost a yearning, and they seemed almost embarrassed to be caught looking.

Helix coughed, to break the silence. "C'mon, hun. We can't keep the boys waiting too long." His hard, demanding tone had been eased into a soft whispered request. "I assure you, we'll treat you well."

Angela nodded, a confused half-smile on her lips, as she followed, still comforting Michael as best she could. She had the feeling she had missed something important somehow, but did not feel it would go over well to ask. It might take away whatever advantaged she'd gained thus far.