Blackwater Val
Then Salt was driving his prey to the ground, triumphant, rearing back with his razored hatchet high—
That’s when Richard unfroze and lunged frantically, screaming and bringing the baseball bat in a vicious downward arc on the Indian’s arm from behind. There was a dull snap, followed by an exclamation of pain. The tomahawk fell and he saw Salt’s right arm wrenched at an improbable angle, a nub of jagged white bone poking from it. Richard inhaled. Salt clutched his shattered forearm in disbelief, squeezing with his other hand as if trying to compress the broken bone back in.
Tommy was down, hurt in the dark and panting, an inflated Confederate soldier on all fours retching not far from him.
Sikat na Kabanata