Chapter 15 - Training surprise

83 15 64
                                    

I didn't want to say anything about my dream to mom and dad until later the next night, for a simple reason: the next night was Saturday night, which meant that I would be getting my butt kicked by both Santos and my mom (and maybe my dad this time, too).

And, I mean, literally getting my butt kicked; Santos was not only our 'off-site' bodyguard, he was also our krav maga trainer.

The reason for this self-defense training was straightforward: were either of my parents to end up going into 'full-monster'-mode, I was at least capable of defending myself to the extent that a person could defend themselves against an indescribable, multi-tentacled thing (I mean, some self-defense capability was better than no self-defense capability, right?)

What's interesting is that mom and dad were also being trained. The rationale was that if only one of them 'turned' (i.e., mom in the first instance), the other could help manage (i.e., dad, most of the time – except for the garage incident). It made sense. And it sure made for fun Saturday nights. Kind of gave new meaning to the term 'family time'.

I didn't take too long dressing for the occasion. Loose-fitting trackpants over Lycra shorts, then tennis shoes, and finally a tough polyester singlet over my sports bra. The singlet that was stretchy enough to be held onto, but not so stretchy that it would tear in the tussle. And there was going to be some tussling tonight.

Then I went downstairs to find Riley in the kitchen by the concealed floor-slider's controls. He was fiddling with the panel.

"Hey Riles," I said, "what's up?"

He pressed one more button, and the servos controlling the slider whirred into life. He turned to me: "Ah, good evening, Ms. Warrick. It's 7:08 already. They'll be up and feeding."

"Cool."

"Did you want anything to eat prior to getting beaten into the floor?"

I laughed. "Nah. I had a protein shake at half-four. It'll do until you guys scrape what's left of me off the mat."

He smiled, handed me my neck brace. Then waved me towards the now-exposed basement stairs. "Après vous, madame." ('After you.')

A little more than half an hour later and we were all in the gym. Mom was standing in front of me, her thick, black hair tied back in a bun. She was wearing her full Tae Kwon Do kit (she had had some training back in the 'Hamster') while I retained my tracksuit.

Santos stood to one side. "Okay, señoras. We start with light hand grapples." He cut one hand down in a karate chop through the air. "Amihan, you will defend against your daughter, but you will do this one move at a time, comprendes?"

Mom nodded. Then she smiled at me. Put her hands up. "Sipain ang aking asno, babae," she said. It was a phrase she used every time we sparred. The first part meant 'kick my ass.' I shouldn't need to tell you what 'babae' translates to.

I returned the smile. "Susubukan ko, mama." ('I'll try, mom').

And try I did.

I moved up to her, fists raised, elbows tucked in as I was trained. Mom shuffled back.

"One move at a time, señoras. Ami, stay where you are."

Mom paused. I moved in close. She put her own hands up, palms open, ready to slap my grapple attempts away.

"One try at a time, Santos?" I asked.

"Si."

I went for mom's lapels. She grabbed my wrists and pulled me forward. I stepped, dropped my body weight down, and shunted one leg behind hers. She was off-balance, and she knew it; her eyes were sparkling mischievously.

The Hunt for Tyrell BanksWhere stories live. Discover now