The sudden movement stymied Thorsson for a moment, and, when he stabbed out with the knife, Milton was able to swerve to the left while bringing his right arm up and around in a blocking motion. The point of the blade cut into the flesh of Milton’s forearm, digging in for half an inch and then scoring a track up to the crook of his elbow.

Pain flared, but Milton welcomed it, a sudden buzz of adrenaline juicing his muscles and desperation adding its own edge. He planted his right foot and pivoted on it, driving a left-handed hook into Thorsson’s ribcage. The bigger man was unbalanced by Milton’s block, his arm still out ahead of him and his torso left unguarded. Milton put everything into the punch and was rewarded with a grunt of pain.

Thorsson staggered to his left. Milton caught his wrist in both hands so that he could control the knife, then stepped closer to Thorsson until he had pressed his hand and the knife against his body. With his body pressed up tight against the bigger man’s, Milton forced his shoulder into Thorsson’s to knock him off balance, then pivoted his body and swept his legs to take him down to the ground. Milton followed him down, pinning the knife hand and twisting it all the way back until the fingers loosened and the knife fell free. They struggled and, in the confusion, Milton thrust his hand down and jammed the tracker into the pocket of Thorsson’s jacket.

Milton lunged for the knife; Thorsson, invigorated by his own desperation, struck Milton in the throat with the straightened fingers of his left hand. Milton gagged, suddenly choked. Thorsson got both hands beneath Milton’s chest and, with a grunt of effort, shoved up. He was hugely strong, and Milton was thrown off him as if he were a child. He landed on his knees and crawled back.

Thorsson got to his feet.

Milton, blood running from the cut to his forearm, stood opposite him and fought for breath.

The knife was on the floor between them. They both saw it. Thorsson was much bigger, and faster than Milton would have given him credit for. If it was a straight-up brawl, Milton knew that he would lose.

“You’re slow,” Milton goaded, even though it wasn’t true.

“Faster than you, old man,” Thorsson said.