If he could be wrong about taking any life at all—and he had always believed himself unable to kill anything—he might be wrong about being able to kill men. In spite of everything he had been taught and what he believed about the influence of the Broadcasters.
He studied Joel in the gloom. The man represented everything he loathed—stupidity, brutality, the mob. If I can kill anyone, he told himself, it should be Joel.
He could try. Yes, he could. And that was a victory in itself.
He moved, and that was another triumph over the physical defeat that was already upon him.
Joel looked up, narrow eyes widened, as Danniels came down on him.
Danniels caught him in the stomach with the flat of his palm and shoved up.
Joel gargled in the back of his throat and rammed his thumbs for the prisoner's eyes. Danniels nodded and caught the balls of the thumbs on his forehead. He brought his fist up sharply and hit Joel on the point of the chin. His head snapped but righted itself slowly. He lashed into Danniels' body with both eager hands and Danniels, weakened, went down before he had time to think about it.
From the crazy angle of the floor he saw far above him Joel's lips curl back and closer, further down, a shoe was lifted to kick. It was aimed at Danniels' swollen foot.
Danniels smiled. He shouldn't have done that. If he had acted like a man instead of an animal he would have been fine. But now ... Danniels rolled over quickly against the one leg of Joel's firmly on the floor. Off balance, Joel fell backwards with a curse, the back of his skull ringing against the side of one of the bombs.