The Tree of Knowledge by Daniel Miller (room on the broom read aloud .txt) 📕

to forget that this is hand-to-hand combat and pretend you are playing Brick Travis in chess. Would you be intimidated then?”

“No.”

“Good. Now go play Brick Travis in chess.”

And with that, Turner walked into the middle of the tattered blue ring and announced the start of the fight.

Albert took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He pictured himself in the middle of the ring with the sergeant. Brick knew that Albert would expect him to begin with a right jab because of his standard stance, so he would probably attempt a kick. He envisioned himself grabbing Brick’s leg and sweeping him to the floor. This would rattle the sergeant, who would then attempt to grab Albert as he pinned him . . .

The bell rang, and Brick strode confidently to the center of the ring, navy-blue trunks and red shirt rippling like an American flag. Albert took one look out at the small audience. He saw Ying, literally on the edge of the wooden bench, with both hands over her mouth, her bright eyes emitting both hope and fear. Ariel stood lookout at the barn’s front entrance, arms crossed, her eyes darting back and forth between watching for unwanted visitors and evaluating the skirmish that was about to take place. Salazar stood, adjusted his cowboy hat, and smiled, toothpick twirling in his mouth, excited for Albert to get what was coming to him.

His gaze returned to Brick. But to his surprise, Albert was no longer afraid or anxious. He was calm. He could see what Brick was about to do, and he knew he would win.

Within seconds, the fight was over. It took Albert three moves. First, Brick fired a kick at Albert’s stomach, which he unflinchingly caught in his hand. Then, using the giant man’s foot as leverage, he sharply spun Brick to the mat. Finally, flopping on the mat behind the sergeant, Albert swiftly curled his arms around Brick’s neck and began choking him of oxygen to the point where the sergeant turned the same color as his shirt and was eventually forced to tap him on the forearm to prevent passing out.

Astonished by what they had just seen, Albert’s audience first sat in awed silence, then began clapping slowly, and then erupted in a standing ovation. Though the “crowd” consisted of just four people and a handful of crickets on a quiet evening, Albert felt as though a stadium were cheering his triumph.

“Bravo!” shouted Turner, waving his walking stick up and down.

Albert’s heart pounded with joy, and his cheeks burned against the crisp air with the happiness of victory. Without thinking, Albert raised his hands to the sky as he had once seen Mike Tyson do, and he danced around the ring in total glee.

But as he passed Brick, crouched on all fours on the canvas in abject humiliation, he knew that his victory would be short-lived. Brick’s face held the impatient rage of the superior man who through a twist of fate has been defeated; like Goliath, if David’s stone had merely stunned him.

“Again” was all the sergeant said as he rose to his feet. The power of his voice silenced the gathered observers. The veins along his arms and forehead raged against his skin, his navy-blue trunks covered in sweat and dust.

Albert wished he could simply leave the ring and enjoy his victory, but he knew Brick would fight forever before he quit.

“OK, let’s do it,” said Albert, attempting to regain his composure as he returned to his corner for round two. He closed his eyes and envisioned Brick’s moves in this next fight . . . but try as he might, he couldn’t. The pure adrenaline rush of defeating Brick had infected his thoughts, and as he approached his opponent, his mind dwelled on the image of his past victory.

Seeing Albert’s hesitation, the fuming sergeant charged him and, in one swift move of his hand, spanked the combat glasses off the fledgling fighter’s face. Albert looked up, but without his glasses, Brick was now a different man. His fists and feet no longer glowed blue or red. There were no percentages to guide him as to what would happen next. He had been driving cross-country with a GPS that had now gone blank in the middle of an Iowa cornfield.

Brick smiled smugly as he sized up his helpless opponent. He paused for a second to consider how he would disable Albert as if he was debating what to order off a menu and then sent a thunderous punch into Albert’s nose and then jaw, dropping him to the mat.

Albert rolled on the ground in dazed confusion, blood pouring from his nose onto the filthy mat. His blurred eyes searched for orientation and fell on his opponent’s enraged mug. Brick leaned in inches from his face. “You’re nothing without those glasses. Never forget—”

Before the sergeant could finish, Ariel leapt from her seat and pointed.

“They’re here! They’re raiding the farm!”

Brick rose from his vanquished foe. “Who?”

“The FBI!” She waved her arm, pointing to Albert, Turner, and Ying. “They know you’re here!”

Part III

Reckoning

Therefore the Lord God sent him out from the garden of Eden,

to cultivate the ground from which he was taken.

—Genesis 3:23

Chapter 1

Brick hoisted Albert off the canvas and shouted to Albert, Ying, and Turner. His voice echoed through the barn’s worn wood panels. “You three, go out the back door and meet me at the shed at the bottom of the hill.”

The trio remained motionless in the dusty barn. The crickets had gone silent, knowing something was afoot. Albert heard the rumble of footsteps and shouted orders echoing outside. Dust trembled in the moonlight filtering through the cracks in the ceiling. Just then, Ariel screamed. Albert looked back and saw her collapsed on the ground in the fetal position, shaking, two metal Taser strings rippling from her body. Salazar lofted two smoke bombs at the