First I was at grandma's house on the farm. It was dark, and we were all a little scared in the quiet, as if it was a blackout. Then Kimble ran around the corner. Then I heard someone in the house who did not belong there, a stranger. A cold, unwelcome stranger, a man who looked like stone that you could hammer and deform of but never really damage. Then he ran out after Kimble.
Then I went outside, and there was a long field, like the distance between ballfields in a park. Trucks were at the other end, and Kimble was next to one of the pickups. The stone man was there too, doing something on the hood of his car. Kimble was sitting. I called Kimble. If there's one thing he'll do in the wide open, it's come to his daddy. All I need do is call him with happiness. I did. He didn't move, because he couldn't; his leash was tied to the truck. I felt as if someone had beaten my child.
As I got closer, one of the man's friends came out to stop me from approaching. He was much bigger than me. He was going to kill me. So I struck first, did what my teacher taught me. I clinched, control with my head. Knee him in the balls, arm around neck, control his arm, throw him to ground, hard. Control his body with your knee, break his arm with arm bar, then step on his face and move on to the next guy. Because the next guy was coming. I did all this, in a flash, and then I took care of the next one, and then the stone man. It was nothing, and I knew what to do without thinking.
I grabbed Kimble and ran. He seemed so relieved. I couldn't find my way back, suddenly there were rows of 1950s suburban houses, like the little ones in Toledo that my dad grew up around. But I had my little guy.