A hand suddenly shot out of nowhere and punched Dave in the throat. The hand didn't let go, either. It pinned his head back against the flimsy plywood wall of the bathroom, choking him.

Dave's two hands came up to pull the attacker's single hand off his neck. Dave was a strong guy. He did the Nautilus circuit at the school gym three times a week. But he couldn't budge that hand.

He also couldn't breathe. Which meant he was getting weaker. He began to black out when the hand suddenly let go. Dave gasped and choked, falling forward. Then he felt the hand close its iron grip on his red wavy hair. The guy in the mask yanked.

Dave was pulled forward; he fell off the toilet, landing at his attacker's feet—and he saw a very strange thing. Teds purple hightops. The big, goofy kind Buzzy always wore, the kind that made Buzzy look even more like a bozo.

But this couldn't be Buzzy, because there was no way Buzzy would be strong enough to pull him right up off the floor and bash Dave's head first against one side of the metal stall, and then back against the other. And then the guy stepped into the stall with him.

The man in the mask grabbed Dave with both hands, lifted him, and turned him and—

All at once Dave knew what the guy was trying to do. And even though he hadn't fully recovered from the choking yet—or from getting his head bashed—he began to buck with all his might.

Because there was no way this guy was going to get his head into that filthy old toilet.

But the man in the mask was so strong! Dave's head was going down. The smell came up to meet him. It had a more powerful effect on him than smelling salts. He kicked backward like a goat and managed to catch the guy hard in the groin. He heard a low groan. Dave didn't waste a second. He struggled to his feet, turning and punching at the same time. He hit the guy in the face with all his might.

And nearly broke his hand on the mask.

But he didn't stop for a second, he just flailed away with his good hand, the unhurt left, pummeling the man in the mask in the throat, in the stomach, landing two more low blows just for good measure.

The masked figure backed out of the stall into the washroom. Dave followed, karate kicking with all his might. His boot caught the masked man just under the chin, a blow that should have killed him.

The guy went flying back into the row of sinks, cracking his head against the long row of mirrors that Dave hadn't even known was there. The glass shattered. But instead of dying, the attacker pushed off the sinks and charged, lowering his masked head.

Maybe it was Buzzy after all, because who else but a dork would be so dumb as to come in so low like that? With the same ease with which he had avoided Thompson's blitz this afternoon, Dave easily sidestepped the onrushing attacker. And as the figure went by, he chopped down on the back of the guy's neck.

He heard the satisfying crash as the man in the mask banged headfirst into a closed stall door. The door opened inward; the man flew into the stall and fell on the floor.

"Had enough?" Dave asked. Because he never liked to leave a fight until his opponent had not only lost but had also begged for mercy. Besides, he was still worrying about those purple hightops. This might be Teddy, the geek of all geeks. And if it was Teddy, Dave had already lost this fight, just by letting a wuss surprise him the way Teddy had. If this was Teddy, Dave would pretty much have to kill him, just to save face.

"I said, had enough, sissy?"

Whoever it was, he didn't answer. The stall door slowly swung back out. Dave strained his eyes to see the kid in the mask as he sauntered back out. Unbelievable, the guy appeared to be unscathed.

Right then, Dave felt relief. Because at least he knew he was up against a tough opponent. So Buzzy hadn't surprised him, after all.
Then the guy charged. He hit Dave high, his arms wrapping around Dave's body like hoops of steel. They both went down.

Hitting the floor knocked the wind out of Dave. Which was one of the worst feelings in the world, as far as Dave was concerned. It was like getting punched in the lungs. He couldn't move or breathe. And all the time, he was looking straight up into the hate-filled eyes of the man in the mask.

And realizing that it was Buzzy after all.

Teddy had seen enough wrestling matches to know what he was supposed to do next. He moved to the side, setting his body perpendicular to Dave's. He pressed Dave's back hard against the floor, making sure there was no air space in between.

He held him there, waiting for an imaginary ref to slap the floor to indicate a successful pin, waiting for the crowd to roar. During wrestling season, Teddy, who never went out for any team sports, assisted the coach and cut up orange sections for the wrestlers to eat right after their matches. Every time the crowd roared, it burned in his ears. They never roared for him.

They didn't roar now.

And Dave wasn't moving. He was just making these tiny gasping sounds. That wasn't right. The victim was supposed to be struggling helplessly.

Another wave of fury swept through Teddy's powerful body. Crooking fingers into claws, he ended his little wrestling session with a maneuver never seen on the rubber mats of Carville.

He ripped out Dave's throat.

   Friday the 13th: Road Trip, chapter 19