Georgia teaches self defense

Someone broke the door in with a single kick and rushed her. Georgia was a fighter, accustomed to combat, even if it was mostly when she was in the form of another creature. She used the first defense she could bring to bear— her legs. As her attacker rushed her, she kicked out with both legs, trying to shove him away. But he had too much momentum, and instead Georgia’s kick had flung her chair over backward.
A pregnant woman nowhere near as lithe or graceful as she usually was, she turned and tried to get away.
“There’s no blood,” I said.
The attacker had dragged her out by main force. Either he’d beaten her with his fists and feet—easy, on a pregnant woman, who would instinctively curl her body around her unborn child, so that blows landed mostly on the back, ribs, and buttocks—or else he’d choked her unconscious. Either way, he’d subdued her without, apparently, drawing blood.
Then they left.
I shook my head.
“What do you think?” Will asked.
“I think you don’t want to know.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “But I need to.”
I nodded. I repeated my theory and its supporting evidence. It made Will go pale and silent.
“How was her hand-to-hand?” I asked him.
“Fair. She used to teach women’s self-defense seminars on campus. I don’t think she’s ever had to use it in earnest. . . .” His voice trailed off as he stared at the fallen chair.


Side Jobs, Aftermath, Page 346