by Tufo, Mark
“Do you know why I’m still alive? I’m not a doctor but the blood I saw pouring out of me was a deep crimson. It was an arterial strike and by the way I was bleeding out I should have only had a few moments left.”
“Well, from what I gather the aliens were more than a little peeved when in the first round an additional fifty-two victorious combatants died from injuries sustained in their bouts. They decided to step in from Round Two on and save the victors with their advanced medical techniques.”
Oh, I thought as I absently touched the alien pack on my side. That explains that.
“Deb… do you mind if I call you that?” I asked.
“No, most of my friends call me that anyway.”
“Why were you so terrified when I woke you? I know this whole situation is crazy but I’m one of the good guys. At least I think I am.”
A sudden nervousness clouded her face for an instant, then passed when she realized I was only asking the question out of concern and with no hidden malice behind my words. I guess she finally decided I was telling the truth. Damn, this was one attractive woman but I decided in the best interests of all to let my head do the thinking. It was amazing to be a guy on an alien ship God knew where with potentially less than three hours to live, yet I still was having strong feelings of desire for a girl I didn’t even know.
“And why,” I asked, truly curious now, “was someone as gorgeous as you “assigned to such a lowly ranking as myself?”
She visibly flushed. “You weren’t supposed to win,” she said quietly, hoping to not upset me. Too late, I thought. “The ranking system is almost always right. These monsters take pride in that fact. You, Mr. Talbot—”
“Mike,” I interjected.
“—Mike, you are considered an anomaly. They were actually going to let you die so their predictions would be true, but I guess now you are some sort of curiosity to them. So far, you are only one of fifteen who has gone against the odds.”
“Lucky for me, I guess,” I said with very little inflection.
“And lucky for me, I suppose too.” But she definitely put more feeling in her words than I had.
For the first time in days I felt something besides hate and pity and for a moment in time I wasn’t afraid. She responded to my smile with a friendly kiss that could have easily melted me.
“Thank you." I told her. The softness of her lips on mine would linger for a long time.
"For what? She asked.
"Giving me something to live for." I told her honestly.
“You're welcome.” she said ever so softly, “and thank you for not taking advantage of me.”
“Deb, I might be caged but I am not an animal.”
We talked for hours about everything until we came back to my original question, which she had tried to skirt around for the entire conversation. She told me she was so afraid because Durgan had started a gruesome trend among the victors. She explained that not everyone had followed his lead but enough did to make it a very macabre event. Upon winning his second battle, quite easily she added, Durgan was awarded his ‘gift’ right there on the field. He then proceeded in front of the whole alien audience and the rest of the women (the ‘gifts’ to be) to strip the clothes off his newest acquisition. When that was done he beat her to death.
“He just punched and kicked her right there in front of God and everyone,” she sobbed. “Those alien things were going crazy. That poor girl was screaming in pain, she was so afraid. I just wanted to go down there and help her.”
It was at this moment that I wanted to kill all of those alien bastards and not only for what they had done to me, but for what they had put Deb and the other women through.
“He was brutalizing her until she just couldn’t take it anymore.”
That sickened me. How could he possibly do that to another person, a woman especially?
“This went on for almost half an hour—he just kept doing it and doing it, and the girl, she wasn’t even sobbing anymore. The bastards even put close-ups of the whole thing on the big screen, they were eating it up. Finally, he finished what he had started and then it really got bad.”
“How could it get any worse?” I didn’t think I wanted to know, but I was too involved now to not find out.
“He… he killed her,” she stammered. “He drove his sword through her back and pinned her to the ground. It was horrific. She was so battered and bruised the girl could barely muster up a scream. Many of the contestants followed suit after him with their own ‘gifts’. It was a slaughterhouse. I just cried and cried for those poor souls and I am ashamed to admit it now but I hoped beyond hope you would die also.”
“I understand if I died I wouldn’t be able to do those awful things to you. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I know it’s horrible inside the arena floor, but I at least somewhat control my own destiny.” I paused to gather my thoughts. “Deb, I know you’re upset but I have to know…”
“What is it?” she whimpered.
“What happens to you if I die in this next round?”
“Don’t even say that! Please don’t even think it!” she yelled.
“Deb, look at me. I’m a hundred sixty-five pounds, I’m far from the bruisers out there now. I’ve faced one old guy and a half dead guy who almost killed me. My odds of going too far aren’t all that great.”
“Please!” she cried.
“Deb, what happens?” I asked a little more urgently.
“I go to your victor,” she sobbed. “Please don’t let that happen!”
I hugged her with all the strength I could muster, she winced in pain but she didn’t want me to let go, either. We cried for what seemed like hours but in reality was only minutes. Then the screen roared to life.
“Gladiator, prepare yourself. Your bout is about to begin.”
Our conversation ceased as we watched the events unfold on the screen. It was obvious more pomp and circumstance was attributed to the higher rankings. Durgan didn’t even have an armed escort leading him into the arena. He appeared to enter all too willingly. The camera honed right in on him and I was able to get a good look. He looked like a wrestler in his garb, he even had what appeared to be a silk robe on. This really did look like Saturday Morning Wrestling only I wasn’t on my couch at college. Durgan even bowed before the crocs and they loved him. They hissed back their collective approval. It was when they announced his competition that I knew something was amiss. His competitor for this round had died from his injuries sustained in the prior round. So even the alien technology was only so good, they did have faults. That was a good piece of news, if only I could get out of here to tell somebody. Durgan was getting a bye for this round and he was pissed; he was angry he was not going to get the chance to kill another human being. How far from the edge had this man been on Earth? It couldn’t have been that far, if he was pushed over, this easily. And then as he turned to his ‘gift’ his eyes gleamed. If it weren’t for the evil grin that spread over his face I would have actually thought he cared for this woman. I was riveted to the screen, I felt like I was watching a train wreck in action. The camera pulled back from his massive structure to the shrieking and shivering form of the woman in the center of the arena. She was tied to two posts so her arms and legs were spread. Tears flowed down her cheeks in rivulets; she could not take her eyes off him. She knew this monster and she knew her fate was sealed, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. He slowly sauntered his way to the center of the arena. The crowd was going crazy, they were actually throwing flowers onto the floor of the arena.
“They’re as sick as he is!” I shouted to no one in particular.
The woman renewed her shrieking and screaming with a vengeance. He approached her and actually walked around her once, slowly. The woman desperately tried to follow him with her eyes all the way around; he finally came to a stop in front of her and just stood there, eyeing her up and down. It was the kind of once over that could get you in trouble for sexual harassment on our p
lanet. He looked at her for another few seconds with her just quivering and crying and then bang, he punched her full force. There was an audible pop and what was once a beautiful aristocratic nose was now a shattered piece of flesh and cartilage on her face. Blood poured out and her eyes instantly blackened. The crocs looked like they were foaming at the muzzle. I had hoped that punch would knock her out so she would not have to endure the inevitable torture he was about to rain down on her. But whether he had pulled the punch just enough or she was just strong enough to withstand it I don’t know, but she was still cognizant, the terror in her eyes revealed her senses had not been dulled. She went slack. This once probably strong and vibrant woman just gave up the ghost, she had accepted her fate and was most likely now making peace with her God, but to me it didn’t seem he was listening at the moment. That animal was everything men had striven not to be, he was more the missing link than a human. He let out a triumphant yell as he rained punches on her beaten form. He pointed into the audience and yelled, “This one’s for you!” The camera zoomed onto the person he had been talking to. I fell against the screen, it was Beth. Her face was pure hatred and terror. The camera flashed back just in time to catch the sword as it made its way through Durgan’s newest ‘gifts’ neck. I shut the screen off before the woman’s head had a chance to hit the ground. Deb was crying and I was dry heaving into the toilet. It was a long time before I was able to regain my legs and stand up. When I finally exited the bathroom Deb was still whimpering, but she must have been dreaming of the atrocities because she was now fast asleep.
They came sometime after I had fallen asleep. At first I thought Deb was trying to wake me. But the feeling was unmistakable, cold and clammy and immensely strong. They felt dead to the touch and their eyes did little to change that appearance. I jumped, Deb jumped too. Tears flowed from her eyes anew.
CHAPTER 22 – Journal Entry 17
“Wake up, hu-man, it is time to die,” the guard stated. If I had known any better I would have sworn he laughed, but through the mass of teeth they had, it was nearly impossible to tell if they even possessed any human-like emotion.
“Gladiator number 812, follow the lit arrows to the stadium, do not stray or you will be shot.”
“I guess that means me.”
“Good luck, Mike.” She kissed me—not one of those auntie kisses, but a full-fledged kiss. My knees knocked together, another couple of seconds and I would’ve wobbled to my knees.
I had to be strong. I was not only fighting for my own survival but also for Beth and now Deb, the burden that was being laid upon my shoulders was almost too much to bear. If it wasn’t for the guards holding me up, I most likely would have collapsed on the floor.
“I’ll be watching Mike, and I’ll be praying for the both of us.”
“Thank you,” I said weakly. She wiped away a tear as I rounded the corner.
I stood in my familiar place awaiting my introduction and my competition. The crowd seemed to have worked themselves up into a shark-feeding frenzy. Bloodlust was in the air. I tried my best to scan the arena stands where I thought Beth might be, but I couldn’t see through the lighting flooding the arena floor. We wouldn’t want those aliens to miss any action in the shadows. Number 212 came in, he appeared to be about five-foot ten- or eleven-inches and was extremely well built. And he did not have so much as a scratch on his entire body. A repeat of number 310 would not happen this evening. The high, tight haircut he was sporting did little to calm my fears. He gave me the distinct impression he was at some time or still was an active member of the armed services. Please, God, I thought, let it be the Navy and not the Marines. He had that air of self-confidence about him that reeked of drill instructor. He didn’t seem to be concerned with me in the least.
The unceremonious shove from behind clued me into the fact it truly was time to do or die. Great, the arena motif this time was tropical jungle, I got to fight what appeared to be a Marine on Vietnam territory; the odds seemed stacked worse than I thought. This day was not getting off to a good start.
I pondered using a bow and arrow. A long range weapon was something I needed over someone who definitely had better training and better conditioning, my idea of a good workout was going a couple of rounds with the Xbox. But long distance had been denied to me tonight. From where I was standing, I figured the longest shot I could probably get off would be in the neighborhood of ten yards due to the tropical foliage. Definitely too close, the memory of Mace Head was still too vivid to risk that avenue. I would never be able to swing the mace fast enough and I was afraid of a sword fight, he would overpower me entirely too easily. But my only alternative was a knife and I had no desire to smell his breath with my last. So I grabbed a spear. It felt good in my hands, it was light and deadly, and hopefully just what I needed. For the first time in three rounds I found myself on the defensive. I didn’t think there was any sense to sticking my neck out any further than it already was. I gathered just from one look at him on the Jumbotron that Mr. 212 was going to go on the offensive, and why shouldn’t he? I didn’t appear to pose much of a threat to him. So I did what any scared kid would do, I climbed a tree. Unless he was using a bow and arrow this sort of put us on even terms.
It seemed like I was up in the tree for hours. Sweat poured off me, I was concerned he would see the moisture dripping down the leaves. I did not want to wipe the sweat away, either, though. I was more afraid of him seeing the movement. At last, Mr. 212 found his way toward me. He was going through the jungle as one who was well versed in that area. He seemed a little perturbed this was taking so long, but confidence still shone brightly through his gaze, always checking around himself and placing his feet where they would make the least audible sound. He even occasionally glanced up into the trees. If he wasn’t out to kill me I would have really been impressed with him. I hoped the trunk of the tree and the branches would shield me from all but the most diligent of searches. Patiently, he made his way in my general direction. I knew when the time came I could not hesitate. He would not give me a second chance and neither would I in his position. The time had come; he was fifteen feet directly below me. My heart raced, my mouth went dry, time slowed down. It was now or never… my leg cramped as I was about to spring so what was to be a graceful death dive turned into a perilous plunge. The Marine must have felt something amiss for he looked up in time to notice my hurtling body and my poised spear ready to puncture his breast. He turned incredibly fast to avoid the majority of the thrust, but I still felt the unmistakable scraping of metal on bone as the spear plunged deep down the length of his left arm. He reacted with the speed of a cat; it appeared to me that he was oblivious to the pain. He swung his sword with full force and would most likely have cut me in half had I not been rolling away from him, the momentum of my ungraceful dive saving my life. How long could this kind of luck last? As it was, I had shattered my left arm again, but I was definitely more in tune with the pain in my shattered arm than old Mr. 212. I finally stopped rolling to notice he had recovered and was coming full tilt for me, sword raised and ready to strike. He had no fear. Groping with my right hand, I was trying to scamper away, backpedaling at a much slower rate than the jarhead was racing forward. Reaching back, my hand fell upon a palm-sized object, it was a rock and was just what I needed. I stood up, trying desperately to block the pain of my arm out, and hurled the rock as hard as I could. I couldn’t say I was truly aiming, I just threw it in the general direction of the death mass coming my way.
Pay dirt—there was a puckering sound as the rock blew out his right eye. Blood flew everywhere and his eye dangled uselessly down by his chin. His forward progress had been stopped and this Goliath was on his knees. His one good eye burned at me. This man was by no stretch of the imagination out of the race yet. His left arm and right eye were useless, but he still was going to attempt to finish his mission. He carefully put his sword down, never taking his good eye off me, and proceeded to rip strips of cloth off his shirt. He was making a pat
ch. I ran. This guy was the Terminator—no matter what I did to him he just kept coming. I needed to patch myself up a bit and more importantly I needed to get rearmed. The pain in my arm ebbed somewhat but it was quite clear I was now a one-armed warrior.
“Hey you ‘fraidy cat, come out and playyyy!” He was taunting me. Could this be happening? I had inflicted wounds that would have killed ninety-five percent of the population and this guy was taunting me. I was scared; what if this really was a Terminator, maybe the aliens were messing with me. No, get it together, man. You saw him bleeding. Get a weapon and get moving. I grabbed a sword and ran as far from that voice as was possible in this jungle arena. I then proceeded to dig a hole in the ground, hoping I wasn’t digging my own grave. The ground was soft, more like potting soil than a true forest floor, but I guess I couldn’t blame the aliens for their ignorance. Maybe I’d thank them for the softness of the soil in some special way if I ever got off this heap. I made the pit around a bend in the trail, trusting in the fact he would not have enough time to notice my trap as he rounded the corner. When it was complete, I backtracked about twenty yards and unwrapped my damaged arm; I wanted to make sure he had a blood trail to follow. With any luck, he would be so focused on finishing this job he wouldn’t be able to tell I had covered the same ground twice. I returned to the pit and crawled into what I hoped wasn’t my final resting place. I grabbed a thin reed and snapped it off so I could use it as a breathing tube, then covered myself as best I could with twigs, dirt and leaves. I could only hope he hadn’t been watching because if that was the case I was a dead man. I was positive the pounding of my heart would give me away, by either the noise or the unsettling of the dirt on top of me. But I could do nothing to calm myself, the thought of him plunging his sword into me at any moment was all I could think of. My breathing was getting ragged; I felt I was suffocating. I didn’t think I was getting enough air through my plant stalk. I was just about to exit my hole when I felt him, yes, felt him coming in my direction. His steps were slower and they did not have the same subtleness as before. The small sliver of plant I had been using as a breathing hole was suddenly gone; he had trampled it with his foot. Dirt poured in. He had to be able to tell from the difference in his footing that I was under him. The advantage was his or mine for the taking. I panicked. I used every bit of strength I could muster and in a defensive gesture I thrust my spear straight up and luckily into my now suspecting victim. The spear entered him almost too easily. I had caught him in a manner that will haunt me and all mankind forever, directly in the juncture where his legs met. Even in what had to be total shock he still had the awareness to try to kill me. He tried desperately to drive his sword into my now exposed neck. I’m sure the only thing that saved me was his lack of dimensionality. With one eye completely useless his depth perception was off by a mere fraction, but it was still close enough to leave a substantial gash across the left side of my neck. Another quarter inch and he would have cut my carotid artery. His crumbling body shook, my sword twitched from his death spasms. But through it all, his one good eye never left mine. He was still mad and if he hadn’t died just then he would have killed me.