by Scott W Cook
He paused and the crowd seemed to lean in with anticipation. Things were getting juicy now, and I swear there was this… feeling… of I don’t know what. Bloodlust? Like maybe what the Romans used to feel as the Gladiator’s took the field or something.
“These three men,” Banks went on, “Were caught in the act of stealing a boat. They had stolen fuel, water, food and even weapons and were headed out of town when one of our patrol boats caught up with them.”
That did it. The crowd began booing and shouting again. They weren’t happy about this particular set of criminals.
“There is no defense,” Banks said, “Yet you all have an opportunity to speak.”
“You’re right, Admiral,” One of the men, a tall lean black man with salt and pepper hair said. To me he sounded sarcastic. Especially when he said “Admiral.” Maybe disdain is the right word? “We don’t have any excuse. We were trying to get the hell out of this little fiefdom of yours. This little Kingdom where you lord over us like some medieval dictator. Deciding on your own who does what and where, and who gets beaten when they don’t follow your rules.”
“Rules we all voted on,” Banks said to the man, “Not just my arbitrary decision. Everyone in town, including you three, got a vote.”
The man scoffed, “Really? And if we all decided we’ve had enough? Not like we can fight the military.”
Banks eyed him for a long time before saying in a voice that was cold, “You other two? Anything to add?”
The black man’s friends didn’t say anything. Banks nodded and waved a hand at the Master at Arms.
The Senior chief and two seamen unshackled the three thieves and herded them to the cage. They each brought out a pair of handcuffs.
“Strip to the waist,” Banks ordered.
The men hesitated at first and the three security men grabbed them and yanked their shirts over their heads.
“Seize them up,” Banks continued.
The Master at Arms handcuffed the three men to the cage. Although they weren’t bent over like the woman had been. They stood upright against the chain links.
“Three dozen,” Banks ordered flatly.
“What the fuck, Sam…” Tony breathed.
Tara’s hands went to her mouth and I put my arms around her. Was this really happening?
The men were about five feet apart. The Senior chief and his two mates each went over to the side of the stage and brought out three red bags. From these they pulled out whips with multiple ends.
“Cat o’ nine tails,” Sam said quietly, “God damn…”
I’d never seen anything like it. The cats whistled through the air as the men swung them with incredible force. When the whips struck, they jerked the men bodily and ripped screams of pain from two of them. The black man only grunted and kept his mouth clamped shut… but that didn’t last.
The first few hits only left red welts on the backs of the three men. They were arranged so that we could see their backs. Yet by the fifth hit, their skin was split open and blood began to seep through the wounds.
Even the tall black man who’d spoken was hollering in pain with each strike now. They just kept coming, whip after whip. Soon their backs were nothing but raw bloody messes, each strike of the cat sending visible droplets of blood into the air.
By the end of it, the three men were moaning in agony, sagging against the cage, the only thing holding them up were the cuffs. They just hung there, groaning and weeping in a level of pain I couldn’t even imagine.
“Cut them down and take them back to holding,” Banks said, “Make sure they’re cleaned up and treated, Senior.”
The crowd had gone silent now. But I didn’t get the impression that they were horrified, like we were. I don’t know how, but it was like I could sense the crowd’s emotions. What I felt was… satisfaction, maybe?
“Theft is a serious crime,” Banks said, “But not the worst crime. Those men are in agony and will remember this night as long as they live… yet they do live and they’ll have a chance to redeem themselves. However, some crimes can’t be forgiven.”
He turned and looked at the four remaining men. As he did, a squad of marines strolled up to stand next to the stage. They were carrying M4’s at the ready.
“These men were caught in a conspiracy to assassinate me along with our citizen’s council leaders,” Banks said dramatically.
The crowd went nuts now. If they’d been angry at the thieves before, this time they wanted blood. They wanted pain and they wanted revenge and right fucking now.
“It’s not just that I’m angry at being their target,” Banks continued, raising his hand high, “Or that Counselors Pratt, Holiday, Yarrow and Lopez were too… it’s that these men want to tear down what we’ve built! They want to take over… run things their way. They want to destroy our very way of life.”
The crowd erupted again. A few people actually threw empty cups and even a hot dog at the prisoners.
“For this heinous act,” Banks said in a booming voice, “there can be only one punishment. Execution!”
The crowd roared in agreement.
“You’re a liar!” One of the chained men shouted, “A filthy fucking liar! That’s why Len Johnson was stealing that boat! You’re a sick fuck, Banks!”
“SILENCE!” Banks roared at the men, “If you speak out again, you’ll be shot here on the spot!”
The man scoffed, “You’re going to kill us anyway, what’s the fucking difference?”
“Because unlike you murderers,” Banks said with clenched teeth, “I still believe that even you deserve a chance. Even you scum sucking traitors should be given a sliver of hope rather than a simple execution. And that these good citizens—“
Banks waved an arm at the crowd. They hollered and cheered.
“These good citizens deserve a little something too,” Banks said, “A bit of sport at your expense. Seems fair to me.”
“Sammy….” Tony said in horror, “What is this?”
Sam just held up a hand.
“Put them in the ring,” Banks said, “And bring out the opponents!”
The marines led the men to the cage, dragging their chain behind them. It wasn’t easy, as the heavy links were now being supported by four men rather than the original eleven. One marine opened a door and led them in. As two other marines trained their weapons on the criminals, two of the marines unshackled the chain. The condemned men were shoved to one side of the “ring” and the four marines dragged the heavy chain out and locked the door.
“Fair is fair,” Banks went on, speaking to the crowd again, “These four men will face eight opponents in mortal combat.”
“How the fuck is that fair?” Another of the caged men shouted.
“Oh, it’s better than you deserve,” Banks snapped, “But these opponents aren’t really a match one on one. So we double them up, just to keep things even.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Mom said, “He can’t mean…”
“What?” Tara and I asked at the same time.
“Zombies,” Tony said flatly, “Fucking zombies…”
He was right. From around the corner of the building came this… wheeled… thing. It was a platform maybe eight feet off the ground with a chest high chain link fence around it. The wagon, I don’t know what else to call it, was maybe ten feet long and three feet wide. At its base were four car-sized wheels and an electric motor. At the back of the thing, sticking out on a metal frame was what looked like the handlebars of a commercial lawn mower. The driver could walk behind the contraption and control its speed and direction. Two armed marines walked on either side of the crazy thing.
“What the fuck?” Brenda asked. She sounded as bewildered as the rest of us.
The driver eased the wagon-thing up to the cage. At about the same level as the deck of the wagon was a door on the cage. One of the marines pulled on a rope and this door slid open. He then pulled another rope and the front end of the wagon’s fencing fell forward, leaving a nice
opening for the zombies to walk through.
“No fucking way…” I said.
The eight zombies had been milling about the whole time, moaning and snarling and reaching out at random as they’d approached. Now that a barrier had been removed, they did what zombies do best, move through it and toward food, which just so happened to be the four poor fuckers in the cage.
The zombies simply walked off the platform and dropped the eight feet or so to the pavement below. At least one broke an ankle. You could hear it snap from where we stood.
The crowd went crazy. Jeering, shouting and hollering. The battle was on and they couldn’t wait.
The one zombie that had landed first and broken its ankle had been trampled by the others. Despite this, however, it still crawled toward the four men who had arranged themselves along the far wall of the cage. The other seven ghouls came on relentlessly, their arms outstretched and their mouths open.
Two of the four men were fairly small. Another was a tall skinny black kid who was maybe in his early twenties. The fourth was a beefy guy with salt and pepper hair and a fluffy mustache . He was Hispanic, maybe. Hard to tell.
The two smaller guys, white guys, ran straight for the pack of ghouls. They split, one going around to their right and the other guy to their left. It looked like the move might work, except that the right hand guy didn’t have much space between the zombies and the far wall of the cage.
A ghoul lunged sideways and managed to catch his shirt in its rotten hand. The man jerked backward, yelling with fright, “Help me, Dave! It got me, man!”
Dave, the other smallish guy, had made it around his side of the group and was headed for the fence where the wagon thing had pulled up. His buddy’s cries for help distracted him for a moment and he turned.
By then, the ghoul had gotten both hands on Dave’s friend and was trying to pull him closer. Another ghoul joined in. The man punched and kicked but he was cornered against the fence.
“Dave!” He shrieked as the first ghoul bit into his shoulder. The other one latched onto his neck and a plume of arterial blood sprayed into the air.
Dave’s eyes were wide and he seemed frozen in place. Suddenly, he cried out in pain and went down. The crawler, who’d been hidden behind the seven standing monsters had latched onto his leg and dragged him to the ground.
Blood began to spurt everywhere. The remaining zombies split up and piled onto the two men. It was a horrific scene of writhing bodies, fountains of blood and unearthly shrieks of men being consumed alive.
I shuddered. I think all humans had a deep rooted terror of being eaten… eaten by a tiger, chomped by a shark… but to be gnawed to death by a creature with a small human-sized mouth… how many agonizing bites would it take? How long before shock or mental shut down would stop the pain?
Because of the zombies, I couldn’t see the two men anymore, but the blood and the screams told me what was happening. I was glad I couldn’t see.
“Mother of God!” Mom shouted, “What the fuck is this?”
The crowd was going nuts. Shouting, screaming, whooping and even cheering! How could anyone see this and think it was entertainment?
“Come on, Bill!” Mustache man called to the skinny black kid, “let’s get out while we can!”
“But…” Bill protested. He was riveted in the spot, staring open mouthed at the carnage just a few feet in front of him.
“We can’t help them now, man!” Stash said, “Let’s get to the wagon and get the fuck outta here!”
Stash smacked Bill on the arm and that seemed to break his concentration. The two men skirted around the pile of zombies who were still gnashing away at their two victims. The two men had stopped screaming, probably dead, I hoped for their sakes.
As Bill and Stash got to the fence, the makeshift wagon driver laughed and backed the thing away. Even as the two trapped men began climbing the chain links, one of the marine guards pulled the rope and slid the upper door closed.
“Fuck you!” Stash roared at them.
“It’s not that easy,” Banks said over the PA, “If you want to survive, you’ve got to earn it.”
“We can’t fight eight fucking G’s!” Bill shouted. His voice had a hysterical note in it.
“Then let them eat you,” Banks said casually.
“You’re a twisted fuck, Banks!” Stash hollered, “Why don’t you come in here and take care of us yourself! Instead of letting your fucking zombies do your dirty work.”
Banks only waved the comment away like he was swatting at a fly.
Bill and Stash were clinging to the fence like two insects. They were about halfway up the wall, out of reach of the undead for the moment.
“I can’t watch this anymore,” Tara said, starting to cry.
I pulled her into my arms and held her head to my chest. She wrapped her arms around me and held on tight, her sobs wracking her body.
I got it, I really did. But I couldn’t look away. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t. It seemed wrong to look away, as if avoiding this crazy and horrible scene was somehow betraying the men in the cage.
“I’m leaving,” Brenda said and turned to push her way through the crowd.
The zombies stood and shuffled over to congregate under Bill and Stash. The crawler made its way to them as well. There wasn’t much left behind. Just a pile of bones, hair, some tissue and pools of blood.
“Fuck this…” Mom said, “Fuck this place, Sam… I’m with Brenda. Tara, come with me.”
Mom put her arm around Tara and then turned and began to elbow her way through the throng of onlookers. I heard her curse a couple of them out when they didn’t move fast enough.
I knew it was only a matter of time. Bill and Stash couldn’t hang their forever.
“Sooner or later,” Banks told them, “You’re going to get tired and either fall or have to climb down.”
“Fuck you!” Bill shouted.
A moment went by and Stash began making his way sideways, “He’s right, Bill. It’s fight or die.”
Bill just clung there like a spider in its web. I’m not sure, but I think he was scared shitless. Can’t really blame him, with eight ravenous flesh eating monsters piled up under you.
Only one of the zombies took much notice of Stash. Yet that one began shambling along under him, looking up as the living human separated himself from the main group.
When he got to the corner, Stash turned on the fence, looked down at the ghoul and launched himself feet first at the thing’s face.
When he collided with the zombie and drove it to the concrete, the crowd began to cheer. This was what they wanted. A real show, not just a couple of guys hanging on for dear life.
Stash managed to keep to his feet and began to stomp the zombie’s face with his boot. It didn’t take too many hits before we all heard the nauseating crunch of a skull imploding.
Another zombie had broken off from the group and was headed for the Hispanic man. Stash stepped forward and to the side and kicked out with his right foot, sweeping the zombie’s legs out from under him. Stash dropped onto the G’s back, holding him down with his weight and grabbed the thing’s long hair in his fists. It had been a woman once, although a rather robust one.
Stash began to jerk the zombie’s head up and slam its face into the concrete. This wasn’t quite as efficient as the stomping he’d given his first opponent, though. It was taking time and the zombie was squirming and thrashing wildly under him.
With one final tremendous heave, Stash smashed and ground the thing’s face onto the ground and blood and gray matter squirted out from the sides of what was left of its face.
The crowd was cheering now and was so loud that we almost couldn’t hear Bill shout, “Look out, Carlos!”
Stash, or Carlos, probably hyped up with adrenaline, jerked up and looked back in time to see the remaining five zombies that could walk bearing down on him. He leapt to his feet and turned to face them, raising his fists in defiance.
Zombies aren’t overly strong. It’s basically however strong a person was in life would be the limit of their strength in death. And more often than not, not as much due to decomposition. However, the problem with zombies and I guess their bite in particular, was that they felt no pain. There was no governor to how much pressure they could apply.
If you or I bit down on something, sooner or later it would hurt our teeth or jaw if we squeezed too much. Not with the dead, though. That’s why they could bite through human flesh easily and even clothing too.
One on one, Carlos would have probably been able to hold his own, but not with five of them piling on him. He shouted for Bill, who still clung to the fencing in terror.
“We can’t just watch this!” Tony exclaimed, “God dammit, Sharky!”
Sam stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. I know what he said earlier about keeping it cool. I know what I said, too… but this was too much. Could we really stand by and do nothing?
Apparently not.
“Fuck…” Sam growled. Then he beat his right fist into his left palm, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Sam broke into a run, shoving his way through the few lines of the crowd ahead of us. As soon as I saw him take off, I knew I couldn’t stand there anymore. I took off after him, all the while wondering what the hell I was doing and also that I’m glad mom and Tara didn’t see me do this.
If they thought me running after Mark on the Gandy was stupid…
Sam rounded the far end of the cage and I was right on his heels. He was barreling right for the marine holding the upper door lanyard tight so that Bill couldn’t open it.
He saw Sam and his eyes went wide, “What the fu—“
Now, let me make this clear. Sam is a big dude. He’s like six foot four and ways maybe two-twenty. And all of that lean muscle. When a guy like that is bull rushing you, you either get the hell out of his way or get buried.
The marine reacted too slowly and Sam slammed into him, sending the smaller guy sailing backward. Sam followed through and tore the guy’s M4 from around his shoulder and held it on the marine.
I grabbed the rope and pulled on it, sliding the elevated gate open, “Come on, Bill!”