by Bible, Jake
“Oh, hey there,” I say.
“Jace?” Leeds asks.
“I hit a mountain, Captain,” I reply. “I have a feeling it may hit back.”
Leeds risks a look over his shoulder. That’s all that Foster needs. I hear a snap and then a crackling as Leeds falls to the ground, his body shaking uncontrollably, the pistols sliding across the floor. Two wires protrude from his chest and the smell of burning hair fills the lobby.
“Pick his ass up,” Foster orders.
I think she’s talking about Leeds, but turns out it’s me as the mountain wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me up like I used to do to the kids when they were little. I’d fight, but have you ever tried to fight a mountain? Doesn’t work.
“And drag that treasonous fucker with us. That’s the second time today he’s gotten a bead on me,” Foster says. She gets right up in my face. “You’re going to take a nap and when you wake up, you’ll put on a show. Time to see what life amongst the zeds has taught you.”
“It has taught me that dental hygiene is still appropriate,” I reply. “Did you brush your teeth today? Because that’s quite the stink mouth you’ve got going-”
The pistol butt to my head ends that conversation as I plummet into unconsciousness.
What brings me out is the soul piercing agony in my right hand.
“MOTHER FUCK!” I scream as I open my eyes. “HOLY FUCKER DICK SUCKING CUNT LICKER!”
“Damn,” Foster says from a few feet away, “that’s quite a mouth and I’ve been around the military my whole life.”
A man is wrapping my right hand with a thick bandage. It hurts like hell, but in seconds, it’s secured and basically immobile. The pain subsides a little and I raise the wrapped hand to my eyes, and then look at Foster
“Uh, thanks?” I say.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Foster smiles, “eat your dinner first.”
A tray of food is on a side table next to the cot I’m lying on. We are in a small room, one of the guest rooms in the Grove Park Inn, but all the furniture has been cleared out to make room for cots. There are eight cots in total, but only two are occupied: one by me, and one by a still unconscious Leeds.
“He gonna get dinner too?” I ask.
“Later,” Foster smiles. “Maybe. Depends.”
“Depends on what?” I ask. The smell of the food, whatever it is, makes my stomach growl.
“Depends on how you perform tonight,” Foster says. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” She walks to the door, but stops and nods at Leeds. “Watch him. It’ll be time soon.”
The four PCs in the room all nod. The man that wrapped my hand packs up supplies into a small pack and follows Foster out the door, leaving Leeds and me alone with the heavily armed guards.
I lean over, grab the plate of food, and sniff it. Chicken. With some bean mush and maybe what used to be greens. Maybe. Could be moldy bread.
“This isn’t poisoned or drugged, is it?” I ask. The PCs don’t answer, they just stare at Leeds. “Um, I’m awake and talking. Pretty sure I’m way more interesting than him.”
Nothing.
“Fine, whatever,” I say, pulling up my legs and steadying the plate against my knees with my wrapped hand. I pick up the plastic fork in my left and start to eat. “Hey…not…bad.”
It is pretty bad. I lied. The shit tastes like, well, shit. God, are they feeding me shit? Is this some kind of private contractor joke? Feed the prisoner shit. I look around for video cameras to see if maybe they are watching me. Ha, ha, the fool ate shit, ha, ha.
However, there aren’t any cameras, not that I can see, just four PCs watching the captain closely. I finish the food, despite my urge to vomit, since I need the nourishment. Something you learn during the apocalypse, is not to be too picky about what you eat and when. Sure, suburban living in Whispering Pines made things a little better, but you still didn’t waste food there. Brown spots on the produce? You eat it. Chicken is stringy and flavorless? Eat. It.
As soon as I set the plate down, two of the men converge on me.
“Get up,” one says, “time to go.”
“Can I use the potty first?” I ask. “I’m pretty regular. Food goes in and shit comes out. That’s just the way my bowels work. Although, considering what I just ate, I’d change that to shit goes in and shittier shit goes out.”
The man points to the bathroom door. “Fast.” I nod and walk into the bathroom. I try to shut the door, but a large hand stops it. “Door stays open.”
“Right,” I say. “That way I can’t crawl down the drain or anything.” I tap my temple. “Good thinking.”
I do my business, which isn’t easy with only one hand, and walk back into the room.
“Time to go,” the man says again.
“Yep, got that,” I say, looking at Leeds. “What about the captain?”
“Not time yet,” the man says, “he’ll be down soon.”
We leave the room and skip the elevator, going straight for the service stairs. There are armed men at each floor and I smile at them as we pass. They don’t smile back. Would it kill them if they did? I mean, really, come on, I’m smiling and I’m pretty sure I’m being taken to my death. They’ve got the guns! Be happy about it, for suck’s sake!
“Stop daydreaming and move,” the man says as he shoves me through a door and out into a service corridor. I can hear a low sound, like a beat, steady, and pounding.
“What is that?” I ask. No one answers. “Is that music?”
The sound gets louder and I can feel a vibration in my feet. What the fuck?
The mystery is revealed as I’m led outside and am instantly blinded by several sets of unbelievably bright work lights. You know the kind that light up constructions sites? Yeah, a bunch of those fuckers. Shielding my eyes with my bandaged hand, I’m shoved forward. The door behind me slams closed and I can hear the lock click.
It takes my eyes a minute to adjust and when I do, I realize I am in deep shit.
“Mr. Stanford, how are you tonight?” Mondello’s voice calls from above me, barely heard above the noise. I try to find him, but can’t see past the lights.
What I can see, is that I’m in a cleared out section of the grounds behind the Grove Park. A large circle of gravel has been set down and ringing that is a six-foot tall chain link fence. Steel supports brace the fence all around and I can sort of make out what look like bleachers beyond that. Which is where the sound is coming from.
Hundreds of people are seated and all clapping and stamping their feet.
I’m in a mother fucking fight cage. Or arena. Or whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m the gladiator and the plebs want a show. I wonder what Caesar wants?
“I’ve had better nights, I can tell you that,” I say to Mondello. “You really need to speak to your cook. That meal did a number on my guts. I’m ten seconds from a serious shart mishap.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Mondello laughs. “You live and I’ll make sure you get something better to eat.”
“If I live?” I shout. “Jesus fuck, people! Will you knock it off with the We Are The Champions bit! I get it; you’re excited to see a fight! Good for you!”
The clapping and stomping lessens considerably.
“You can really bring down a mood, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says.
“Oh, just call me Long Pork,” I reply. “All my friends do, so my enemies might as well also.”
“I’m not your enemy, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello replies, “I’m your President.”
A cheer goes up amongst the crowd.
“Do we really have to go through all that again?” I ask. “I have a feeling my time is short and I’d rather not waste it on politics.”
“Well said,” Mondello agrees, “then let’s get this started.”
“Get what started?” I ask. Then I see. “Oh…”
Part of the chain link parts and three Zs are shoved inside with me. The men that do the shoving hurry to close the chain link, jumping back
when the Zs lunge towards them. The men start smiling and laughing, pointing at me. Great.
I quickly take in my surroundings. The earlier cursory observation turns into serious study. I have the following resources at my disposal: gravel, a chain link fence, a bladder that is now full of piss, even though I just went to the bathroom, and a healthy dose of pure terror. Only a couple of those things can help.
I pick up a handful of gravel, really wishing I had two hands to use. The Zs come right for me, no hesitation, and very little slow shambling. I can see they are pretty fresh; must have just turned today. Again, great.
I scramble to my right, tossing the gravel at the Zs, which does exactly zip to slow them down, but it makes me feel like I’m at least participating in my own death. Do your part before you die a horrible, screaming death, should be the official slogan of the apocalypse. There could be t-shirts and shit.
One of the Zs is faster than the others are and gets to me before I can dodge out of the way. Its hands grasp for me, but I knock them away, spinning around the thing and elbowing it in the back, sending it into the fence. Now, here’s the problem with chain link fencing: it’s got bounce.
So I send the Z into the fence and it just ricochets right off and back at me. We collide and fall to the ground in a pile of living and undead limbs. The monster’s jaws snap at my face, but I shove it away, my fingers digging into its cheeks for purchase. It snarls at me as I roll over, pinning it down. I’m about to rip the fucking thing’s face right off when Z fingers grab me from behind.
Oh, right, there’re two more of the mother fuckers.
I jump back, using my momentum to send the Zs tumbling. I’m lucky and keep my balance, but not for long as a Z hand grips my ankle and pulls. I’m down on my face, gravel digging into my forehead, when I hear a thump. There, just a few feet away, is The Bitch.
“Thought you might like that,” Mondello calls out. “Ms. Foster says her man, Jameson, took it off you.”
Jameson? Does he mean Cowboy? Who cares, I have The Bitch back!
Now I just have to get to it before I die.
I flail, thrash, and manage to get the Z off me. Rolling over and over, I get close to The Bitch, but not close enough. My hand is inches from it when two Zs are on me. I just start punching and kicking. I connect with a Z and its head rocks back as I get my knees up under it and shove as hard as possible with my legs. The thing flies off me and I slam my elbow into the temple of the second Z. I hear a snap and the Z’s head twists to the side, its neck broken. It falls on me and I’m pinned under undead weight. Of course, since I haven’t destroyed the brain, the thing’s jaws are still working, but at least the body isn’t responding.
Barely managing to get the fucking thing off me, I roll once more and I have The Bitch! Then I don’t, as I’m tackled by a Z, its teeth gnashing at my face as zombie spittle drips onto my cheek. Fucking gross, man! I slam my good hand against its head over and over and over, but the fucker won’t die. Its teeth snag my shirt and I nearly freak out, as I feel it start to bite through the cotton and into my arm.
Adrenaline seriously kicks in and I let out a guttural scream, as I wrap the Z in my arms and roll. Now I’m on top, mother fucker! Despite the intense agony, I grab the Zs head with both hands and twist, breaking its neck and severing the spinal column. It looks up at me with its dead, grey eyes and hisses. Fuck that shit. I get to my feet and stomp the fucker until its skull is in pieces and zombie brains coat the gravel.
I walk over to the other Z and finish it off.
Now, where’s the third one? Oh, here it comes.
I duck my shoulder and let the Z run right into me, then I stand up straight, sending the thing flipping over my back. It hits the gravel hard and roars with rage. Oh, did I make the Z angry? Poor widdle Z. Without hesitation, I turn its face into pulp, wiping my boot on the gravel as Z brain drips from the sole.
I walk over and pick up The Bitch, loving the familiar feel, even if it is in my left hand.
“Didn’t even need it!” I shout. “How do you like that, asshole?”
The crowd is cheering and hollering at me; I guess I put on a nice show. It was only three Zs, after all. Sure, it got a little hairy, but I’ve faced worse. They’d have loved me with two working hands. What the fuck am I thinking? This shit is crazy! I really gotta find a way out of here…
“Did I pass the test?” I shout in the direction I think Mondello is. Hard to say with the lights blinding me.
“Test, Mr. Stanford? This isn’t a test,” Mondello replies. Still can’t see the fucker. “This is a show. These people work hard all day long and deserve some entertainment. You’ve done a fine job so far.”
“But there’s more, right?” I ask. “The evening is still young and all that. The show must go on. Is that it? Haven’t you heard the saying ‘leave them wanting more’? I don’t mind postponing the rest until tomorrow night. You should see me when I’m rested. I’ll do this again and then you can let me and Leeds go. How’s that sound? Two nights for the price of one.”
“No, no, I don’t think so, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello laughs. “This is a one night engagement. You should feel honored; you get to perform in front of the President of the United States. Not many get that privilege.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I call this privilege,” I reply. “So what happens now? You keep sending Zs at me until I die, and then it’s Leeds turn?”
“Why wait?” Mondello says. “I think Captain Leeds should have a turn now.”
Good. Some backup. I could use it. Maybe while we fight the Zs together we can come up with some plan to get us the fuck out of this shitty situation. Come on, it can’t end like this. Not fighting Zs like post-apocalyptic gladiators. I always thought I’d die in a blaze of glory, sacrificing myself to save my family. That’s the way to go out, not this shit.
The chain link rattles and Leeds is shoved into the arena with me.
“What? He doesn’t get a weapon?” I shout. “Afraid he’ll use it against you once we’re done killing all the Zs you throw at us?”
“You want him to have a weapon, Mr. Stanford?” Mondello asks.
“Uh, yeah, that’s what I just said.”
“Fine, he can have a weapon,” Mondello says. “How does that sound, folks? Should we give Captain Leeds a weapon?” The crowd erupts into laughter. What the fuck are they laughing at? Is it some inside joke that I’m missing? “Sounds like they want Captain Leeds to have a weapon too, Mr. Stanford.”
A large pipe is tossed into the arena, just feet from Leeds.
“Thanks. It’s appreciated,” I yell then look at Leeds. “Grab that, Captain. You’re going to need it.”
I grip The Bitch and wait for the next round of Zs. And wait. I look over at Leeds and see he’s hanging his head and hasn’t even moved an inch towards the pipe.
“Dude, grab that shit and get ready,” I call to him.
Pain erupts in my right shoulder and I look down to see a crossbow bolt protruding from me. I pull it out and toss it onto the gravel. The wound isn’t deep and the bolt wasn’t barbed, but it still hurts.
“What the fuck, Mondello? Didn’t think I was wounded enough?” I yell at him.
“Oh, I just needed to motivate Captain Leeds,” Mondello says. “They can get so confused when they are fresh. That bit of humanity that still lingers in the synapses.”
“What the hell are you…talking…about…?” I say then look closely at Leeds.
His head was hanging down, but as soon as the crossbow bolt hits the gravel, it snaps up. His grey eyes lock onto the bolt then he starts to sniff the air. I look at the stain of blood on my shoulder then back at Leeds. His grey eyes are on me.
His dead, grey eyes.
“No, no, no,” I whisper. “Please no. Why? Why him?” I begin to shake, a fury like I’ve never felt before growing in me.
“YOU FUCKS!” I scream. “YOU CRAZY FUCKS! NOT HIM! HE WAS THE GOOD GUY!” My chest hitches as I struggle to get control of
myself. “He was my friend…”
And my friend is hungry. For me.
Leeds sprints towards me. He doesn’t shamble or shuffle, but sprints. I guess that’s what happens when a trained soldier is freshly turned. His body hasn’t had a chance to atrophy and rigor mortis hasn’t damaged the muscles yet.
The Bitch feels like a ten-ton weight in my hand as I watch Leeds close the distance between us. Mondello, and the crowd are laughing their asses off. I hear the pure joy in their voices, knowing the joke is on me. Ha, ha, ha, mother fuckers. I get out of this and you’re all going to die.
I get set and swing out with The Bitch, but Leeds dodges it easily and skids to a stop in the gravel, just feet from me. He watches me hungrily, but he doesn’t attack. Somewhere up in that undead brain, he’s actually making connections. I’ve never seen a Z act like this before. Sure, I’ve been around fresh ones, but there was never any significant cognitive function. Not this way.
I make a mental note to remember that trained killers like Leeds make for really scary Zs.
A low growling comes from Leeds throat and he begins to circle around me, his eyes darting from me to The Bitch. The mother fucker is stalking me! And watching my weapon while doing it. Jesus H. Pooping Christ.
I hoist The Bitch above my head one handed, turning myself to the side so I present a smaller target. Uh, did that just make Leeds smile? Is that a smile on a fucking Z’s face? Just when I thought the whole creepy military smile couldn’t get creepier, it does. Fucking A.
“Come on, Captain,” I say. “Come at me. Let’s get this done.”
And he does. In a burst of speed, he closes the distance between us. I barely have time to bring The Bitch down. It only grazes him across the back as he tackles me about the waist, sending us both flying through the air, and then skidding across the gravel. I can feel rocks rip through my shirt and into my back.
The smell of blood makes Leeds crazy, but in a good way. He seems to lose control and just starts thrashing on me. I slam my fist into his jaw again and again, giving me time to get a knee under him. I lift and get some space between us. He roars and spits, his hands clawing at me, his jaws chomping on air over my face. I try to shove him off with my leg, but his fingers grip my shirt and he pulls himself down closer. It’s a battle of wills as I am barely able to keep him at bay with my leg.