******
Bea shouldered open the double doors to the old gym, perhaps the routine of exercise and training would ease her troubled mind. The late afternoon sunlight shone through the gaps in the vertical blinds which covered the windows, dust motes danced above the ancient parquet floor in the golden beams. The place was silent, empty, just the way Bea wanted. She went over to a bank of battered metal lockers, their dark crimson paint – peeling – a reminder of the team colours of a long ago time. She pulled open locker number twenty-three, hers and withdrew some worn bandages. She methodically wrapped each hand, the way Maria had shown her, binding tight across the knuckles, but with enough flexibility to shape her fist, and then round and round her wrists, adding support without compromise to her movement.
Next from the locker came a tattered and dirty jump rope. She headed to a clear space in the corner and worked the rope, the rhythmic hum as it passed her ears, making the swoosh across the floor, and the tiny squeak of her sneakers becoming a hypnotising quiet to the turbulence in her mind. The rope, a fast blur as Bea bounced from toe to toe, a sheen of sweat on her arms and cascading from her brow. Repeatedly she raised the pace, increasing her heart rate. Never missing a beat, a toe not going wrong, she kept the skipping up for about 30 minutes before whipping the rope to a frenzied finish. She wiped the sweat from her brow, her breathing heavy, the endorphins and adrenaline chorusing through her.
Stopping only briefly to hang her rope from the door on her locker, and take a drink from her canteen she headed straight to the large brown bag in the corner. She began to pummel it, jab, jab, hook, hook, jab move. She circled the bag, light on her feet, punches hard and fast, utilizing her arm and fist as an extension of her whole body, the power through her shoulders going into every single impact with the tattered leather. She punched with speed and power, focusing on hitting a point behind the bag like Maria had taught her, always moving, anticipating the swing of the bag, and adding a few kicks and elbows into the mix. Bea relished the wumph sound of air being expelled each time the bag absorbed her blows. Breathing steadily and thinking of nothing but hitting the bag, she was in the zone, acting not thinking, pre-cognizant of the result of each punch, which way the back would move, where her feet needed to be to gain the maximum power from her next attack.
She sensed a change in air pressure at the same time as she heard the soft creak of the doors to the gym opening. She spun round the bag, still unleashing a flurry of blows on it, but watching the door. In walked a young man; black boots, worn but clean, camouflage fatigues and a tight-fitted black t-shirt that accentuated his muscular shoulders. His dark hair close cropped at the sides, longer on top. There was trace of dark stubble across his well-defined chin. Bea gave the bag a final one-two combo and stepped away from it, leaving it to swing freely.
“James, I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said walking towards him with a smile. “I thought you were on late duties this week?”
“I am, but Michael let me out early,” he smiled but it didn’t really reach his eyes.
“That’s not like Michael,” Bea was worried. “Is something up?”
“I don’t know, I was hoping you could answer that one. Mikey’s got his panties all in a bunch; he says that you are thinking of taking the Warriors Challenge tomorrow.” He shook his head, “I told him that can’t be right, and that’s when he let me off work and told me to come find you.” He looked at her accusingly
“Ummmm…” Bea didn’t quite know the right words as she started to speak “he’s…” she stammered, “He’s right!” she admitted.
“What! No way. Girl I know you’re fierce, but the Warrior Challenge? Do you have any idea what you are getting yourself into? The last 3 people who took that shit… they ain’t here no more.” Bea had expected to hear anger in his voice, but this was subtly different, she couldn’t quite place it. “They’re dead Bea, they didn’t make it.” His eyes cast down and he shook his head. “Each of them was bigger and older than you, you’re just a kid.” Bea could place the tone in his voice now, it was fear
“Yeah, but you know how strong I am and how quick I am. And, you passed it!”
“Yeah, you are strong, and fast, but I’m worried for you Bea. I don’t want to lose you to the monsters.” James walked towards a bench in the corner, “Come sit with me a minute, let’s talk.” He sat on the bench, and patted the space next to him.
“I guess,” said Bea, moving across the room and sitting down heavily on the bench. She crossed her arms across her chest, leaned back and stared at him.
“Look Bea, I’ve known you a long time. I know Maria trained you up, Christ, she trained me up too. I remember her shouting at both of us while we punched that goddamn bag.” James smiled at her; Bea couldn’t help but smile at the memory too. “But no matter how much you think you have practiced, no matter how much training you think you’ve done, when you go in that cage,” he paused “Hell, I ain’t got the words for it, it’s like you forget, you panic or some shit. I barely made it out of there alive.”
“You don’t understand James, I need to do this, and I have to.”
“Why? Make me understand.”
“You won’t get it, but I need to beat the challenge. I need to get into the barracks with you guys. I gotta get out of the dorm.”
“You’re doing this just to get out of the dorm?”
“No, that’s not what I said,” Bea paused to collect her thoughts, James waited patiently for her to continue. “It’s kinda that, but there is other stuff too. If I’m ever going to get out there and find out what happened to my family I need to do this.” It felt good to vocalize her internal struggle and finally share what was on her mind. “Also I kinda owe the community; I’ve been here for so long and need to give something back.”
“Bullshit Bea, you’ve done loads in here, considering that you were just a kid when you got here. I don’t know anyone who has worked in so many jobs. You’ve been helping out every day for years. You don’t owe anyone here, and you don’t got nothing to prove.”
“Yeah I do!”
“What and to whom?”
“Everything, to Maria, to me,” she spat angrily. James reached over, with his toned arms and pulled Bea into a hug.
“You don’t have to do it for Maria. I know she would be proud of you for whatever, but if you gotta do it for yourself… well I’m cool with that, as long as you think you’re ready.”
“Ready! I was born ready,” Bea puffed out her shoulders and gave a cocksure grin. James laughed a rich, deep resonant laugh that echoed around the deserted gym. “Yeah girl, you best show me those skills then, and I’m sure a bit more sparring won’t hurt”
“You’re on,” Bea smiled, and walked towards the practice mats. “Come on then, let’s see how much of a whoopin’ you can take.”
******
Bea folded her note and placed it back into her pocket and stood, she wondered if this would be the last time she could read it, wondered if it was the last time she would do anything. Early that morning she had sent a message to Matt telling him she was going to go ahead with the Warriors Challenge. The response had come back by return, only two words scrawled on a piece of paper; Fine! Matt. The friend she had asked to take the message wasn’t exceedingly happy either, that Matt had been less than polite to her. That would be an understatement. Bea apologised and explained that she had thought it would be okay. Matt was the one who taught her the phrase don’t shoot the messenger.
The previous evenings talk with James and the full on sparring session afterwards had really helped her. She had gone to bed feeling more at peace with herself, and when she woke – after the best night’s sleep in months – she felt sure and confident. As the hours had ticked by since then the confidence had ebbed, or the nerves had grown, it was difficult to tell, she had been unable to eat and that didn’t help. She looked at her meagre belongings and packed them into a faded green backpack. One way or another she wouldn’t be staying in the girl’s dorm
tonight, and if things went the wrong way the other girls were the last people she wanted to be poring over her belongings.
Once her packing was complete; Bea made the bed. Another of Maria’s life lessons – Tidy as you go - although Bea didn’t think it was meant for this type of going. She hefted her backpack onto her right shoulder, and took a final look around the room before walking out.
*******
The crowd was huge, almost everyone from the compound was there, crowded in around the chain link of the Sally port. There were even more people balanced on top of the walls trying to get a view. Sweat was pouring off Bea’s brow, the noon sun only partially to blame. She had arrived 10 minutes before hoping to see Matt but unable to find him. James had taken her backpack for safe keeping, and then he explained what was about to happen. Bea had then been passed over to Lana – one of the female soldiers – who had frisked her for weapons; ensuring that there were no knives tucked into her boots or anywhere else. She had still been hoping to see Matt, but got ushered out through the gateway. She received a brief word of luck from James before the massive gates were shut behind her; causing a deep resonant echo that drew the expectant masses attention. Then, nothing happened, she just stood waiting. The crowds attention had waned, the hubbub of conversation rose back up, with just the odd furtive glance. Bea’s stomach was roiling now, a combination of hunger and nerves threatening to unsettle her completely. This waiting was really getting to her.
Suddenly she heard a booming voice from behind; “People of Albany!” it was Matt; he paused speaking to allow the crowds noise to die down; Bea turned looking for him at the gate and couldn’t see him. “People of Albany,” he repeated, Bea looked further up, drawn to the sound of his voice. There he stood, silhouetted against the sun atop the mighty gates, his hands on his hips. Bea couldn’t see the look on his face; the sun was just too bright in that direction. “Our compound has survived all these years due to the strength of our warriors, it is the warriors who keep us safe, the warriors who trek outside the walls looking for supplies, the warriors who have defended you against zombies and marauders.” He paused; the crowd chanted back, Warriors, Warriors, Warriors “We take our role very seriously, and to keep you safe we only allow the best, those most committed to the cause to join our ranks.” The crowd were hanging on his every word, even though most of them had heard this before. “To make sure the best of the best are protecting you we devised a test, a challenge if you will, the Warriors Challenge.”
“Warriors Challenge, Only the best Survive” chanted the crowd.
“Only the best will survive, failure means death!” Matt’s familiar words sent shivers up Bea’s spine, she knew all of this beforehand, but somehow now it was real. “Today we have a challenger…” Matt was drowned out by the roar of the crowd, “…Youngest challenger ever. Somebody who has been with us here in Albany for ten years, since she was only five,” Bea could detect a slight wobble in Matt’s voice as he spoke these last words.
Matt Paused, Bea could see his shadow take a drink from a bottle, and a deep breath.
“The rules of the challenge are simple. Survive! You start unarmed, will be faced with a total of ten of our greatest foes; Zombies. One of the first three has had a weapon attached to its belt. You may use it, if you can get it. The only other rule; Kill or be killed. Are you ready?”
This was it, the moment. Bea just wanted to run and hide, but she kept thinking what would Maria do?
“Yes, I’m ready,” she tried to call with as much bravado as possible. She Looked at Matt one last time, and raised two thumbs up to him. It was a gesture she hoped he would remember from her younger years. Then she turned to face the gates at the far end of the Sally port. Entering into slight crouch, bringing her weight to the balls of her feet and feeling the pressure of the crowd, she waited. Time seemed to slow, the wait agonising until she heard Matt’s final word.
“Begin!”
The crowd cheered, as the gates swung open to reveal the enemy. Bea felt light on her feet, and energised, she took her breaths deep and slow, savouring the moment. Then she began to carefully move towards the shambling monsters.
*********
Giles Batchelor
Giles Batchelor is an IT manager and proud father. A lover of the genre and now a previously published writer of zombie-related short stories, Giles has definitely caught the writing bug.
Restoration
By DD VanGarde
CHAPTER ONE: The Duke of Ashes
“Last night I dreamed I was King, and my Queen was a woman I've never before met, a beautiful dark stranger in silk and white linen. I was happy for the first time in a great while, but our kingdom... It was a kingdom of corpses. I swear I was more alive among them than I'd ever been with the living. She held a suckling babe to her breast and he was alive, more than alive he was life itself. His eyes were weary with the wisdom of the ages and I knew, somehow and in some way he was to be our savior. I want to believe this dream is meant to be hope for my people... Aye, I would like that very much.”
--Marx
***
“The Brazen bull, one of my favorite devices of Grecian antiquity. Of course this is no antique; our very own blacksmith forged him for us.” The Pope twisted the pointy tip of his handlebar mustache and smiled out at the crowd gathered in the Arena. The arena was a massive structure in the heart of the underground Ryder colony, hosting games from the ever popular football to blood sports, all referred to as the games, a twist of combat and mixed martial arts where men and women fought in teams, at times for their freedom, at times for their lives. The Pope paraded himself before them like a magician introducing his next illusion.
“It is exquisite in its design,” He gestured toward the metallic beast in the center of the arena. A beautiful sculpture of brass standing seven feet from hoof to horns with a pile of firewood stacked beneath the belly.
“Such a genius was Phalaris, that he had it constructed with a system of pipes and stops in the head, converting agonizing screams into sweet music from the ears and nostrils. A symphony of death as it were.” His eyes twinkled with excitement as he described the inner workings of the menacing sculpture.
Marx stood stoic at his mother's side along with his cousin Horris. Long, dark loops of hair rested on Marx's shoulders, soft and fragrant like a nobleman, also at the urging of His Excellency, the Pope, for all of his representatives had to be flawless at all times.
“Let us see if we shall need to put this device to the test today. Fetch me one of the prisoners.” He gestured to one of the men who stood at his disposal. Marx could feel his mother's gaze grow grave as they stood no better than prisoners themselves.
The man quickly emerged from the pits with a tattered woman. He pulled her faster than her legs could follow and forced her to her knees before the Pope, the tiny pebbles of the arena peeling the skin away on impact.
“What is this woman's crime?” asked the Pope.
“She was caught trying to escape, Your Excellency.” The soldier scoffed as the Pope glared down at her. Curtains of lanky blonde hair veiling her face with her head lowered.
“I request a trial Your Excellency,” The woman pleaded. “I wasn't trying to escape.”
“Well what were you doing so far outside the perimeter then, and with all your belongings no less. And your son.” The soldier demanded.
“There was someone out there.” she cried, her tears yielding no sympathy from the soldier, but the Pope kneeled in front of her.
Marx felt as though his heart might pound out of his chest trying to anticipate the next move of a man who was about as predictable as a serpent. They watched in silence as he brushed her hair away from her face, a flit of recognition in his eyes, tempered by disappointment. He stood quickly and turned to his guard.
“Did you seize the boy?”
“Yes, Your Excellency, we did.”
“Bring him.” the Pope sounded disinterested.
Marx studied the
swollen face of the woman in vain, whatever it was that the Pope had seen in her, he most certainly had not.
“Emery had nothing to do with this, please...” She kissed the feet of the Pope and tears fell upon them. “He’s just a boy!” she pleaded. Indeed he was. The soldier dragged him out kicking and screaming, all of fifty pounds, he couldn't have been more than ten or eleven years old. Marx had seen him before, the only person younger than himself in Ryder Colony. He wanted to be part of the Restoration Crew as soon as he was old enough. He would hide and watch them train to fight and take out ghost, that's what they called their dead, ghosts. They existed in the silence of the grave. They stood still and only moved when they sensed movement and heat, like body heat. They appeared to be blind, deaf and mute, but what they lacked in external senses they made up for in radar as sharp as that of a bat or a shark. They were the most effective hunting machines, but the Restoration Crew was a machine of their very own, a five man team comprised of the bravest and brightest officers, venturing above ground to hunt the hunters in the darkness. Restoring the world as everyone knew it to be, kill by kill and brick by brick. To most they were heroes, but Marx could tell, to little Emery, they were gods.
Marx made eye contact with the boy briefly. He couldn't help but feel he was letting Emery down. He wasn't a god or a hero, he wasn't even a man, until he could bring himself to speak on someone else's behalf, he'd merely been a coward and nothing more.
The soldier loosened his grip and Emery ran to his mother and threw his arms around her neck. She pressed him tight against her bosom and covered his head in kisses. At that moment Marx saw something in the boy he'd never before seen, something familiar within those serious gray eyes that square jaw, and those thin lips. He was the spitting image of the Pope. Marx pushed the disdain from his face.
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 37