by A. P. Fuchs
The next instant, the vampire came at Mick. The other guard jumped in front, pounced forward and took the vampire down to the floor with him. A quick flip of the bodies and the vampire was on top. Quickly, the old man made fast work of biting into the guard’s neck.
Blood gushed and sprayed. Mick could only wonder if there was more than one set of teeth inside the vampire’s mouth for it seemed a few litres of blood were suddenly released from the man’s body all at once.
Something whistled past his ear and a silver projectile protruded from the vampire’s back on the left side.
The vampire jumped to his feet and spun around in one fluid motion, hands palm forward, claws curled, mouth wide, revealing two rows of teeth. The old man hissed and dove into the air, heading for Mick. Another whistle, and the vampire was quickly blasted backwards. He hit the floor, the silver spike that had been in his back slammed through into his chest the rest of the way, a brand new one sticking out of his heart.
The old man kicked and screamed profanities as his skin boiled and thick smoke rose off him. Then he melted away, nothing but gooey skin left behind amidst the red cloak.
Mick turned to the guard on the floor, his body prone, arm outstretched with some kind of large gun in his remaining hand. Blood was pooled around the body. The guard shook.
“Thank you,” Mick said.
The guard went limp, dead.
Mick glanced up and down the hallway. “Go,” he told himself and began to run.
Just then another set of guards appeared at the end of the corridor, guns raised.
“Don’t move!” one shouted.
Mick raised his hands. So close.
The guards caught up to him.
“What happened here?” said the bigger of the two.
The other guard grimaced and gave Mick a stern look. A moment later his baton came out and all Mick saw was a blur of black heading for between his eyes.
32
All Bets Are Off
It was pitch black and Mick didn’t need a light on to tell him where he was. His ears told him everything: he was in the main arena—in the cage.
One more fight, was what Sterpanko told him. He just never thought the fight would be his own. How Sterpanko could even get away with this was beyond him. Was the man’s power limitless, or was he just good at pulling a blind one over everybody?
Mick’s heart pounded in his chest. Watching the fights from the stands or from the couch at home was one thing. Here, in Blood Bay Arena, enclosed in a cage—he wasn’t surprised when he found his throat sand-dry and had a hard time swallowing.
His legs were like Jell-O; his palms sweaty.
I am not a fighter, he thought. A couple punches here and there, sure, but this? This is something different. This is —the thought struck him like a kick between the legs—life or death.
Time seemed to slow here in the dark. He wondered if the other fighters felt the same way as they waited for their opponent to appear.
“Those guys are trained,” he whispered. “Fighting is what they do.” Yet a part of him felt that no matter how tough you were, fear was still there, lurking in the veins, always operating on the principles of “what if?” and “just in case.”
Anna did this: his being here; his impending death; Sterpanko willing to kill him. Even that last part made more sense now. Sure, the man was ruthless and probably didn’t give a crap about Mick’s life . . . but at the same time now had a reason to want him dead other than for money: Anna. How long they had been together or even planned to take him out, he didn’t know. As well, Sterpanko’s almost softness in terms of Mick’s case also kind of made sense. Perhaps he was supposed to just get knocked off for non-payment and that would be that? Maybe Anna had convinced Tony Sterpanko to see if Mick could earn the funds back? There was no way to know and, right now, Mick really didn’t even want to know.
Tonight . . . tonight he lost everything, even a man who, though not a friend, took a bullet for him and charged him to run. Tears welled up in Mick’s eyes when he realized he couldn’t even do that right.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” he said softly. “And, Anna? I don’t know what to say to you anymore. What you did—” He hated it when the words didn’t come and even now they wouldn’t form. Emotion overload.
Life sucked. Good thing it’d be over soon.
The iron ring on the floor lit up.
Wrong order, Mick thought. The lights go on first. Obviously, this change is for me.
Some in the crowd cheered and whistled; others murmured.
The dead began to rise.
The zombie stood on the platform, bound at the wrists, its face and body concealed mostly in shadow, the blue light only shining on the thing’s legs.
Mick wondered if he was expected to play by the rules. The thought of just running up to the creature right now and taking it out crossed his mind, but if he did that, yeah, he’d be dead for sure.
The lights went on. The buzzer sounded. The crowd roared.
Mick’s heart sank.
The dead man before him . . . it was Jack. The bullet mark on his chest was still there, his clothes saturated in blood. Another bullet hole was on his neck. That was where he must have been shot when Mick left the room.
“Dude . . .” Mick said.
Jack’s restraints fell to the floor and he fixed his red eyes on Mick.
The enormity of it—Jack, a zombie. Not long ago the two were sitting side-by-side, watching the fights. Now . . . he was a walking dead man. How could—then it all made sense.
Zombies. The world. The war. The fights. The evil. And now Jack.
Jack was a zombie. Jack only died twenty or so minutes ago. The only way people became zombies after the attacks was if one bit them. Sterpanko, Marcus—they were human last he saw.
Sterpanko.
He was behind it all.
Mick shook from the revelation and had to force his legs to move beneath him as Jack charged at him. Mick ran around the cage, Jack chasing him, the crowd beyond booing and laughing.
Who else knew? Was it all him or—Mick dropped to the ground and crunched up into a ball. Jack plowed into him with his legs and went tumbling over him. Mick grunted with the impact, got up, and ran the other way.
“I have to tell somebody,” Mick said. He ran to the cage wall, gripped the chain-link and shook it with all his might. “Hey! Listen! It was Sterpanko! It was Sterpanko!” The roar of the crowd drowned him out.
Mick turned around. “Ahh!” He moved to the side and Jack crashed into the cage.
“Jack, I don’t want to do this, man,” Mick said. “Can you hear me? Is it still you? What about your—” He was about to say, “What about your family?” but choked on his own words when an image of Anna flashed before his mind. Was she watching this? Was she behind throwing him to the dead so that she and Sterpanko could live happily ever after? No way. He still thought she was the one who persuaded Sterpanko to let him try and earn back what was owed. If he was going to die tonight, he wanted to go out thinking the best of her . . . and the worst of himself.
Jack came for him. Mick took careful note to avoid Jack’s hands and teeth. He put his hands up and balled them into fists. As hard and as fast as he could, he drove his fists into Jack’s face. One-two. One-two. Fast. Like lightning. Jack’s nose burst with blood. The zombie growled, nothing but rage contained in the shell of a big man who wasn’t as bad as Mick first thought him to be.
Jack swatted Mick across the arm, knocking his hand down and sending him tumbling to the ground. Mick rolled across the floor, trying his best to ignore the jolt from the impact and the bruises he already felt forming.
He lay there, panting, sweaty, blood moistening the skin on his shoulder. Jack must have cut him with his nails.
“You can’t stay down here,” Mick said to himself. He’s not Jack anymore. You know that. Get up. All bets are off. Time to get it done, and if I die, I die giving it all I got!
Mick pushed against
the floor. The crowd cheered. Jack was already upon him, jaws snapping. Mick twisted his body and slammed his elbow into Jack’s mouth just as the big man was about to clamp down on his neck. Jack growled at the impact. Mick noticed a tooth fly from the man’s mouth.
Kicking his legs, trying to loosen Jack’s grip, Mick twisted to the other side and shot his other elbow into Jack’s face.
The force was enough to make Jack drop him. Mick hit the ground running and got as much distance as he could.
Jack brought his palms to the floor then charged at him like a lion, propelling himself forward with all fours. Mick tried to move out of the way and managed a step to the side before Jack quickly altered course and dove into the air and collided with him. The impact from Jack’s heavy body was like getting nailed with a bag of sand. Mick coughed out the air from his lungs and was having a hard time trying to regain his breath.
Jack dug his nails into Mick’s side. At first there was only profound pressure, then Mick heard the squishy pop of his flesh giving way and Jack’s fingers invading his body.
“No! Anna! Jack! Help!” The words were pure instinct.
Heart racing, his gut going numb, the warmth of blood beginning to flow, Mick brought his face down and he latched onto Jack’s ear with his teeth. Jack growled. Mick jerked his head back, ripping the ear off Jack’s head. Blood oozed from the wound.
Mick spat out the ear—Jack’s blood still tasting like copper, still warm, even though he had been expecting something else, perhaps something tangy and sharp—then just as quickly, he met Jack’s chomping jaws head on. The two locked mouths; Mick’s upper teeth over Jack’s top lip, his bottom teeth digging into Jack’s uppers, forcing their way to the roof of Jack’s mouth. Jack clamped down on Mick’s bottom teeth, Jack’s lower teeth splicing through the flesh beneath Mick’s chin.
Blood gushed up and to the sides in wild arcs. Some got in Mick’s eye, blinding him. He bit down with all he had, refusing to let go.
Jack’s hands pulled out from his sides.
Mick’s body relaxed, as if in relief. Then suddenly he felt . . . lighter, as if his mid section was floating away. Something mushy and wet slipped along his sides.
He felt the grip of his bite beginning to loosen. He fought it and brought his hands up and pummelled them against Jack wherever there was an opening. Jack shook his head, tossing Mick with his mouth, forcing him to let go of his clamp on Jack’s face.
Mick hit the cold floor on his back, nothing but blood around him in his peripheral.
The crowd went silent.
Jack growled and rushed toward him.
Mick closed his eyes as the lights went out.
Epilogue
What Goes Around . . .
It was late. The crowds had gone home nearly an hour ago. Anna stood inside the cage, the house lights overhead casting a burning yellow glow on the cement. The parts where it hit the blood were a deep orange.
With arms crossed, she fought back the tears as she stared at the long bloodstain on the ground that was once her husband, bits of flesh and hair, teeth and bone spackling the cement like bad stucco. Though not all of the remains were Mick’s, she almost felt as if she could pick out his because she knew him so well.
Knew, she reminded herself and her heart stung. Their marriage wasn’t supposed to end like this. ’Til death would they part, sure, but death wasn’t supposed to come as it did tonight.
“My fault,” she said.
At the time, when she snuck away that one night and cut a deal with Sterpanko, fiery hate for Mick for what he’d done drove every action and every word. Now—now she didn’t know if she was still angry or not. It seemed as if Mick’s death was the water that put that hating fire out.
She took a few steps back when hot red water splashed against her toes, soaking through the gaps in her high heels and burned her skin.
“Gah!” she said as her foot folded beneath her and her ankle was rubbed hard against a shard of bone, cutting her open.
The small Chinese man in the dusty blue jumpsuit didn’t seem to see her as he sprayed out the cage.
“Hey, watch it!” she said. “Ow.”
He merely looked up at her, nodded with a smile, then got back to spraying, the steam from the hot water beginning to fill the cage. There was a foot-square drain sloped off to the side, the grill wide enough where it needed to be to allow all the bits of gore and bone to fall through no problem.
Her foot throbbed. Probably sprained. She did her best to stand on it, swallowed the pain, and ignored the cut and burn. She deserved this. This was part of a self-imposed penance she planned to institute starting now.
She allowed her eyes to follow the flow of the water as this nameless stranger in the cage with her washed what was left of her husband away.
This was Zombie Fight Night. This was what Mick loved.
This was what killed him in the end.
Was it worth dying for?
Was it worth her killing for?
She bent down and checked her foot. From what she could see the blood flow was minimal. She still had a hard time standing on it. She stood, then closed her eyes when a pair of hands ran themselves around her shoulders from behind.
“Ready?” Tony Sterpanko said.
“Almost,” she replied. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye.
“Do you want to be left alone?”
Anna opened her eyes and settled them on the water flowing toward the drain. It was already beginning to run clear. It was also beginning to be difficult to see with all the steam. “No. Not anymore.” Good bye, Mick.
She turned and stepped through the cage door with Sterpanko. He didn’t seem to notice her limping.As he walked with her with his arm tight around her waist she didn’t know what she’d do now that Mick was gone. Her sacrifice in teaming with Sterpanko was meant to save Mick’s life not end it. Even with how she treated Mick, she thought it’d be enough to show Sterpanko she was on his side and he’d let Mick go. Only the first part came true. If only he hadn’t fought.
Anna stumbled and knelt down and massaged her foot near the wound. Her skin was still moist from getting sprayed. The burn was bright red. A little more blood oozed out.
“What happened?” Sterpanko asked.
“Nothing. Just a little accident.”
“You okay?”
“I think so.” She re-examined the wound again.
She stood up, took Sterpanko’s arm and moved a couple of steps. Heat filled her foot and she collapsed, screaming.
“Anna! What’s wrong?” Sterpanko asked, immediately down by her side.
“I don’t know. I don’t—my foot. The water. I—” Man, did it hurt.
Her heart beat faster and faster, thundering in her chest in wild panic. Then, almost as quickly as it sped up, it calmed down.
She moved to wipe the blood forming over her eyes but no matter what she did, she couldn’t wipe the redness away.
Calm inside. Utter calm.
Then nothing.
She was neither hot nor cold.
Just pissed off . . . and hungry.
Bonus Battle
Mick’s First Fight
Ninja vs Zombie
Bet: $30
This wasn’t how it was supposed to work, Mick Chelsey knew. In the old days, you went out, got a job and gave it your best in the hopes of getting a raise so you could provide a better life for your family.
Nowadays, it was more about just getting back on your feet after the economic system collapsed during the Zombie War. During those dark times, money faded, currencies lost their value, and any that did survive were restructured into a new financial system. The computers had gone down and the backup data was destroyed in one bomb-ignited inferno after another. Everybody was at square one.
Except the elite, of course. Somehow, they managed to hang onto their fortunes and if any portion was lost, the amount was manageable compared to what remained.
Mick, unfortunately, l
ost everything. The only money he had left over was the little he and his wife, Anna, had kept on their person during the Zombie War—all four hundred-eighty-three dollars of it—and the fifty dollars he now had in his pocket.
They had a house, one of the few left standing after the Zombie War. It was in rough shape, but it did the trick. Since a lot of the records of who owned what had perished during the war—as did most of those who owned property—remaining houses were up for grabs. Humanity had taken on an all-for-one attitude during the war, but the moment the undead were captured and victory was declared, it was back to the old ways of every man for himself. The big houses left standing were the first to be occupied, then slowly the average-sized abodes then, finally, the small stuff. After that, the small stuff in the old bad parts of town. That’s where Mick got his house, he and Anna’s journey back into the city taking more than a week. By the time they got back, pretty much everything was taken.
Mick double checked the bills in his pocket. Fifty bucks.
Anna deserves better than what she’s getting, he thought. She was a princess, pure and simple. Princesses deserved castles and right now the poor girl was living like a pauper. Mick wouldn’t have it; especially after all they’d gone through. The bloodshed, the terror, the running, the pain—they needed their life back and not just that, but a normal life, one where you didn’t have to worry about where your next meal came from or reaching into your pocket and pulling nothing out other than lint.
Blood Bay Arena’s parking lot was full tonight. Mick had heard a couple guys talking outside Stevie’s Pub that they’d made a nice chunk of change here, something to the tune of seven hundred bucks. Boy, he could use that kind of money. He wondered if he could turn this fifty he had into something more.
Anna wasn’t expecting him home for a while. Going in and placing a bet might be a good way to pass the time.
Mick slowly strolled over to the building, hoping he was making the right decision. When he entered the front doors he walked up a short flight of stairs then noticed a couple of burly security guards taking tickets. He glanced around the foyer and spotted the ticket counter on the left. He went over. The chubby lady with short black hair behind it spoke in between smacks of her gum.