“Whatever, Rendell. Honestly, I think the two of us will be better off in the world beyond your gates,” George said and turned around. Pointing to the windows, he continued, “I have no need to stay someplace where the enemy is already within the gates. I don’t sleep with zombies.”
“Kneel,” the voice called to him. The tone dripped in ice and the malice in the order chilled George’s bones. He glanced over at Harry and he had a lost expression on his face.
Damn fool wants to stay, I bet, George thought and turned around.
“I said kneel!” the small man roared.
“Fuck you,” George snorted and spit on the floor before the throne.
Rendell shot from his perch and stormed over to George. He was short and only came up to George’s chest. He puffed his chest out in a show of macho bravado and dug his finger in George’s breastbone.
“You dare to enter my kingdom and disrespect me in this manner? I said kneel!”
George and Harry stood their ground. Harry fidgeted with his belt and he felt his knees ready to bow before the raging leader. George didn’t move a muscle. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down his face, but he never made a single move to wipe it or give Rendell any satisfaction.
“Johnny, please,” Rendell said and waved his hand toward George.
Johnny stepped up behind George and kicked the back of his knees. George felt them buckle and he managed to hold his balance enough to stay standing. A grin crossed his face and he watched Rendell seethe.
“Why is he still standing?” Rendell shouted.
Johnny kicked George again and pain raced up his body as his knees gave out and he fell to the floor wincing in pain. Harry quickly followed suit and knelt before Rendell.
“Very good, very good, but I can’t have insubordination such as this in our happy little kingdom. Johnny, take the defiant one to the holding pit. The groveling one I want taken to the special place where he can be reunited with his friend,” Rendell ordered and returned to the throne.
“As you wish,” Johnny said and bowed before he handcuffed George and Harry.
Walking out of the long room, the sound of Rendell’s cackling filled the air and George felt a rage building behind his normally calm veneer. Harry’s face looked beaten and he pondered what exactly the ‘special place’ was.
* * * * *
When George awoke, he heard the chanting surrounding him. The loud jeers pierced his eardrums and made his head hurt. Shaking his head, he tried to remember how he got in the makeshift cage he found himself in. The last thing he remembered was Johnny shoving him into a wall and slamming his head into the smooth granite before the world faded to black. He wiped his eyes and blinked, trying to see where he was now.
A few wet globs landed on his face and in his hair as another round of insults rained down on him. Finally, he opened his eyes and he wished he could shut them again. The cage sat in the middle of a large platform stage. Rendell sat in a large booth to the left with a goofy grin etched across his face. All around the stage, where families used to sit and watch Milton Mouse and his friends race to enter the labyrinth’s magical center, the stands were now filled with the degenerate dregs of the new humanity Rendell Walker had granted asylum to. George looked up and saw the filthy faces leering back at him, each face etched with hate. They spit at him again and he caught a whiff of their unwashed bodies. Their eyes glared at him with the animal flames society once kept in check.
In the new society, all bets were off.
He stared slack-jawed out at the new humanity where all the pomp, the social mores, and all the other bullshit was stripped away revealing the true face of human nature. For a fleeting moment, he preferred the zombies to the heathen crowd gathered around cheering for his demise. Instead, he found himself empty inside and felt pity for those around him, chanting for his death.
“Forgive them, for they know not what they do,” he whispered.
Rendell stood from his throne, cobbled together from ride parts and stuffed animals. Raising his hand in the air, the mob grew silent. Around the bleachers, they fixed their gazes upon their god, their savior, their redeemer…their madman.
“People of my kingdom, I welcome you to the festivities this evening as we send another outsider into the labyrinth to fight for his life,” he yelled out and waved his hands around.
The people erupted in cheers and they pumped their filthy fists in the air in return.
“Tonight, we have an outsider who has sought to take a piece of our world. With his partner, they tried to kill me and leave you as feed for the zombie hordes outside our gates! They broke into our secure haven and want to tear our family asunder!” Rendell screamed. His face turned beet red and veins pulsated in his forehead, threatening to explode through his skin.
“The maze with them!” the crowd shouted in response.
Fear prickled his flesh and the hair on the nape of George’s neck stood straight up. In his life, he’d been called every name in the book and in the recent weeks had many an unfriendly encounter with a person or four, but hearing the way they called and gleefully screamed for his blood unsettled him. He glanced up at Rendell and saw him grinning back at him.
“I’m coming back for you,” George threatened.
“I’m scared,” Rendell sneered at him and turned to the crowd again adding, “Release him!”
George closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind. He knew when the cage door swung open, his life was forfeit and he needed to change the odds. The lock clicked and the heavy rusted chain fell from the door, clanking on the ground.
“If you make your way to the center of the maze, rewards and riches await you! There might even be a little gift like a gun or a token of our appreciation for entertaining us tonight,” Rendell said smugly.
George looked up and spat toward Rendell, “Fuck you.”
“Oh no, not me. Get him out of there!” He ordered and sat back down on his throne.
The guards next to the cage gathered around and started banging their batons on the bars. The god awful noise quickly gave George a headache and he rushed out of the cage and ran into the maze’s bushes.
* * * * *
He ran. George didn’t look back; he ran as fast as his aging body could take him. The cheers from the barbaric crowd faded and the chants became silent. His lungs burned and his shins began crying out in pain. He was in better shape than he was before the zombies, but he still didn’t look like the picture of health, or near health. A small roll still tried to fall over his belt and hide the buckle and his arms had some dangle to them when he raised them, but he pushed all the pain aside and ran to survive.
The rows of dying bushes sped past him and he made turn after turn without watching where he was going, until he found a dead-end. He stumbled and almost lost his footing trying to stop from running straight into the bush.
His face stopped a few inches from the leaves and he saw a glint of metal hidden in the twisted branches. Six long knives were tied to the fence and pointed at George’s face.
Fence means I’m at the side of the labyrinth. I need to go back. Why the hell did I run and not pay attention? He mused and turned around.
Around the corner, he heard a low moan followed by the familiar slow steps of a zombie. Quickly, he checked his pockets and found them empty.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
Around the corner, the footsteps drew closer and closer. George’s heart began to thud in his chest and he felt the return of the tingles and light-headedness he experienced earlier in the shop. He placed his hand on his chest to make sure his heart wasn’t going to leap from his body in protest over the amount of stress it’d been under lately. A post-zombie world will do that to a guy.
Crouching down in the corner, he decided to bide his time and see what came around the corner. In the glow from the torches lit around the top of the labyrinth, a large shadow crossed the hedge and covered the ground like a giant. The shadow’s hands looked like
cinder blocks and the head looked like a huge orb with large floppy ears.
When it came around the corner, George caught a whiff of the rotting zombie and gagged. He also found himself frozen in terror. The zombie turned toward him and he could see the brown dog suit clearly.
Poor Spike, he was a good dog, George thought and almost laughed. Here in front of him stood the zombiefied version of Milton Mouse’s cuddly canine companion. Tufts of the fur suit were ripped away and dark streaks of dried blood covered the suit. The mouth wore a twisted grin and, between the torn costume lips, fresh pieces of meat dangled down its chin. One eye hole was torn away, revealing the once-human eye beneath that burned with hunger and rage.
Finding his escape route blocked, George took another look around to see his options.
“The knives,” he whispered and climbed back to his feet. His heart rate slowed, but the pain persisted in his chest. He felt like his ex-wife was sitting on him, trying to finish the job she started when she took almost everything in the divorce.
Spike stopped and sniffed the air around him. Turning toward George, his nose lingered longer and he inhaled deeply. Lowering his head, he looked straight at George and growled. It sent a chill down his spine because it sounded more like the dog than the man who donned the fur to make kids in the park happy. He once posed for pictures, gave high-fives to children, and drew a paw print in the autograph books of thousands of faceless kids every year.
Now, he stared at George with a primal fury coursing through his body and only animal hunger in his gut and mind. Slowly, he began to walk toward George.
Not waiting, George screamed an unholy cry from the well of his soul and charged at the shambling dog. Rushing the zombie, he grabbed its arm and swung it against the hedges. The zombie landed in the branches and stumbled. George took its arm and pulled back up to keep him on his feet. The zombie snapped at George’s arm, but he pulled it out of reach before the blackened teeth could latch on to him.
Snarling, the zombie pushed back. The force of the shove surprised George and he waved his arms around in the air, frantically, trying to keep his balance.
Damn, he’s strong, never fought one like this before.
Spike stomped and did the zombie walk at George again. Taking the few moments he had to catch his breath, George sized up the dog. The smell assaulted him and he felt close to losing the fight and vomiting. The decay mixed with the gore-stained and molded costume created a foul stench, reminding him of the dead lake he encountered on his travels in the last weeks. He found a small lake full of dead bodies: writhing around, soaking their dead flesh and stinking worse than the depths of Hell, while they marched out to an island in the middle where he saw campfires and lights. He passed them by, not wanting to be invited to the feast and now here he was, trying not to be dinner for a mangy zombie man in a fur suit.
His heart hitched again in his chest and he summoned all the strength he had and grabbed the zombie by the big floppy ears. Swinging Spike around, he threw him against the back of the alcove they were in and he heard the fence rattle from the blow. The zombie stopped for a moment and appeared dazed.
Wrapping his hands around the large cartoon head, he slammed the zombie’s face into the knives protruding from the fence. The blades sunk into its face and the points exited the furry back. Black ichor and bits of brain and bone fell from the wounds and dropped to the ground.
If George thought the stench was bad before, it was even worse now and he couldn’t hold the bile rising in his throat from spewing out of his mouth like a fountain. In the air around him, he heard the loud moans like they knew what happened to their brother and were coming for him. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he pulled the twice-dead body from the knives and ripped one free of the fencing.
George ran, making sure each turn took him further into the labyrinth and closer to his reward.
* * * * *
“Spike is dead again,” the radio crackled. Rendell picked it up and stared at it in disbelief.
“What do you mean Spike is dead again?” he asked.
“The contestant rammed his face into the knife trap in ending 32 of the northeast quadrant,” the radio answered back.
“If he makes it to the middle and passes his test, bring him to me. I think I may have been rather rash in my decision to kill him; he might be a great asset to our community.”
“Very well, sir,” the radio echoed and cut out.
I wonder what the rest of the entertainment will bring us tonight. Rendell wondered and went back to his binoculars. Once he had George back in his sights, he smiled and waited.
* * * * *
The branches closed in around him. Every limb and bush making up the labyrinth walls were balling up like a fist around him. His lungs burned and his legs felt like jelly, but he ran. When he came up on an intersection, he marked the path he took with a slash on the corner bush. All around him the moans and cries of the dead filled his ears.
But he ran.
In his chest, his heart thumped and pounded, strained beyond its limits. His breath came in quick short gasps and he slowed his pace. Panting, he dropped to his knees and looked up.
“George,” Harry’s weak voice whispered.
Stunned, George looked up and stared.
Harry was tied to a large wooden x and his body had slashes all over it. Sticking in his side was a rebar spike and screwdrivers were driven into his hands and feet. Blood cascaded down him in rivers and pooled at his feet.
“You have to go,” Harry said.
“I can’t. I’m done,” George muttered back.
“So hot,” muttered Harry.
George studied Harry’s body more closely and saw it. On his left thigh, covered by dirt and drying blood were the traces of a bite.
“Son of a bitch, you’re my surprise in the middle,” George said and shook his head.
Harry licked and tasted blood on his beaten and ruined lips. An expression of ecstasy crossed his beaten mouth as the crimson liquid flowed into his stomach. A low growl emanated from him and his eyes began to gloss over.
“Agh! I can’t hold on much longer, George. Promise, promise me you’ll get them…” he said through his clenched teeth and his head fell to his chest. His tongue lolled out and hung from his open mouth.
George felt himself starting to get choked up. Harry thrashed wildly in his restraints and small moans escaped his battered lips. Taking a few steps forward, George reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand. Gently, he held it and began to weep for the life of a man he barely knew, but in a few days had lived a lifetime with.
“Harry, I never had any children. My Martha and I never were able to have children. I want you to know I was starting to think of you like a son. Heh, three days and I latched on to you to fill a festering hole in me that I suppose will never heal now,” George stated and moved closer.
Harry thrashed around harder the closer George got to him. Carefully, George climbed up next to Harry and looked him in the eyes, as the last of his humanity drained away leaving only the monster behind.
“I’m sorry,” George whispered. He reached and embraced Harry like a child and held him hard. Harry’s teeth snapped at George’s neck, as he tried to feed the hunger gnawing in his gut, the burning need to eat his only driving force.
George placed the knife at the base of Harry’s skull and screamed. The blade slid smoothly into the back of the neck and up into the infected brain. Harry’s mouth stopped moving and George felt him go limp in his arms. Letting go, he backed away and, for an instant, thought he saw Harry’s eyes return to normal before growing dark in the embrace of his second death.
Behind, a series of loud moans grew louder. George turned around and saw the grisly visages of the other characters limping toward him. A dog, a duck, and a female mouse all closed in around him. Their mouths were a bloody froth and the stench of their decay filled George’s nose. Stepping down from the platform, he stood stoic and welcomed the end.
“Fuck you,” he muttered and brought the knife blade up to his left eyeball. His memories of his life and his beloved Martha filled him and he slowly started pushing the tip into his eye.
“Wait! Stop!” a voice screamed above him.
A group of men rushed in and quickly roped and hog tied the three twisted childhood characters. George hesitated and gently backed the knife away from his face.
“You win! We’ll let you go,” he heard Rendell say.
“I win?”
“You made it to the middle and you slayed the beast! As a token of my good graces, I release you from our kingdom to go forth and live life to the fullest outside our home,” Rendell answered in a condescending tone.
“I win? I had to kill the only thing I’ve been able to begin thinking about as a family in a long time.”
“It’s a new world out there and the rules have changed. Inside these walls, we make our own new society and our own new norms. You, my friend, are nothing but entertainment to us and you performed excellently. I was rather entertained!”
“Fuck you,” George spat and walked away.
* * * * *
Johnny led George to the kingdom’s gates and handed him a Desert Eagle.
“You’ll need this,” Johnny said and opened the door George and Harry entered the day before.
“That all?” George inquired.
“No, and I’m sorry,” Johnny answered and pulled a 9mm from behind his back. He pointed it at George and his shaking hands made the gun wave wildly around.
George brought his gun up quickly and squeezed the trigger. Only the click of empty chamber answered him.
“You think Rendell wanted you to have a loaded gun, man?”
“No, I figured as much,” George said.
In a flash, he pulled the knife from his belt and rammed the blade into Johnny’s throat. A shower of blood sprayed out and covered George’s face and arm. Johnny tried to talk, but his sliced larynx only made bubbles and gurgling sounds as his life gushed from his body. He dropped to his knees and the gun fell to the ground. George kicked him over and picked the 9mm off the pavement.
Still Dying 2 (Dying Days) Page 11