The Apocalypse Fugitives

by Peter Meredith

  The two gladiators were bustled down the stairs and Grey had a last look at his fellow fugitives. They were standing in three long lines waiting for the trucks to finish being refueled. In the dark, the way they held themselves, listless with their heads hung, made them appear like they were just more of the undead. It was a sad spectacle and he turned away.

  Under the watchful eye of their armed escort the two fighters walked to the largest building on the campus where Grey had first met the River King; it was busy as a hive and hummed with voices. The main lobby was brightly lit and filled with people, both men and women. They were evil in appearance, dirty and uncouth. They sneered at the fighters and a few of them spat. Davis ignored them, walking stoically though the lobby to what once had been the box office for the main auditorium. Grey followed along behind, letting his anger show which only drew a few laughs and made him more of a target for the spittle which came flying.

  "That's enough!" shouted Hannigan when he was accidentally hit. "Back away."

  The guard had some influence and the crowd let Grey pass through to the box office. They were ushered to a back room which was oddly crowded. Along with a few guards there were four other men who were clearly cage fighters judging by their hard looks.

  A man in a wrinkled navy blue suit stood in their midst tapping a clipboard against his leg. When he saw Grey, he barked. "Finally! Let's get that door shut. Alright, we're running late as usual so listen up. In the prelims I got Davis versus Grey and then O'Dell versus my boy Grimes and of course the main event Chesser and Rizz. I want everyone warm and ready."

  There was a murmuring of approval from the men, all except Grey who was honestly surprised that he and Davis weren't headlining the event.

  The man in the suit caught the look and laughed. "Did you think you were going to be the star of the show? Please. Who've you killed in the arena? No one. Until you do you're just another dude waiting to get his face caved in by Davis."

  Davis smiled his wicked smile. "Don't worry, you don't got too much longer to wait."

  "Speaking of which," the man in the suit said, checking his watch. "Let's get you two out there so people can start placing their bets."

  Davis followed the suit out a back door, with Grey following, feeling like he had stepped into another world. How could they expect him to kill a stranger? And why was Davis so eager to kill him? It was one thing to kill because he was being forced into it, but Davis looked like he actually hated Grey.

  These thoughts went out the window as they passed through the lobby again. It was already less crowded and they breezed on through to the Bedell Performance Hall. It had been designed as a theater, one in which plays were performed. There were three decks teeming with people who stood and craned their necks to get a good look at the two fighters.

  "1000 on Davis," one spectator near them said to a man next to him.

  "Sure, five to one," came the reply.

  "I'll give you four to one," another said.

  Grey couldn't believe his ears. He was a four to one dog? "Hey, Davis," he called. "How many fights have you been in?" Davis wouldn't answer. He just grinned all the more and began dancing like a boxer entering the ring.

  Betting went on all around them and the auditorium grew very loud as they made their way to the stage where a cage had been set up.

  "All right," the blue suited man yelled to them over the crowd. "Shirts and shoes off. Don't be afraid to flex a little. Let's put on a show."

  There was no way Grey was going to flex his muscles or do anything besides survive in the arena. Davis was the crowd favorite and showed off his excellent physique by striking a few poses. Soon Grey was back to being a five to one underdog.

  Then out came the River King, taking the stage like a trained showman. "What a night, what a night! Who's ready for a fight?" The crowd cheered loudly at this until he waved them into silence. "We have quite the show tonight. Am I right? Chesser versus Rizz, am I right? How long have we waited for those two to lock horns?"

  Again the crowd cheered and the River King beamed happily. "But before we see those two warriors get down and dirty, let's meet our gladiators for our first preliminary fight. You all know this man," he said pointing at Davis. "With a record of fourteen wins and zero defeats, standing at six foot two and weighing in at two hundred and fifty three pounds, I give you the Bone Crusher!"

  The crowd went nuts. All Grey could think was: this is happening too quick. He had been in a cell only a few minutes before talking to Neil and now here he was about to fight to the death.

  "And his opponent making his debut fight, Tommy Grey! Place your bets, place your bets. The fight starts in one minute so get your bets in on time."

  Grey shook his head as the River King came over to him. "My name isn't Tommy."

  "Who cares what it is?" the River King replied.

  "So why did you pick a gay-ass name like Tommy?" Grey asked. "Unless you want to cast doubt in some of the minds of the betters. You have money on me, don't you?"

  "Ten thousand so don't screw it up," the River King said. "And just in case you think of fucking me over…" He pointed to the side of the stage where a man held Melanie by the back of the neck. "There's also the baby you guys brought with you. The stupid thing threw up on me earlier and I won't be sorry to see it go."

  Grey glared fiercely to which the River King only smirked. "Don't lose and you won't have a problem." He left Grey and went to the center of the arena where he raised both hands and yelled, "The time for betting is over! And the time for fighting is now! You all know the rules…there aren't any rules! Last man alive wins." The crowd ate this up and they began to cheer so loud that the River king could scarcely be heard, yelling, "Gladiators, come out swinging!"

  The River King stepped nimbly out of the caged off arena as Davis charged. Grey dodged to his right buying himself time to size up his opponent: Davis was hefty man, bigger than Grey by thirty five pounds and ripped like a bodybuilder. As a college football player it had to be assumed that he was fast on his feet and viciously strong. He was also aggressive and confident. Despite all this, Grey wasn't worried, only shocked how fast everything was happening and he was still stuck with his conundrum over killing an innocent man.

  In this case Davis didn't seem so innocent. He was clearly ready and willing to kill his fifteenth victim and it was this enthusiasm, this bloodlust which helped Grey set aside his inner struggle.

  The two men circled each other, their muscles taut and ready to spring. Staying on the balls of his feet, Grey danced forward and then danced back just as Davis lunged at him swinging a tremendous haymaker at his head. He missed and yet he didn't over balance himself, an impressive display. Grey stepped forward again, this time Davis hesitated, not wanting to make the same mistake and Grey made him pay with a front kick to the solar plexus.

  Other than emitting a low, "huh," sound Davis was unaffected.

  Grey leapt back once more and continued to circle, learning about his opponent with every move. Physically he was daunting, but so far the technical side of his abilities were lacking, especially the fact that he continued to chase and move forward without variance.

  A second later, Grey timed another kick this one aimed for the inner thigh—it struck with a slap that could be heard over the cheering crowd. Davis immediately swung his right again and missed. He then charged swing blows from both left and right, either of which would have knocked Grey out, however the wild attack had been anticipated and both struck nothing but air.

  Years of training, both within the army and outside of it were paying off for Grey, especially the seven months he had spent with the Mossad. It was Israel's elite counter-intelligence force. Some of his instructors were rumored to have been ex-Kidon, assassins who made the CIA look like chumps. They had worked him relentlessly for weeks on end, honing his skills so that at that moment, he looked on Davis with a touch of sorrow.

  He shot out another kick to the inside of Davis' leg and then a third.
They were particularly effective attacks because he could remain just outside Davis' reach. As Grey figured would happen the big man's hand's went from being up by his chin to down around sternum height; clearly he was planning to block the next kick and hopefully catch it. Grey didn't give him the opportunity. He flashed in and hammered Davis' unprotected face with his fists: left, right, left and then out again. Then in with a slashing roundhouse to Davis' knee.

  He danced back for only a second. The key to victory was to finish a dazed opponent. Another inside leg kick and the damage was beginning to build up on that front leg, making Davis slower than he normally would be. He was too slow to grasp the fact that Grey's next kick wasn't going low as the rest had. It went straight to his temple where the bone was thin.

  It might have been thin, but to Grey it was like kicking the trunk of a tree. On impact there was dense thump and in the next moment, Davis' eyes lost focus. He staggered once before Grey was on him with another flurry of blows. Then he was on the ground with Grey on top of him. Davis tried to roll over to protect his face and that was when Grey slipped his forearm up under Davis' neck, wrapped his legs around the beefy torso and then cinched down on the choke hold.

  All around him were screams and cheers, a cacophony that beat into Grey's brain, feeding into his inborn desire to crush the life out of his enemy. He squeezed with the irresistible strength of a python until Davis' eyes bugged and his hands grew weak.

  Davis was seconds from slipping into unconsciousness, and then in the midst of all that noise and excitement a massive explosion shook the walls, trembled the floors and made the air in the room surge like an ocean wave. It silenced eight hundred blood thirsty fanatics in the space of a second.

  Immediately Grey relaxed his grip and with the sudden calm he had to whisper when he said to Davis, "Pretend you're dead if you want to escape." There was only one person Grey knew who could've caused such an explosion.

  Chapter 37

  Jillybean

  The Mississippi River

  "Pink this is Green. The trucks are loaded and are moving onto the bridge. Do you see them?"

  Jillybean pitched her voice as low as it would go, trying to sound like a man but instead coming off like a talking frog: "We have visual confirmation."

  "Good luck, Pink. Green out."

  The trucks carrying the fugitives could be seen like little toys chugging across the bridge. "Ready?" Jillybean asked Deanna. The woman gave a vague shake to her head. "Ok, here we go," Jillybean said. "Three, two, one!" The last truck had reached the halfway point, when Jillybean squinched up her face and pressed the button on the first detonator.

  The explosion, though loud inside the theater where Grey was battling for his life, was literally stunning from a few hundred yards away. Jillybean jerked at the violence of it, her little hand frozen in a claw around the detonator. A second later an angry wind, hotter than any summer day blew her hair back and made her blink spastically.

  "Whoa," she said. Next to her, Deanna clutched her chest with one hand and pointed with the other at the bridge. The entire eastern end, many thousands of tons of rock and steel was crumbling into the river sending up gouts of white foam.

  Check my pants, Ipes said, speaking almost like a robot version of himself. I think these ones aren't gonna be wearable after tonight.

  "Do we send the drone now?" Jillybean asked, eyeing the first of the waves heading upstream at them. They were sitting on a very sketchy looking home-made raft in the middle of the Mississippi and she worried that anything more than a gentle shaking would pull it apart.

  "It's your deal," Deanna said.

  It was, especially since not twelve hours before Deanna had looked at the girl like she was nuts. "You are not going to blow up a bridge, young lady," Deanna had said in the bright light of morning. "We are going to go to Fort Campbell like Captain Grey said and then to Colorado!"

  Jillybean hadn't replied at first, her mind was still on the most convoluted plan she had ever cooked up. She was so caught up in it that she was scarcely aware she was fondling the huge pile of C4 in the back of the truck almost lovingly. She caressed it and then pressed her fingers into the soft explosives—it was so much like Play-doh that it was hard to believe it was so dangerous. "I'm not going to blow up the bridge just once," she said, her words came out slowly. "I'm going to blow it up twice."

  Deanna had not only spluttered, she had raved, "That doesn't make any sense! A bridge can only blow up once."

  I'm with her on this one, Ipes said. Blowing up a bridge twice is like eating a cookie, throwing it up and then eating it again, and only a dog would do that.

  "It makes sense if the bridge has a lot of those things under it that hold it up." Jillybean leapt down from the truck with her screw driver in hand and went to the crude map of the River King's base. She drew the Mississippi next to it like a wide road. She then crossed it with a line.

  "That's the bridge. It's got like five or six of these big cement things holding it up." She drew them as slash marks intersecting the line. "First we blow up this one." She stabbed the line closest to the eastern shore. "Then this one on the other side."

  Deanna's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "You're speaking in half sentences or you're leaving something out. Because even blowing up the bridge once doesn't help anyone."

  Jillybean blinked as if waking up. "Yeah, sorry. Here, what do we know? We know two things: one that we can't attack the River King's base because it's just you, me, and Ipes. And two, we know that the prisoners are going to be moved tonight."

  And three, let's leave Ipes out of this, Ipes said.

  Deanna looked like she wanted to bail too. "You want to trap the trucks on the bridge? Uh-uh, it won't work. There'll be guards on those trucks and they'll have guns."

  "I know," Jilly said, tapping the line. "That's why we do it twice. The first one stops the trucks, right? And then we give it a minute or two, to let the guards run away. You see I'm going to use a pontoon boat thingy like Captain Grey made for the second bomb. When they see it coming, zoom! They'll take off."

  Deanna was far from convinced. "But it'll be night time. Who will see it?"

  "We can put a light on it, like the strobe lights we used to make the monster army." She pocketed the screwdriver and began poking around in her back pack, pulling out a pen and a stack of note cards. "I got to make a list of all the stuff I need."

  "Jillybean stop, please," Deanna begged. "We can't do this. We'll be caught. You got to know that."

  "I don't know that. But if you want to go you can. I just need a ride to Fort Campbell. From there I'll get my own car. I can drive you know."

  "No you can't because you're crazy!" Deanna said, turning suddenly savage, her face twisting to become ugly. "You are insane, ok? You talk to a toy like it's real. You act like nothing will ever happen to you. You want to do stupid things like blowing up bridges for goodness sakes!"

  In spite of their size and age difference Jillybean didn't shy back; she knew what Deanna's problem was, she was a coward. "No. You're wrong. I don't want to do crazy things, I have to do them to save my new family. But if you're too ascared to help, you don't have to."

  "You think I don't want to help because I'm…" Deanna stopped suddenly as a look of realization came over her. "I'm being a whore again. I'm being nothing but a whore."

  "Uh-uh," Jillybean said, shaking her head. "No, you're being a chicken not a whore."

  "It's the same thing," Deanna replied, looking at the ground. "Deep down every whore is just scared of something…but not me. Not anymore. I can't be."

  "Good!" beamed Jillybean, patting her knee. "Cuz, I really need your help."

  "With what? That's the other part of my problem, I can't do anything."

  "Sure you can. You've already helped out. You just have to keep telling me why my plan won't work and I'll figure out how to make it work."

  Deanna smiled and she was pretty and normal again. "I can do that. The first problem is we'll
get caught."

  "Naw," Jillybean said. "We'll be in the river, dressed like monsters, how will they catch us? Give me something harder."

  "Ok," Deanna said, coming to stand over the diagram of the river. "Well first, how do you plan on getting a boat filled with bombs right up to the bridge? You can't drive it there or you'll get blown up when it goes off."

  "I don't know," Jilly replied.

  "And how do you plan on getting all the prisoners off the bridge. Jumping off that thing was the scariest thing I ever did. A lot of people won't jump, I bet."

  Jillybean's nose crinkled. "That's also a tough one."

  "And how are you going to keep everyone alive in the water? They'll look like people swimming around, you know. The zombies will eat them."

  "Hmm," Jillybean murmured, feeling a squirm of nervousness. "One second," she said, excusing herself and walking toward the forest. When she was a little distance away she whispered, "Well, Ipes?"

  Well what? Ipes asked. Why are you suddenly whispering? Are you embarrassed that she called you crazy?

  "A little." The real answer was a lot. It hurt to be thought of as being crazy. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is all that stuff she said. How do I do it all?"

  You take each problem one by one. First we'll go with the easiest ones. How do you keep anyone safe in a river full of zombies? How do you keep safe?

  "Easy, I dress and act like a zombie…oh. That is easy." Suddenly her mind started picturing the prisoners in the water in monster clothes and make up.

  Getting them dressed and made up may take some time and you won't have a lot. What, other than monster clothes can they wear to disguise themselves with?

  "I don't know. Trash, like a bag of trash or logs and branches…or maybe both." She remembered just then that some of the soldiers at Fort Campbell were wearing baggy, camouflaged rain ponchos. "It made them look, not human, really. We can find a bunch of those and-and-and underneath them the people can wear life vests. At night they'd look, well I don't know what they'll look like but they won't look human."