Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead (16 page)

“So sorry,” he said quickly as he scrambled to his feet. The guards were nearly upon him.

Panting, he made a sharp turn to the left, took the five steps down in a single leap, landed in a crouched position—then kept running.

He heard the frantic footfalls of the guards taking the stairs behind him.

There was a gray door on his left. Mick turned again, ran for it, then yanked it open. He pulled it closed behind him. He didn’t know if the guards saw him go in here or not. It wasn’t worth hanging around to find out.

Mick jogged a few steps forward and found another set of stairs that led down to a white-painted brick hallway below. He took the steps, stood in the hall for a second and looked left and right. Both directions appeared the same: white walls, a few gray doors off to either side, each end of the hallway ending in perpendicular hallways, also white-bricked and gray-floored.

He went right, somehow in his mind thinking the rear of the building was somewhere in that direction. He wasn’t completely sure, though.

Mick ran. No sooner had his legs been pumping for a few seconds did a figure appear at the end of the hallway. He didn’t know who it was. The only thing he was sure of was that it wasn’t a security guard.

He skidded to a stop, spun around, and bolted in the other direction.

More footfalls echoed in the cement-enclosed hallway. The weird part was they were coming from somewhere ahead.

He glanced over his shoulder.

A being with white skin, white hands with claws and a blood-red cloak zipped through the air toward him like a jet out of control.

Screaming, Mick ran as fast as he could. At the end of the hallway before him, a couple of security guards appeared though Mick was pretty sure they weren’t the same ones from just a few minutes back. It didn’t matter. He was trapped and was already past the door with the stairs where he first entered this hallway. There was no doubling back.

“Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap . . .” The words rolled off his tongue like boulders down a hill.

His shoulders suddenly seized up and multiple spikes of pain raced through them as well as his arms. He was brought to a halt. Glancing at his shoulders he saw white hands on either side, the red of his blood clashing against the sharp sallow nails digging into his flesh.

Movement was impossible. Whatever demon had him caught from behind wouldn’t let him move.

“One more fight,” the thing behind him hissed.

The security guards caught up to them.

With a growl, the creature threw Mick forward and into the guards’ arms.

Mick took in the beast. He knew that facial structure: the pronounced forehead, the wrinkled skin, pale as all get out, the bold cheekbones, that dash of stark white hair on top. Though the creature didn’t have his giant sunglasses on, Mick knew it was the old man that had been sitting motionless beside him during this evening’s fights. He didn’t know what the old guy was—a vampire, maybe—and it became clear that he, like Jack, was meant to keep an eye on him.

The creature stood before him, each breath it took seeming to heave his chest up and down with rage. The old man’s eyes were bright white, with red irises and golden-yellow pupils. The man didn’t blink.

“I want . . . to . . . drink,” the old man said. His voice was precise, each word enunciated perfectly as if a science.

“No,” one of the guards said. “This man is for the boss. Thank you for your service. You will receive your payment in full as promised.”

The old man grimaced then bore all his teeth, eyes wide and bright like an inferno. The vampire lashed out at the security guard, the old man’s claws slicing the guard’s forearm off. The man howled, and immediately cradled his arm. Mick wondered if he should take the opportunity to make a break for it.

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

I
t 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.