Zombies! (Episode 6): Barriers Collapse (10 page)

By the time he'd finished with the business woman, the tattooed man was upon him. But Red Rover was ready. Though he came inches from being bitten, he kept his cool. He pushed his big beefy hand up under the tattooed man's chin and clamped his fingers in on both sides of his face. There was a terrible moan from the undead thing as Red Rover lifted him up off of the ground and slammed him back down again, head first.

The crowd was on its feet.

Though the blow wasn't hard enough to do any real damage, it did leave the tattooed zombie stunned. Knowing his business, and knowing it impressively well, Red Rover was up and about the next threat. The woman in the suit had recovered more quickly than the school girl. She stumbled as she got near her quarry and that actually almost won her the fight. Red Rover's timing was thrown off by her misstep and he almost made a serious blunder. But he recovered well, shoving her hard to the matt and stomping on her head with his boot. Watching him was like watching a master. His foot came down with the power of a pile driver but it was fueled by neither rage nor panic. As he mercilessly smashed her brain to jelly, his head was up and searching the ring, ever aware that there were two more zombies after his flesh.

The schoolgirl and the tattooed man came at him at once. It wasn't a coordinated attack, but that didn't alter their advantage. Only when they were very close, did Red Rover stop his brutal attack on the business woman and turn his attentions toward the new threat. Stepping gingerly backward, aware of the slick blood now coating his boot, the big man took stock of his position. Though he most likely could have dealt them serious blows, he did not use his fists. Punching a zombie is a waste of time as it does not feel the pain.

Red Rover backed himself into the corner of the ring. It looked like he was running scared and the audience reacted accordingly, sending boos and catcalls his way. But he was so focused on the battle that they could have very well been throwing tomatoes at him and still gone unnoticed. When he felt the two zombies had gotten close enough, he charged right through them, splitting them apart and hitting them with such force that there was no way for them to get a bite in. As he rushed past, he grabbed the schoolgirl by the waistband of her skirt and dragged her along with him. It was a dangerous game, but she was thrown so off balance that she couldn't mount an attack. As light as she was, she hardly presented a burden and they were in the other corner before the tattooed man had even recovered his footing. Red Rover reversed his grip, turned the girl around and grabbed her by the head. Without hesitation, he whipped it forward and slammed it into the exposed turnbuckle. It was the fate of many zombies in that ring. With his strength, it only took two good blows to do real damage to the skull. By the fifth, there was no more movement. The zombie was well and truly dead.

That left him just one more to fight. With the crowd now on his side, it would have been very easy for Red Rover to become overconfident and make a mistake. He didn't. Red Rover against one zombie? It was no contest. Only when it was all over did he allow himself to bask in the glory of his victory. The crowd cheered and raised their betting slips in the air, many of them winners.

And so it went. Arrick learned a lot by watching Red Rover fight. After having stood with him before the match, Arrick would have definitely bet against him. He'd acted so unsure of himself and so afraid of the zombies that it seemed inevitable that he would make a fatal mistake. And yet he had made no mistakes at all. He'd used his size and his strength to their fullest advantage. Arrick, too, was determined to make use of his advantages, such as they were.

Sly Dee went next. He was fighting four very ordinary zombies, and entered the ring all style and confidence. He pranced around like a professional wrestler and Arrick had no doubt of the outcome. The first couple of times Sly Dee was bitten, the zombie teeth weren't able to get through his heavy clothing. Still, the match went on for several minutes with no sway one way or the other and Sly Dee grew tired and the zombies did not. When the first one found his face, it overcompensated. The teeth barely nicked his cheek, but blood had been drawn. After that it was only a matter of time. Sly Dee knew he was dead and the crowd could read the fear on his face. All across the stadium, a wave of silence swept through in respect for the fallen warrior. Sly Dee went down shortly after that.

The Latin Shark managed to kill all three of his zombies but realized that he'd been bitten when it was all over. He'd get to fight again the following week. On the other side.

William the Third was next up and fought four zombies. He fought well and with confidence. He made a few mistakes, but none of them fatal. In a lot of ways, he fought like Red Rover. He separated the zombies, threw them off balance, and took them out one at a time whenever he had the opportunity to do so.

After that, it was just Arrick and Jeremiah.

While the crowd cheered for William the Third, Jeremiah looked to his right where Arrick stood and scowled. Arrick caught the expression out of the corner of his eye and turned to look the question that was in his mind.

"You had to show me up," Jeremiah said. "Now they'll take me first."

Arrick was confused, but said nothing. Jeremiah was right. They took him first. Lining up six zombies in the ring, the keepers removed the balls from their mouths and climbed out. Jeremiah eyed his opponents as their bonds were cut and they shambled forward. The expression on his face never changed. He showed no trepidation. When they came close enough, he danced away. Their formation was broken then, some slower to recover than others. He continued to do this, just get out of their way until they were so broken up that he wouldn't have to take on more than two at a time from any position in the ring.

And still he did not attack.

Arrick watched him with interest. His tactics were so unlike those of the other fighters. Though he was clearly a match for them, he made no effort to win the match. Perhaps he was playing to the crowd. Every time he passed up another opportunity to strike, they cried out their frustration as if one great bellowing animal. Once, as he passed an older woman with curlers in her hair, he paused in his evasion, reaching out with one hand and brushing her face with his fingertips. It was a move so gentle and so frightening that the onlookers, very much expecting this to be his offensive at last, were hushed by the contrast of it.

After several minutes of this, the keepers around the ring were beginning to shout instructions. They were warning him to fight. He gave them their proper due and nodded, stopping dead center of the ring. Then he ran for the far side and mounted the cage, climbing gracefully to the top. This sent the keepers into a panic. They all rushed to that side of the ring, some with their hands in their sweatshirts as if reaching for something. But Jeremiah was not trying to escape. He threw one leg over the top, well out of reach of the clawing flesh eaters below, and waited for the crowd to hush.

And hush they did.

"My friends," he called out to them, a mass of ugly faces whose only concern was the numbers on their betting tickets. His voice was strong and carried well in the wide open space. Any trace of an accent disappeared as he said the following. "You follow the very worst of yourselves to this place. To come here and watch people torn apart is a sin for which there may be no redemption. The people beneath me are not my enemies. They are the infirmed and you treat them as if they are lower than animals. You cheer when they lose and you cheer when they win. You are here for blood and your shame will follow you to hell. Repent now and work to help save these poor creatures. They are your brothers and sisters. They are your mothers and fathers. They are your sons and your daughters. Help them or they are your future."

And before there could be any reaction to his words, he punctuated them with action. Bringing his leg back into the ring, he toppled onto the waiting zombies. All of them, six zombies and one man, toppled to the matt as one. It took a moment for the zombies to recover and when they did, they tore into Jeremiah with fervor. He didn't struggle and he didn't scream, although he must have been in agony. Arrick watched in horror, torn between his revulsion and the mounting moral dilemma presented by the choices he was making. The crowd continued to watch him in silence. For long minutes, the only sound in the whole arena was the sound of the undead having their feast. When they were done, there wasn't enough left of Jeremiah to animate.

For several moments there was nothing but silence. Then this rumbling started throughout the crowd and erupted into tremendous roar. The audience had recovered. A lot of people had made a lot of money on Jeremiah's defeat.

While they cleaned up the mess left behind and began prepping the ring for the next match, Arrick watched dumbfounded. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, nor what he was witnessing. This man, this poor disturbed man, had just thrown his life away. To make his point, he had trained to get into the ring with zombies, danced around them enough to make sure that they couldn't lay a finger on him. He had shown that to the crowd with no doubt and then said his piece. Without even knowing that his words would be meaningless, he threw himself to them and fed the chain. And the crowd just didn't care. It was just part of the show to them. Arrick didn't know whether they were the animals they appeared to be or this was just something that had ingratiated itself into society and become as normal as the plague itself.

As he was pondering these things, he barely noticed the keepers loading ten zombies into the ring. The crowd started to chant wildly, clearly convinced that they were about to watch the event of the century. But no. They wouldn't. Not now. He turned and began to walk toward the corridor. One of the young men working the arena intercepted him, putting a hand on his chest.

"You're up in a minute."

Arrick looked down at the hand. "I can’t fight. Not after that. I won't do it."

The young man laughed. "Yeah, right. Look, buddy, all of the bets are in and we just loaded up ten zombies. Personally, I think running is the smartest thing you ever
tried
to do, but you're gonna fight."

Two others were standing in the background, just watching. He knew that he couldn't get away. To him, the men were far more dangerous than the animals they kept. But something inside of him drove its way out. It was a confidence or an aggression that usually remained bottled up. He grabbed hold of the hand on his chest and twisted it away. Its owner was unhurt but surprised.

"If you want me to go into that ring, then I will," Arrick said. "But I won't fight."

The man shrugged. "Did you see what happened to the last guy? The crowd loved it."

Arrick went up to the cage door. There was still one keeper on his way out and Arrick pushed past him. As soon as he was in the ring, he could smell the scent of the zombies, ten of them all assaulting his senses. Without looking back, he marched right up to them and stood before them. They were still bound to the fence links but didn't even react to his presence.

"You might want to back off," someone called out.

"Just cut them free," Arrick shouted back and closed his eyes.

A moment passed. He heard the snip of the cutters and felt the movement of the zombies as they brushed past him. Their odor, all the same but still a bit distinct for each of them, swirled around him like smoke. He took it in and felt their confusion. They didn't know which way to move. Then they were clear of him, or he of them. The crowd went quiet, just a faint murmur undulating through its ranks. Arrick opened his eyes and saw what they saw. The zombies had moved to the outer edges of the ring. With nothing to attract them inside, they were pushing for the nearest meat. That was the keepers and the front row of spectators. They pressed themselves up against the links, clawing with dead hands at the metal. Their moans reached a phonic plateau, ten dead voices resonating through the open theatre.

Virtually alone in the ring, Arrick marched around, studying his "opponents", the crowd, the keepers. Between Jeremiah and himself, these people had witnessed a lot that was out of the ordinary that night. There was a space in between two zombies and Arrick took it, standing shoulder to shoulder with them, looking out at the people beyond the cage.

"What the hell are you?" a keeper asked.

"I will not fight," Arrick repeated.

"Get him out," A different voice yelled. "Marcus wants him out."

All at once, there were four men at the cage door. Three of them used long prods to keep the zombies back while the door was opened. Arrick didn’t give them any trouble. Since he hadn't wanted to go inside in the first place, coming out was something he did voluntarily. He was ushered away by one of the men while the others went in to secure the stock. The noise in the crowd grew. Arrick was taken toward the back of the arena where there was a set of stairs leading up to a makeshift second floor and some offices. He wasn't sure what was about to happen to him and, frankly, a bit more frightened now. But he knew that trying to get away would be a mistake. Not only were the men working the arena upset with him, but the crowd seemed to be calling for his blood. Every time they caught sight of him something was thrown. He was moved quickly up the stairs and into an office.

The office was in a bit of a shambles, though not totally disorganized. There was an old desk with a chair in the back and some papers on it. There was a computer that seemed state of the art. Its plug and the plugs of its components trailed away to a couple of power strips that were plugged into exposed outlets. The man behind the desk was the complete opposite of his office. Despite his gangster clothing and fierce look, Arrick could instantly detect his upper class air. Of course, he could detect it. He had grown up in its ranks. In addition, this new man exuded a commanding authority.