Zombies! (Episode 7): Conflicts of Interest (10 page)

Stepping forward, he grappled with both zombies at once. Instinctively, he kept away from their mouths, tying up their arms and legs and sending them to the mat.
Nothing fancy
, he reminded himself.
Just what's effective
. He landed a solid blow to one's head when he noticed the change in the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw what Heron had seen, and the sound was unmistakable. Distracted, he turned away from the last zombie and began to scan to men in the seats. It only took a moment for him to notice it. There were zombies in the crowd.

"
Shawn!
"

Culph turned again and this time saw Heron halfway up the stairs. How his voice had reached Culph above all of the others was inexplicable. More inexplicable was Heron's reason for being there in the first place. Culph had only learned of the fights hours before. In a mad search for money, he had gravitated to what he knew best. Had Heron just second guessed him?

But no. On the catwalk above, he could see the three figures moving swiftly away. Heron had called for Shawn and Culph knew who that was. Shawn was the reason Heron had come. Anything else was an unfortunate coincidence. Still, it was time to go.

The third zombie put a hand on his bicep and tried to pull him close. He pulled away from it as if it were nothing more than an annoying child. Going to the gate, he found it locked. The zombies that had been waiting to fight had had their bonds cut and the keepers were nowhere to be found. Just his luck to make the last performance. Ironically enough, what made him the most angry was that, after all this, he wasn't likely to be paid.

The zombie came at him again and he shoved it away, calling it a name he reserved for the worst of the women he had ever met. With nowhere else to go, he began to scale the fence surrounding the ring.

***

ABBY'S
phone, still in her hand, lit up as Heron's text message came through. She gave it a casual, almost nonchalant glance, and then took note of all of the capital letters. Giving it more thorough attention, her eyes grew wide. She read the three words over and over before finally breaking her head from the loop and grabbing Melissa by the arm. "We've got to go."

"What's going on over there?" Peter asked, pointing to a section of the crowd that seemed to be…migrating.

Abby looked and suddenly felt an icy chill run from the soles of her feet to the base of her neck. There were zombies in the arena. There were zombies in the
crowd
.

"Look at the ring," Melissa cried. They looked, although Abby was having trouble focusing on anything at the moment. The zombies around the ring had been freed. Some of them had meandered off into the floor seats and were wreaking havoc there. Others had stayed and were clawing at the gate in an effort to get at the fighter within. St. Francis was looking toward the back of the arena where a set of stairs led up to a makeshift second floor. Abby followed his gaze and saw Heron just as he bolted up the stairs and away from another man. For a moment, she allowed herself to be buoyed by his presence. Then she realized that he may as well have been a world away for all of the good he could do her from there.

As people around the warehouse began to realize what was happening, a general panic began to spread. Men were charging from their seats and choking the exit.

Melissa pushed past her. Someone shoved her. All at once, she was swept up in a group of men running and all that she could do was run, run,
run!
She didn't even know if the others were following her. Shorter than most of the men in the crowd, she felt trapped, isolated. More than anything, she feared getting choked into the bottleneck at the entrance, but she knew that if she stopped, she would be trampled. She stumbled once and a hand grabbed her bicep, helping her to her feet. Then it and its owner were gone. Some man that she would never know had just saved her life.

Then all at once she smelled something foul and turned to look. There was a zombie nearby. It was a woman in a green house dress looking very much as if she'd just settled in to watch some television. That is, right before some flesh eating undead monstrosity had decided to gnaw on her face. As the men noticed her, they pushed away and Abby followed the crowd. Those closest to the creature tripped over each other in their panic and went to the ground. No one tried to fight. Dozens, maybe hundreds of able-bodied men had come to see people fighting zombies. Yet when faced with their own conflict, they ran like frightened rabbits. Even through the haze of her own blind fear, Abby did not fail to see the irony.

The woman zombie set upon the fallen like a starving man at a buffet. With so many writhing bodies, she did a tremendous amount of damage for just one zombie. Unable to discern one from another, she bit first the man on her left and then the one on her right. Her teeth nicked a finger, then sunk into a thigh. In the span of sixty seconds, she infected half a dozen men.

And maybe they deserved it.

Was that the thought that had run through Abby's head? The crowd swept her away from the area and she focused on keeping her feet. But not before wondering if these people, by stooping so low in the value of their entertainment, had asked for their fate. It was a terrible thing to think of husbands and fathers and brothers and sons. But we all have our dark side.

All at once, there was no more running. Now there was just pushing. They had reached the clog and while those at the front slipped through the front doors, those in the back, those around Abby, just pushed and pushed. She was powerless, helpless, squeezed tight between the sweating fearful bodies of those others trying to escape. It was oppressively hot and difficult to breathe. She didn't know whether to put her arms up or keep them down; she kept them down for fear of having them broken off. With no other options, Abby shut down as much as she possibly could and simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Eventually, one way or the other, it would all be over.

***

WHEN
Peter turned around, Abby was gone. He called out her name but that was a futile gesture.

"What happened to Abby?" he asked Melissa. "Where did she go?"

Melissa pointed to the diminishing crowd. "She ran."

Peter suddenly looked stricken. "Oh, my God. She'll be crushed."

They were almost alone on the bleachers now. All but a few of the smarter or more dazed spectators had made for the exit. Looking down, they could see the zombies pushing in at the back of the crowd, clawing and biting their way through the mass of people. Deep into the throng of bodies, they could pick out one or two more. There was no sign of Abby.

Peter quickly pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Melissa asked.

"I'm going to call her, see where she is."

"Are you nuts? Even if she hears the phone, do you think she'll be able to answer it?"

Exasperated, he glared at her. "We have to do
something
." He turned his attention to the crowd, scanning it, hoping in vain to catch a glimpse of a small fortyish woman.

Melissa watched him and wondered about the kind of man that he was. She supposed it didn't matter. Her path had been chosen for her. Abby hadn't run, of course. Melissa had pushed her. She needed Abby gone and opportunities such as this didn't come along often. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small object. Peter, obviously having something more to say, noticed it as he turned to her. It took him a moment to recognize it, but that was a moment too long. Shoving hit hard into his abdomen, Melissa shocked him into unconsciousness.

***

HERON
was much faster than the three men running away from him. Clearly wounded, Shawn was holding them back. They were heading behind the offices. Heron supposed there was a back staircase there or even an exit. When he reached the landing, he called Shawn's name again. The boy turned, struggling against his captors and shouted for Heron. It was then that the third man's face was revealed and the lieutenant was as shocked as he'd ever been.

"Arrick!" he cried.

Arrick looked up, surprised. A vicious scowl crossed the face of the first man, but there was no time for an analysis of their relationship. As he was going for his gun, Heron felt something grab and pull him. Turning, he found himself looking into the face of a zombie. Or at least, the remnants of a face. The kill was fresh, probably one of the spectators. One eye was ruined, still there but just sort of bouncing around the socket. Its left cheek was torn apart, the bearded flesh having been ripped away. The exposed muscle and bone writhed as it tried to bring his teeth to bear. Pushing away, Heron wondered how or why it had come up the stairs. It really didn't matter. It was a zombie being inconvenient at the most inconvenient time.

Heron never got to go for his gun, but still, he forgot to be afraid of this one creature. He shoved it hard and it hit the railing. It was off balance, so he took the opportunity to lift and push at the same time. The thing tumbled to the seats below.

Turning away, Heron saw that Shawn had been ferried out of view. He had just started forward again when a second zombie appeared in his way.

"What the hell?" he muttered, now suddenly worried.

A noise behind him drew his attention to two more approaching. He didn't know where they had come from. A glance down on the floor showed that there were a few milling around. The crowd was pushing its way through the front door and a number of zombies were eating their way through the back. Bodies were scattered about. Some of them were moving. Not all of those were alive. The live ones all seemed to be wounded, maybe too wounded to get up and run. There was a lot of blood. They were writhing in pain. If Heron wasn't careful, he would be one of them.

Hating to give up the chase, he focused on the zombies approaching him. There was a fourth now and he realized he should never have hesitated. Two of them were already upon him. He couldn't even draw his gun. Bringing his arms up to shield himself, he fended off the zombies as best he could. But he became quickly winded and knew that he was losing the fight. Briefly, he heard himself cry out for Smith, then he went down, a zombie on top of him. He pushed his right hand under its chin, amazed at the strength of it. But it wasn't just the strength of the creature. It was his own ebbing strength as well. Part of it was due to his physical short comings. You know, cancer. But there was a real effect from the stench. It made him physically ill, sapping his energy.

When he thought he couldn't hold on anymore, the zombie was ripped away from him. He scrambled to his feet, retching. It was Culph who had saved him. Good old Culph.

Two of the zombies had been thrown over the side. One other was scrambling around on the ground, its head a mash of pulp. The damage was severe but it still wasn't dead. Culph was just finishing off the last one, bashing its head against the office wall over and over again.

For a moment, Heron just stood there, crouched, leaning on the railing while he gasped for breath. Then he remembered to draw his gun.

Finished with his work, Culph looked at his former boss. His eyes fell upon the pistol. "Is that the thanks I get? You're going to arrest me, now?"

Heron shook his head. "I have to go get Shawn. You wait here and I'll arrest you when I get back."

Francis Culph laughed at that. It was a good, cleansing laugh. Something he needed. When the tears cleared and he opened his eyes, Anthony Heron was gone.

***

MARCUS
saw the zombie come up behind the cop. He was surprised that Shawn didn't warn him. It grabbed the cop as he reached for his gun. That was lucky. Marcus had no idea where it had come from or how it had gotten up the stairs but, to him, it was just a zombie doing the most convenient thing at the most convenient time. With Arrick's help, they hurried Shawn toward the end of the catwalk. There was a second staircase on the far side. It would deposit them right at the back door, far enough away from the pen so that they should be safe. That was another part of the exit strategy. Toby was to go and open the pen. Originally it had been Leron's job but Leron, well, he'd wound up
inside
the pen.

It was tough for Shawn to negotiate the stairs but he didn't struggle at least. Slowly, they managed to get him down one step at a time. Marcus pushed open the door and they were free. The cold night air wrapped around like a death shawl. None of them had jackets.

"We've got to get him someplace warm," Arrick said.

"You knew that cop," Marcus accused him. "You brought them here."

Arrick looked up. "I don't think now is the time…"

Pulling the Remington from his waistband, Marcus pointed it at Arrick. "Do you know that woman, too? Admit it, John."