900 Miles: A Zombie Novel (22 page)

Fake Michael started to scream as his body went absolutely rigid, his pale face going blank.  His eyes remained wide open but unseeing as the life bled out of him.  The noise ended in a gurgle, then was silent. His hand with the missing finger fell limply from the bars.

“Hurry up! Get that neck harness on him before he comes back,” one of the troopers barked. The harness had a metal loop in it. They would later use it to move him from the cell to the dreaded Arena.

Fake Michael slumped to the ground as the guards backed up.  Kyle and I were speechless.  Mr. Muscle slowly lay back down on his metal bed.

Gordon looked over at Chauffer with a smile, and then back at us.

“See you
tonight,” he spoke cheerfully, clasping his hands together and then headed out of the cellblock with Chauffer in tow.

Kyle and I looked at each other with a
, “we got to get the fuck out of here,” sort of expression.

It wasn’t long before
Fake Michael started twitching on the ground.  He crawled to his feet, his eyes red beneath the helmet. Crazed and in full war gear, he began wildly running around in his cell.  He bounced off of the walls, tried to reach through bars at Kyle and I.  Each time he opened his mouth, the razor teeth opened as well, as a deadly extension of his bite.

I dropped to
the metal bench in my cell with a thud, my head buried in between my shaking knees, trying to tell myself that there was nothing we could have done. Michael may have gotten us into this mess. He may have lied to us, maybe even lied to himself, but nobody deserved that fate. Not even Michael’s actions merited being turned into a raging creature solely for the sport.  In the end, I really believed he was trying to help us and not just himself.  Now he was just another of the
dead
.

A violent
roar erupted from the cell across from me, pulling me from my thoughts. Jerking up my head, I looked from Mr. Muscle to Kyle.  We all knew we’d be fighting this thing tonight.

Our darkest hours were in those first weeks, and we were about to be in the spotlight
.

Call it weird, call it insane, call it whatever you want, but it’s true.  This group of Elitists went from prominent businessmen, trust fund babies, and top leaders, to a savage group of narcissists in just a matter of days.  The world fell apart; rules went to the wayside and from the ashes, rose the worst in mankind, that morbid, primal need for blood.  Our darkest hours were in those first weeks, and we were about to be in the spotlight.

Sitting there in the cell, listening to Zombie Michael bounce off the walls across from me, my mind drifted to Jenn.  I was absently twirling my wedding ring around my finger.  It had been half a week since I heard her voice on the phone. 
Jenn was my rock, my center, and without her, the world felt undeniably out of control.

I thought to the communication room that we had passed a few times.  I had to find a way to make it to that room.  If any land lines were still operating, surely I’d be able to get in touch with her at the number she gave me.

We had to survive the Arena.  There was nothing I wouldn’t do.  Nothing.

There was a guard posted outside of the cellblock, lazily sitting on a plastic fold up chair, which stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the furniture in the place. From time to time
, someone would walk by, and he’d perk up, like he was busy guarding the
dangerous
criminals.

At one point, we listened as a friend of his, whom we could not see, walked up and started a conversation.

“How’s this batch?” the friend asked.

With a slight British accent, the guard replied, “We have a couple of bulldogs in here.  Remember that giant Mexican who got taken down the other night?  Well, his mate is in here.  You
know the one that knocked through the fence?”

“Ohhh sweet!” Friend
said. “That’s going to be a good one!”

“The other two look pretty hard, too.  They’re not quite as big as the Mexican, but they’ve been through some shit.  That isn’t the best part though.  Gordon has something special in store.  I can’t let you see it, but rest assured that tonight’s battle is going to be one that is for the books.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.  I already heard about the Death Armor. Gordon had three of those suits made.”

“Really?” The guard sounded impressed.

“Yeah, there’s going to be three of those fast suckers with razor teeth in the arena tonight.  It’s going to be wicked awesome!”

“O
kay, since you know so much, how many gladiators do we have?” He sounded a little dispirited, as if his friend stole his thunder.

“Well, by my count, we have an even ten. I think they are going to break it up into two battles. Word around the campfire is that they are going to do a regular fight, with the old zombies first, and then follow it up with the main event. I’m hearing that your cell block is set for the second bout. Evidently Gordon and Chauffer have a special interest in these guys.”

Lowering his voice, thinking we couldn’t hear him, the guard replied, “Yeah, you should have seen them in here chatting it up with these lads.  Let’s just say that I’m glad I’m not in their shoes.  Don’t think he’s going to be advancing them to the next round...if you know what I’m saying.”

“I hear you, brother. I hear you.” Friend
chuckled. From the cell, it looked like the guard stood up, and gave his friend a fist bump.

“See you tonight, bro. Don’t lose those prisoners!
We all want to see that battle!”

“They’ll be there!” our guard reassured him.

He sat back down, poked his head inside the door to peer at Kyle.

“What are you looking at, princess?” the guard asked sharply.

Kyle took his time, looking at the Guard from head to toe then replied coolly,

“Nobody.”
As if to imply that the Guard was certainly nothing special.

He stood up like he was going to enter
, but then stopped.  “You’re not worth it, princess. You’ll get yours tonight.”

Kyle didn’t break eye contact, and didn’t say another word. The guard didn’t advance. Instead, he went back to resting his ass on the plastic chair in the hallway.

I went over to the bars separating my cell from Kyle’s, and motioned for him and Mr. Muscle to move as close to me as possible. It was a little more difficult for the circus performer being that he was on the far side of Kyle’s cell. In a whisper, I stated that we needed a plan of attack.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

Kyle shot a quick look at Mr. Muscle, and then back at me.

“Well, I was thinking back to the gas station.  We were outnumbered, but managed to keep the things back with good offensive and defensive tactics.”  He turned his head toward Mr. Muscle
, “Are there any weapons in the arena, or are they expecting us to use our fists?”

“It’s been a little different each battle, man. They always have some sort of weapons. It looks to me like they raided a museum or something. The arena has had maces, spears, clubs and some other crazy stuff that I can’t even identify.”

“What’s been different?” I asked curiously.

“That’s the thing,” he shrugged. “Sometimes the shit is easy to grab, like sitting on the ground. Other times, it’s been propped up high on the walls so it’s hard to get to...you know, like needing two guys to work together to get at it.”

“Okay. So first thing’s first, we need to get to the weapons, no matter where they are.  Let’s make that our priority.” Kyle went on to explain a few tactics that he thought would work. No matter what, we had to make sure we stuck together. The three of us would be stronger if we formed an alliance, and had each other’s backs. Our best chance was to keep our heads on our shoulders and work as a single unit.

We
agreed on the how’s and what’s, but you know what they say about the best -laid plans. Sometimes, they simply go to shit.

****

We could hear people passing through the hallway. Every once in a while, someone would stop by, lower their voice, and ask how the guard thought we’d do in the battle tonight.  We realized that people were trying to get the inside scoop, feeling out the guard to see how long he thought the battle would last.

We heard one person ask who
he should put his money on, and another ask which of us would last the longest. The guard kept talking about the giant Mexican. Everybody graciously thanked him for his help, as if he was giving them some sort of coveted information.

It was clear that there was some sort of betting ring set up. People were waging cash on who would be the first and last to die.
Evidently, it was big money, too. We heard numbers like one hundred and two hundred grand being thrown around. They were betting on how quickly we’d die.

This place just got better and better by the second.

I looked over at Zombie Michael.  He was still in a frenzy. There were blood soaked scratch marks on the wall, and his eyes had that full red with white haze over them.  He would stand against the cell bars, both arms through them continuously reaching towards me like tree branches in a drought reaching out for water.  “Not much going on upstairs anymore,” Kyle murmured when he saw me look away from Michael.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied despondently. “Hope we can put him out of his misery quickly.” All we could do was wait, just wait
and try to tune out the noise that the new zombie across the aisle from us made. It was no mistake that it was left here with us. Gordon and Chauffer wanted us to watch him, know what we were up against.

The people in the hall outside our cellblock cleared, and the guard seemed to be able to sit back down in his chair.

It started as background noise at first, more of a dull hum, really.  We were not immediately sure what it was, glancing at each other then at the door in confusion. It soon became obvious that it was cheering from the arena.  The crowd was getting worked up.

We couldn’t make out what was being said, but someone was speaking through a loud microphone. He went on for a few seconds then paused. The dull background noise was now a roaring cheer.

The guard stuck his head in, spying Kyle with a grin.

“There are sixty-forty odds that you’ll be the last man standing tonight, princess. Sixty for the Mexican, forty percent for you.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“Fifty-fifty odds on you.  Same with a woman from one of the other
cellblocks. Bets are that you’ll be the first to drop.”

“Shit,” I mumbled.

“We’ll take them all out,” Kyle stated boldly as he rose, jerking his chin in the air.

“Sure you will,” the guard soothed with a crooked smile. “Sure you will
, princess.”

The creeping moments felt like hours. The longer we had to wait, the more tied up my guts felt. My stomach plunged when someone neared the door
and stopped. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; he seemed to be the only sane one around here. He gave the guard a glare to get him on his feet and at attention. Jarvis then entered the room with that same glowing smile he’d given us upon our arrival.

With a
demeanor that gave me the impression that he was on our side, Jarvis said,

“You boys sure have gotten yourselves into a bit of trouble.” His gaze fell on Michael, his shoulders slumping just noticeably.

“Not much we can do for this poor soul, but the three of you have a shot.”

“That’s not what we hear,” I replied darkly.

“Don’t be fooled. There are only so many of the zombies we can let into the arena and facility at one time. If you outlast them, you’ll outlast the battle.”

“How many are there?”
I had to ask, but didn’t really want to know.

“Hard to tell, gentlemen, but keep your heads on straight. Stay alive long
enough and you’ll walk away from this thing.”

We all looked at each other. Mr. Muscle had sat up
and shifted his legs toward the door. He made eye contact with Jarvis, then spun back around and lay down on his bed.

It was just a quick glance, but t
here was something between them; that much was clear. They tried to play it off as if they didn’t know one another.  Not so much as a hello.  However, there was an unspoken recognition in each of their eyes, and they sure as hell didn’t want the guard to see it.

“Boys, I’m not sure you belong in this fight. Unfortunately, I’m not the one to make that choice. What I can tell you is that if you survive, there
will
be opportunity for you.”

Nobody said anything
.  His words were sincere, and caught me off guard.  For a moment, I found myself pondering why he would be giving us the insight, and wondered what actual meaning lay beneath what he was saying.

“Well, I’m here to take you to the arena,” he spoke apologetically.  “The first battle is in progress, and you’re up next.”  He sighed heavily,
and then looked over his shoulder towards the door.