The New Capital: The second book in the Human Zoo series

by Kolin Wood

  The heat and the noise beat down to Tanner’s face and he squinted against the commotion, still unable to see past the bright lights accentuating him against his bloody surroundings. Sweat poured from his head, dribbling down onto his already soaked and torn tee-shirt and stinging the splinters in his chest. Beneath him, Billy closed his eyes, sucking in huge deep breaths; he looked almost pitiful.

  Tanner raised his arm up to his face to shield his eyes from the light. The two shadows that had remained perched like waiting buzzards on the side of the arena with their guns aimed down on the pair had disappeared from view.

  “KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM!” the crowd continued, eager to see death.

  Tanner turned back to the Pit. Billy was still lying still on his back; his open mouth dribbling blood down both sides of his face. The man was defeated, but being the type of man that he was, he wasn’t ever going to beg. Tanner respected that. Even though he had come unstuck today, he still deserved the respect of a warrior’s death.

  Tanner pointed the hammer aggressively up into the stands, in the rough direction that he believed Teddy Braydon’s Porta-cabin to be.

  “You’re going to pay for this one, Braydon. I fucking promise you that!” he screamed against the din.

  Then, with the roar of the crowd painful in his ears, he turned back to face his felled opponent.

  Billy ‘The Bull’ Baker lay still, a glazed look to his eyes. “Do it,” he mouthed as fresh blood spilled down his chin.

  Tanner felt fresh adrenaline flood his blood stream; he would take no pleasure from this and hated Teddy Braydon for making him do it in such an unjust way.

  With the hammer gripped tightly in his white knuckles he gritted his teeth and sucked a deep breath in through his nostrils.

  “DO IT!” Baker yelled.

  With a shout of rage, Tanner dropped down onto one knee and swung the hammer in a downward arc.

  Billy Baker’s skull cracked open like a coconut; spraying blood in the air and sending a huge cheer through the crowd around.

  Tanner only swung once.

  After a few jerky movements and twitches of his arms and legs, Baker fell still; his mouth twisted open in pain.

  Tanner dropped the bloodied hammer with a clunk at his side.

  The rubbish storm intensified, littering the floor around him. A pair of ladders dropped from above and two men climbed down. Tanner did not move as the corpse of the fallen warrior next to him was unceremoniously bundled over to the edge and covered in a filthy rug.

  Tanner climbed out of the Pit and still the crowd cheered; their blood lust well and truly sated for the evening.

  Another fight and another name on the war memorial that had become his soul. The list there was long and extensive; too long, and he was tired. He made his way towards the exit, shrugging off the back slaps and offers of drink.

  One more fight remained; but before he was through with the Capital, he would leave room for at least two more names at the bottom of the list.

  7

  “Sal! Get in here!” Teddy screamed, hurling the empty bottle at the far wall where it exploded into a million small pieces.

  It had taken everything in his power not too lose his shit in front of the entire VIP section, yet now, in the safety of his office, Teddy let his rage fly. He ripped open the front of his shirt, exposing his thick chest. An oriental tiger tattoo covering one of his large pectoral muscles peaked through the torn front and disappeared under his shirt at the shoulder. Huge, jagged shards of glass lay on the floor under the large window that looked out onto the Pit. The knuckles on his right fist glimmered with fresh blood in the harsh light.

  Nobody answered him.

  In the distance, the sound of the last of the drunken revellers shouting in high spirits as they spilled out of the Arena into the night, either lubricating the celebrations with winnings or drowning out the losses with booze that they could not afford, echoed through the streets.

  With his vision red and his blood pumping like a bass drum in his ears, Teddy pulled the door with such force that the bottom hinge came away, leaving it hanging precariously like a pendulum from the top.

  “SAL! Where the fuck are you?”

  He took the heavily-rusted stairs two at a time, ignoring the clanks and groans from the tired supports, and turned in the direction of the Pit holding cells, where he assumed Sal and the other Pit employees to be.

  The floor beneath his feet was slippery with compacted mud, spilled drinks, and piss. Empty hooch bottles littered all around, waiting for one of the clean-up crew to come back around and pick them up again, ready to be recycled for the next event. Normally, Teddy would never have tolerated the filth that now clung to his loafers, but this time he did not care. He stormed through the empty space, coughing as he breathed in the tainted, black fumes pouring from the numerous smoking barrels.

  Once across, Teddy turned down a small path that ran next to the seating stands and marched over to the small, nondescript, former maintenance building. A guard wearing a green tabard stood smoking a roll up by a wooden set of double doors.

  Hearing somebody approach, the guard turned, his eyes hooded over with drink and a gormless expression pasted on his dirty face.

  “Look at me like that again and I’ll bite your nose off,” Teddy snarled, pushing the flat of his palm hard into the guard’s face and sending him over flat onto his back in the mud. “Now, get outta my fucking way.”

  He swung back his leg and kicked out at the doors. There was a loud splintering sound followed by a yelp as they clattered into the back of somebody stood close by; Teddy didn’t stop to check.

  Sal was sat on an old chair and surrounded by a crowd of miscreants. As the door flew inward he jumped to his feet, the fear clear on his face.

  “I… I… It was the best I could do, boss! It’s not my fault.”

  Teddy moved in close and kicked the chair away from him. His golden rings flashed in the firelight as he thrust out a hand and gripped Sal by the throat.

  “What in the name of Christ was that?” he snarled, feeling the tendons in Sal’s neck pop under his firm grip.

  The older man’s thin frame offered little resistance as Teddy lifted him up so that he was standing on tiptoes.

  “They… told… me… he had… the goods…” Sal managed as dribble spilled from his mouth and he dropped the bottle that he was holding to the floor.

  All around them, the guards stood and watched, none of them daring to move.

  “I had a lot of money riding on that fight, you worthless piece of shit.”

  The desire to crush the ratty man’s wind pipe came strong and Teddy’s arm began to shake as he fought against his own desires. There was still a fight to go, another chance to come good. He may still need the waste of space yet.

  With a yell, Teddy threw Sal backwards against the damp, graffiti-covered wall. Sal’s breath escaped from his lungs with a whoosh! He lay there, surrounded by rubbish, one hand holding his side, the other clawing at his neck as Teddy advanced on him, tearing chairs out of the way.

  Teddy stood directly over him, pointing a thick finger at his face.

  “One more chance!” he snarled, “One more chance or I swear to God, I will make such a spectacle of your death that the people out there will be telling the story to their grandchildren. Do you hear me, Sal?”

  Anger pumped through him like a drug, tensing every muscle and making his head ache.

  Sal raised a subservient hand in Teddy’s direction and tried to speak but his crushed windpipe stopped him. Wincing in pain, he simply nodded.

  “I don’t care where you have to look… you find me somebody to take on Tanner or you’ll be going in there yourself.”

  ***

  Ondine Farringdon gasped as Teddy pushed her down on her back across the large desk. Her once-crisp, white blouse hung torn at her shoulders and her bra was pushed up, exposing her perfectly formed, round breasts.

  She looked up at him as
he pushed between her legs, her dark eyes smouldering with lust.

  “Ooooh,” she squealed, running her tongue over her bottom lip with over-dramatic gusto. “What you gonna do to me?”

  Teddy reached under her dress and tore away her panties with a single yank, discarding them to one side. Blood pumped in his ears. Ondine tried to raise up onto her elbows and Teddy slammed her back down once again, eliciting another small squeal.

  “Ow, not too rough!” she said, her brow showing her slight discomfort.

  She reached out for him but he slapped her hand away. Nice was the last thing on Teddy’s mind. Now, when he looked at her, Farringdon’s plump and sweaty, smiling face looked smugly back at him.

  Fear filled her wide eyes.

  Furiously, Teddy reached down and yanked open the zipper on his suit trousers with one hand as the other gripped hold of her silky, white thigh hard enough that his fingers left bruising marks.

  “Tell him anything, and I’ll kill you!” he said, thrusting forward to enter her as roughly as he could.

  Ondine screamed.

  Scared, she tried to fight back against him but she didn’t stand a chance against the far larger and stronger man.

  Soon, her wailing could be heard far out into the Arena, alerting anybody who happened to be nearby to the vicious act.

  But Teddy didn’t care, not anymore.

  From now on, he was going to take what he was owed.

  8

  The broken glass littering the ground like a crystal carpet crunched with every step as Juliana made her way through the destroyed city. The sun had just started to rise, and steam rose from the thick jacket as the damp slowly burned off into the atmosphere. She hadn’t stopped walking for hours, all through the night. Her tears had long since ceased and had dried to her cheeks, making them feel tight and stretched.

  The dawn brought with it an almost surreal light; blackened and burned buildings held up their exposed roof struts like skeletal hands grabbing at the sky. The darkness beyond the smashed windows and doors hinted at another world—one of perpetual gloom, where the people skulked and scavenged in the shadows. People sightings had been scarce, and those she did see very quickly made themselves invisible to her once again. But, even consumed with such grief and apathy, she kept to the middle of the road as she walked, convinced that there were eyes on every step she took.

  Soon, she began to notice the signs. Somebody had scrawled THE NEW CAPITAL in red paint over the existing road signs, and their appearance became more frequent the deeper into the city that she walked.

  For the first time in days, and with her spirits lifted slightly, Juliana picked up the pace. Whatever it was, it offered her more chance of finding the General than hoping on dumb, blind luck to stumble upon him somewhere amongst the corpses of the dead city.

  A red arrow turned her down a side street that seemed strangely devoid of cars. At the end, some kind of blockage stretched right across the road.

  What if this has all been a trap? she thought, slowing her movements to slow, tentative steps. The lack of people, all of the signage, the clear road; all allowing for an easy capture—a clever way in which to lure the unsuspecting.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled free the serrated-edged combat knife, the handle still tacky with thick, drying blood. There was no way she was being captured again.

  A shout some way off and Juliana halted. Another, louder this time, and then laughing—definite sounds of people but still impossible to see far in the dim, dawning light.

  Gripping the knife tighter, she continued.

  The closer to the blockage she got the louder the noises became, yet still nobody attacked her.

  Soon, the cause of the obstruction became apparent to her through the mist; a man-made barrier consisting mainly of rusting cars, vehicle parts, and other assorted junk, standing about seven or eight feet high. By now, the noise beyond it was much louder, and her heart raced. It sounded like a herd of cattle being driven through the town, the steady drumming of hooves and the constant sucking and squelching of churned mud. The smell, a pungent, strong aroma of meat and filth, hinted at livestock too.

  Carefully, Juliana climbed up onto a car bonnet and poked her head over the top to get a better view.

  The sight caused her to catch her breath.

  People, hundreds of them, all shuffling in the same direction, many with their heads down as they pulled carts or carried heavy-looking bags through the muddy road. The rising sun brought with it warm rays which burned on the backs of the hoard, sending a cloud of sweat and steam into the sky and hung around on top of them, making the whole scene look tropical.

  “Hey, you!” a voice came from somewhere nearby. “What are you doing up there? Stop!”

  Juliana spun her head in the direction of the sound. In an open window, high up on her right hand side, sat a man. His head was balding and he wore dark sunglasses. Juliana could make out a bat of some kind pointing down at her from one of his hands while raising a walkie talkie up to his mouth with the other.

  Without hesitating, Juliana hurdled across the roof of the old car, pushing aside various, badly fabricated pieces of furniture, and jumped down amongst the masses on the other side. Blows rained down on her back and people swore and savagely kicked at her legs. Instinctively, she pulled the heavy jacket up over her head, and weaved away from the blockade in the direction of the middle of the crowd. Many times she slipped or was knocked to the ground; determined, she kept her head down and pushed on.

  Soon her legs were caked in mud and dripping with blood from the cuts and grazes that she had sustained, but the abuse at her imposition had stopped. Now she was simply another face in the crowd. Clearly, queue jumping was taken very seriously, judging by the blocked side roads and posted sentries. Given the amount of people here, she was lucky that she hadn’t been knocked to the ground and trampled to death.

  The great unwashed all pushed on in the same direction. The farther on Juliana went the more condensed the bodies around her and the more fetid the smell became. People barged and jostled each other, each with the same look of desperation on their dirty faces. Now she had no choice. Like everybody else, she only had one destination in mind; The New Capital.

  A young woman in front of her fell, crying out as a boot came down heavily on her leg. Instinctively, Juliana reached down, grasped the woman’s arm, and pulled her to her feet, slipping a supportive arm around her waist.

  “Thank you,” the girl said, timidly, only briefly glancing up into Juliana’s eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Juliana asked, wincing as somebody barged into her side, swearing at her for the obstruction.

  The girl looked around, at the same time bringing her scarf up to cover the bottom half of her face. When she spoke, Juliana had to move her ear close in order to hear the girl above the surrounding din.

  “Yes, I am okay,” she said, her voice hinting at a foreign accent. “But we need to keep moving; this part of the East road is no good for us.”

  Her eyes flicked upwards to the right, and Juliana followed her stare, catching sight of a man perched atop of a car, a rifle slung carelessly over his shoulder. He was big and angry looking, observing the crowd with careless disdain and boredom, and concentrating more on the smoke rings he was trying to produce than the people he was obviously supposed to be watching.

  “The people in there… in the New Capital… they will buy anything. I hear the stories…” Her eyes darted from side to side, obviously aware of the implications of what she was about to say. “Women… children even… they go in there; they don’t come out. That lord in there…” She stopped, swallowing hard, composing herself before starting again.

  “There’s one rule for them, and there’s one rule for us. Everyone knows it. Trade is everything, but people… that’s not allowed… not in public anyway.”

  Juliana listened, trying to make sense of what the girl was saying. After her years of incarceration at the hands of the Gene
ral and his adolescent gang, the idea that people might be bought and sold did not come as a shock to her. What did, however, was the fact that there was a social order of sorts, albeit a corrupt one. It meant that, in public at least, perhaps she could remain safe, and the thought gave her some confidence. She squeezed the woman’s hand gently.

  “How do I get in there?” Juliana asked.

  With sad eyes the woman looked down at Juliana’s bloody legs and empty hands, and then slowly shook her head. “It is not possible. The bridge has a guard station. There, they assess your worth for the Capital. If you have nothing to offer, they do not let you in; it’s the law.”

  Apart from a knife, the clothes on her back, and a notebook containing the mumblings of a crazy psychopath, Juliana had nothing of worth. She looked down at the woman and saw that she too was carrying nothing. “Then what about you? How are you going to get in?” she asked.

  With that, the young woman blushed and pulled her hand away. “I have to go,” she said, and turned, soon to be lost in the crowd.

  ***

  By the time Juliana reached the entrance to the New Capital, the sun was beginning to set, creating a golden halo that shone down on the huge, open space beyond the gate. Smoke and steam clogged the air. The smell of cooking meat mixed with the stench of thousands of unwashed bodies was almost overpowering and the noise this close was raucous and aggressive. The queue, in which she had shuffled all day, was now only five wide on account of the funnel effect that had been created on either side of them. It thinned the crowd into a manageable line so that they could be processed for trade in a controllable manner. She now understood why the crowd around her had been so aggressive; several of the people that she had spoken to had been in the queue for days. Apparently it wound back for many miles.

  Before her, a bridge of corrugated steel sheeting had been erected over a sunken section of the old overgrown railway system, feeding onto a roadway guarded by a huge mesh and barbed wire gate. The gate itself sat on wheels and had been pulled open, revealing sentries with rifles on either side, leering and smoking cigarettes. Beyond the gate, several folding tables had been erected, each manned by a guard who was busy checking the bags and trolleys of everybody hoping to gain entry.