by Ward, Tracey
“Two weeks of Johns who want me to smile and say their name,” she surmises bitterly.
“Two weeks of pretending, one night in the Arena, and you could be gone forever,” I remind her.
She looks around the room at the crowd. I recognize a few Elevens. A couple Hyperions, including the champ and his kid brother. Three Pikes.
Her eyes linger on the three skinheads sitting at a table in the corner and her jaw clenches. When she looks at me I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“Sorry, Vin,” she says with a shake of her head. “I can’t do it any other way.”
“Your choice.”
“None of this is my fucking choice.” She turns to leave, heading straight for the table full of Pikes.
I don’t try to stop her.
Chapter Twenty
Trent
It’s fight night in the Arena. Kevin will already be there getting ready. He’ll have a drink and watch the girls come marching in. He’ll smile at them as they ask how he’s doing and run their fingers over his arms, through his hair, and he’ll pretend not to notice the one girl conspicuously uninterested in him.
I should be leaving soon but I’m not. I’m worried. I’m hesitating because I have a routine, the whole wild world has a routine, and tonight it’s fallen off course.
I sit in the Crow’s Nest on the high roof next door to the Hyperion Theater. I sit and I watch.
Droves of people are making their way toward the Hive. They come from all directions. All over town. Others are bringing in kills for the night – deer and rabbits. Foxes. They’ve been on the outskirts where the animals run. It’s an all day, exhausting job hunting in the outer areas of the city, and they aren’t done yet. They’ll have to clean, prep, and cook those animals. They’ll barely taste them before they collapse in bed for the night. Hunting is a hard job, harder than most would think, but it happens to be one of my favorites. But that’s consistent. It’s how it’s supposed to be.
What’s different is the Colonies. Their convoy vehicles are weaving up and down the streets in a sweeping pattern I’ve never seen them make before. The area they’re canvasing is more or less abandoned. I don’t know what they’re looking for but I’m afraid of who they’ll find.
There’s a girl living alone in the east. Every night she makes a run to one of her water sources. She doesn’t bother with the watering holes – the mass rain catches frequented by the gangs on Market days. She doesn’t go anywhere near other people. She dodges infected. She hunts in a small park nearby and hides in different buildings at night. Her dark red hair is a beacon in the gray streets, an easy mark for my eyes to find and follow. Until tonight. Tonight she hasn’t shown and tonight I worry.
The Colony convoys cruise the streets until they round a corner and find two boys coming in from the hunt. The boys pause, their payload slung over their backs as they stare in amazement at the trucks stopped in front of them. At the barricade blocking their path.
People get out of the trucks – all men, all armed – and they saunter slowly up to the boys. They speak for less than a minute. The boys shake their heads. The men step closer. The boys drop their kill, they try to run, but the Colonists are quick. They grab them and carry them kicking and screaming for the trucks. Others open the doors to the back and the boys are thrown inside. Quickly, that truck turns and leaves, heading back toward the Colony. The other two continue on into the city. They don’t go for the crowd headed toward the Hive. In fact they steer very clear of the south and the water. Instead they head north suddenly and I know what they’re doing.
They’re looking for the loners.
Loners like the girl.
I consider looking for her. I’ve seen a couple of buildings she’s slept in. I could find her water sites easily. If she’s out there, if they haven’t taken her yet, I can get to her. I can get to anyone. But would she want me to? A person avoiding the world the way she does isn’t interested in being hunted. Not by the Colonies and not by me, no matter how opposing our intentions.
I choose not to find her. I sit in my nest, I watch with tension in my spine, and I don’t leave for the Hive until I see her. Until a flash of red streaks across the street, cuts a Risen down quickly, and disappears inside a dark building. Only then do I leave. Only then do I breathe easily.
***
I rush to the Hive as fast as I can, but still I find Ryan alone in the stands. He’s waiting for the fight to start and when I see him alone I realize how late I am. Kevin doesn’t like leaving him by himself in the Hive and neither do I, but I have to do it for just a minute longer. I have to go tell Kevin about the roundups immediately. I’ll have to find him first.
I wave to Ryan up in the stands. He smiles and waves back, and I hold my index finger up in the air to signal that I’ll be back in one minute. I quickly walk the outskirts of the room, searching for Kevin, but he’s nowhere to be found.
“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Arena!” Vin’s voice booms from the center of the cage.
I glance over to see him spread his arms and turn slowly to address the entire room. The crowd goes wild at the sight of him and I see in him the same thing I see in Kevin and Ryan – charisma. They each have that elusive, natural pull to them that draws people in. Vin’s is different, though. He’s a different breed. He isn’t warm and friendly. He’s dangerous. He’s powerful and ruthless. He is the wild, and while I wouldn’t trust him with my left sock, most people love him.
With the fights about the start and still no sign of Kevin, I’m starting to get anxious. Kevin isn’t around. He normally watches the first two bouts before he anchors the night. I ask the head of the Stables if he’s seen Kevin, but he absently shakes his head no. I ask some of the girls if they’ve seen but they only smile awkwardly and mutter ‘No.’ before turning away. I search the lobby and come up empty. I’m turning to leave the big, empty room, going back to the Arena to look again, when I hear a muffled voice in the shadows of the catwalks above me.
“Did you not hear me, Freedom?” Kevin demands. “‘Cause I’ll say it again.”
“I heard you,” she replies impatiently, her southern drawl giving her words an added snap.
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
He pauses. When he speaks his voice is hard. Angry. “You feel it too. You told me you did.”
“I do.”
“Then how can you say it doesn’t matter?”
“Because it doesn’t matter to Marlow.”
“I don’t give a shit what Marlow thinks of it!”
“Keep your voice down,” she shushes frantically.
“It has nothing to do with him.”
“Don’t do that. You know it’s not true. I’m in the red. He owns me.”
“Then I’ll get you out. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll pay your debts.”
She releases a choked laugh. “And then what? I’ll live at the Hyperion with you?”
“Yes.”
“Kevin, be real.”
“I am being real. I’m going to get you out. I don’t have to have the rest figured out, not yet, but I will. Just stay with me. Don’t quit on this. On us.” His voice lowers to a deep tone, intimate to the point that I feel uncomfortable hearing it. “Promise me. Say you’ll see this through with me.”
She breathes a shaky breath. It’s heavy and afraid. “I can’t,” she whispers.
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t. I’m a whore. This is what I have to do to live, and you can’t handle that.”
“You’re not a whore.”
“Oh, okay,” she laughs angrily.
“I’m serious.”
“Well, I’m seriously going to work now. To seriously have sex with men for money. So tell me seriously, Kevin, how am I not a whore?”
Heavy footsteps echo over the room. Freedom emerges from the shadows and hurries over the catwalk, toward the Arena room. I stand perfectly still
as she passes, but a movement near the front door catches my eye. Dante is there, his hand running back and forth slowly over his mouth. His eyes meet mine and he grimaces slightly before turning away to pretend we weren’t just part of something far too private for our ears.
I wait for Kevin but he doesn’t come out right away. It’s a good five minutes before he steps slowly from the shadows, his shoulders low and his hair a ruffled mess. He’s been tugging at it the way he does when he’s upset. When he’s distraught.
“Kevin,” I call up to him.
He stops, takes a breath, and smiles forcefully down at me. “Hey, what’s up, man?”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m golden. How are you?”
“The Colonies are kidnapping people.”
He frowns, this expression genuine. “They’re kidnapping people?”
“From the streets. I saw them take two boys near the hunting grounds tonight. They’ve probably taken more by now.”
“Are you shitting me?” Dante demands from the door.
Kevin holds up his hand to both of us. “Stay right there. I’m coming down.”
Dante joins us in the center of the lobby when Kevin makes it down. They both listen intently as I explain what I saw tonight. When I finish they’re both frowning, their expressions dark.
“Marlow’s gonna hate this,” Dante mutters.
“It’s not good news for anyone,” Kevin agrees. “Why would they be doing this? Do you think they had a beef with the guys they took?”
I shake my head. “It looked random. They were canvasing the outlying areas far from any of the houses. They were picking people off, people separated from their gang or living alone.”
“There aren’t that many people living alone anymore.”
“There will be even less tomorrow.”
“I’ll tell Marlow,” Dante assures us. “It’s good it’s fight night. We have at least one member from every gang in the audience. We can warn them.”
Kevin looks at him doubtfully. I second that emotion. “You think Marlow will?”
“Will what? Warn everyone?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course he will.”
“Really?”
Dante crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you saying?”
“Marlow’s not trustworthy,” I answer honestly.
Kevin sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “That’s not exactly what I was going to say.”
“It is true, though. He might choose to keep it to himself to leave another gang vulnerable.”
“It’s not a truth you have to share with a Hornet.”
“It’s not like he doesn’t know.”
“I’ll tell Vin,” Dante interjects. “He can make the call to either tell Marlow or tell the crowd.”
“Would he do it if he thought Marlow wouldn’t want him to?” Kevin asks.
Dante grins. “Vin’s theory on life is that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“I wouldn’t want to have to ask Marlow for forgiveness.”
“Most people never get the chance.”
The three of us head into the Arena. Kevin and Dante go to the cage to talk to Vin while I make my way up into the stands to sit beside Ryan.
“Where have you been?” he asks suspiciously.
“I lost track of time.”
“You don’t lose track of time.”
“I could.”
“But you don’t.”
I grin sideways at him. “No, I don’t.”
“So?”
“So what?”
He glares at me. “Where have you been?”
“Shhh,” I shush my long finger pressed against my lips and my eyes in the Arena. “The next fight is about to start.”
He wins. The guy before him won too. They’re both seasoned fighters like Kevin, meaning tonight is a mellow night. No real excitement or thrill. No one thinks for a second as Kevin steps into that ring for the last fight of the night that he’ll do anything but win.
No one but me.
He’s not right. This entire night isn’t right, and I can see it clearly on Kevin’s face that he feels it. It’s in the set of his shoulders, the line of his mouth. He walks the perimeter of the cage as he always does with his hand raised to the crowd, but his head is down. His face is serious. They welcome him loudly, they love him, but tonight he doesn’t love them back. He doesn’t have any love to give because he already gave it. He gave it and he didn’t get it back, and now he’s left with nothing.
Vin announces the start of the final fight, makes no mention of the Colony roundups, and locks the cage. He stands on the outside with his hands on his hips. His eyes are trained on Kevin and I can tell he sees it too – that there’s something wrong. His brow is creased in a sharp V that makes his angular face even more cut. Far more severe.
The signal is given and the Risen enter from the hallway at the far end of the room. Two of them, a man and a woman, stumble in. They’re confused at first. It always happens. With so many living bodies in the crowd they don’t always go for the person in the cage. Some people standing on the perimeter are closer so they wander to them, reaching for the fence and finding only resistance. The crowd shouts and jeers at them. They mock the dead that don’t understand.
Kevin surprises me when he rushes in, taking advantage of the oblivious Risen. It’s what I would do because it’s the quickest way to end the fight, but it’s not Kevin’s modus operandi. He doesn’t dive right in. Traditionally he draws the Risen to him, scattering them in the cage and putting them on the hunt for him. He gives the people a show that lasts longer than it has to. He gives them what they want for as long as they want it.
Tonight he grabs the forehead of the male Risen, jerks back as hard as he can, and snaps the brittle bones of its neck as though it was nothing. It snarls and bites on the floor, unaware that its body is broken, and Kevin is quick to stomp down on its face. He has to go at it over and over again to get the skull to finally cave, but it’s taken too long. The second Risen is aware of him. It’s reaching for his back.
Kevin has no idea.
Growling in annoyance, I put my fingers to my lips and whistle loudly. One long, sharp call that cuts through the roar of the crowd and reaches down to Kevin. He hears it, reacting immediately, but it’s almost too late. The Risen at his feet is done, but it’s in his way. He stumbles over it to avoid the woman that he now knows is bearing down on his back. He falls to his knees, tries to stand up, but she trips over the beaten Risen as well and topples onto his back.
The crowd falls silent. They stare in disbelief, their eyes bulging in shock as Kevin Hyperion, King of the Arena, is taken to the ground by an infected.
“No!” Ryan screams from beside me.
Kevin hears his cry. The entire Hive down into the depths of the Stables hears it. It’s desperate and mournful, full of everything the boy has lost and is losing now as we watch his brother collapse under the grappling hands and dripping teeth of the one enemy we never imagined could best him. But that’s the problem – it’s not him. This entire night, this briefest of fights, has not been Kevin Hyperion. It’s been something else. Something hurting and hollow.
It’s what love has made him.
Freedom stands at the edge of the Arena. Her fingers are laced through the mesh, her eyes on his body beneath the Risen, and she rattles the cage roughly. Angrily.
“Get up, Kevin!” she demands. “Get the fuck up!”
Kevin goes with the weight of the woman on his back, letting his body go flat for half a second. Then he kicks up with his feet hard, catapulting both of their bodies up and over. He holds a handstand for just a moment but the weight of her body clinging to his pulls him over until they both land on their backs, Kevin on top of her. The blow of the impact on the ground dislodges her hold on him and he’s able to roll quickly away. He doesn’t go far. He grabs her feet, drags her thrashing body to the edge of the Arena, and swings her sid
eways. Her head connects with the low cement wall surrounding the exterior of the cage. Black sludge explodes over the gray cement, but Kevin’s not done. He swings her out again, then viciously whips her back, smashing her skull against the stone again. This time it’s enough. Her rotten face crumbles, crushing her brain and spilling it onto the floor in a slow pour that looks like tar. Like syrup laced with bile.
It’s taken less than three minutes, the shortest fight he’s ever fought and by far the ugliest, but he’s won. He’s alive.
As I watch him turn his back to Freedom, his face blank and his body heaving with exertion, I wonder how many more nights like this we have in store.
I worry how many more he’ll survive.
Chapter Twenty-One
Vin
It’s late. Most of the Hive is either out, asleep, or stoned. I’m slowly heading toward buzzed with a whiskey in my hand and an old leather chair under my butt, chillin’ with Dante as he sits on guard at the front door. I’m relaxed and happy, off duty and coming down from a long night of drama. The worst was there at the end with Hyperion when I worried he’d lost. Dude was off his game all night, and I thought he was sick but I see things more clearly now. They snapped into focus the moment I heard her screaming.
I take another sip of my whiskey, leaning back and thinking there but for the grace of God go I, and I listen to the sweet silence of the room.
The lobby of the Hive is a big open space with catwalks up in the rafters, a reception desk turned bar in the corner, and a big wall between it and the Arena made by a long fish tank that’s slowly filling up with shoes. Each one is from a fallen in the Arena. Either the zombie or the man, but either way they leave their shoes behind if they have them. It’s a depressing sight and as I kick back my whiskey I wonder who started the tradition. It sure as shit wasn’t me.
“Heard Kevin had a close call.” Dante comments.
“You mean Hyperion?”
“His first name is Kevin, isn’t it?”
“I don’t use their first names.”
“Don’t want to get attached?”
I snort. “Yeah, that’s my problem. Attachment.” I take a sip of my whiskey, savoring the fire it trails down to my gut. “He pulled through. He always does.”
