by Brad Knight
They ran back to the SUV. A couple of the vultures swooped down and made passes at them. They missed. But each attempt they got closer, their shrill squawks making both their hearts race.
“What the hell?” asked Mack once he and Amber were inside the SUV, seemingly safe.
“I… one landed next to me, I freaked out. Then there was one in the car. It banged on the window and…” Amber was flustered and scared. She stumbled over her words and spoke too quickly. Mack didn’t understand. Which was okay. Because he didn’t care. All he cared about was that she was okay, physically if not mentally.
The undead, demonic dogs and birds from hell. It’s like a damn horror movie. If it is, we’ll be the last ones standing right before the credits roll. Mack shifted the SUV into reverse.
“There’s got to be another way over that river,” said Mack as he turned the vehicle around.
“They’re still coming!” yelled Amber as she saw the whole flock of vultures descending upon them.
Worse than the sound of nails against chalkboards was the sound of the vultures’ talons against the roof of the SUV. Their claws tore at the thin metal and their beaks poked little holes. From inside Amber could see the tips coming through.
“Get them off!” Mack was too busy driving to deal with them himself.
“With what?”
“The ax, use the ax!”
Amber climbed into the back seat. Under it she found the red fire ax. Some of the vultures decided they wanted to get in the SUV the easy way, through the broken back windshield.
There was no room to swing an ax in the confines of the backseat. But Amber could still thrust at the invading buzzards. Sometimes she hit their beaks which produced a clang. Others she managed to push out. It was a frantic and confusing struggle, but one that she won.
Mack had his own problems to deal with. The vultures were on the hood. Several poked at the windshield, cracking it. It got harder and harder to see where he was going. He almost drove off the road. Whether it was luck or skill, he managed to keep the sport utility vehicle on the highway.
What are we going to do? These fucking things are relentless. Mack was at a loss. He didn’t know what to do. They were going to die. There’d be no saving the troubled teenage girl he took under his care.
Something flew through the windshield and made the headrest on the passenger seat explode. It was an armor piercing bullet. At first Mack didn’t know what it was. Then he saw the muzzle flashes down the road through the cracks in the glass. And over the squawks, scraping and poking he heard the distinct sound of gunfire.
“Get down!” yelled Mack as he bent over to the point that he could just barely see over the steering wheel. Amber ducked down under the backseat just in time. A hail of bullets besieged the SUV. Vultures went flying leaving behind feathers and thick black blood.
Waiting just at the side of the road was a pick-up truck. Every surface of it was armored. Right before Mack and Amber’s SUV drove in front of it, the driver pushed down the gas pedal. The truck roared out of the darkness and slammed into the side of the sports utility vehicle.
I’m sorry Amber. Mack had time for one last thought before being knocked unconscious when the SUV flipped over. The driver of the truck was successful in immobilizing their vehicle. His armed companions down the highway walked over to the wreck to recover their prize.
Chapter 5: The Pit
“We taking dem to da pit?” Mack could hear a voice but couldn’t see who it came from. Even though his eyes were open, all he saw was black. He realized he was blindfolded.
The pit?
“That’s the plan,” a second voice didn’t have the same heavy rural accent as the first. Mack couldn’t place where it was from.
What is this?
“That’s too bad. She looks ripe. One eye or not. I wouldn’t mind taking her back to da camp wit me.”
“Keep your hands off, Buzz. She’s for the pit. Sampson will take your head if you try anything.”
Or I will, you fucking pervert.
“C’mon man, he don’t ever got to know. We can take turns. Tell you what, you can go first.”
Mack heard the sound of a pump action shotgun cocking. “Fuck Sampson. I’ll shoot you.”
“Fine. Be dat way. Jus wanna have some fun is all.”
Both men stopped talking. All Mack could hear was the hum of an engine and tires against road. He felt something in his throat. In a second he was going to cough. There was nothing he could do to stop himself.
“You hear that?” asked the man with the accent.
“The big fucker’s awake!” The other man kicked Mack in the face, twice, knocking him out.
***
Mack woke up in what looked like a basement. It was just barely lit enough for him to see his surroundings. The walls were concrete with dark mold running down them. Stacks of cardboard boxes with beer logos and different condiment brands were in every corner. There were metal poles that looked to him like supports of some kind. Tied to them were other men, women and children. All appeared to have been roughed up as well.
Shit, can’t move. Mack tried to get up but his arms were bound around a pipe at head level. Whoever kidnapped him used zip ties to keep him prisoner. As strong as Mack was, he couldn’t break free of them.
Amber! “Amber!” Mack’s throat and jaw hurt as he yelled. “Amber, where are you!? You down here!?”
“Shhh,” said a nearby woman. One of her eyes were swollen close and she was covered in dirt and grime.
Mack looked at the woman who wanted him to be quiet, and ignored her. “Amber!?”
“Dude, shut the fuck up. If they hear you talking we’ll all be in trouble,” said the man chained to the pipe only a couple feet from Mack.
“You don’t understand. I have to protect her. She…”
There was a loud metal creak of a door opening. Light spilled into the basement from atop a staircase that led down to it. That was followed by boot steps.
A rather “rural” looking man came down the stairs. He was wearing camo pants and combat boots. His gut stuck out past his feet. In his hands he carried an assault rifle.
“I told y’all to be quiet. Now you ain’t given me no choice. No dinner tonight. And if I hear jus one more peep out of y’all… someone’s gettin shot.”
The camo wearing, assault rifle wielding man headed back up the stairs. Mack watched him go. Everyone else in the basement stared angrily at Mack.
***
Time moved slowly in the dark, damp and dank basement. There was no way to tell if it was morning or night. All Mack could do was count the amount of times one of their captors would come down and feed them slop. If his theory of them being fed once a day held true, he’d been a prisoner for three weeks.
With time Mack became numb to his surroundings. He stopped smelling the urine and feces collected in buckets emptied once a week. He stopped noticing the scurrying cockroaches. He stopped hearing the crying and the mumbling. He even stopped feeling the zip ties around his wrist.
Every day or night, one of Mack’s cell mates were taken upstairs. None of them ever came back. No one in the basement knew for sure what happened to them. All of them knew that whatever happened to the chosen was bad.
A myriad of gruesome scenarios went through Mack’s head when he pondered Amber’s fate. Despite being hard to think about, he did. Each one was painful for him. It was his job to protect her. But he failed.
Mack felt his strength slowly leave him. The slop that his captors fed him held just enough nutrition for him and his fellow prisoners not to starve to death.
For most of his captivity in the basement, Mack sat with his arms at around shoulder level, bound to some pipes. Every hour or so, he had to stand up to get the blood flowing down into his beleaguered appendages. The zip ties started to cut into his wrists, releasing little trickles of blood that the roaches were often interested in.
Hope was in short supply in the basement. Mack didn’t
know how long any of his fellow cellar denizens had been there. But most of them were beaten down, defeated. He didn’t want to follow suit. The problem was, there was very little reason to hope. Every ounce of his rational brain told him that any day now he’d be chosen to die.
Mack was sleeping when the very unpleasant camo pants wearing man came back down. He slowly awoke thinking it was feeding time. Instead the man came straight towards him.
I guess today’s the day. It’s for the best. I was about to go crazy. Think maybe I did.
“Get up. C’mon now. Can’t be keepin da people waitin. They get mad when they gotta wait.” Mack could smell the camo wearing man’s breathe. Dumpsters in the Dallas summer sun gave off more pleasant aromas. Considering how little teeth the man had, it was not a surprise.
Even seeing the camo wearing man unsheathe what looked like a bowie knife didn’t raise Mack’s pulse. Accepting that he was as good as dead killed any and all emotion and life inside of him. For all intents and purposes he was the living dead, a meat puppet.
The lights of the floor above the basement were blinding. Mack hadn’t seen anything brighter than the flickering light bulb in his prison. It was a bit of a shock to his eyes.
Where the hell am I? Are those concession stands? What the fuck? After Mack’s vision adjusted to the light, he was still a bit confused. It looked like he was walking through the concourses of a stadium. There were food and beer stands with no customers. He saw a couple of bathrooms with no lines. Contrary to all that emptiness was the sound of a crowd.
Rednecks. I’ve been captured and imprisoned by rednecks. Mack passed several armed men. None of them looked like soldiers or even police men. Unlike the ones back in Wydell, they didn’t wear any SWAT gear. No, they were dressed in hunting gear over out of shape bodies.
The camo wearing man poked the barrel of his assault rifle into Mack’s back. It was to herd him towards a set of push-open double doors. He opened them and looked down the long narrow, twisting hallway before him.
“Keep going.”
Mack heard the camo clad man behind him. He poked with the barrel of the rifle again. Then he spat saliva from what Mack deduced to be chewing tobacco. There was no stereotype left unfulfilled.
Walking down the hallway was hard. For the previous three weeks, Mack hadn’t used his legs. They were weak and wobbly. If given some time he could’ve maybe achieved some stability. But there was no patience in the man marching him to what was surely his end.
Where are you taking me? Mack approached a bend in the hallway. The sounds of a crowd got louder the further down he went. Once around the curve he smiled for the first time since being abducted.
Amber. Standing in the hallway with an armed escort was a very familiar teenage girl. She could barely stand up. Her clothes were dirty and hair wild and unkempt. Since she was facing a gate at the end of the hall, Mack couldn’t see her face. He didn’t need to.
Mack reached the gate. Through it he could see and hear throngs of blood thirsty spectators. They were seated above a circular dirt floored arena. High walls separated them from whatever went on below.
“A fucking rodeo?” laughed Mack. There was no joy in the brief laughter. It was born of frustration and hopelessness. At that point someone could have put a knife to his throat and he would have found it humorous.
“Shut up!” The camo wearing man hit Mack in the small of his back with the butt of his assault rifle. That was enough to make the big Viking recoil a bit, and grunt. It brought a toothless smile to the redneck’s face.
“Are you ready for your two next combatants!?” There was a voice over a public announcement system. It crackled a bit and would cut in and out every few words. Mack figured that the place was powered by generators. The power must’ve gone out wherever they were.
The crowd was eager to see the next match. Only a handful of weeks had gone by since the outbreak and people already reverted to the barbarism of ancient ancestors. They actually came out to watch other human beings die.
“Tonight we have a special event. Father and daughter try their luck against our champion, The Buuuuuuull!”
Be strong girlie girl. Mack heard Amber quietly cry. She tried to hold it back, not give their captors the satisfaction, but she was just a scared teenage girl. At least she’s not a sociopath. That’s something I guess.
“Here,” said Amber’s escort. He dropped a machete and a lead pipe on the floor. They landed with a loud clang. Both he and the camo wearing man backed up with their guns still pointed at Mack and Amber.
“You take the machete,” said Mack as he bent over and picked the weapons up. He handed Amber the machete, which had a nicked and slightly rusted blade. But it was still sharp enough to cut. Plus the pipe would have been too heavy for her to wield.
“Open dat gate and walk on through,” ordered the camo wearing man.
“I don’t want to,” whispered Amber.
“Just stay close. We’ll be fine.”
Mack pushed on the gate at the end of the curved hallway. It was heavy. Two hands were required.
The gate opened. Mack was the first to step out into the dirt. As nervous as he was, he couldn’t show it. Amber needed him to be strong. They needed him to be strong. Or else they wouldn’t survive the night. Part of him thought that might’ve been a mercy. It was only a small part though.
Survival was all Mack cared about as soon as he fully entered the rodeo arena. He wondered if that was what the rodeo clowns thought when they did their thing. The stakes were higher for him. For he had to worry about keeping someone else alive too. Plus there would be no safety at the top of the walls for him.
Amber looked around at the large crowd in attendance. To her it felt like a dream, a nightmare. When the gate was slammed behind her she jumped. Mack noticed.
No matter what happens, she lives. You can die, you’ve lived a life. She’s just a kid. That’s how it goes. The old die so the young can live. Not the other way around. Whatever comes out of there doesn’t touch her.
Mack stared at the gate opposite the one he and Amber came out of. Behind it he could see something big, something wild. His grip tightened on the lead pipe in his right hand.
“All bets are final!” exclaimed the voice on the public announcement system. “This is the pit. And what do we do in the pit?”
“Fight!” yelled the announcer in unison with the crowd.
The opposite gate opened. At first nothing came out. All Mack and Amber saw was a massive shadow. They heard guttural grunts and heavy exhales. Whatever was waiting to come out was formidable.
With speed and ferocity, a bull charged out of the darkness. Mack didn’t know what else he was expecting. The announcer on the PA said “The Buuuuuull.” What he didn’t expect was a meat puppet version of the beast.
The bull was half rotted. Maggots crawled over and squirmed in its open wounds. It only had one eye and it was clouded over. Both of its horns were shiny metal. Almost all the flesh on one leg was missing, revealing grayish muscle and metal bone underneath.
Mack was the meat puppet bull’s first target. Even with weak legs he was able to dodge its charge. Its horns went straight through the wooden walls like a hot knife through butter.
If even one of those things hits target I’m fucking done. Mack readied himself for the second charge. Sure enough it came. That time he managed to hit the beast in its head after evading a potential gore. Vibrations went through the pipe, his hand and up his arm.
What the hell? Is this thing’s whole head metal? Any little bit of confidence that Mack might’ve had left with his failed strike. Then he saw the bull turn its attention towards Amber.
Making noise and trying to get the bull’s attention didn’t work. There was nothing Mack could do. The bull was already charging at Amber. She had to save herself.
Amber was scared. She was only a teenager. But she was not helpless. When the bull charged, she waited until the right moment and dodged. As it collided
with one of the walls, she came down with her machete.
Black gooey blood spilt out the large slash wound in the bull’s side. Aside from the consequences of bashing its head against a wall at full speed, it wasn’t fazed. Instead it was angry. And Amber was still the closest.
This isn’t going to end well. How am I going to take this thing down? Mack was at a loss. That was until he heard the voice of the camo clad man. The fat man watched from the gate along with his cohort who brought Amber to the Pit.
You want a show chubs? I’m going to give you one you’ll never forget.
“Hey! Hey! Over here!” Mack yelled and waved his hands around in an attempt to get the bull creature’s attention. It didn’t work at first. The beast was too focused on Amber. So he threw the lead pipe, his only weapon. That worked.
Bad idea. The bull pawed at the ground with its hooves. After a loud snort, it charged at Mack.
Mack ran towards the gate where the camo clad man and his companion stood. Just like he planned, the bull followed. Keep on coming. That’s it, an easy kill. All you got to do is catch me.
He didn’t know if it was his imagination or real, but Mack felt the bull’s breath on the back of his neck. At any second he imagined being gored. In many ways that would’ve been a relief, a blessing. No longer would he have to worry about keeping Amber safe, or keeping himself alive. Quick and only painful for a few seconds, it would be the easy way out.
Neither the camo clad man, nor his fellow scumbag moved. They thought they were getting front row seats to that evening’s entertainment. It wasn’t until Mack jumped to the side at the last moment that they realized their safety might’ve been in jeopardy.
Armed with assault rifles packing armor piercing bullets, the two men behind the gate opened fire on the bull. It didn’t immediately stop the beast. When it reached the metal bars, its horns slipped through and impaled one of the men. The camo clad man fell back and kept shooting.
Black blood flew everywhere as 7.62mm rounds tore the meat puppet bull apart. Metal bones or not, the monster wasn’t bulletproof. Not when the bullets in question were designed to rip through Kevlar and armored vehicles.
