A flick of his flowing and dark hair, Magma continued to rest Jezebel’s long handle against his shoulder while he stared at the diseased. The diseased stared back through the thick glass separating them.
For a moment, it looked to Spike like Magma and the dumb creature shared a moment. It had once been human and maybe Magma needed to acknowledge that before he removed its head from its shoulders.
Several slow and heavy steps—the crowd damn near taking every one with him—Magma walked closer to the transparent box, held Jezebel with both of his strong hands, and tapped it against the glass. The ting of it rang through the near-silent arena. Spike had heard people say Jezebel sang. As he now listened to the axe holding onto the note, he now understood what they’d meant.
Then it started: the chant he knew he’d hear. The chant he’d heard many times from outside the arena. It lifted gooseflesh on Spike’s skin as he joined in with the rest of the crowd. “Magma, bomaye, Magma, bomaye.”
When Matilda tugged on Spike’s sleeve, he kept his attention on the ring, but leaned closer so he could hear her.
“What does bomaye mean?”
Although the word wasn’t in common use in the city, those with any interest in the arena fights knew it well. Unable to contain himself, Spike grinned. “It means kill him.”
Like a batter getting ready to swing, Magma adjusted his grip on Jezebel’s handle, glanced across the arena at the door Jake had gone through, and nodded. It took for that moment for Spike to see the small window in it. He’d be the one on the other side of the door soon.
The sound of the winch started outside again, slackening the cable that had held the diseased’s prison aloft. The hook loosened and unlatched before it lifted out of there. It would have taken Spike’s attention with it were it not for the loud slap of the glass box’s front falling outwards, exposing the creature for the first time.
Fury switched on and the diseased charged Magma.
Although it moved quickly, Magma moved quicker. Evading the diseased’s lunge—its arms a flailing mess of uncoordinated chaos—he threw the flat side of his axe into the diseased’s right cheek. A loud crack, the diseased stumbled for several steps before it fell forward and crashed face-first against the tall concrete wall surrounding the ring.
For the briefest of moments, Spike looked away from the action to Matilda. His grin stretched so wide it almost hurt. “He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Before she could reply, he looked into her dark eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”
Matilda nodded. “Me too.”
Spike returned his focus to the action. The diseased got to its feet on bandy legs. It ran at Magma again. It might have given its run a wobble, but the collision with the wall hadn’t done anything to dull its aggression. As it made its stumbling charge, its scream damn near shook the foundations of the arena.
Magma tried to evade it with a sidestep, but the creature followed his movement. It dropped its head and hit him with a shoulder barge. Spike and the rest of the crowd gasped and jumped to their feet as the two of them fell to the ground. Jezebel skittered away from the champion protector, who reached up and clamped a tight grip on the diseased’s throat. He held it at the end of his thick and outstretched arms.
The wrinkly and pallid diseased snapped and hissed. Although it had arms and legs, their uncoordinated spasms proved ineffective. It directed all its aggression through its mouth as it tried to bite Magma. Teeth clicking, it snapped at the air between them, its thin lips peeled back with its ferocious snarl.
What had been composure on Magma’s face had now locked into a scowl of concentration. He gritted his teeth as he fought against the skinny diseased. Although it looked like it shouldn’t be able to, the diseased appeared to be putting up a good fight.
The diseased’s scream had snapped Spike’s back taut, but when Magma roared, it sounded like thunder. It stunned the diseased long enough for the protector to shove it away from him, launching it back across the fighting area.
Magma went for Jezebel while the diseased scrambled to its feet.
Unable to get to his axe before the creature reached him, Magma ducked its swinging arm and thrust out a leg. The creature tripped and crashed face first into another part of the wall. Despite the sweat glistening on the protector’s face, he beamed a wicked grin.
Without giving the diseased a chance to get up, Magma grabbed one of its withered arms and pulled it to its feet. He punched it across the jaw.
The wet crack made Spike wince, the blow sending a spray of blood and teeth flying from the diseased’s foetid mouth.
From where Spike stood, it looked like just blood, but on closer inspection, he saw torn flesh where Magma had punched the thing’s bottom jaw clean off its face. While keeping his eyes on the fight, he shouted at Matilda, “This diseased is dangerous now. With its top row of teeth exposed, it only needs to trip and land on him and he’s infected. The smallest amount of saliva in his blood and Magma’s screwed. He’d best pick Jezebel back up again.”
When Magma lifted the axe, Spike nodded. “Good call.”
The diseased charged Magma again, arms windmilling, top jaw snapping. Magma ran Jezebel through the air in a wide arc. The precision of an artist, the weapon appeared to move in slow motion, removing the diseased’s right arm.
Spike held his stomach to see the tacky mess where its limb had once been, but still laughed with many others in the crowd. He shouted, “Go for it, Magma. Rip its damn head off.”
When the diseased circled back around, its one arm slashing at the fierce protector, Magma threw another swing at it, removing its remaining arm before dodging out of its path like a matador. The arm fell close to the other one, both withered appendages lying lifeless on the ground.
“It’s not really bleeding because diseased blood congeals in their veins.” Spike said while keeping his eyes on the fight. “It’s why you can see some red, but not the gushing you would see if you cut off a real person’s arms.”
Stumbling now, dumb, exhausted, limbless, and without a jaw, the diseased leaned forward as it ran on the edge of its balance.
Evading it once again, Magma swung his axe and took the bottom of the thing’s legs off just below the knees.
Joining in the chant, Spike jumped up on his seat to get a better view and clapped his hands. “Magma, bomaye. Magma, bomaye. Magma, bomaye.”
Magma stood over the downed creature, the thing squirming on the concrete ground like a wretched grub. The protector lifted his axe high into the air, let out a feral cry that would have woken the gods, and brought Jezebel crashing down. He split the thing’s head in two.
The wet crunch ran straight to Spike’s stomach and he noticed Matilda cover her mouth as if she might vomit.
The crowd screamed so loudly, it made Spike’s ears ring and threw him off balance. Too high up to be feeling dizzy, he sat down to find his legs again.
It took a few seconds before Spike stood back up. He watched Magma push his boot against the diseased’s face, using it as leverage so he could remove his buried axe. Spitting on the remains of his victim, he wiped his sweating brow with his forearm, threw Jezebel over his shoulder, and strode towards the same door that Jake had exited through. Even his heavy gait seemed to shake the arena floor. The man moved like a god.
Chapter 8
Spike squinted against the bright sun when he stepped from the arena with the exiting crowd. Where he’d been shoulder to shoulder with the other people on the benches, he now had the added press of bodies both in front and behind him. He writhed as if he could somehow squirm free from his sweating body. Not that he should complain too much; nine times out of ten, his birthdays were characterised by dreary weather—usually cold, wet, and windy, even inside the walls of Edin. For his eighteenth, the gods truly were smiling on him. The adrenaline from watching the fight still pumping through him, he grinned and shouted over the excited chatter of those around them, “Did you see it in there? Magma’s a legend! How he
dispatched that diseased was awesome.”
Although Matilda smiled back at him, her large brown eyes were flat. They shifted to those around them, many of the crowd shoving in their haste to get back to their districts. The guards hated those who dawdled.
But Spike knew how she’d be. Months before, when she’d agreed to come because she wanted to spend his birthday with him doing whatever he wanted, she said she’d never be able to enjoy the experience as much as him. Deep down, he thought she’d change her mind when she saw it. Apparently not.
She finally replied, “Did you see how that diseased nearly got Magma?”
Spike sent a dismissive shot of air from his mouth and shook his head. “Not a chance. He had it covered the whole time.”
“My point is we’re going to be around them in national service, and we just saw one nearly take down our most experienced protector.”
“Another lesson to learn before tomorrow, eh? God, am I glad about having my birthday now. I know I’ve said it before—”
“About a thousand times before.”
“Well, it matters to me. I want to be with you in national service. If I’d have been born a day later—”
“You’d have to wait six more months to go. I know.”
“I just wanted to say it. It’s good to be grateful.”
The main street leading away from the arena had one-storey walls lining the cobblestone walkway. Spike’s feet rolled and turned as he walked over the uneven ground. Most of Edin’s main roads were paved in the same way.
Spike then stopped and turned around. Matilda did too. Many of the exiting spectators scowled at the pair for coming to such an abrupt halt in their path, but he didn’t care. They were in national service tomorrow, so today they moved at their own pace.
Spike looked at the vast arena, the city’s tall back wall behind it. “I’ve walked past this place a million times in my life.”
“And I swear you’ve dragged me with you every time.”
Smiling, Spike continued taking in the large circular stone structure. The crowd showed no sign of thinning, so he had to plant his feet to avoid getting dragged back with them. “It looks different now I’ve finally seen the inside. Smaller somehow. More attainable.” As if showing Matilda an invisible banner on the side of the arena, he read it out to her, “Spike Johnson—Protector. I can already hear the crowds going wild.”
The same smile as before, Matilda’s eyes were still flat as she looked around them again. Guards lined either side of the street as a reminder to those who weren’t in a hurry to get back to their district. But Spike and Matilda were exempt. They didn’t have to stay in their district. Not until after national service.
“Come on,” Matilda said. “I need to get home. I want to check on Artan to see if he’s okay.”
“He’ll be fine. We’ve only been gone a few hours. We should make the most of the freedom we have in the city. This is our last day before it’s taken away from us. It would be a shame not to enjoy this great weather.”
“I’m sorry,” Matilda said, shaking her head and looking at the ground before she turned her back on the arena and moved off with the rest of the crowd.
As much as he wanted to challenge her, it had been a big deal for her to come in the first place. She didn’t like to leave Artan with her parents at the best of times. Her dad had started to lose his head like he always did around this time of year, although Spike didn’t entirely understand why. She’d tell him when she felt ready. When she trusted him; if she ever trusted him. He knew it had something to do with national service coming up. From the way she’d been acting, her having to do it had hit him doubly hard this year. She’d been twitchy and on edge, and from the shadow of black rings beneath her eyes, it looked like she’d been losing sleep over it. At least she didn’t have any bruising on her like she used to have as a kid. Spike wouldn’t stand for it now. Hell, she wouldn’t stand for it now.
“Can we at least slow the pace a little?” Spike said, tugging on Matilda’s arm.
Although she continued in the direction of her district, Matilda slowed down.
“Thank you. It won’t be long before we won’t have this luxury. Once we’ve done our national service, we’ll have to stay in our sectors.”
“Not if you’re a protector,” Matilda said.
“True—which I will be—but that’s a while away yet. I also want to make good use of the freedom our youth affords us while we still have it. It’ll be different when I’m a protector. Better in a lot of ways, but the next time we walk freely through these streets, people will know who I am.” As he said it, a middle-age couple barged past them.
While the couple continued walking, the woman shook a fist at Spike and Matilda. “You need to get a move on, girl.”
After looking at Matilda, Spike turned to the woman. Although she’d already spun around again, he still called after her, “Hey, you! Watch your tongue, yeah? And if you want to be pissed off with anyone, be pissed off with me.” But the woman never turned back around.
Before Spike could say anything else, Matilda dragged a sharp tug on his arm and nodded to the side of the road. His stomach did a backflip when he saw five guards heading straight for them, billy clubs raised.
Chapter 9
Where the crowd had been packed tightly before, Spike looked around to see the last of the people duck down a side street at the sight of the angry guards. Alone with Matilda in the middle of the grey cobblestone road, he shifted across so he stood in front of her. They were dawdling because of him, and he was the one who shouted at the woman.
“You,” the lead guard said. A woman of no more than five and a half feet tall, she pointed her billy club at Matilda.
Spike held his ground.
Two male guards walked on either side of the woman. Two more walked close behind them. All four of them were slightly shorter than Spike. One of them—a man with cropped hair and thick stubble—raised his top lip in a sneer. “I suggest you get out of the way, son.” The sparkle in his green eyes spoke of his lust for violence.
But Spike didn’t move.
Another guard grabbed him by his lapels and shoved him away with such force he tripped and fell. He landed with most of his weight on his right hip, which sent a searing pain running down his leg. Still, when he saw the female guard raise her baton to Matilda, he jumped back up again and shoved her aside before she could swing.
A moment’s silence as the female guard went down. Her face red and her jaw set, she looked up at him. “Who do you think you are, boy?”
“What’s your problem with Matilda? You can’t come over here swinging without at least telling us why.”
“Can’t?”
Spike held his ground, glaring at the woman as the other guards closed in around him and Matilda.
Maybe the mass exodus helped because the lead guard didn’t have to put on an intimidating show for a crowd. She got to her feet and walked close to Spike. Although she spoke with a low voice, her words crackled with tethered fury. “You get a pass. One pass. Do that again and I’ll beat you into a coma, you got me?”
“What do you want with Matilda?”
“She’s holding people up.”
“We’re both holding people up.”
“You have a scarf on.”
The clap of Matilda slapping her hand across her mouth sounded behind him. “Oh, God.” Her hands shook as she fumbled through her pockets. “I’m so sorry, Spike.” A second later, she pulled her black scarf out and tied it around her neck.
The female guard stared at her and her eyes narrowed. Her jaw tensed and relaxed. Her nostrils flared. “Why didn’t you have it on?”
Matilda sniffed, straightened her back, and stamped her foot. “I hate the way people look at me when I’m wearing it.”
A second of silence, the female guard then released a long sigh as if letting go of her fury. “I wouldn’t wish national service on my worst enemy. For that reason, you both get a pass.” She loo
ked at Spike. “You won’t get another one, you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Spike and Matilda said in unison.
The lead guard hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Now go. Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”
Still sore from his fall, Spike took Matilda’s hand, limping a little as he led her down the alleyway in the direction of her district.
Chapter 10
About thirty seconds passed before Spike looked back the way they’d come from. The guards were gone. “What the hell, Matilda?”
She shrugged. “I said I’m sorry.”
A smaller version of the main street, the alley had cobblestone ground, and the backs of grey single-storey buildings lined either side of it. “I nearly got my skull caved in for that.”
“Sorry. If I’d have known that would happen, I would have worn my scarf.”
“Why didn’t you wear it? It’s not like you to ignore the rules.”
“Like I said to the guards, I hate wearing it. I hate the way people treat us when we have them on.”
“But it gives us a free pass because we have national service coming up.”
She nodded and spoke with a sigh. “I know.”
The sound of their steps against the cobblestones filled the space left by the absence of their voices.
Matilda finally said, “I’m sorry I ruined your day.”
After rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension in his back, Spike shook his head. “You haven’t.”
“Come on, I nearly got you beaten up by guards, and all I’ve done is worry about Artan. I really wanted you to enjoy the main event …”
“You don’t need to say sorry; I get it. You came today because I wanted you with me. We both knew you wouldn’t have chosen it yourself, but I saw you were happy for me. It means a lot. Besides, it would be hard to dampen the experience I’ve had today. I’ve seen my favourite protector slay a diseased. I’ve managed to push a guard over and get away with it. I’m …” He looked at Matilda before he said it, her deep brown eyes fixed on him. Even after all this time, her beauty had the power to disarm him. He gulped and looked at the ground because he wouldn’t get the words out otherwise. “I’m here with my favourite person in the world. Nothing can bring me down from that.”
Protectors - Book one of Beyond These Walls: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 4
