“Well I’ll give you more! Number Eight has proved himself time and time again to be the prize bull that I knew he’d be,” the man commented, giving him a wink and wiggling his finger. “Well, it may be time to retire him and make room for two new champions of the ring, I give you Leatherface and Thor!” he roared at the top of his lungs and Robert suddenly felt his blood start pumping harder.
What was this shit? Usually he just fought once and they would cart him back off while they did whatever it was they did between fights. He knew that other people had been out here from the roar of the crowd, but he had never seen anyone else. Was that about to change?
His arms ached from the battle he had just been in. His arm had been clawed at, his neck was sore, and his legs felt stiff. He tried to loosen himself up as he turned towards the sound of an opening gate and froze in place.
Two very large men were being led into the arena through the “walker gate”. They were masked and each carried weapons in both hands. The one on the left was wearing a stretched carved up face that had been stapled to it whatever was underneath. He saw the jaws move under it and knew that at least the biting would be a bit harder with that one. He stood 6’7 and had broad shoulders, like a center on a football team. He had to weigh at least 350lbs, if he was lucky. His arms were thick but he did have a bit of a belly, or it appeared that way under the nasty gore covered apron he was wearing. The man’s right wrist had been cut off and a chainsaw had been put in its place. He couldn’t readily tell how it was fastened, but it had to be painful. The other hand had been bound to the handle of the chainsaw and when the behemoth walked, he did so with shackled feet. There were thick chains binding almost the entire body, each running through a metal shackle and pulled tight.
The man was being led like a dog on a leash.
The one on the right was just as huge, if not rounder. He was wearing a black hood with slits cut out for the eyes; otherwise it looked like something a headsman would wear to an execution. A crown had been placed on his head and he wasn’t surprised to find chicken feathers popping up from either side. He wore black metal armor and some aspiring artist had tried to make it look like Thor’s from the movie, but they did a horrible job at it. The large man had a red blanket that had been cut to be a cape draping over his shoulders. In each hand, he wielded a large body hammer that was about the size of Mjolnir; Thor’s legendary hammer. These were covered in gore and he very much doubted they could be thrown. Two large railroad spikes had been driven through the man’s palms from the outside, being bent on the inside where the handles were; the fingers tied with bits of leather to keep the hands closed.
They were a mockery of the names they were given and he knew instantly that he was probably going to die. This is what he got for defying Renny in such a public manner, for stirring the crowd up against him. His victories had made him a threat and now he was going to be disposed of in a horrid mockery of a fair fight. He had two wooden bats and wore blood stained rags. If just one of those weapons connected—
The crowd had grown quiet, they had sensed that as well.
Well, there was nothing he could do but figure out how to win. He was taking stock of his enemies as they waddled into the arena and he noticed how much distance their keepers kept from them, almost like they weren’t Human. He audibly groaned. Stepping back over a corpse, he moved free of the tangled mass that he had created and stepped onto fresher ground. There were flies everywhere and as he kept still for a moment, he saw a mass of them floating around both of the costumed men as well.
His nose was useless. All he could smell was death and shit, but he was sure that what was coming towards him would smell the same. They were undead champions. He watched something white spill from the mouth of Leatherface, probably maggots, and was suddenly filled with hope. They had no intelligence, they could be outsmarted; he could win.
“Never before have these two fought side by side and what a fitting time for them to do so now! Today, we will see who is meant to be our new champion!” Renny cried out and there was sporadic clapping to follow. The crowd saw this as an end for him, he had best work at proving them wrong.
One of the guards stepped forward and started cranking the chainsaw while three others kept the two gigantic zombies moving. He would rush them but two men were standing behind his part of a fence with guns trained on him. The secret to winning a fight like this was to be quick and decisive. The longer it wore on, the lesser the chance of winning. These creatures would not get tired, they would run him into the ground if he let them. However, any damage he dealt them was permanent and his mind raced at analyzing their vulnerabilities, places he could do the most damage. While the armor protected the chest, there was very little at the joints. His bats wouldn’t do much against anything else, the men were just too big.
The chainsaw roared to life and then the most horrid thing of the entire display took place, Renny hit play on his boom box and Elton John blared across the stadium louder than the racket coming from the chainsaw.
He groaned.
If he was going to die, he did not want it to be to Bennie and the Jets. What was this man’s fascination with this fucking song? He popped his neck and took a step forward as the guards released the chains and fled through the awaiting exit; slamming the gate quickly as if their asses were on fire.
The fight was on.
Both creatures sensed their new freedom and with a renewed pace, they stomped towards him. Swinging his bats, trying to keep his arms nimble, he waited. He started moving clockwise around the outside of the undead corpses at his feet, careful to watch where he stepped. There could be no mistakes, just one would end his life and he’d probably end up a sideshow freak like these two; he was sure of it. The image of a bull’s head mounted over his face was enough to keep him focused and on point.
As the undead behemoths closed the distance, he dodged in and faked a swing. Leatherface lunged at him with the chainsaw but it swung wide, narrowly missing his companion.
Damn.
Then they reached the pile of corpses and while Thor simply pushed through his, the act of the swing had unbalanced Leatherface and his foot got caught as he rushed forward. He fell at an awkward angle, his chainsaw roaring as his body collided with the ground. Flesh flew as the chainsaw was wedged between the large man’s body and the corpses it had fallen on. Chewed up gore flung upward and the body jerked. It rolled over, having never uttered a sound and a large wedge had been gutted out of the thing’s chest.
Feeling victory within, he heard a small cheer go up from the crowd and he risked a look at the man on his throne. Renny was visibly pissed that one of his masterpieces had been nearly cut in half so quickly; hatred flowing across the field.
He raised his bat with a smile and that’s when a hammer struck his bicep. It was a stinging blow and while the bone hadn’t been broken, he felt his hand let go of his raised bat and the force of the impact drove him sideways; stumbling. He barely kept his feet and danced out of the way as another swing of the hammer came around. The thing was trying to reach for him, not trying to use the hammers as weapons; otherwise the damage would have been far worse. He was hurting, but he was still on his feet and moving quickly out of the way, giving himself some distance on the pursuing monsters.
Somehow Leatherface had regained his feet and was even now trudging forward once more. He saw the error that his captors had made and tried to think on how to turn it to his advantage. These things had no intelligence; all they truly saw was food and their instinct was to tear into it with their bare hands. They had no concept of weapons. Movies like Resident Evil had proscribed to half-way intelligent zombies in the later years, some wielding guns or large hammers; knowing how to wield them.
That wasn’t the case here.
These things had them only because they were physically attached, but still they were reaching, not understanding how to use what had been given to them. That was the flaw, the one thing that was going to save his life. If that blow had been
swung by a normal human being it would have landed with a harder impact and shattered his bone, this had been a glancing blow from fingers that were trying to grip.
That didn’t make them any less dangerous and as he dashed under a sweep of a chainsaw, he felt the teeth just barely miss his back. He rolled and came up the other side, bringing his bat around swiftly and hitting Leatherface in the back of the head. There was a crunch, but the bat hadn’t connected all the way and the creature just nodded his head; turning as if nothing had happened. He stepped gingerly to where he had dropped his other bat and with a barely responding wrist, picked it back up. A hammer came at him from the left and even though he was moving he felt it impact his back.
The crowd moaned as he was flung sideways, landing face first in the dirt and losing another tooth. Blood gushed from a cracked lip and he got up on his knees slowly. He could hear the rush of thundering feet and instead of rolling away; he rolled towards them. Thor was bending over, the hammers just barely coming in reach when Leatherface tried to do the same, driving the chainsaw through the bending zombie in front of him. With a whine, the chainsaw climbed its way into Thor’s chest and when Leatherface turned in his direction, as he had already rolled sideways and out of the way, the saw came with him and tore cleanly through the other zombie’s midsection and severing an arm. The spine must have been cut because the undead Thor lost its footing instantly, as if everything from the chest down had suddenly quit, and went face first into the dirt.
The crowd was on its feet and he knew that Renny was as well; if only to see how badly his creation had just been mutilated. He smiled again and stretched his aching back. He wouldn’t last much longer; there had to be some way to end this quickly. Taking a step back, he knew that he could do it, but it was a risk. He didn’t want to come anywhere near that chainsaw or the thing wielding it, yet with every moment, more strength was fleeing from him; he had no choice.
Taking a deep breath and steadying himself one last time, he ran towards Leatherface and dodged to the left when the chainsaw came flying by. Then he pivoted and brought both bats down on the creature’s wrist, right where the chainsaw had been mounted. He felt instant gratification when the machine broke free of the creature’s right hand, flinging it away with the momentum of the release.
The stump swung at him but he batted it aside and watched as the chainsaw came back around. The zombie reached for him and the saw came in his direction, then went back down, swinging like a pendulum, before finally coming to rest.
He stepped back as those fingers clutched, then brought his bat around to block the right stump coming at him. He carefully stepped inward, dropped his bats and firmly grasped the unused chainsaw. The creature was trying to push him backwards now as he had control of its only remaining hand and he shrugged off the beating of the stump on his left arm as he brought the machine around and drove it upwards into the creature’s face.
The mask was instantly torn asunder as flies, maggots, and gore erupted from the stapled head. He roared in triumph as the creature dropped to the ground at his feet and he gave the saw a very hard yank. It tore free of its bindings. He gripped it firmly, squeezing the gas, then swung it around and finished the job of beheading the undead beast. Black blood sprayed his already drenched body, but he didn’t care. He avoided the bugs that followed and made sure to keep his mouth closed until he was done.
He stood there with the chainsaw, feeling like Ash and laughing at his victory. He turned towards the throne and very nearly lost his foot as a hammer came within inches of smashing it to pieces. He stepped back quickly, chainsaw in hand and looked down at the half body trying to get to him. It was actually using the hammer to pull itself forward and the mask was now gone, probably drug under in the zombie’s efforts to reach him. The crown hung askew from the young Hispanic’s head and the eyes looking up to him were cold and accusing.
The hatred in him flared and he brought his chainsaw up in a roar of rage, then drove it into Raleigh’s head, ending his life once and for all. He bellowed at the top of his lungs, not caring what consequences came of this and turned to sneer at Renny as he cleaved the head off his former friend’s body.
The sounds of automatic fire began to reach his ears as the saw cycled down, his finger letting off the trigger, he became aware of the turmoil that had begun during the last minute of his battle. The crowd was on their feet and even though the guards were fighting back, they were being overwhelmed. In fact, one of them was running towards him, his weapon raised. He took a moment to marvel at the idiot’s choice to face him on open ground as he raised the chainsaw and sawed off the man’s raised arm.
“Should’ve shot me from back there,” he sneered as he brought it around while squeezing the gas and cleaved the man’s head from his body.
If there had been any guards left on the walker side, they had retreated and the gunfire had ceased from the crowd side as well. He saw them working at getting the fences open and felt relief, he wasn’t going to have to go back to that fucking freezer. The place smelled like his shit and rotting corpses.
Then it hit him, he was free.
He turned, looked at the throne, and noticed that the supposed King had fled, taking his boom box with him. That was fine, he didn’t mind a chase. He stepped forward and tossed the chainsaw aside and once again took up his bats.
No need to make it quick, after all.
The people rushing towards him came to a halt when they saw the hatred on his face and the direction of his glance. Stepping aside, the newfound joy that they shared quickly turned into something else, something shared. There had to be an underlying reason to the submissiveness of the people, and though he didn’t have time to figure out what just yet, he saw that they were with him on this. With the crowd at his side, he charged through the fence and in the direction his brander had taken.
Time to make that Goddamn music stop forever.
Chapter 34
Ruben
Todd
Tucson, AZ
Exiting the Humvee, he turned long enough to make sure that Nick was staying inside as he was instructed, Sabrina hanging back with him in case they needed to make a quick getaway. His father had a rifle in hand and stood just outside of the open cargo door, eyes on the quiet neighborhood surrounding them.
Joseph had his sniper rifle in hand and was checking the perimeter for any threats. Rosilynn appeared more relaxed, but he knew that she was ready for anything at a moment’s notice, she was just conserving her energy as long as possible.
Bringing up his assault rifle, he took tentative steps towards the two-story house before them. Eyes scanning the perimeter and the nearby houses for threats, he moved towards the front door as Joseph started moving down the right side of the house. Rosilynn shifted to the left, but the houses were close together, and a gated yard for the adjacent house was open and clear.
Still, she kept her eyes on the eastern approach, Joseph on the western, as he reached the door and knocked loudly.
Theoretically their arrival should have been noticed, the Humvee wasn’t exactly quiet, but he had seen enough shows to know that if you wanted to check for undead, you did so by making noise and seeing what came to investigate.
Joseph nodded at him as he came from the right side of the house, indicating that everything was clear. He then stopped to peer through the front window, eyes scanning the interior for movement.
“We’re clear on this side,” Rosilynn whispered from behind him, giving him a slight start. She was so damn quiet.
He allowed the silence to stretch for a moment. There was nothing audible, no banging on the door, so he tentatively reached down and gave the doorknob a twist. To his surprise, it was unlocked.
Had they already left? The house had a closed garage, so there was no way to be sure if there was a vehicle missing or not. What if they had? With Ruben’s lack of communication, they had no idea where else he could be and the clock was already ticking; they didn’t have time to go lo
ok for him.
This was his thing, his promise, so he didn’t hesitate to take the lead as he swung the door and brought his weapon up. Moving swiftly through the living room, he covered the hallway entrance on his left while Rosilynn moved in that direction. Joseph moved towards the kitchen, checking to make sure the garage door was secured along the way.
As Rosilynn paused in front of the first door, he came up by her side and opened the bedroom door. It was a study, bookshelves, a television, a computer, a recliner; nothing of significance. As he turned, he nodded to Rosilynn and they moved on. The second room was empty, as was the bathroom at the end of the hall. There was only one room left.
“All clear back here,” Joseph called softly. “Nothing but a dead dog in the backyard. Looks to have died from starvation.”
He shook his head. He hated thinking about that, but with all the death in the world, it was hard to justify getting upset about one dead canine. Trying to push it from his thoughts, he turned the knob to the master bedroom, then rushed inside.
Ruben was lying on the bed and the stench that hit him immediately turned his stomach. He was on a king-sized bed, the sheets were bloodied, flies swarming over him, playing around in the tacky gore. His right leg had been mangled, pieces of flesh torn free, the skin blackened. A belt had been cinched halfway up his thigh, and astonishingly enough, there was a rise in the man’s chest, indicating he was alive.
Rosilynn moved towards the left side of the bed, then reached up to cover her face with her arm. “Oh God, that’s rank.”
Her weapon lowered, so he relaxed a bit and came around the right side of the bed to look at the man before them.
“That leg is past gangrene,” Joseph remarked, standing at the end of the bed and evaluating the scene. “Surprised he’s still breathing.”
Letting his weapon hang on its harness, he placed a hand on Ruben’s left arm, eyes concentrating on the bald older man’s ragged face. “Ruben,” he called, trying to wake the man. His breathing was short, raspy, and Joseph was right, it was a miracle the man was still alive.
The Rotting Souls Series (Book 3): Charon's Debt Page 18
