by Jake Bible
“Get out?” a girl asked at Jenny’s elbow. She was petite, but wired with muscle. “Why get out? This is where we prove who we are. That we’re ready for-.”
“Hush,” Agnatha scolded.
Jenny looked at her in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding?”
“I said hush!” Agnatha scolded. “Prepare!”
The group of women prepared. They became tense bundles of muscle and anticipation. Weapons were set at the ready, bodies turned to present the smallest possible targets, breathing quickened. Jenny could smell the sweat of fear, but she also felt the buzz of excitement. Some of the women were near giddy with the prospect of battle.
It turned out it didn’t matter which door Jenny focused on; the deaders came pouring through them all.
“Oh, fuck…,” she whispered as the women let out a war cry, raising the volume until the deaders fell on them.
Still too weak to hold her own, Jenny fell into the center of the women and threw pitiful jabs and slashes at the deaders that reached past the flurry of metal and wood that ripped and hacked the undead to pieces. It didn’t take her long, even in the chaos of battle, to realize that many of the walking corpses were female. Or had been in their living days.
A taloned hand gripped her leg and Jenny shrieked as she hacked at the arm attached, crushing the decayed elbow and severing the limb. She thrust her sword down into the deader’s neck, and the thing went limp as its spinal column was snapped in two.
Gore and chunks of dead flesh flew everywhere and Jenny quickly realized she had to stop the scream that had been issuing from her mouth since the deaders attacked, or end up swallowing a mouthful of undead flesh. Her energy left her and she went down on one knee, still thrusting and slashing where she could, keeping the crawling ones from getting to her after they’d made it past the first circle of women.
Dozens and dozens of deaders lurched, ran, stumbled, dashed into the room, the smell of fresh flesh pushing them on in a relentless attack of putrid bodies. Jenny had smelled hordes of deaders before, but always from the safety of a moving train. The close quarters, even with the high ceiling, left nowhere for the stench to go and she resumed her previous retching. Her body doubled over as she heaved, she didn’t see the deader that’d shoved one of the girls aside, taking a chunk of pink flesh with it, as it closed on her.
When near skeletal fingers gripped Jenny’s hair and yanked her head back, exposing her delicious, soft throat, she barely had the strength to weakly shake her head from side to side. She watched in horror as rotted, jagged teeth descended towards her. Her last thoughts were of how pissed she was that she was going to die in a dark, rank hellhole instead of riding free on a Railer train.
“Fuck you,” she gasped as the deader’s rotten stench filled her nose.
***
Agnatha whirled in a tight circle, tripping up deaders, hacking decayed limbs, piercing oozing chests, ripping open gas bloated abdomens, sending heads rolling. She was matched in skill and intensity by most of the women about her. The room was soon littered with dismembered undead. Those not fully put down continued to attack, but they were crippled in their attempts and many had their heads crushed under bare feet with soles calloused like leather.
The deader that had Jenny in its grip was pulled away and its head was parted from its shoulders. Agnatha kicked the body to the side and stomped the head, crushing the brain, ending its tortured existence.
Jenny fell backwards, her hands quickly feeling her body, seeing if she’d been bitten. Her eyes met Agnatha’s and she nodded her thanks, but the interaction was brief as Agnatha went back to dispatching the undead attackers. Jenny rolled over onto her hands and knees and tried to push herself up, but the strength wasn’t there and she fell flat on her face. She lay there for several minutes, her breathing ragged and shallow, until the last sounds of deader moans ceased.
“She’s worthless,” a woman announced as Jenny felt a toe nudge her side. “Should have let them get her. She’ll be the death of one of us soon.”
“She’s not of Eden,” Agnatha said. “She’s ours to protect until the Mayor’s nephew fetches her. That’s the plan.”
“Rookie?” Jenny asked. “He’ll come get me?” She rolled onto her side and looked at the gore splattered faces. “He’ll get all of you out of here too. Trust me. A few deaders won’t stop him.”
The women frowned down at Jenny then turned to each other and laughed.
“Get us out of here?” one chuckled. “You silly gir-.”
“All of you stop chattering,” Agnatha scolded. “You know your place in this.”
“What’s going on?” Jenny asked, confused. “Don’t you want to leave?”
“Help her up,” Agnatha ordered and Jenny was lifted onto weak legs. “We need to move. See how the other stations faired. That was a planned attack. The man must be entering the Maze.”
“It’s not time,” a woman said.
“I thought we were going to be alerted,” another whined.
“It’s the outsider’s fault!” several said at once, their swords shoved towards Jenny, the accusations ready to become deadly condemnations.
“Jeezus!” Jenny exclaimed. “Cut me some slack, bitches! I woke up in fucking Hell and have no fucking idea what the fuck is going on!”
They stared at her, glared at her, leered at her then almost as one face broke out into smiles.
“Cut me some slack, bitches,” one of the women said as she slapped Jenny on the shoulder, making her wince. “We should keep her around just for the jokes.”
Twenty-Five
“All you have to do is go fetch your lady friend,” the Mayor grinned as he stood next to the Rookie. “You do that and I let you choose your fate.”
The entrance to the Maze was nothing the Rookie expected. He’d pictured a huge iron gate. Maybe a door, towering above him, its metal pockmarked with age and dents. Or even just an ominous opening into impenetrable darkness.
What faced him was a couple of bored looking guards with clipboards and carbines. They stood on each side of a basic metal door that was kept clean of grime and dirt.
“If I don’t bring her back?” the Rookie asked. “Or refuse to play your game?”
“I’m not worried,” the Mayor smiled. “You’ll come through.”
“Right,” the Rookie nodded. “But how about you humor me.”
The Mayor’s smiled faded and he fixed the Rookie with a hard gaze. “Bring her back. That’s the only way out.”
The Rookie glanced at the guards and they both nodded.
“They don’t open that door unless there are two people on the other side: one man and one woman,” the Mayor said. “Just like God intended.”
“Great,” the Rookie said. “What weapons do I get?”
The guards laughed.
“Great,” the Rookie said again.
“Sign here,” one of the guards said as he shoved a clipboard at the Rookie. “You’ll sign the other one when you come out.”
“If he comes out,” the second guard said.
“Oh, he’ll come out,” the Mayor said, clapping the Rookie on the back. “I have the utmost faith in him.”
***
It took the Rookie a few seconds for his eyes to adjust once the door closed behind him. He glanced up into the corner above the door and saw a small vid cam encased in thick wire. He guessed a few had been ripped down before. He gave a small wave and a huge smile.
“Motherfuckers,” the Rookie said as he slowly walked away from the door that led to fresh air and freedom.
He really wanted that fresh air since the Maze smelled like any place would smell when a large amount of people were forced to live in an enclosed space. He had no idea how big the Maze was, but it wasn’t big enough to let the stench of sweat, shit and death dissipate.
The Rookie scanned his surroundings taking in every little detail: rough walls that looked to be made of rock, concrete and many other substances; faint light coming
off what he thought was moss or something; pockmarked ground, as if someone had been randomly slamming a sledge hammer against it; and one way to go.
He followed the one way until he came to a T.
“Right or left?” he asked himself. “Does it fucking matter?”
His ears said it did. He quickly picked up the sound of footfalls. The sound of irregular footfalls. That distinction told him a lot.
“Fucking deaders,” he grumbled as he looked about in the gloom for a weapon, any weapon, he could use to defend himself.
There was nothing. He’d figured as much and had a split-second debate: run or fight.
The amount of footfalls ended the debate quickly. He turned and sprinted the opposite direction, hoping the uneven ground wouldn’t send him tumbling or snap an ankle.
***
Turn, twist, uphill, downhill, around in circles, squares, back to the same spot three, four, five times.
“Fucking maze!” the Rookie shouted and was answered with a dozen growls and screeches. “Fuck!”
He was lost. Hopelessly lost. But that was the point.
He wished for a rock, anything that he could mark the walls with, but there was nothing loose on the ground. It was if someone came along and cleaned the fucking maze regularly. Which, as he thought about it, they probably did. If there was a tool of any kind to be used he was sure the women in the Maze had already found it and put it to use.
He sprinted around a corner and slammed face first into a huge deader. He’d seen big ones, but this one…wow. It had been a woman in life, but she would have been close to 300 pounds if anything and a good three inches taller than the Rookie. He stumbled back, hit his ass on the ground and then scrambled back to his feet.
The deader just looked at him and snarled. Blood-pink foam dripped from its torn lips and dribbled down its chin, plopping onto breasts that had turned black and shriveled to husks. Its dead eyes locked onto the Rookie and the snarl turned to a roar turned to a scream which the Rookie realized was a call.
“Oh, fuck,” the Rookie said. He spun about and stopped.
Dead end.
“Shit.”
The big deader had moved forward enough that he knew he couldn’t dodge around the thing to go the way he came. He’d been in the Maze for maybe an hour, hard to really know, and he was already faced with a fight he didn’t want. He didn’t know what he expected, but part of him, most of him, had hoped maybe he’d find Jenny and be able to do some ducking and hiding and then they’d be out the door and gone from Eden.
A little voice inside him said he’d gotten lazy, turned soft, was used to sleeping in a bed and having food and not worrying that the next sound in the night was death.
He fucking hated that voice and planned on proving it very, very wrong.
“So, I have to get past you,” the Rookie said to the approaching behemoth of the undead. “That’s all? No worries.”
He bounced up and down and rolled his head on his neck. The sounds of his vertebrae cracking echoed off the walls. The sounds also seemed to excite the deader and the beast lunged at the Rookie.
One move. That was what he’d learned in the cage. That was what he’d been brought up with in the pits. That was what survival in the wasteland was all about.
The Rookie dove, rolled and kicked out, his feet slamming into the knees of the deader, crunching old bone and sending the thing toppling. He tucked to the side and barely made it out of the way before the thing collapsed on him. The Rookie sprang to his feet and went in for the killing blow, ready to rip the monster’s head right off.
The putrid fist to his groin ended that plan.
The Rookie doubled over and nearly threw up. The fist that’d nailed him in the junk flashed out again and his head rocked back, shaking his teeth to their roots. He tasted blood, bile and bits of enamel. Before he could recover he was hit again and then again. A rib may have cracked, but he wasn’t sure. His left shoulder went numb, followed by his left arm, as a blow nearly ripped his limb from his body.
The Rookie retreated, stumbling against the wall, as he tried to put distance between himself and the deader. He watched in horror as the thing turned and scrambled after him on broken knees, its lower legs flopping uselessly behind it.
Hisses and groans from the passageway behind him made his blood run cold. He’d fought and killed deaders all his life, but every instinct in him said these were different. They knew what they were doing when they hunted in the Maze. He wondered how many of Eden’s young men never found a bride.
He sucked it up, gritted his chipped teeth and squared himself with the monster that came trundling at him. He didn’t feel up to the fight, but he didn’t have a choice. Broken rib, numb arm, swollen nuts. Whoopty shit. He pushed the pain deep and came at the deader hard. It swiped at him and he leapt, tackling the thing about its bulging neck. They both tumbled backwards and the Rookie gasped as his rib sang, but he didn’t stop, he didn’t slow, he didn’t quit.
He jammed his thumbs into the monster’s eyes and laughed aloud at the popping noises. The thing clawed at him, but not for long. The Rookie tucked his feet under him, placing both soles on the deader’s neck and then pushed up with all of his strength. He felt his heels split the rotted flesh and sink into the neck, crushing the useless windpipe and esophagus. He lifted both feet from the muck and took a quick jump, shoving down with everything he had when he landed.
The deader’s spine snapped into a dozen pieces and the creature gurgled a last wail before becoming still.
“Fuck you,” the Rookie grunted as he flicked the goop from his feet.
Snarls behind him made him spin about and he faced at least six more deaders. Compared to the one he’d just put down they were tiny.
“Not a fucking problem,” the Rookie said as his entire outlook on where he was and what he had to do changed.
The Rookie faded back and Dog came out barking mad.
***
Dog walked the passageway slowly, every sense alive. In his right hand he held the de-fleshed femur of one of the many deaders he’d torn apart before getting as far as he had. As he’d made progress he’d dragged the femur’s tip across the rough wall, turning it slowly, carefully, so that after what felt like miles of walking he’d honed a deadly sharp point.
“Hey!” Dog shouted. “Where you at, fuckers?”
His voice echoed through the Maze and he grinned. His body was coated in deader gore and he reeked of rotted offal and curdled blood.
“You haven’t even come close, mother fuckers!” Dog yelled. “That’s all you’ve fucking got?!”
That wasn’t all the Maze had.
A loud snuffling made Dog freeze. He’d heard a lot of noises in the wasteland, and a lot of noises while being a cage fighter in Foggy Bottom, but snuffling wasn’t one of those noises. If he’d been asked he wouldn’t have even known what the word snuffling meant.
But that was the noise that made him stop and look over his shoulder.
What may have been a person at one point, possibly at birth, was on all fours, its face flat to the ground, a hole instead of a nose busy following the scent trail left by Dog’s bloody footprints.
“What the fuck are you?” Dog asked as he squared up with the creature.
Skinless and rippling with blue-black muscle, the thing stopped and lifted its sightless face to the sound of Dog’s voice. Where eyes should have been were smooth, yet slightly caved in, flaps of skin, each pierced and held in place by what looked like thin slices of bone. Its fingers were fused together, creating three long claws on each hand, both tipped by sharpened bone. Its feet had been split and splayed, giving it a wide grip and toes that nearly stretched to the center of each foot.
“Hmph,” the thing grunted as its nose hole blew yellow pus onto the ground.
Dog remained silent and still as he gave himself time to study the creature. Its shoulders had been separated at some point and replaced by thick metal sockets. Screws and pins covered th
e creature’s body and it moved like a machine, but Dog could see it was hungry like a deader.
Calculating the distance and the creature’s reach, Dog slammed his sharpened bone against the wall then leapt to the other side of the passageway, eluding the instantaneous swipe from the thing. He landed one foot against the wall and then sprang forward, his bone raised above his head. He brought it down in a single, powerful thrust…and met empty air.
“Hmmph,” the creature snorted from directly behind him.
Dog had a sick feeling that he was being played with. He slowly turned about and came face to ick with the creature’s nose hole. A bubble of pus filled, filled and then popped, splattering Dog’s face with goo.
Desperate to not make a sound, Dog twisted and turned his bone until the point was facing up, right at the creature’s neck. He tensed and the thing tensed with him. Then he attacked.
Dog’s abdomen was on fire as he jammed the bone under the monster’s chin, shoving it up through the mouth, sinuses and finally into the brain. The creature howled and thrashed then stumbled slowly forward and collapsed against Dog, sending them both to the ground.
Dog tried to push the undead monstrosity off of him, but every time he shoved it felt like white hot blades were slicing his insides. He was able to hook a leg up out from under the thing and roll to the side. He pushed away from the deader corpse and looked at his belly.
It was a lot more blood than he would have liked to have seen. In the middle of the blood was one of the creature’s claws, snapped off at a fused knuckle. He knew better than to yank it out; he’d watched more than his share of idiots bleed out in seconds that way. He ripped his shirt open and pulled it off. Tearing the shirt into strips he tied a few together and carefully wound the material around the claw then around his abdomen and back, finally tying it tight and securing the claw in place.
Mobility became an issue as he got to his feet, but he’d fought with worse wounds. The trick was to keep the blood loss to a minimum until he found help.
