This Is the End: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (7 Book Collection)

by Craig DiLouie

  “Come on, Spence! On your feet!”

  Once Spencer managed to stand, Andrews dragged him to the center of the pit. He tried to shield Spencer from the pieces of wood and stone that were hurled at them; most missed by a wide margin, but occasionally one connected.

  “Man, this rates a solid ten point five on the ‘Holy Shit’ meter,” Spencer said. “What the hell are these fuckers going to do to us now?”

  “Nothing good,” Andrews said. As he looked around the pit, he knew what was likely to happen. This was in fact an arena, just not for the sport it had been built for. Andrews and Spencer were going to be the entertainment.

  At the far end of the rink, he saw Law mount a gangway that led to a decaying broadcast booth. Behind him, Leona was dragged along by two burly men. Her hands were bound before her. She looked down at them, and her eyes met Andrews’s. Her expression was one of utter terror, and Andrews knew she had good reason to be frightened. Back at Harmony, Leona was considered beautiful. Here, in this shattered city where people still lived but humanity was dead, she would be a prized asset, perfect breeding stock. She would be passed from man to man until she could no longer provide what they needed. After that? Andrews wasn’t sure, but he had no doubt she might spend years wishing for death.

  Law held up his hands, and the jeering assemblage fell into a sudden, respectful silence, watching him with a mixture of religious reverence and bloodthirsty anticipation.

  “It’s been almost two years since this facility was last used, when survivalists from the north threatened our sanctuary with their tainted ways. And now, these two will meet their end in exactly the same manner!”

  The crowd exploded into a barrage of cheers. Andrews could barely hear Spencer over the raucous din.

  “Did he just say something about survivors from the north?” Spencer shouted.

  “Yeah—I guess we were right, the Northwest might not have been hit so hard,” Andrews shouted back.

  “A shame, man. I would’ve liked to have gone up there, maybe see some real pine trees and Mount Ranier, or something.” Spencer ducked as a dusty brick flew past his head.

  Law held up his hands, grinning like a madman. When the crowd quieted itself, he looked down at the two men.

  “The rules are simple, gentlemen. You fight until you are killed. Then, your carcasses will be divided up amongst my Family. After all … a nutritious meal is hard to come by these days.” To the crowd, he said, “And now … it begins!”

  As the crowd erupted yet again, Law continued walking to the old broadcast booth. Leona was dragged along after him, and the small group stepped inside. Law took a seat before the booth’s open window, sitting up there like a demented Roman emperor settling in to watch gladiator games.

  “You know, now would be a great time for Mulligan and the others to roll in and save the day,” Spencer said, fear evident in his voice.

  “The only thing Mulligan’s saved in his entire life is a bad attitude.” Andrews turned in place as he scanned the cavernous room, hoping to get an idea of what was going to happen next.

  Surprisingly, he did see what was going to happen next. A towering man leapt into the pit opposite them. He was even bigger than Mulligan, standing almost seven feet tall. He was extremely well-fed; his muscles rippled beneath scabbed, knobby skin, and just one of his thighs was almost as big as both of Andrews’s. But all was not perfect; the man’s right arm was a misshapen club of calloused flesh, and his left eye was missing, perhaps ripped out long ago in some past contest, leaving behind a scarred, empty socket. Completely bald, the huge warrior turned toward Andrews and Spencer and smiled hungrily, revealing rotting, black teeth.

  “Missing an eye and a bum arm,” Spencer said. “Maybe things are looking up. The guy’s worse off than I am.”

  “Don’t get too cocky, Sergeant,” Andrews cautioned. “He’s still going to be one tough customer. Keep to his left when you can, hang out in his blind spot.”

  “Hooah. What about you?”

  “I don’t have a busted arm. I’ll try and tire him out, then we’ll figure out how we’re going to take him down.”

  If Spencer replied, Andrews didn’t hear him. The crowd’s cheering swelled, and the giant bellowed and charged before the two men had an opportunity to ready themselves for his attack. Andrews shoved Spencer aside and darted to his left, hoping to attract the giant’s full attention before he zeroed in on Spencer, who would be the easier target. He needn’t have worried; the giant was apparently looking for a fight, so he charged directly at Andrews, his club-arm held high, his mouth open wide as he released a guttural war cry. Andrews stopped short and waited for the disfigured warrior to close on him, his fists held out before him as he adopted a fighting stance. That encouraged the brute, and he pounded toward him with reckless abandon, his big feet stomping into the dry, packed earth of the arena, bearing down on Andrews like an out-of-control freight train. At the last moment, when the warrior was nearly on top of him, Andrews fell to his hands and knees. Unable to stop, the warrior tripped over Andrews and slammed face-first into the dirt, sending up an explosion of dust. The impact was strong enough to knock the wind of out Andrews and he floundered about on his back, frantically trying to take a breath while attempting to gather his feet beneath him and press his advantage. He rolled over onto his belly and pushed himself to his knees, his movements slow—too slow. The giant was already recovering from his spill, and he awkwardly levered himself to his knees with his good arm. Andrews saw Spencer moving in, racing to tackle the brute before he could get to his feet.

  “Spence, no!” Andrews croaked, but his warning was lost in the cacophony of the cheering crowd.

  Spencer ran right into the warrior, slamming into him with his shoulder like a linebacker. He practically bounced off the larger man. The warrior howled and swung at him with his good arm. Spencer tried to duck under it, but the warrior was surprisingly fast. He took the swing right across the head, and the blow sent him sprawling across the arena’s dirt floor. The crowd exploded with thunderous applause. The warrior grinned and hauled himself to his feet, stepping toward Spencer.

  Andrews leapt toward him and delivered a powerful snap-kick to the giant’s side, throwing as much of his body weight into the attack as he could. The warrior lurched sideways with a sharp grunt as Andrews’s boot made solid contact with his ribs. Nevertheless, the warrior spun with uncanny speed and struck Andrews in the chest with his clubbed arm. The force of the blow was incredible; Andrews was literally lifted from his feet and went flying through the air. He landed on the hard-packed arena floor and rolled right toward one of the sharp metal stakes. The sharpened metal sliced open his temple as his head bumped into it. Andrews cried out and pressed his hand to the wound. When he pulled it away to struggle back to his feet, his palm was slick with blood. The crowd went wild at the sight of his injury, and dozens of natty survivors jumped up and down in the bleachers, shrieking in delight.

  The warrior turned back to Spencer as he charged back toward him. He grabbed the front of Spencer’s uniform in one big hand and swung him around like a rag doll. Spencer tried to twist away, but to no avail—the giant’s grip was too strong. With a roar, the warrior lifted him into the air and hurled him away, as if the crew chief was no more substantial than a newborn infant. Spencer tumbled as he arced toward the arena floor, coming down squarely on one of the twisted metal stakes. The stake’s sharp tip erupted through his chest. Spencer shuddered, then tried to get up. Dark blood spread across his uniform blouse. Heart blood, Andrews knew.

  Oh my God.

  Satisfied that Spencer was no longer a threat, the warrior pivoted and charged toward Andrews. Andrews grabbed a handful of dirt as he rose to his feet and hurled it into the giant’s face. The warrior recoiled, rubbing at his eye with his hand while blindly lashing out with his clubbed arm. Andrews ducked under the first few swipes, then kicked the man-thing right in the groin. The warrior screamed and doubled over, sinking to his knees.
Andrews stepped in and caught him with a fast uppercut that landed with such authority that the giant’s jaws slammed shut. Andrews pressed his advantage, punching the giant in the face again and again, ignoring the pain that blossomed in his hands. The crowd booed, furious that their champion was taking a beating so soon after downing one opponent. The warrior’s head rocked back and forth from the fury of Andrews’s blows, until it finally toppled over onto its back, bleeding profusely from a shattered nose. With a gurgle, it spat out bloody saliva and pieces of broken teeth. Andrews reared back and brought up his right foot, intending to stomp on the giant’s face, but a hurled brick struck him in the back of his right shoulder. He went down with a cry, stumbling across the giant’s body. Feeling the shift in the tide, the giant lashed out with his legs. One of his huge feet caught Andrews under the right arm, and he was sent rolling across the arena floor. He came to a rest next to Spencer’s spasming body. Andrews pushed himself to his elbows and, for a brief instant, his eyes met Spencer’s. Despite the bloodied stake piercing his chest, the crew chief was trying to sit up, to get back into the fight. The light was fading from Spencer’s face.

  “I’m okay,” Spencer said, smiling. Blood bubbled from his mouth and nostrils, and then he died.

  Andrews heard the giant warrior grunt as he pushed himself to his feet. He looked at Spencer’s body as it slowly relaxed, settling back onto the stake that had claimed his life. The crowd roared its approval, and Andrews knew the warrior must have been making his way back to him. Andrews felt a fire begin to burn in his chest, and he shoved himself upright, leaping to his feet. Hot rage fueled him, and he whirled to face the oncoming giant, ignoring the throb in his shoulder where the brick had struck him. He was surprised to find the warrior’s approach was slow and measured—no more charging, no more howling. Andrews had put a hurting on him, and he knew the warrior, despite his greater size and strength, was going to take his time. He had learned that Andrews was no pushover.

  That suited Andrews fine. He was going to make the warrior suffer every moment until one of them was dead.

  ***

  The tremendous din of the roaring crowd led Mulligan and the others to the arena like sharks following a trail of blood. The array of torches that illuminated the great ring caused their night vision goggles to wash out, so Mulligan whispered into his headset and ordered everyone to remove them. They had more than enough light to operate by, and with the vast majority of the opposing force focused on Andrews, the group could move with unexpected freedom.

  He and Choi planted their charges on two stout I-beams that the big sergeant major judged were primary load-bearing components for the civic center. While eight pounds of C4 might not be enough to bring the house down under normal circumstances, it was his hope that the accumulated stress of surviving a nuclear attack, earthquakes, and changing weather might have weakened the structure enough so the blast would cause at least a partial collapse. As they made their way back to where Laird and Kelly waited with Rachel, Choi motioned to the arena, where Andrews and the impressively huge warrior continued their battle. Spencer lay motionless near the arena’s center, surrounded by a pool of dark blood.

  “Hey, shouldn’t we do something about that?” Choi asked, not even bothering to keep his voice low due to the volume of the crowd.

  Before Mulligan could respond, a filthy young man hurried out of a dark corridor, carrying a torch. His hair was long and matted, forming a natural set of grubby dreadlocks that hung down over his sallow face. The man stopped when he saw Mulligan and Choi crouching down only a few feet away. His mouth dropped open, and for a moment he gawked at them. Then he spun around and made to run back the way he had come. He didn’t make it. Mulligan reacted instantly, grabbing a handful of his dirty, oversized shirt and yanking him off his feet. The man dropped his torch and struggled; his shout was cut short by Mulligan’s knife sliding into the back of his neck. The man kicked once, then went limp. The odor of urine made Mulligan’s nostrils twitch, and he dragged the body to an abandoned refreshment stand. He hurled the corpse behind the concession counter.

  “Damn, man! I thought we were going to give these people a chance!” Choi said, his eyes wide with shock.

  Mulligan pointed to the arena, where Andrews and the big warrior were circling each other while the riotous crowd hurled all manner of debris at Andrews. “Yeah, like they did with Spencer? That plan’s off the table. Use your head, boy!”

  Choi considered that, then nodded. “Roger that, Sergeant Major.”

  Mulligan spoke into his tactical headset as he hurried down the corridor that ringed the arena. “Laird, this is Mulligan. Over.”

  “Go ahead, Mulligan. Over.”

  “Charges planted, and we just had to service one target. We’re heading back to you now. Get ready to move out when we arrive. Party in thirty. Over.”

  “Good copy.”

  Mulligan abandoned stealth for speed and set an aggressive pace. They were living on borrowed time—even though there were no signs of firearms among any of the survivors, he knew that at least four assault rifles were somewhere in their possession, along with a multitude of bladed weapons that could be just as deadly if wielded by experienced hands. Though he would have liked nothing better, Mulligan’s goal was not to get into a protracted fight—they had a greater mission to accomplish, and that meant the team from Harmony Base had to avoid becoming decisively engaged.

  When he and Choi linked up with Laird and the others, he found they were still crouching in the darkened hallway that fed into the main corridor surrounding the arena. Laird was oriented toward the bleachers, M416A3 assault rifle at the ready; it was outfitted with an M320A1 forty-millimeter grenade launcher under the barrel, a double-action device equipped with its own pistol grip that allowed for more precise fire. Kelly Jordello’s assault rifle was in a similar configuration, and she covered the rear of the hallway. Rachel Andrews had a vanilla assault rifle with no additional modifications, as Mulligan hadn’t had the time to school her in the grenade launcher’s use. She was in the center of the formation, and when Mulligan saw her staring at her husband fighting for his life down below, he wondered if he hadn’t made a tactical error by not leaving her in the SCEV.

  Mulligan motioned for Choi to stand guard while he squatted down beside Laird. “All right, it looks like Spencer’s down, and Eklund’s in that booth about fifty meters downrange. I want to go for her first, because I’m pretty sure things will get loud when we do, and that should pull some of the heat off Andrews. What do you think, sir?”

  “Agreed,” Laird said immediately. Either he had already formed the tactical picture by himself, or he was willing to do anything Mulligan suggested, as he was the expert. Mulligan didn’t care which; he was just glad they weren’t going to get into another debate.

  “We have to help Mike!” Rachel hissed.

  Mulligan fixed her with a seething glare. “We will. You stay here and hold this hallway, because we’ll need it for our retreat. Are you ready to pull the trigger and ice some of these stinking fuckers, Andrews?”

  She nodded immediately, with no hesitation. Mulligan liked that, but he had to be sure she was ready.

  “They will likely come this way, or come up from behind you. You’ll be on your own, and you might have to kill women and children. I’m going to guess that when you open up, they’ll fade and try to get away from you. But you’ll probably have to kill some of them. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

  “Yes. I’ll kill anyone I have to, Sergeant Major,” Rachel said, her voice strong.

  Mulligan pointed at her rifle. “Safety off, keep the weapon indexed until you have to shoot like I showed you. When it becomes necessary, put your booger hook on the bang lever and squeeze it. Shoot for the center mass, and do not hesitate—taking a second to think will only get you killed, and that just makes things harder for everyone.”

  “Yeah, getting killed would be a matter of importance to me too, Mulligan. Anything else
?”

  Have to admire the can-do attitude on this one. “Negative. Good luck, and if things turn south, contact us over the radio.” He turned to the others. “Follow me. Remember your tactical spacing, and let’s move fast.”

  He rose and started down the main corridor at a good clip, his rifle shouldered and held at the ready. Choi followed, then Laird, with Kelly bringing up the rear. They adopted a staggered formation, two hugging the right side of the corridor, two staying to the left. They moved at a jog and Mulligan dreaded every step, wondering if he was going crazy trying to pull off a rescue like this when the stakes were so high. He knew he had no choice, though. Even if the others could be convinced to cut their losses and resume the mission, Rachel Andrews would flat out reject the notion of not attempting to rescue her husband. And she had leverage—she was the one who had to decide which core supports were good enough to take back to Harmony. Returning with items that were damaged or the wrong size wouldn’t help anyone back at the base.

  They made it to the broadcasting booth’s door without incident. Surprisingly, it was unguarded, even though Mulligan thought they must have known he had escaped. Had they thought he would just flee into the wasteland? That was a tragic miscalculation on the part of the city survivors, but he doubted they had to deal with incursions into their territory very often. Fine by him—their ignorance made his life easier.

  Mulligan motioned Choi forward. “You get the door. Laird, you’re in with me. Orient right when we go in, I’ll go left. Jordello, rear guard. Everyone set?”

  “Hooah,” Choi said.

  “Good to go here,” Laird responded.

  “Roger,” Kelly said.