March of the Dead (Killing the Dead Book 11)

by Richard Murray

  That helped, a little. The anger died down and a smile played over her lips.

  “Tell me.”

  So I did and when I was done, her grin widened as a very real excitement flickered in her eyes. Murder, betrayal and chaos, everything she wanted. I doubted that she’d be able to force herself to turn on me until my plan was completed. It would be too much for her to miss out.

  Much to my surprise, Harper and Kareem came back, their backpacks on their backs and rough wooden clubs in their hands. Neither so much as glanced at their fallen leader and I hoped that was a good indicator of what would come next.

  “You feel ready for this?” Georgia asked and I nodded as I reached for the top of the fence, pulling myself over to land in the scrub grass beyond.

  The others followed and in silence, we walked down the hill towards the enclosed compound. We’d made it nearly all the way there before someone finally noticed us and a cry went up. I kept a thin smile on my face as I approached, though I kept a watchful eye on how they reached for their weapons.

  “Good morning,” I called down to them.

  The compound had been cut into the hill so that when we reached the edge of it, we were actually standing atop their wall and staring down into their midst.

  “The fuck do you want?” someone called. A tanned man with a pot belly and a leather waistcoat. He was covered in tattoos and piercings, looking like some reject from a biker gang.

  “We were passing and saw you all,” I said with my smile fixed firmly in place. “Thought to ourselves, you look a fine bunch of people, maybe we should join you.”

  Several of the younger men were pulling themselves up the wall as I spoke, one of them very close to where I stood. Close enough that I could smell his rank stench and see the gleam of malice in his eyes.

  “You wanna join us?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Well, perhaps not so much join you as take over.”

  Laughter followed that, though it took a moment to filter through their drink addled brains. I kept my smile in place and without looking at the man climbing towards me, pulled back my leg and kicked him solidly in the face as it rose above the edge of the wall. Something cracked and he yelled in pain as he fell back down. The laughter increased, which was encouraging. These were men who enjoyed their violence. I could give them that.

  “So, what do you think?” I called down. “You fancy a new leader?”

  I sensed, more than saw, Georgia and the others spread out a little behind me, readying their weapons as several men reached the top of the wall. Not enough to be a real concern, but I didn’t want to kill them all, not until I was finished with them.

  “Hold!” a strong voice commanded and the approaching men stopped, faces turning back towards their leader.

  I’d been right. Anyone leading a band such as his, wouldn’t be able to allow any challenge to his authority go unanswered. He needed to maintain control, to have them more scared of him than anyone else.

  He was well over six feet tall, closer to seven in fact. His skin was covered in tattoos and scars, some of them fairly recent. Broad-shouldered with a narrow waist, when he walked it was with the self-assurance of a natural predator.

  His eyes glinted in the morning sun, brown with flecks of gold. His head was shaven as was his jaw and I realised this was a man who had lived his life fighting others. Not necessarily a killer before the end of the world, but a warrior.

  Damn.

  I’d genuinely been hoping for some half drunken slob who had just developed a taste for violence since the fall of the world. Not someone who clearly revelled in it. Things were about to get difficult.

  “So you want to lead us?” he said with a grin. Several of his teeth were missing which detracted from his looks but were another indicator that he fought a lot.

  “Seems like a fun thing to do,” I replied.

  “And where now would you be thinking of leading us?”

  “There’s a place close by. I gather you’ve failed to take it once already,” I said with a grin at the angry growl that rippled through the crowd. I nodded to the captives. “You can satisfy yourself with scraps or you can take the whole place.”

  “You think ye can do that, do ye?” the leader asked as he cast a wary eye over his men.

  “Better than you.” I smiled as I said it and watched the anger cross his face. He wasn’t as controlled as me. He let his emotions have free reign. I could work with that.

  “You can lead,” he said and laughter followed his words. “If you can kill me.”

  “Sure,” I said as I pulled free my knife, but he held one hand up to forestall me.

  “Hold now pal,” his grin, if anything, widened. “Can’t just walk up to the champion and take him on. You’ve gotta work your way up.”

  Double damn.

  “Clear some room lads,” he called as he looked directly at me. “We’re gonna have a competition. Winner takes all.”

  “You sure about this?” Georgia asked as she chewed absently on her lower lip, eyes glued to the gang leader. “He looks… impressive.”

  Admittedly, not my best idea to rely on someone who was so clearly turned on by violence and the people willing to commit it. Not when I was about to enter the lion’s den that happened to be full of such men.

  “I’ll kill him and anyone else he sends my way, then we’ll do as I planned.”

  “You better.” She leant in, lips brushing my ear as she said in a breathy kind of voice, “I’m gonna fuck you on their piled corpses when we’re done.”

  I was fairly sure she meant that to sound erotic or kinky, but to me, it just sounded extremely unhygienic. If you wanted an infection, that was probably a good way to go about it. She seemed to expect a response though, so I flashed her a grin and climbed down into the compound.

  The gang had ceased what they were doing and made a rough kind of ring with the two campfires burning merrily away towards the edges. I eyed those warily.

  “Right then lads,” the leader called out. “Who wants to go first?”

  “Give the kid a chance,” someone called and other voices joined in the call.

  A scrawny teen was pushed forward from the crowd and a cheer rose up. He stared at me defiantly and wiped his nose with the back of one hand as he hefted a kitchen knife in the other. It bore traces of blood, likely zombie and that would not be pleasant to be cut by.

  He shook off the hands that shoved at him and stalked forward. He was likely sixteen or seventeen at most and bore more than one bruise on his pale skin. Someone had tattooed a letter ‘D’ on his cheek, whether a gang thing or ownership brand, I didn’t know or care. I looked to the leader.

  “To the death I assume,” I asked and he guffawed, throwing his head back as his men joined in.

  “That’s the only way we play!” he said and another cheer sounded.

  I circled the teen warily. He was scrawny but there was some definition to his arms. He was younger and likely faster than me, which made up for the lack of muscle. You didn’t need strength in a knife fight, just speed and a willingness to be cut. Looking at the blood-stained knife, I couldn’t risk being cut.

  He dashed forward, swiping the blade before him and I leapt to my left to avoid the blade. He barely paused before shifting direction and coming at me again, that damned knife slicing the air in front of him.

  Jeers and cries rose from the crowd as I jumped aside once more. I couldn’t risk alienating the crowd since, for my plan to work, I would need them to follow me. When the teen ran in again, I dropped to my left, leg kicking out to tangle his as he ran. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, sprawling on the floor and dropping the knife.

  I was on him in an instant and I pushed my knee into his back, grabbing his greasy hair with my left hand while I pulled his head back. I looked directly at the leader and flashed a grin as I sliced my blade across the youth’s throat, feeling the warm blood spray across my hand.

  Pleasure surged through me and a shiv
er ran down my spine as I didn’t even try to keep it from my face. I wanted the crowd to see it, I wanted them to know how much I enjoyed the kill. I wanted them to fear me.

  “Next,” I said and the leader waved one hand.

  I was aware of the ache in my belly, the slight tremble to my hand when I held my knife before me. My energy reserves were low and two meals were not enough to make up for the past few weeks poor diet. I needed to finish the fight quickly.

  My heart sank a little as the next opponent stepped up. Six feet tall and almost as wide, he had a neck as thick as my thighs and the sort of muscles you’d expect to see on a champion bodybuilder. He held a sledgehammer in one hand as though it weighed nothing and he grinned as he walked into the circle.

  His boots were a size twelve at least and had steel toe-caps, his jeans and t-shirt were tight, most likely because it would be damned hard for him to find clothes to fit his enormous frame and like many of the gang, his head was shaved, though he wore a thick brown beard.

  “Gonna fuck you up,” he said as his beady eyes peered down at me.

  Oh hell!

  I leapt beneath his first swing, tucking my shoulder into a roll. He barely missed a beat as he stopped his hammer mid-swing and reversed it to crash down onto the paved floor of the compound, shattering the stone.

  Crap!

  Back on my feet, I moved away, out of reach of his hammer but rendering myself unable to land a blow of my own. That would have to change if I wanted to win.

  He raised the hammer again as I rushed forward, blade flashing out as I leapt aside, keeping as low as possible to avoid his blow. I landed with a painful thud and a groan of pain that was dwarfed by his bellow of rage.

  Blood dripped from between his fingers as he clutched at his wrist where I’d managed to catch him. His hammer lay on the ground at his feet and I had a moment to grin in triumph before he ran over to me, surprisingly fast and grabbed me in those big hands of his with bone crushing strength.

  Another roar of rage and pain from him, a sound without words, just pure emotion. His grip tightened as I struggled and it was with a look of abject apology that I did the only thing I could in that situation. I brought my knee up solidly between his legs.

  I was fairly sure something burst from the force of my blow, either that or he pissed himself. I didn’t pay too much attention to the growing stain on his jeans as he released his grip on me and clutched his damaged groin, dropping to his knees, a piteous keening coming from him.

  His eyes had lost focus and so I don’t think he even saw my knife blade coming towards them. A scream sounded as his sight was lost forever and I let out a laugh of pure joy that mirrored that feeling that was running through me.

  Two deaths, adrenaline pumping through my veins and an acute pleasure that I didn’t have to try and hide. It was almost too much after so long without. So many weeks and months without feeling anything, then to suddenly feel it all so very strongly.

  I wanted to keep laughing until my sides hurt, I wanted to shout out my joy to the world, I wanted to bathe in the blood of the dead and most of all, I wanted to keep on killing.

  “Finish him then,” the gang leader said as he rose to his feet. The crowd had fallen silent, something about the scene before them had taken away a little of their lust for blood.

  My knife cut cleanly through the man’s shirt as it plunged deep into his chest. He shuddered and went still as I fought to regain my composure. Too much sensation after so long, it was hard.

  Georgia was staring at me unflinching and my eyes met hers for a moment. Her desire burnt in her gaze and I knew that I was approaching the person she wanted me to be.

  “Now you,” I said to the leader. My breathing was heavy and if I had to fight much more, I would be done for. “Or are you scared?”

  “Of you?”

  The man laughed and if I had any feelings to hurt, that would have done it. I was sure that was the tactic and equally sure that if it was the best he could do, I would win.

  “You don’t know who I am do you?” he asked and the crowd roared their laughter when I stared at him blankly. “My name is Cole Clements.”

  The crowd roared again and for the life of me, I had no idea why.

  “Though I was known as the Rage!”

  “Who the hell would call you that?” Georgia asked to much merriment from the crowd.

  “Was my UFC name lass.”

  Oh crap!

  An ultimate fighter wannabe, just what I needed. Okay, so he would be skilled, fit and a seasoned fighter. At the end of the day, that’s all he was. I was a serial killer and I’d killed more people than him. Probably.

  “Let’s do this then,” he said as he stepped into the circle.

  Chapter 18

  His foot caught the side of my head and spun me around as my vision blurred. He was a great deal faster than I’d expected and had a lot more reach. His next roundhouse kick, I didn’t even see, though I felt it when a couple of my ribs cracked.

  The metallic taste of blood was in my mouth as I crouched on the ground, shaking my head to clear it as the crowd chanted his name. He circled me, I could feel the rise and fall of the crowd as he passed them. The heat of the fire dimming as he passed between it and me.

  He didn’t consider me a threat. He was toying with me. That was a mistake.

  I leapt to my feet, knife flashing out… and missed. The nimble-footed bastard avoided my swing easily and ducked in to land a thunderous blow to my gut that sent me back to the ground. It wasn’t going well for me and the crowd roared its approval.

  “Now see man,” Cole said, voice full of prideful arrogance. “You’ve no chance. Give it up. Beg me to let you live and I might.”

  The crowd laughed at that and even if I were so inclined to ever beg for my life, I knew it would be pointless. Just another part of the show he was putting on for his minions. I spat a thick gobbet of blood to the paving stone beneath me and wondered if he’d noticed that I’d purposefully not damaged the brain of either of the men I’d killed.

  Since he was determined to play, I pushed myself to my feet slowly. No point in rushing since he’d just knock me down again.

  He circled me slowly, moving easily, feet never crossing each other. The movement of a warrior who knew to keep his balance at all times. I could almost admire his skill. I reversed my grip on the knife so that the blade pointed towards the ground, the sharpened edge towards me, while the serrated topside of the blade was directed towards him.

  I didn’t speak. No need for taunts or jibes to try and enrage him. They wouldn’t work and I needed to save my energy anyway. I just watched and waited as he continued to move and I turned with him so that I was always facing him head on.

  Like a snake uncoiling and striking in one single motion, almost too fast to see, his leg swept out. Pain burst through me as my leg buckled and I sucked in a deep breath to keep from letting out a cry of pain. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “This is just pathetic,” he said. “See now lads, this is not how ye fight a real man.”

  He slapped the side of my head with his open hand, a mocking blow to show that he could and the crowd laughed on cue. I met Georgia’s eyes and found little there but disdain.

  “Tell ye what.”

  He stepped back out of my reach and quickly pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing a tanned torso which seemed to contain zero body fat. He was just a mass of sinewy muscle covered in a thin layer of tattoos.

  “I’ll let you live,” he continued. “But I’ll make you my bitch. How about it?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” I said as I noted the foot of the dead man begin to twitch.

  It hurt like hell to stand upright and my left leg trembled as I put weight back on my damaged knee. My speed and agility had been compromised in one solid blow. It was entirely likely that I wouldn’t survive the fight. That irked me. I wanted to die on my own terms.

  “I could make you the same offer,�
� I said as I spat another mouthful of my own blood. I thought that perhaps I’d bitten my tongue when his first kick caught me. “But you’re really not my type.”

  “Your loss,” he said and spun on one heel, leg kicking out.

  Blood sprayed and he let out a cry of anger as I lowered my blade. I’d been waiting for it that time and there was a red gash across his ankle that was bleeding. A little shallow, but a strike none the less.

  “You got one,” he snarled. “Don’t think you’ll get another.”

  Posturing. A pathetic display in front of his people, but it was more than that. He’d been a fighter and knew that the people wanted a good show. That’s what he was doing. If he’d been like me, he’d have killed me in the first few seconds of the fight. He was a fool.

  The body of the skinny youth beside him began to move. Shivering and trembling as it began to reanimate. Cole noticed, his gaze dropping for an instant as the zombie opened its eyes and it was all I needed to leap towards him.

  We collided and pain shot through my skull as he reacted with a headbutt that broke my nose. I, in turn, ran my blade across his side and he squealed as I cut deep. The crowd fell silent, watching in rapt attention as the second zombie began to rise, while the first clawed at our legs.

  I ignored the hand gripping my ankle as best I could as I pressed all my weight against Cole, one arm against his throat as I slashed at him with the knife held in the other. For his part, he stopped trying to attack me and instead wrapped his legs around my waist, twisting his hips to throw me to the side.

  He rolled with me and all of a sudden, I was beneath him as he began to rain down blows against my head with his right fist and wrapped his left hand around my wrist, using his position and weight to keep my knife hand pressed firmly against the paved ground.

  Damn, was the only thought I had as I realised that I was probably about to die.

  “Fuck!” Cole said as the scrawny zombie grabbed at his leg, pulling itself towards him, perhaps scenting the blood that was leaking from the cut I’d made.

  He kicked out at it, momentarily stopping his beating of me and with my free left hand, I reached out, fingers grasping for something, anything to use as a weapon.