Zombies! (Episode 6): Barriers Collapse

by Ivan Turner

  Do rag made a pht! noise and waved his hand. "Man, they ain't gonna touch me."

  "Six?" said the red faced man. "You're underestimating them. Is this your first fight?"

  The man nodded.

  "Then God help you."

  They might have continued talking like that, but two more men came forward. There was another fighter with them. This guy was a little more like Arrick, although he went completely to the opposite end of the spectrum as compared to the others. Arrick could see the man sitting behind a desk and punching computer keys for a living. Even dressed in old army fatigues, he had the look of corporate America. His hair was perfect. Then the two men were ushering them up into the ring. A microphone attached to a long chord was pulled out from underneath and given to one of the men.

  "Gentlemen!" he cried out to the audience and in fact Arrick couldn't see one female face in the crowd. "These are your warriors. They're a weak bunch, but it should be entertaining enough when they're getting eaten." There was an unsettling roar of approval from the crowd. "The betting windows will already have odds. Just write in the names and the bets on the tickets. Let me introduce Sly Dee!"

  The first black teen stepped forward. He was wearing loose blue jeans and a heavy jacket. His hair was braided into tight dreadlocks that flopped around when he moved. The second man introduced was the guy with the do rag. He was introduced as nothing more than Jeremiah. The latino was the Latin Shark, and the big guy was Red Rover. When Arrick was introduced as Long John Silver, he felt silly, but he supposed it was better than John Smith.

  "We've got long odds on this one, folks. He's bold enough to fight ten zombies at once. If you're enough of a player to bet on him, we're happy to take your money, but for a special occasion like this, we've put odds on the number of zombies Long John Silver is going to be able to take down before they finally get fed."

  The crowd roared.

  The last guy was introduced as William the Third. He played it up to the crowd, very confident in himself. He was fighting five zombies.

  Once all of the introductions were made, the fighters were taken from the ring and some time was given to the people so that they could go and place their bets. There was a mass exodus to the tables. Arrick could just make out a flurry of motion and yelling that greatly resembled the stock exchange of old. There were papers flying and hands waving. Men were shouting out numbers and the odds seemed to be changing as the bets came in. He couldn't see the people who were taking the bets but he didn't envy them.

  At long last, the tables settled down and people returned to their seats. There were a couple of fights that broke out in the stands, but they settled themselves. The announcer returned to the ring, pulling the microphone with him. They decided to start with Red Rover because he was only fighting three zombies. As two men led the three undead into the ring, the crowd cried ever louder. The noise was so deafening and so incomprehensible that it bordered on silence. The three zombies were lashed to the fence inside the ring and the balls were removed from their mouths. Then their keepers beat a hasty retreat. Red Rover looked a little reluctant as he moved into the ring, his eyes fixed on his opponents. There was a school girl, barely fifteen, in a short skirt and tattered sweater. She looked like something out of 1953, with blonde tousled hair and a round face. Then there was the guy with the beard and the tattoos. He didn't wear a shirt, which showed off just how many tattoos he had. It looked as if the keepers had removed his shirt on purpose. He had no visible wounds. Finally, there was the woman in the business suit. She looked very kempt down to the small pin on her lapel. If it weren't for her vacant eyes and grayish pallor, he could have mistaken her for any Wall Street executive. Well, maybe she could keep the vacant eyes.

  Outside the ring, the keepers moved around behind the zombies and cut the bonds holding their hands. It took them a moment to realize that they were free. If Red Rover had been more alert, he'd have been able to take advantage of that moment and better his odds. As it was, he stood ready, wary of their movements. He was waiting for them to approach, watching their movements. Arrick could smell them now. The odor was more like what he had experienced in the restaurant. It wasn't offensive to him at all, just a bit strong. And it didn't smell like death.

  The three zombies moved slowly toward Red Rover. He didn't seem to know which one to grab first. It was amazing how they could focus on him with all of the noise. But noise didn't represent a meal. With his fear and his sweat, the big man was probably the most noticeable thing for miles. When they were close enough, he lashed out and grabbed the middle zombie, the school girl, by her hair. He didn't even bother to fight with her. Instead, he swept her across his body and tossed her away as hard as he could. She was light, the lightest of the three and that was why Red Rover went for her. Next he went for business woman. She looked pretty solid on her stockinged feet but she was no match for his size. He didn't try the same tactic. She was taller than the school girl and he was able to put his shoulder into her chest. You could tell by watching that his attacks were meant to throw the zombies off balance rather than to hurt them. You couldn't hurt them and Red Rover knew that.

  By the time he'd finished with the business woman, the tattooed man was upon him. But Red Rover was ready. Though he came inches from being bitten, he kept his cool. He pushed his big beefy hand up under the tattooed man's chin and clamped his fingers in on both sides of his face. There was a terrible moan from the undead thing as Red Rover lifted him up off of the ground and slammed him back down again, head first.

  The crowd was on its feet.

  Though the blow wasn't hard enough to do any real damage, it did leave the tattooed zombie stunned. Knowing his business, and knowing it impressively well, Red Rover was up and about the next threat. The woman in the suit had recovered more quickly than the school girl. She stumbled as she got near her quarry and that actually almost won her the fight. Red Rover's timing was thrown off by her misstep and he almost made a serious blunder. But he recovered well, shoving her hard to the matt and stomping on her head with his boot. Watching him was like watching a master. His foot came down with the power of a pile driver but it was fueled by neither rage nor panic. As he mercilessly smashed her brain to jelly, his head was up and searching the ring, ever aware that there were two more zombies after his flesh.

  The schoolgirl and the tattooed man came at him at once. It wasn't a coordinated attack, but that didn't alter their advantage. Only when they were very close, did Red Rover stop his brutal attack on the business woman and turn his attentions toward the new threat. Stepping gingerly backward, aware of the slick blood now coating his boot, the big man took stock of his position. Though he most likely could have dealt them serious blows, he did not use his fists. Punching a zombie is a waste of time as it does not feel the pain.

  Red Rover backed himself into the corner of the ring. It looked like he was running scared and the audience reacted accordingly, sending boos and catcalls his way. But he was so focused on the battle that they could have very well been throwing tomatoes at him and still gone unnoticed. When he felt the two zombies had gotten close enough, he charged right through them, splitting them apart and hitting them with such force that there was no way for them to get a bite in. As he rushed past, he grabbed the schoolgirl by the waistband of her skirt and dragged her along with him. It was a dangerous game, but she was thrown so off balance that she couldn't mount an attack. As light as she was, she hardly presented a burden and they were in the other corner before the tattooed man had even recovered his footing. Red Rover reversed his grip, turned the girl around and grabbed her by the head. Without hesitation, he whipped it forward and slammed it into the exposed turnbuckle. It was the fate of many zombies in that ring. With his strength, it only took two good blows to do real damage to the skull. By the fifth, there was no more movement. The zombie was well and truly dead.

  That left him just one more to fight. With the crowd now on his side, it would have been very easy for Red Rover
to become overconfident and make a mistake. He didn't. Red Rover against one zombie? It was no contest. Only when it was all over did he allow himself to bask in the glory of his victory. The crowd cheered and raised their betting slips in the air, many of them winners.

  And so it went. Arrick learned a lot by watching Red Rover fight. After having stood with him before the match, Arrick would have definitely bet against him. He'd acted so unsure of himself and so afraid of the zombies that it seemed inevitable that he would make a fatal mistake. And yet he had made no mistakes at all. He'd used his size and his strength to their fullest advantage. Arrick, too, was determined to make use of his advantages, such as they were.

  Sly Dee went next. He was fighting four very ordinary zombies, and entered the ring all style and confidence. He pranced around like a professional wrestler and Arrick had no doubt of the outcome. The first couple of times Sly Dee was bitten, the zombie teeth weren't able to get through his heavy clothing. Still, the match went on for several minutes with no sway one way or the other and Sly Dee grew tired and the zombies did not. When the first one found his face, it overcompensated. The teeth barely nicked his cheek, but blood had been drawn. After that it was only a matter of time. Sly Dee knew he was dead and the crowd could read the fear on his face. All across the stadium, a wave of silence swept through in respect for the fallen warrior. Sly Dee went down shortly after that.

  The Latin Shark managed to kill all three of his zombies but realized that he'd been bitten when it was all over. He'd get to fight again the following week. On the other side.

  William the Third was next up and fought four zombies. He fought well and with confidence. He made a few mistakes, but none of them fatal. In a lot of ways, he fought like Red Rover. He separated the zombies, threw them off balance, and took them out one at a time whenever he had the opportunity to do so.

  After that, it was just Arrick and Jeremiah.

  While the crowd cheered for William the Third, Jeremiah looked to his right where Arrick stood and scowled. Arrick caught the expression out of the corner of his eye and turned to look the question that was in his mind.

  "You had to show me up," Jeremiah said. "Now they'll take me first."

  Arrick was confused, but said nothing. Jeremiah was right. They took him first. Lining up six zombies in the ring, the keepers removed the balls from their mouths and climbed out. Jeremiah eyed his opponents as their bonds were cut and they shambled forward. The expression on his face never changed. He showed no trepidation. When they came close enough, he danced away. Their formation was broken then, some slower to recover than others. He continued to do this, just get out of their way until they were so broken up that he wouldn't have to take on more than two at a time from any position in the ring.

  And still he did not attack.

  Arrick watched him with interest. His tactics were so unlike those of the other fighters. Though he was clearly a match for them, he made no effort to win the match. Perhaps he was playing to the crowd. Every time he passed up another opportunity to strike, they cried out their frustration as if one great bellowing animal. Once, as he passed an older woman with curlers in her hair, he paused in his evasion, reaching out with one hand and brushing her face with his fingertips. It was a move so gentle and so frightening that the onlookers, very much expecting this to be his offensive at last, were hushed by the contrast of it.

  After several minutes of this, the keepers around the ring were beginning to shout instructions. They were warning him to fight. He gave them their proper due and nodded, stopping dead center of the ring. Then he ran for the far side and mounted the cage, climbing gracefully to the top. This sent the keepers into a panic. They all rushed to that side of the ring, some with their hands in their sweatshirts as if reaching for something. But Jeremiah was not trying to escape. He threw one leg over the top, well out of reach of the clawing flesh eaters below, and waited for the crowd to hush.

  And hush they did.

  "My friends," he called out to them, a mass of ugly faces whose only concern was the numbers on their betting tickets. His voice was strong and carried well in the wide open space. Any trace of an accent disappeared as he said the following. "You follow the very worst of yourselves to this place. To come here and watch people torn apart is a sin for which there may be no redemption. The people beneath me are not my enemies. They are the infirmed and you treat them as if they are lower than animals. You cheer when they lose and you cheer when they win. You are here for blood and your shame will follow you to hell. Repent now and work to help save these poor creatures. They are your brothers and sisters. They are your mothers and fathers. They are your sons and your daughters. Help them or they are your future."

  And before there could be any reaction to his words, he punctuated them with action. Bringing his leg back into the ring, he toppled onto the waiting zombies. All of them, six zombies and one man, toppled to the matt as one. It took a moment for the zombies to recover and when they did, they tore into Jeremiah with fervor. He didn't struggle and he didn't scream, although he must have been in agony. Arrick watched in horror, torn between his revulsion and the mounting moral dilemma presented by the choices he was making. The crowd continued to watch him in silence. For long minutes, the only sound in the whole arena was the sound of the undead having their feast. When they were done, there wasn't enough left of Jeremiah to animate.

  For several moments there was nothing but silence. Then this rumbling started throughout the crowd and erupted into tremendous roar. The audience had recovered. A lot of people had made a lot of money on Jeremiah's defeat.

  While they cleaned up the mess left behind and began prepping the ring for the next match, Arrick watched dumbfounded. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, nor what he was witnessing. This man, this poor disturbed man, had just thrown his life away. To make his point, he had trained to get into the ring with zombies, danced around them enough to make sure that they couldn't lay a finger on him. He had shown that to the crowd with no doubt and then said his piece. Without even knowing that his words would be meaningless, he threw himself to them and fed the chain. And the crowd just didn't care. It was just part of the show to them. Arrick didn't know whether they were the animals they appeared to be or this was just something that had ingratiated itself into society and become as normal as the plague itself.

  As he was pondering these things, he barely noticed the keepers loading ten zombies into the ring. The crowd started to chant wildly, clearly convinced that they were about to watch the event of the century. But no. They wouldn't. Not now. He turned and began to walk toward the corridor. One of the young men working the arena intercepted him, putting a hand on his chest.

  "You're up in a minute."

  Arrick looked down at the hand. "I can’t fight. Not after that. I won't do it."

  The young man laughed. "Yeah, right. Look, buddy, all of the bets are in and we just loaded up ten zombies. Personally, I think running is the smartest thing you ever tried to do, but you're gonna fight."

  Two others were standing in the background, just watching. He knew that he couldn't get away. To him, the men were far more dangerous than the animals they kept. But something inside of him drove its way out. It was a confidence or an aggression that usually remained bottled up. He grabbed hold of the hand on his chest and twisted it away. Its owner was unhurt but surprised.

  "If you want me to go into that ring, then I will," Arrick said. "But I won't fight."

  The man shrugged. "Did you see what happened to the last guy? The crowd loved it."

  Arrick went up to the cage door. There was still one keeper on his way out and Arrick pushed past him. As soon as he was in the ring, he could smell the scent of the zombies, ten of them all assaulting his senses. Without looking back, he marched right up to them and stood before them. They were still bound to the fence links but didn't even react to his presence.

  "You might want to back off," someone called out.

  "Just c
ut them free," Arrick shouted back and closed his eyes.

  A moment passed. He heard the snip of the cutters and felt the movement of the zombies as they brushed past him. Their odor, all the same but still a bit distinct for each of them, swirled around him like smoke. He took it in and felt their confusion. They didn't know which way to move. Then they were clear of him, or he of them. The crowd went quiet, just a faint murmur undulating through its ranks. Arrick opened his eyes and saw what they saw. The zombies had moved to the outer edges of the ring. With nothing to attract them inside, they were pushing for the nearest meat. That was the keepers and the front row of spectators. They pressed themselves up against the links, clawing with dead hands at the metal. Their moans reached a phonic plateau, ten dead voices resonating through the open theatre.