by Platt, Sean
They saw him battle.
The saw him nearly surrender.
They saw him finally triumph.
Some of the men in City 7 would love Jonah. Most would hate him. Some would want him dead. Perhaps City 6 winners would be so pleased with their new lives, far better than their old lives, that they’d be thankful for his part in their destiny.
He could hope, anyway.
He would need to make friends, though. Because he had big plans. Plans to expose City corruption, and perhaps bring City 7’s freedom to all the Cities.
The van finally stopped and Jonah smiled, now just scant seconds away from laying eyes on a new life he never thought he’d see. The door opened, and Jonah stepped from the van, spinning in a circle, confused.
He expected to see the rising spires of City 7, like he’d seen at the beginning and end of every Darwin Games broadcast since he was a boy. Yet there were no rising spires or wide asphalt streets dipping like gleaming black knolls from the near horizon to the ocean vista.
Instead, they were in the middle of nothing but woods, just as they’d been since leaving The Wall of City 6. A small shack, maybe an outhouse, lay about a hundred feet away — the only thing in sight not made by nature.
“Where are we?” Jonah turned to the first driver.
Before the first driver could answer, the second pulled the trigger on his dart gun. Jonah dropped to the dirt, his eyes already woozy.
“Welcome to City 7,” the second driver said.
Jonah woke with a start, lying on the cold floor of an empty-feeling room, draped in darkness. His heart pounded as he braced for impact of anything or anyone, living or undead.
He rose from the floor, woozy and head spinning, then realized from his movement’s echo and his foot brushing the base of a wall in front of him as his hand hit the side wall, he was in a narrow, confined space. Jonah’s mind was surfacing from its bog surprisingly fast, considering he’d been shot with a coma dart, as the drugged darts regularly used by both Watchers and Darwin Games producers were not-so-affectionately called. He flashed back to the last thing he’d seen as he was passing out — the small wooden building.
He wondered why he’d been brought out to the middle of nowhere instead of City 7. One of the men had said, “Welcome to City 7.” Jonah wondered if that was the driver’s way of saying that City 7 was all a lie. The hopeful part of him, the part that had been clinging to the beautiful paradise on TV since the second he was sent outside The Wall, refused to even consider that City 7 was anything but reality, though.
It has to be real.
This has to be some other part of the show or something.
Or maybe they just couldn’t let ME into City 7. Maybe they knew what I was planning for when I got there.
But that didn’t make sense. If they knew his plans, they would have simply killed him. They’d shot him with a coma dart instead, then put him in a relatively safe place out of the elements. Why take the time? Why make the effort? They could’ve simply shot him dead or just left him on the ground where zombies would’ve eventually found him and finished him for good.
If they didn’t kill him, then they didn’t want him dead. Yet, they didn’t bring him to City 7.
Why?
Because it’s a lie, you idiot. You, and everyone else, have been duped.
He thought back on all the countless hours of City 7 footage he’d seen throughout the years. The shots of Kirkman standing in front of the sprawling beaches, the montages of people having fun, splashing in the water, relaxing on the beach, or strolling along the city’s clean streets in its shopping district with their seemingly endless credits.
They couldn’t have faked it all, could they?
Jonah was certain that he had seen them show past winners arriving at City 7. Not often, but at least a few times. The show had always explained that there was an adjustment period before new denizens were allowed to mingle in the city, which ensured the peace. Jonah wondered if this was some part of his “adjustment period.”
His head swam as he silently turned around in the shack’s thick curtain of black. He kneeled to the floor then swept his hand along the ground. It was cold and hard, a bit of debris — dirt, twigs, and small rocks — moved beneath his fingers.
He was cold, hungry, and confused.
Jonah leaned forward, carefully positioning himself on his knees as he reached out into the darkness, feeling the wall in front of him as his hands searched for the door.
His right hand slid across the cold metal of a doorknob, and he twisted it slowly. He pushed at first, then realized that the door opened inward. He pulled it open.
The door creaked much louder than he’d wanted, spilling dim moonlight into the wooden structure. As his eyes slowly adjusted to light, he made out the snow-covered clearing where he’d been dropped off, and beyond that, a wide thickness of trees lining every side of the forest.
He listened, trying to discern anything above the sounds of the haunting wind and occasional animal noises that he’d grown used to during the course of The Darwin Games. He heard nothing unusual, so he slowly opened the door the rest of the way, then turned back, casting his eyes around the small structure’s interior in hopes of finding food, supplies, or weapons.
There was nothing.
Shit.
He stepped out of the building and looked around. A cool breeze bit into his skin, and he wished he’d been wearing something more than the gray coveralls and boots the network had given him.
He wasn’t just hungry, he was thirsty. When Jonah was declared the winner, he was given a bit to drink, but it was barely a swallow, and there wasn’t so much as a morsel of food. That already seemed like a lifetime ago. He couldn’t remember the last thing he’d had in his stomach — probably a handful of the wild juniper berries he’d had two days before, which had seemed a million times sweeter than the sweetest of treats he’d had within The Walls.
He had to find something soon.
Jonah scanned the snow for tracks, but fresh snowfall had smoothed the forest floor.
Shit. Shit.
He reached down and scooped some fresh snow into his hands, brought it to his lips, and swallowed, savoring the moisture. He took one more scoop, then stopped when he heard a branch snap in the distance. He waited for a second snap, but none came.
The woods were pitch black on every side, like a wall of darkness as impenetrable as the walls of City 6.
Going into the woods at night was stupid even when armed. Crossing the line of trees and stepping into the blackness with nothing in your palms was begging to die and getting your wish. He looked back at the wooden building, figuring he should go back and wait until morning. The shack offered little protection from the cold, but it would at least get him free of the wind and snow and keep him hidden from any hungry zombies who might catch his scent in the outside air.
Jonah turned and was starting to walk back to the ramshackle shelter when a sudden ear-piercing shriek split the night.
He spun around and saw the zombie — a tall, lanky creature — at the edge of the woods. Its white eyes practically glowed against the darkness as it broke into a run.
Jonah raced toward the shack, nearly tripping on his third step, then reached it and pushed himself through the threshold, slamming the door shut behind him. He fumbled along the knob searching for a lock.
Nothing. Shit!
Since the door opened inward, he’d have to push himself against it and hope that he could brace the door against the weight of a zombie assault.
Shit!
The zombie shrieked again, its footfalls growing louder and faster as it neared.
Jonah’s heart pounded so loud and with an insanity of speed that it threatened to drown the sounds of the approaching monstrosity. A short moment later, the zombie’s bulk slammed against the other side of the door with a thud, shaking the door in its frame. Jonah leaned hard against the wood as the zombie screamed and shrieked from the other side, t
he horrible scrape of its scratchy voice reaching deep inside Jonah and twisting his gut into panic.
The doorknob began to rattle violently as Jonah squeezed it tightly in place. He wondered if the zombie was trying to turn the knob or simply pushing against it on repeat, as a phantom memory told it what to do.
The door shook harder with another thump. The sound of wood cracking in the darkness fueled the fear flooding Jonah’s body and coursing through his veins. There was no way the door would hold much longer. He racked his mind for a solution. He had no weapons and was trapped in a box, while a zombie gnashed at the door, waiting on the other side to eat him.
Suddenly the door stopped moving, and things grew quiet.
Jonah swallowed hard, wondering what the hell the zombie was doing. He dared to hope it had grown impatient and had simply wandered off in surrender. That seemed unlikely given that on his third morning in The Games, he’d woken to find four zombies waiting under the tree he was sleeping in. They waited nearly six hours for him, not leaving until they were distracted by one of the mutated animals, something that resembled a moose but was far larger and uglier, that wandered The Barrens.
Jonah wondered if something had also distracted the zombie outside the shack.
Jonah waited, ear pressed against the door, listening for the sound of the monster’s retreating footsteps, but heard nothing above the howling wind beating hard against the decrepit structure. He pressed his ear closer to the door, straining to hear anything useful.
Then he heard it, just barely, but it was there, in the distance.
No. No. No.
Whatever warmth left in Jonah’s body bled out the instant he recognized the moaning of the undead. Not just the one zombie outside his door, but who-knew-how-many. The groans were accompanied by an even worse sound — the sound of zombies running across the clearing, so many it sounded like a herd of horses in full gallop.
Jonah wanted to open the door, just a crack, to see how many there were — there had to be at least a dozen — but he couldn’t chance it. They were closing in around him, just moments away from reaching the shed.
He braced the doorknob tight in his hands, pushing his foot tight against the door, shaking as he heard them drawing closer, surrounding him. Something hit hard against the wall of the shack.
Fuck.
This is it.
This is it.
There’s no way I’m gettin’ outta this.
Another zombie smashed against the shack, much harder than the first time, as if driven by anger now. And then another. Suddenly, the thumping was coming four and five hits at a time, from all sides, and the shrieks and screams began to swell in an unholy cacophony.
Jonah thought again of Ana, Adam, and…
Molly, his beloved wife.
He saw her dead eyes looking up at him.
Anger coursed through him again. Anger at the bastards who had set him up. Anger at the bastards who had made his daughter testify against him. Anger at the bastards who had destroyed his family.
Jonah flashed back to both of his children as babies, as wide-eyed, trusting children looking to their daddy with nothing but faith and love in their eyes. The world had been so simple back then.
And now…
More screams.
More splintering wood, followed by a deafening cracking.
Oh God.
One of the monster’s hands suddenly shot through the wall beside the door, reaching in and blindly grasping at nothing, barely visible in the moonlight just inches from Jonah’s waist.
The entire shack started shaking around him, and it seemed just moments before the entire structure would collapse under the mounting pressure. The wails and screams grew louder as if sensing the proximity of their next meal.
Again Jonah thought of his children.
“I’m so sorry,” he cried as the hand kept swiping, slapping the inside of the wall and inching closer.
Another sound, this one impossible, rose above the monstrous wailing.
Gunshots!
Jonah turned his head sideways, trying to be certain he heard what he thought.
Another gunshot followed, confirming the inconceivable sound of the cavalry, followed by a scream and the sound of a body hitting the ground.
Someone’s come to save me!
Jonah listened as more gunshots screamed into the night, sounding like semi-automatic rifles, old weapons long out of use within The Walls. The arm reaching into the shack slipped back beneath the weight of a fresh round of fire as Jonah deeply exhaled. Tears streamed down his face as his rescuers continued their assault.
I’m saved!
I’m alive!
As the last of the gunfire settled, and the only remaining sound was the footsteps of his saviors and the final dying cries of the creatures outside, Jonah’s heart raced, wondering who had saved him.
Watchers?
The network?
The Underground?
Who?
“Come out!” a voice said, sounding like a young woman with either an unrecognizable accent or some sort of speech impediment. “Slow. No weapons!”
“I don’t have any weapons,” Jonah said, slowly opening the door and stepping out into the blinding light from two light sticks.
He shielded his eyes, stopping just inches outside the door, and said, “Thank you. You saved my life!”
His saviors said nothing.
When they moved the lights from his face, he lowered his hands and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, to see who saved him. It wasn’t Watchers, The Underground, or the network.
Jonah was staring at three children — two boys and one girl, none of them older than 10 — standing a foot in front of him holding old assault rifles. Their faces were filthy, and their clothes thick with caked mud and dirt. They looked like some of the kids he’d seen in the Dark Quarter, kids lost in the system, kids who became part of the drug, sex, slave, or body parts black market.
“You’re kids,” he said, unable to bury his shock.
“No talk, Watcher,” one of the boys yelled, jabbing the gun toward Jonah, anger turning his face into a vicious mask.
“Walk!” said the girl, her voice the one with the accent, not an impediment, as she glared at him with steely blue eyes.
“What?” Jonah said, confused.
“You’re our prisoner, Watcher. Now walk!” one of the boys said, shoving the rifle hard into Jonah’s lower back, nearly knocking him down.
Jonah stumbled forward and considered spinning around, grabbing the gun from the little bastard, and shoving it in his face. But the other two kids were looking at him with the icy, calculated intensity of seasoned soldiers. He had no idea who the kids were, or why they had saved him. But as he looked around at the tiny mountain of bloody undead lying still forever, the only thing Jonah knew for certain was that underestimating the kids would lead to a bullet in his skull.
“She said walk!” the kid behind him repeated, louder, and with a sharper jab of his rifle.
Jonah met the girl’s gaze and saw nothing but hate in her eyes.
CHAPTER 9 — Anastasia Lovecraft
Before they were loaded into the van for their final journey, the four contestants were forced to stand on stage for the Farewell Ceremony, as their names and crimes were read out loud. Ana was found guilty of being a traitor to the State and part of The Underground.
Ana was surprised that there were three other contestants, since were usually only two from each City. Also surprising was that the others were also female, which she was fairly certain was a Darwin Games first.
This must be a Special Edition Game. I wonder if the entire Game will be girls.
Each person’s name was read, immediately followed by boos.
Ana spent the entirety of the ceremony scanning the crowd for either Michael or Adam. A line of City Watchers and robot sentries posted along black wooden barricades held the crowd back. Just as she was wondering if Michael had kept Adam aw
ay from the ceremony, she spotted them — standing in front of one of the barricades, about 100 yards away. They must’ve gotten up early to secure a spot so close to the front.
Her eyes met Adam’s, and she swallowed her rising tide of tears. She had to appear stronger than she felt. While she’d wanted to see Adam, if only to know he was OK and that The Watchers hadn’t grabbed him up, she wished he didn’t have to see her going off to her certain death.
He’d lost so much and managed to hang on. But to lose his sister might be the final straw to break him.
No, don’t think about it. Be strong.
Michael stood tall behind Adam, his eyes meeting Ana’s. She couldn’t tell for certain, but it looked like he was trying to keep his emotions in check as well.
Adam waved.
Ana swallowed, then waved in return.
“Ana!” Adam screamed, lurching forward.
A Watcher moved toward him, stick raised.
Ana screamed out, “No!”
Everyone on stage looked at Ana, then followed her gaze down to her brother, who was about to incur the wrath of The Watchers.
Fortunately, Michael was fast on his feet and grabbed Adam, yanking him back before her brother was beaten. Adam tried to break free from Michael’s grasp, but Michael held tight, apologizing to The Watcher repeatedly and begging the officer to have mercy.
“His sister is up there, please, please,” Michael yelled above the growing noise of the crowd to the two closest Watchers.
Ana called out, “Go home, Adam! Go home!”
Michael pulled Adam into the crowd, vanishing from sight. The last thing she saw before she was ushered away and into the waiting van was two Watchers following Michael and Adam into the crowd. She screamed, trying to draw as much attention as she could toward her and away from her brother, to allow Michael time to get Adam away before things got ugly.
Someone screamed in the crowd, and suddenly more Watchers moved forward, sticks swinging.
The van door slammed shut as the sound of the crowd got ugly.
She looked at the other girls, staring at her as if she’d incited a riot. She wasn’t sure what to do, or say, so she sat back against the rear wall and looked down at the floor, hoping Michael was able to get Adam away in time.
