The truth is, I never looked at it. As he was standing over me, I felt a pain brewing in my stomach. I saw my wife, my kid, my miserable existence… I snapped.
I jumped up and jammed that pen directly into Michael Hoskins’ neck. As soon as the deed was done, I dropped back. Blood squirted across the desk, across the metal briefcase, and across my face. It was shooting out of his neck with every pulse. At first, it was heavy, and then it slowed down, like a water gun running out of water. Until finally, he lay still on the floor… with a pool of the dark red mess just soaking into the carpet.
I looked into his eyes as he died. He couldn’t speak. The only audible noise was a gargle as blood bubbled up out of his neck. Standing over him, watching him die, I simply said, ‘Who’s pathetic now?’
I had killed him. I had killed Michael Hoskins. So many people before me had dreamed of this moment. I got to live it. It was payback for so many wrongdoings. So many people that he had screwed over. I killed him. I got redemption for us all.
In that moment I was liberated.
It was short-lived however.
That’s when he sat up. The Pen was still stuck in his neck. Blood was still trickling out down his shirt. He was crazed. I had no idea that he was the undead.
I started to apologize. I even told him I’d pay for the medical expenses…
As he ran towards me, like a wild creature, I side stepped and gave him a slight push, directing his head right into the wall safe.
As he entered it, I swung the door, with everything I had in me, and it smacked directly across his skull.
He fell lifelessly to the ground.
I got to kill that bastard, twice.”
Kyle and I had not said a word so far. This guy was spilling the story, and we were going to let him. I still had not connected how we were led here.
“It was easy, really. Assuming his identity, I mean. We are about the same age, same height, and same build.
He had everything set up, including greasing the army helicopter pilot to pick him up. All I had to do was play the part. After all, who would be checking my photo ID? I just had to be in the right place at the right time.
Everything I needed was in that metal briefcase. All of the tickets. All of the information on how to get here.
I met them on the roof. There was another passenger, a woman, who was along for the ride. She was meeting her husband at Avalon. She never made it… obviously.”
Kyle and I didn’t say a word. We sat for a long time in silence thinking over his story.
After a while, Kyle asked, “So what is your real name?”
Fake Michael then looked at us, focusing as if finally relieved that someone knew what had happened. He had a twisted enthusiasm in his eyes and a crooked smile on his face. “I’m nobody,” he snorted softly with a shrug. “I’m the man who killed Michael Hoskins.”
We remained imprisoned for some time. It felt like days, but was probably hours. I kept thinking about the last thing Gordon said as we were being escorted away from the round table.
“You’re going to have fun in the Arena.”
It kept ringing in my mind. What the hell was the Arena? It drew thoughts of the Roman Empire, gladiators, swords, and death.
Kyle and I were speculating when the guy in the cell next to him sat up.
He was big. Bigger than Kyle, and complete muscle. His arms, bulging against a tight shirt, led up to a set of shoulders which made his neck look more like a thick peg that his head sat on.
“We’re all going to die,” he said decisively. “The arena is Death. Accept it, and you can find peace.”
Chapter 22
So, we are going to try something new and exciting tonight.
Mr. Muscle was more talkative once he finally got going. He was solemn in his tone, and had clearly been through a lot. He had an accent that I couldn’t quite place at first, and his giant size was nothing more than a mask over the reserved man that sat before us.
Oddly enough, we learned that he was part of a two-person circus act for one of the Greatest Shows on Earth. His act was called the Amazing Mongolian Strongmen. He and his partner who were both alike in size, dress, and looks, and would get in front of thousands of people a week to demonstrate amazing strength by lifting these giant telephone size wooden poles up in the air.
The finale included lifting two of the poles in the air in the shape of a cross, each with swings on them, where four women dressed as clowns with red shirts and little skirts would sit down and be swung around in a full circle before being placed back on the ground.
Nine hundred pounds; that’s how much the full weight of the women and apparatus was. The two guys would lift nine hundred pounds and fling it around nightly.
The funniest thing was that he wasn’t even Mongolian. He was a giant light-skinned Mexican who shaved his head into a Mohawk, which was mostly grown in by now. Mr. Muscle went on to explain that he and his partner left the circus in Charlotte, where they were on tour when the shit hit the fan. They found their way to Avalon, like so many others. They were the first to put the barbed wire fence up, and practically did it on their own, according to his verbal account. They had helped to protect this place, and were promised a room for leading the efforts.
When they did not get it, his friend got caught up in a fight with one of the guards and wound up in one of the first Arena battles. Mr. Muscle had to watch from the sidelines with the rest of the audience, made up of worker bees from outside. They were allowed to sit along the outside of the arena just below the Elites, who were in throne-like chairs circling around the top of the Arena on a platform just above the chain-linked fence that had been erected around the perimeter of the battleground.
“What room?” Kyle asked.
Mr. Muscle went on to tell us that there was a giant room, like a conference hall with huge pillars. He thought that it used to be used for trade shows or something at the hotel.
“Anyway, the Elites had made a round pen in there, and the rest is history.”
“Why are you in here?” I asked.
“When I saw the three creatures finally take down and start tearing apart my friend… man, I couldn’t take it. I started to knock into the fence, eventually pushed it over, too. One of the Elites fell from above the fence, and onto the floor. I did not mean to hurt the son-of-a-bitch. The zombies ate his ass, too, though. I was eventually caught, and sentenced to the next battle. So here I sit, awaiting my death.”
He pulled a necklace from around his neck and kissed the cross on the end of it as he looked up at the ceiling and murmured, “I’ll see you soon, ese. I’ll see you soon.”
“They told us if we won three battles we would be freed. You buy that shit?” Kyle asked frankly.
“Don’t know. What I can tell you is that they just kept putting more zombies in the Arena until they kill everybody in there. They were all slow as hell too, so the gladiators just kept killing them one by one; until they just put too many in there for them to handle. Wasn’t much chance of winning if you ask me, man,” Mr. Muscle replied. Our attention was drawn to the guard in the doorway, who suddenly jumped up from his perch. He stood at full attention, staring straight ahead. Gordon entered the room with a smile on his face.
“Gentlemen, come on now,” he smirked. “There is always a chance to win. Especially for the strong,” (looking over at Mr. Muscle,) “and the brave,” (looking at Kyle and I).
“Afraid there isn’t much chance for the weak, and stupid,” he sneered at Michael. “I have to know, whoever you are, did you really think we wouldn’t have a clue that you were not Michael? You have big fucking brass balls trying to pull that one off. That is for sure. Should have checked your facts a little better though. I am going to assume that you killed Michael Hoskins. Am I correct?”