Fake Michael started to scream as his body went absolutely rigid, his pale face going blank. His eyes remained wide open but unseeing as the life bled out of him. The noise ended in a gurgle, then was silent. His hand with the missing finger fell limply from the bars.
“Hurry up! Get that neck harness on him before he comes back,” one of the troopers barked. The harness had a metal loop in it. They would later use it to move him from the cell to the dreaded Arena.
Fake Michael slumped to the ground as the guards backed up. Kyle and I were speechless. Mr. Muscle slowly lay back down on his metal bed.
Gordon looked over at Chauffer with a smile, and then back at us.
“See you tonight,” he spoke cheerfully, clasping his hands together and then headed out of the cellblock with Chauffer in tow.
Kyle and I looked at each other with a, “we got to get the fuck out of here,” sort of expression.
It wasn’t long before Fake Michael started twitching on the ground. He crawled to his feet, his eyes red beneath the helmet. Crazed and in full war gear, he began wildly running around in his cell. He bounced off of the walls, tried to reach through the bars at Kyle and I. Each time he opened his mouth, the razor teeth opened as well, as a deadly extension of his bite.
I dropped to the metal bench in my cell with a thud, my head buried in between my shaking knees, trying to tell myself that there was nothing we could have done. Michael may have gotten us into this mess. He may have lied to us, maybe even lied to himself, but nobody deserved that fate. Not even Michael’s actions merited being turned into a raging creature solely for the sport. In the end, I really believed he was trying to help us and not just himself. Now he was just another of the dead.
A violent roar erupted from the cell across from me, pulling me from my thoughts. Jerking up my head, I looked from Mr. Muscle to Kyle. We all knew we’d be fighting this thing tonight.
Chapter 23
Our darkest hours were in those first weeks, and we were about to be in the spotlight.
Call it weird, call it insane, call it whatever you want, but it’s true. This group of Elitists went from prominent businessmen, trust fund babies, and top leaders, to a savage group of narcissists in just a matter of days. The world fell apart; rules went to the wayside and from the ashes, arose the worst in mankind, that morbid, primal need for blood. Our darkest hours were in those first weeks, and we were about to be in the spotlight.
Sitting there in the cell, listening to Zombie Michael bounce off the walls across from me, my mind drifted to Jenn. I was absently twirling my wedding ring around my finger. It had been half a week since I heard her voice on the phone. Jenn was my rock, my center, and without her, the world felt undeniably out of control.
I thought to the communication room that we had passed a few times. I had to find a way to make it to that room. If any landlines were still operating, surely I’d be able to get in touch with her at the number she gave me.
We had to survive the Arena. There was nothing I wouldn’t do. Nothing.
There was a guard posted outside of the cellblock, lazily sitting on a plastic fold-up chair, which stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the furniture in the place. From time to time, someone would walk by, and he’d perk up, like he was busy guarding the dangerous criminals.
At one point, we listened as a friend of his, whom we could not see, walked up and started a conversation.
“How’s this batch?” the friend asked.
With a slight British accent, the guard replied, “We have a couple of bulldogs in here. Remember that giant Mexican who got taken down the other night? Well, his mate is in here. You know the one that knocked through the fence?”
“Ohhh sweet!” Friend said. “That’s going to be a good one!”
“The other two look pretty hard, too. They’re not quite as big as the Mexican, but they’ve been through some shit. That isn’t the best part though. Gordon has something special in store. I can’t let you see it, but rest assured that tonight’s battle is going to be one that is for the books.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. I already heard about the Death Armor. Gordon had three of those suits made.”
“Really?” The guard sounded impressed.
“Yeah, there’s going to be three of those fast suckers with razor teeth in the arena tonight. It’s going to be wicked awesome!”
“Okay, since you know so much, how many gladiators do we have?” He sounded a little dispirited, as if his friend stole his thunder.
“Well, by my count, we have an even ten. I think they are going to break it up into two battles. Word around the campfire is that they are going to do a regular fight, with the old zombies first, and then follow it up with the main event. I’m hearing that your cellblock is set for the second bout. Evidently Gordon and Chauffer have a special interest in these guys.”
Lowering his voice, thinking we couldn’t hear him, the guard replied, “Yeah, you should have seen them in here chatting it up with these lads. Let’s just say that I’m glad I’m not in their shoes. Don’t think he’s going to be advancing them to the next round… if you know what I’m saying.”
“I hear you, brother. I hear you.” Friend chuckled. From the cell, it looked like the guard stood up, and gave his friend a fist bump.
“See you tonight, bro. Don’t lose those prisoners! We all want to see that battle!”
“They’ll be there!” our guard reassured him.
He sat back down, poked his head inside the door to peer at Kyle.
“What are you looking at, princess?” the guard asked sharply.
Kyle took his time, looking at the Guard from head to toe then replied coolly,
“Nobody.” As if to imply that the Guard was certainly nothing special.
He stood up like he was going to enter, but then stopped. “You’re not worth it, princess. You’ll get yours tonight.”
Kyle didn’t break eye contact, and didn’t say another word. The guard didn’t advance. Instead, he went back to resting his ass on the plastic chair in the hallway.
I went over to the bars separating my cell from Kyle’s, and motioned for him and Mr. Muscle to move as close to me as possible. It was a little more difficult for the circus performer being that he was on the far side of Kyle’s cell. In a whisper, I stated that we needed a plan of attack.
“Any ideas?” I asked.
Kyle shot a quick look at Mr. Muscle, and then back at me.
“Well, I was thinking back to the gas station. We were outnumbered, but managed to keep the things back with good offensive and defensive tactics.” He turned his head toward Mr. Muscle, “Are there any weapons in the arena, or are they expecting us to use our fists?”
“It’s been a little different each battle, man. They always have some sort of weapons. It looks to me like they raided a museum or something. The Arena has had maces, spears, clubs and some other crazy stuff that I can’t even identify.”
“What’s been different?” I asked curiously.
“That’s the thing,” he shrugged. “Sometimes the shit is easy to grab, like sitting on the ground. Other times, it’s been propped up high on the walls so it’s hard to get to… you know, like needing two guys to work together to get at it.”