3 | We Who Survive the Apocalypse | ✅

Chapter 17 - Arena

I freeze, my heart racing in my ears, nearly blocking out the sound of one of the men laughing.

"Well this was easy," the shorter of the two says, lowering his flashlight.

"Radio the others, tell them we found three out of six," the other guy, who certainly has a rougher appearance, tells him. He leans against the wall, his flashlight lowered, and I see the disturbing grin upon his face.

"So, where did your other friends get off to?" He asks, his voice dripping with malice. He's standing too close to me, I can feel his breath near my face. I inch backward toward Doyle.

"Hey, hey, where're you goin'?" His hand grips my arm, too tightly, and a whimper breaks my chapped lips despite my best attempts to not show my fear.

"Don't touch her." Doyle's voice is low and angry. I feel him against my back, his breath against my neck as he speaks.

"I can do whatever I want with her," the disgusting man says, jerking me forward and I stumble against him, gasping and trying to push him away. But he's too strong, flipping me around to face Doyle, his other arm slipping around my neck.

His mouth is right near my ear, I feel him smile, hear his chuckle. "I think I'm gonna have a lot of fun with this one."

I can barely draw a breath. Doyle's face changes. It's subtle, but I can tell. His muscles tighten in his cheeks, his jaw sets, his eyes harden as they are fixed, unblinking, on my captor.

And then it happens. In a split second, he reaches down, pulls the pocket knife from his boot and lunges forward.

The guy holding me cries out, flailing backward, releasing me. I fall to my knees, collapsing against the building's wall, watching as Doyle doesn't let up on him.

Doyle's body blocks the creep's, but I hear the knife stabbing into him, over and over and over and over, the guy falls, blood turns the white snow red, Doyle right on top of him. The man is screaming, begging......until he isn't.

Then several guys come out of the darkness, ripping Doyle off his prey, pulling me off the ground, and subduing Seth. The largest group takes Doyle away, Seth resists their attempts to escort him elsewhere.

I'm shoved onto the wall, the wind leaving my body, and I sink onto the snow, gasping, and watch in horror as Seth is thrown to the ground and kicked by three of the four guys with us.

The fourth pulls me back up and holds me against the wall, keeping me from doing anything.

The pop-pop of gunfire sounds a short distance away, but I'm too consumed with fear and panic to fully register it.

+++++

An eternity later, I find myself sitting on a cold, hard bench in what appears to be a roughly made arena. Seth leans heavily against me, his breathing labored and his eyes barely staying open. His nose is bleeding, bruises blooming on his cheeks, his lip spilt. I can't even imagine the internal damage he has suffered.

It's freezing cold, but people are gathering in the seats around us. Two men sit on either side of me and Seth, riot sticks in their meaty hands, their gazes directed at the field in front of us.

The field is lit by large lights like the ones at football games. There are two cages at either end, each filled to bursting with zombies, their dead limbs reaching out toward the people sitting around.

And then he appears. He is unmistakable, terrifying and even more evil than the last time I saw him as he steps out to the middle of the field, a smug look upon his face. 

Gross-Beard.

He stands there for a few moments as more people file in, until his finally speaks. He has nothing to amplify his voice, but it carries over the wind, and everyone is silent as he talks in his horrible, rough voice.

I hardly register what he's saying until I hear the words "prisoner" and "punishment", and my attention focuses on him as my heart begins to race.

"Are you ready to see some action?" He shouts at the people, and a roar rises up from the crowd, feet pounding against wooden planks, causing the zombies to snarl louder and try harder to escape their prisons.

I see his mouth move, shouting something, though I don't hear what over the crowd, and he goes to sit on something that looks suspiciously like a throne, when movement from the left corner of the arena catches my eye.

Two men walk out of the shadows into the light, and they head to the cages, unlocking the doors before standing ready to open them.

And then Doyle is thrown into the arena, blood covering his clothes, his hands, his face. Through the red I see his eyes flash. And then they release the monsters.

There are two runners, and they both make a beeline for him. The crowd is a constant roar, jeering and stomping, crying out for blood.

My mind briefly travels to the things I learned about gladiators and Rome before I snap back to the present, my breath stopping in my throat as I wait to see if the monsters will consume him.

But just before the first one reaches him, a gunshot rings through the air, and its skull explodes.

+++++

Oh my god, two updates in one day?! Wow! The apocalypse is nigh! Start hoarding toilet paper NOW!

Also, if I wrote a rant book, would you read it? Yeah, like I need to take on another project, I can barely keep up with this one. But anyway....