Keller had made his way over to the announcer’s box, and he held the microphone somewhat awkwardly, as if he’d never seen one before. The crowd immediately grew hushed; save a few whisper of “that’s him!” and “he’s so young,” all had fallen largely silent.
Holy hell, even the people didn’t know Keller? How had that worked out? Everyone seemed to know Durkee.
Did Keller simply sequester himself away from the regular folks?
“Hello, my friends,” Keller said. His voice sounded thin on the mic. He must have noticed it; he dropped his tone, somehow succeeding in sounding older and larger than he was. “We’re here today…I am deeply honored to welcome you to the first of our…Deep Cleanses”
I frowned. “Sounds like he’s going to give us colonics.”
“Vibeke, shut up.”
I stopped talking, but I was pretty sure Renati could still hear me grinding my teeth.
“…I won’t linger here too long. It is my hope that you all enjoy yourselves, and perhaps consider enlisting. We always need more assistance against those who would tear this city to pieces.”
Where was Logan? Maybe he could start shooting early and spare us all a tirade.
Even from a distance, I could see a grin stretching across Keller’s face. “Let the games begin!”
At least he hadn’t said let the bloodbath begin, which was really more fitting, considering the circumstances.
The crowd cheered, as was their duty.
The door to the visiting team’s dugout opened, and the first of the day’s great events kicked off.
A pack of zombies came lurching out.
Oh, goodie. Getting right to juicy stuff, so to speak.
They weren’t the intelligent ones I’d been dreading since hearing Durkee’s sob story. No, these were your everyday shamblers, plucked from the streets and thrown into combat. They moved around sluggishly, confused by the shouts and screams in the stands and pawing uselessly at the far-off faces they so desperately wanted to devour.
They stumbled about, all of them traipsing off in different directions, each of them fixated on something.
If this was the main event, the thousands of attendees were in for a snooze. These zombies probably weren’t going to start fighting each other.
Then I spotted motion from the home team’s dugout.
Oh. Oh. Keller was throwing a good show after all. Four human fighters came out. I leaned forward, but none of them looked familiar. It made sense; Keller would save up the important special guests for later on.
For scarier zombies.
Most of the ghouls, pleased to spot a potential snack, converged on the humans. The lone exception was a man clad in a blood-splattered blue sweater, who meandered over to a portion of the stands located somewhat lower than the rest. The VIP section, I supposed. I don’t know whether he thought he could actually get at anyone there, or if they just looked that much tastier, but he flailed about, stretching over the railing. A group of high school-aged kids and a couple soldiers leaned out of the way, but didn’t scramble up to the next row of seats or anything. It wasn’t like the revenant could actually climb to them.
Meanwhile, the humans in the arena started the age-old Avoid the Zombie Dance, and I realized something must have gone terribly wrong already.
I grabbed Renati’s arm. “Why don’t they have weapons?”
Renati shook his head.
What the fuck? Even if the zombie apocalypse started while you were snug in bed, you still had something to fight with. A clock radio. A cell phone. A pillow. Something you could use as a weapon or a shield.
Not these guys. They just had fists, speed, and their wits.
That last element was obviously severely lacking, because a girl got chomped almost immediately.
She had punched a ghoul, then stood still looking pleased with herself just long enough for another to march up behind her and sample the goods. Her scream briefly silenced the cheers reverberating through the stadium—yeah, assholes, watching someone die really does suck—then seemed to galvanize the rest of the human fighters. They stepped it up, checking around themselves, calling out to one another. Two even stood back to back, just inviting the ghouls to come toward them.
I stood up, only to be yanked back down by Renati. “We can’t help her,” he said. He was barely even watching the fight—instead, he stared at the lone ghoul still trying to get at the teenagers. One of them had come forward, and was sticking a sneakered foot in and out of the revenant’s reach.
“Madness,” Renati mumbled, though I wasn’t sure which part of the current fuckery he was referring to.
The zombies got someone else. The crowd booed as he went down, his yells turning into gurgles.
My stomach gurgled in return. How the fuck was I supposed to stand here and do nothing while people were being brutally murdered for sport?
Renati, perhaps sensing my horror, clamped his hand down on mine. “It’s all right,” he said.
It was not all right. It would never be all right again.
The dead clumped around the two remaining combatants.
“Where the fuck is Logan?” I demanded. “This is—I can’t sit here and watch this—”