Tony stopped struggling with the soldiers and took a few practice swats with his sword. Then he sucked in some air and squared his shoulders, as if prepping himself for some sort of performance. He did his best to storm out to the center of the stadium, though his bad leg kept him from looking overly impressive. “Hey, Keller!” he sang out. “We who are about to die say fuck you!”
Renati chuckled. I could have strangled him.
Dax hung back, holding the axe loosely in his right hand.
“He doesn’t belong out there,” I said. “He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”
“Men do remarkable things under duress,” Renati said. “He might surprise you.”
“They’re making him fight a zombie with an axe.”
“Every Hector has his Achilles. He will learn to be valiant.”
Oh, marvelous. Renati had drifted off into The Iliad, leaving me to watch this nightmare unfold on my own.
Tony saw the dead shambling toward them. He jabbed and sliced at the air with the sword, trying to practice with it in earnest. Maybe this was yet another unknown skill he’d possessed—maybe he fenced in secret after work…
He sliced downward, and the sword flew right out of his hand, landing in the dirt a few feet away.
“He’s fucked,” I said amid the hoots of the crowd.
Tony scooped the sword back up and waved it around a few more times. Then, as if deciding he might as well go out with a bang, he took off toward the ghouls.
Toward the armed ghouls.
I covered my eyes, then immediately peeked through my fingers.
They came at him slowly—not fast-movers, these—but when they lifted their arms to grab at him, their sharpened blades went up as well. He swiped at one on the outside, and it did nothing to block the blow.
Okay. All he had to do was stay away from the flashing blades. Easy enough. These guys weren’t moving fast.
He jammed the sword into its face, and it went over like a proper zombie.
I lowered my hands lightly, but still took in the show mostly through my fingers.
Tony dodged between the ghouls, aiming for the head, like he would with a gun or a club. They went down fast, not even flailing. The last one to come out did sort of shake its blade at him, but it lost its hands and then its face in short order.
Tony stood in the center of the dismembered body parts.
Renati glanced at me. “You were saying?”
Dax still hovered in front of the dugout. Maybe he hoped everyone had forgotten about him.
Tony scanned the crowd until he spotted Keller, and then jabbed his sword in the captain’s direction. “That all you got, asshole?”
“Oh, stop,” I mumbled. “Stop while you’re ahead, you crazy son of a bitch.”
“In the days of Rome, a good performance from a gladiator could earn him clemency from an emperor,” Renati said.
“Yes, I saw Gladiator, too.”
“At least He’s trying.”
Trying to get himself killed.
The announcer let out a chortle that crackled out of the speakers. “Quite a beautiful performance you put up, sir,” he said. “Are you ready to face better fighters?”
Tony scowled up at the crowd. “I’m ready to face your mom,” be barked.
I hid my face in my hands again.
The door inside the visiting team’s dugout opened again.
The revenants that poured out also had swords tied or chained to their hands, but they didn’t walk. They ran.
“Shit,” Renati said.
Tony got his sword up, then was nearly rammed by one of the racing ghouls. The other sprinted past him, heading straight for Dax.
“Fuck.” Oh, now Renati decided to be concerned.
Dax swung the axe clumsily at the ghoul. It tumbled toward him, lifted up the blade in its hands, and took a genuine swat at him. He shoved the axe out and successfully blocked the blow, but the strike must have been powerful; he staggered beneath it.
I stood up. Renati tried to haul me back down again, but I shook him off, my heart racing too fast for me to even contemplate holding still.
Dax got his axe out from under the sword and swung it at the zombie.
The ghoul fucking dodged and lifted its arms up and to the side like it was about to hit a home run in a ballgame. I swear to God the thing must have had muscle memory of some sort at work.
I looked up into the stands again, searching for a familiar face, or at least the telltale sign of a gun’s muzzle.
But nothing.
Dax screamed. My gaze flew back down to the makeshift arena.
He pushed the ghoul off him, but red ran freely down the front of his shirt. He held the axe awkwardly in one hand, reaching up with the other to touch the weeping spot on his shoulder.
“He’s bitten,” I said. “Renati—”
“I see it.”
Tony saw it, too, and shoved his blade down the throat of his own opponent. He made his way to Dax and the other zombie.
“A bite!” the announcer crowed. “It’s a bite! What do we do when someone gets bitten?”
The eerie foot-stomping I’d heard each time I visited the stadium began. But this time it accompanied a chant: “Feed the dead! Feed the dead!”
Oh, what the hell was this now?
“Feed the dead to who?” I asked.
Tony swung his sword at the ghoul and sent its head flying up into the stands. A few people cheered, but the rest continued to shout.
“Feed the dead!” Even the announcer joined in. “Feed the dead!”