Dax gaped up into the stands, his mouth hanging open, blood still pouring down his shoulder.
Oh. Oh, fuck that. There was a small gate between the doctor’s row and the stadium itself. I shoved it open.
Renati seized my arm and tried to haul me back. “Vibeke! No. Wait. Give it a minute.”
“He doesn’t have a minute! They’re going to kill him!” I had no idea how. Or why. Or if it would even happen in the next few seconds. But holy fucknuts, I would not stand there and let it happen while I watched.
“Feed the dead! Feed the dead!” The stomping and shouting merged into one terrible, thunderous sound.
There was no escaping it. Or this place.
“Shall we feed them?” the announcer roared. “Shall we set loose the next group?”
The people shouted even louder: “Feed the dead! Feed the dead!”
“All right! Let them out!”
“Stop it,” I whispered.
No one heard me. No one saw me.
“Vibeke, wait—”
Renati’s hand slipped away. I plunged into the stadium before I’d properly thought out what the hell I was doing. I gathered my lung power—what I had of it, anyway—turned to the crowd, and screamed, “Stop it!”
The announcer paused. The fighters paused. The two guards standing in front of the visiting team’s dugout stayed where they were, presumably holding back the next round of undead fuckery.
Everyone looked at me.
This may not have been one of my better ideas.
But fuck it. I was here. I gestured to Dax and his bleeding wound. “What the hell is wrong with you all? You’re feeding people to zombies!”
Dax had his hand pressed to his shoulder. Blood streamed down from between his fingers, landing in a puddle in the dirt.
“Get back here,” Renati called to me. “Get back here, Vibeke, this is not part of the plan—”
I stared up in Keller’s direction. “Fuck the plan.”
Nope. I had not thought this through at all.
“Do you issue a challenge?” the announcer asked, astonishment plain in his voice. Yes, asshole, be amazed by me. I am Vibeke the Bone-Crusher! I will fuck your shit up!
I rode the mental psyching up as long as I could. “Yes, I issue a fucking challenge! I challenge you not to feed people to the dead!” I pointed at Dax. “He needs help!”
“If you issue a challenge, you may see to him.”
“Fine!”
The two soldiers standing in front of the home team dugout started for me.
What remained of the color in Renati’s face abruptly drained away. “Wait, Vibeke, you just—”
One soldier stood guard while the other grabbed my right arm and began dragging me deeper into the arena. “You want to fight?” he asked me. “We’ll let you fight. We’re equal opportunity here.”
Fight?
At that point I realized I had made a critical error.
They hauled me over to the guys, who both stared at me in horror. “What the fuck are you doing?” Tony asked. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Improvising,” I said, because that sounded better than I don’t know. Again I scanned the crowds, but there was no sign of Logan. Maybe he’d been captured. Maybe this was all some fool’s errand. Maybe we’d been Final Destinationed, and Death was finally coming to get us after we’d gotten so good at skirting him.
“Give her your weapon,” one of the soldiers said to Dax.
He was hardly in a position to refuse. He shoved the axe toward me. I picked it up one-handed and was dismayed by its weight. I added my other hand to it, trying to remember the one time in my life I had chopped wood.
“Go to the doctor.” The same soldier pushed Dax in the direction I’d come from.
Dax stumbled toward Renati, who seemed more interested in sending me panicked looks than actually helping him.
Once Dax was safely in the stands, the soldiers retreated.
“You’re stupid,” Tony said. “You’re an idiot.”
“Bite me.”
“Let the games recommence!” the announcer crowed. The door inside the visiting team’s dugout opened again, and more ghouls came staggering out. Slow ones this time. Some small mercy there.
They also had bladed weapons, and they waved them around as they began their steady shamble toward us.
I took a few practice swings with the axe. Was I supposed to use it like a sharp bat? Or just bring it down on skulls like I was splitting a log? I had never been much good at splitting logs.
Tony stared at me, his expression grim. “Why the hell did you do that?”
Why had I done it?
I lifted the axe overhead and then slammed it into the dirt. My arms rattled as it struck. “I was trying to help.”
He looked around at the zombies, the armed guards, the people in the bleachers screaming for our blood. “Nice work.”
Dammit, Logan, where are you?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The ghouls kept spilling out of the dugout much like ants spiraling out of a nest. Six of them. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen.
All of them shambling their way toward us.
“This seems like overkill,” I said.
“This might be it, Vibby.”
I didn’t bother correcting him.
The dead continued to come. Not slowly, but not quickly, either. They marched almost like trained soldiers.