Arena One: Slaverunners (15 page)

I am marched down the corridor by the slaverunners, and as I walk down the endless, narrow halls, I begin to hear a faint rumbling. At first, it is hard to make out. But as I get closer, it begins to sound like the noise of a crowd. A cheering crowd, with shouts coming in fits.

We turn down yet another hallway, and the noise becomes more distinct. There is a huge roar, followed by a rumbling, like an earthquake. The corridor actually trembles as I walk down it. It feels like the vibration of a hundred thousand people stomping their feet.

I am pushed to the right, down yet another hallway. I resent being poked and prodded by these slaverunners, especially as I am being marched to my death, and I would like nothing more than to turn around and deck one of them. But I’m unarmed, and they are bigger and stronger, and it would be a no-win situation. Besides, I need to conserve my strength.

I am prodded one last time, and the hallway opens up. In the distance there appears a harsh light, like a floodlight, and the noise of the crowd grows inconceivably loud, like a living thing. The hallway opens into a broad and high tunnel. The light gets brighter and brighter, and for a moment I wonder if I am walking out to daylight.

But the temperature hasn’t changed and I realize I am still underground and being walked down an entrance tunnel. To the arena. I think of the time Dad took me to a baseball game, when we were heading to our seats, walking inside the stadium—when we walked down a tunnel and suddenly the stadium opened up before us. As I walk out, down the ramp, it feels like that. Except this time, I am the star of the show. I stop and stare, in awe.

Spread out before me is an enormous stadium, packed with thousands and thousands of people. In its center is a ring, shaped in an octagon; it resembles a boxing ring, except instead of ropes around its perimeter, there is a metal cage. The cage rises high in the air, about fifteen feet, completely enclosing the ring except for its open roof. It reminds me of the cage ring once used by the Ultimate Fighting Championship, but bigger. And this cage, covered in blood stains, with spikes on the inside, protruding from it every ten feet or so, clearly is not meant for sport—but for death.

There is the sound of clanging metal, and I look up and see two people fighting inside the ring, one of them just thrown against the cage. His body slams into the metal, narrowly missing a spike, and the crowd erupts into a cheer.

The smaller opponent, covered in blood, bounces off the cage and looks disoriented. The bigger one, enormous, looks like a sumo wrestler. He is Asian, and must be at least five hundred pounds. After throwing the small, wiry man, the sumo wrestler charges, grabs him with two hands and lifts him easily over his head, as if he were a doll. He walks him in slow circles, and the crowd cheers wildly.

He throws the man completely across the ring. He goes flying and smashes sideways into the cage, again narrowly missing a spike. He lands on the hard floor of the ring, not moving.

The entire crowd erupts in a roar and jumps to its feet, screaming.

“FINISH HIM!” a crowd member screams, above the din.

“KILL HIM!” screams another.

“CRUSH HIM!”

Thousands of people start screaming, stomping their boots on the metal bleachers, and the noise becomes deafening. Sumo holds out his arms, taking it all in, slowly circling, savoring the moment. The cheers grow louder.

Sumo slowly, ominously, crosses the ring, heading towards the unconscious man, who is lying face first on the floor. As he gets close, he suddenly drops heavily to one knee, landing right on the small of the man’s back. There is a sickening cracking noise as his 500 pounds make impact on the small man’s spine, shattering it. The crowd groans, as it becomes clear that he’s broken the small man’s back.

I turn away, not wanting to look, feeling horrible for the little, defenseless man. I wonder why they don’t end this. Clearly, the wrestler has won.

But apparently, they don’t plan on ending it—and sumo is not finished. He grabs the man’s limp body with two hands, picks him up, and throws him face first across the ring. The man smashes into the metal cage face-first, and collapses to the floor again. The crowd roars. His body lands in an unnatural position, and I can’t tell if he’s dead or not.

The wrestler is still not satisfied. He raises his arms, slowly circling, as the crowd chants.

“SU-MO! SU-MO! SU-MO!”

The roar reaches a deafening pitch, until sumo crosses the ring one last time, raises a foot, and lowers it on the defenseless man’s throat. He stands with both feet on the man’s throat, crushing it. The man’s eyes open wide as he reaches up with both hands, trying to get the feet off his neck. But it is futile, and after a few seconds of struggle, finally, he stops. His hands fall to his side, limp. He is dead.

The crowd jumps to its feet, roaring.

Sumo picks up the dead body, hoists it high above his head, then hurls it across the ring. This time he aims for one of the protruding spikes, and impales the body into it. The body clings to the side of the cage, a spike sticking through the stomach, blood dripping down.

The crowd roars even louder.

I’m shoved hard from behind, and I stumble out into the bright light, heading down the ramp, into the open stadium. As I enter, I finally realize where exactly I am: it is the former Madison Square Garden. Except now the place is dilapidated, the roof caving in, with sunlight and water getting in in places, and the bleachers rusted and corroded.

The crowd must spot me, because they turn to me, and let out a cheer of anticipation. I look closely at the faces, screaming and cheering, and see they are all Biovictims. Their faces are deformed, melted away. Most are as thin as racks, emaciated. They comprise some of the most sadistic-looking types I’ve ever seen, and there are an endless array of them.

I am led down the ramp, towards the ring, and as I reach it, I can feel the thousands of eyes fixate on me. There are jeers and boos. Apparently, they don’t like newcomers. Or maybe they just don’t like me.

I am marched ringside and prodded to a small metal ladder on one side of the cage. I look up at Sumo, who scowls down at me from inside the ring. I look over at the dead body, still impaled on the cage. I hesitate: I’m not eager to enter this ring.

I am prodded roughly by a gunpoint in the small of my back, and I have no choice but to take my first step on the ladder. Then another, and another. The crowd cheers, and I feel weak in the knees.

A slaverunner opens the cage door, and I take my first step in. He slams it behind me, and I can’t help but flinch. The crowd cheers again.

I turn and survey the stadium, looking for any sign of Bree, of Ben, of his brother—of any friendly face. But there are none. I force myself to look across the ring, at my opponent. Sumo stands there, looking down at me. He smiles, then erupts into laughter at the sight of me. I’m sure he thinks I will be an easy kill. I don’t blame him.

Sumo turns his back on me and raises his arms out wide, facing the crowd, craving adulation. Clearly, he is not troubled by me, and thinks this match is already over. He is already reveling in his victory to come.

Dad’s voice suddenly fills my head:

Always
be the one to start a fight.
Never hesitate.
Surprise is your best weapon.
A fight starts when
YOU
start
it.
If you wait for your opponent to start it, you
’
ve already lost.
The first
three
seconds of
a
fight always determine
its
outcome.
Go. GO!

Dad’s voice screams in my head, and I let it take over me. I don’t stop to think how crazy this is, how outmatched I am. All I know is that, if I do nothing, I will die.

I let Dad’s voice carry me away, and it is as if my body is being controlled by someone else. I find myself charging across the ring, focusing on Sumo. His back is still to me, his arms are still out, he is still enjoying the spectacle. And now, at least for this moment, he is exposed.

I race across the ring, every second feeling like an eternity. I focus on the fact that I am still wearing these combat boots, with their steel-tipped toes. I take three huge steps, and before Sumo can react, I leap into the air. I fly through the air, letting my momentum carry me, and aim carefully, right for the back of his left knee.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall
, I hear Dad say.

I pray he’s right.

I wind up, knowing I only have one shot at this.

I kick him in the back of his knee with all that I have. I feel the impact of my steel-tipped toe in his soft flesh, and I pray that it works.

To my amazement, his knee buckles out from under him, and he lands on one knee on the floor of the ring, his weight shaking it.

The crowd suddenly roars in delight and surprise, clearly not expecting this.

The biggest mistake you can make in a fight is to hit someone and walk away
.
You don
’
t win a fight with a single punch, or a single kick
You win it with combinations.
After you kick him, kick him again. And again. And again.
Don’t stop until he can’t get
up.

Sumo begins to turn towards me, and I can see the shock on his face. I don’t wait.

I swing around and plant a roundhouse kick perfectly on the back of his neck. He goes down, face first, hitting the floor hard, shaking it with his weight. The crowd roars.

Again, I don’t wait. I jump up high and do a dropkick, digging the heel of my boot, right into the small of his back. Then, without pausing, I wind up and kick him hard in the side of the face my steel tip, aiming for his temple. The soft spot. I kick it again and again and again. Soon, he’s covered in blood, and he’s reaching up to protect his head.

The crowd goes insane. They jump to their feet, screaming.

“KILL HIM!” they scream. “FINISH HIM!”

But I hesitate. The sight of him lying there, limp like that, makes me feel bad. I know that I shouldn’t, that he’s a merciless killer, but still, I can’t quite bring myself to finish him off.

And that is my big mistake.

Sumo takes advantage of my hesitation. Before I know it, he reaches out and grabs my ankle. His hand is huge, impossibly huge, wrapping around my leg as if it were a twig. With one easy motion, he pulls me by the leg, spins me, and sends me flying across the ring.

I slam into the metal cage, missing one of the sharp spikes by an inch, and fall to the floor.

The crowd cheers. I look up, stunned, my head spinning. Sumo is already getting to his feet and charging. Blood trickles down his face. I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe he’s even vulnerable. And now, he must be really pissed.

I’m shocked by how fast he is. In the flash of an eye he’s almost on top of me, leaping into the air, preparing to land on top of me. If I don’t get out of the way fast, I’ll be crushed.

At the last second I roll and just barely manage to evade him as he lands hard beside me, shaking the floor so hard that it actually bounces and sends me up into the air.

I roll away, and keep rolling until I’m on the far side of the ring. I hurry to my feet, and he gets up, too. We stand there on opposite sides of the ring, facing each other, each breathing hard. The crowd is going crazy. I can’t believe I’ve managed to live this long.

He’s gearing up to charge, and I realize I’m out of options. There aren’t many places to go in this ring, especially with a man this size. One wrong move, and I’m finished. I got lucky with the element of surprise. But now I actually have to fight.

Suddenly, something falls through the air. I look up and see that something is being dropped down through the open roof of the cage. It lands with a crash on the floor between us. It is a weapon. A huge battle axe. I never expected this. I guess this is their way of keeping the games even, prolonging their entertainment. The axe lands in the center, equidistant between us, about ten feet away.

I don’t hesitate. I race for it, and am relieved to see I am faster than he is: I get there and grab it first.

But he is quicker than I’d imagined, and just as I bend over and pick it up, I feel his huge hands around my rib cage, and he is picking me up, hoisting me from behind in a huge bear hug. He hoists me higher, effortlessly, as if I were an insect. The crowd roars.

He squeezes harder and harder, and I feel all the air crushed out of me, feel as if each one of my ribs is going to crack. I manage to hold onto the axe—but that does little good. I can’t even maneuver my shoulders.

He spins me before the crowd, having fun with me. The crowd reacts, screaming in delight. If I can just get my arms free, I can use the axe.

But I can’t. I feel all the air leaving my body, and realize that in another moment or two, I’ll be suffocated.

Finally, I realize, my luck has run out.

Sumo doesn’t seem to want to kill me yet. Instead, it seems as if he’s enjoying our fight—and that he wants to toy with me.

So instead of crushing me to death, he spins me around fast, several times, then throws me. The axe goes flying from my hands and the world goes rushing by as I fly through the air. I smash, head first, into the metal wall of the cage.

I bounce off it, and land hard on the ground. The crowd roars. Again I manage to miss one of the cage’s protruding spikes, but barely. I look up and see the body of his last victim, still impaled on the cage wall, and realize I am lucky. The axe hits the ground with a clang several feet away from me.

My head is ringing, and I’m disoriented as I lay there, face first on the ground. Out of the corner my eye, I see him charging. But I’m too beat to move.

Move, soldier! MOVE!

Somehow, I force myself into motion. I scramble to my knees, crawl over to the axe as fast as I can, grab it with both hands, and spin around with it.

My timing is perfect. As Sumo is gearing up to stomp me, the axe comes flying around and connects with his calf. I feel the blade entering his flesh. Blood squirts all over me.

There is a tremendous roar from the crowd. I realize I must’ve done some serious damage.

He falls over, like a log, and lands with a crash. He is screaming and reaching up for where his foot once was, and I am shocked to see that my axe has chopped it off. Blood gushes everywhere, and he lies there, screaming, grabbing at his stump.

“KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” the crowd chants.

I know that this is my chance, that I should finish him off. But still, as I stand over him, holding the axe, I just can’t bring myself to.

Instead, I just want to get far away from him. But I am stuck in one corner, and his body is blocking my path. So I run and jump over him, trying to get to the opposite side.

Another mistake. Once again, I have underestimated him. He reaches up and grabs my ankle in mid-air and I fall to the ground, face first, hitting it hard. The crowd screams.

He grabs my ankle and drags me towards him, one hand at a time. I feel like I’m being pulled into a conveyor belt, as I slide on my stomach, inevitably towards him. I realize that in another second I’ll be on top of him, and he’ll crush me to death with his upper body.

I am still clutching the axe handle, and with my final bit of energy, I manage to lift my upper body, spin around, and with both hands, bring the blade down hard, aiming right for his head. There is a sickening noise as the blade lodges into his forehead.

For a moment, I freeze, as does the crowd. I can still feel his hand gripping my ankle, and wonder if the blade went deep enough. Then, finally, his hand releases and his eyes open wide. I am stunned to realize that he is dead. I have killed him.

The crowd is completely silent. I scramble away from him, not trusting that anyone his size could actually be dead, that I could have actually killed him. I stand at the far end of the ring, breathing hard, warily looking down, waiting for him to resurrect. But he does not. He is dead. Really dead.

Suddenly, the crowd roars, jumps to its feet, erupts in a huge cheer. They whistle and clap and stomp, and it never ends.

And that is when I realize: I have won. I can really do it. I can survive.

*

I sense motion, and look up.

The leader sits up there, high on his own pedestal, watching over all of us. Slowly, he stands, and as he does, the crowd begins to quiet. Even from here, I can see the look of surprise on his face. Clearly, he had not expected this.

He nods, and the cage door opens. In march a half dozen slaverunners, holding guns. Two of them march right for me, holding out their guns, and for a moment, I wonder if they’re going to kill me. But then I see the other four going to drag out the bodies of the last two victims. I realize these two are just standing guard, in case I make any rash moves. They aren’t taking any chances.

The other four each grab hold of Sumo, and with a supreme effort they drag his immense weight across the ring. It must be a real struggle for them, because they go slowly, and I can hear them straining. After about a minute, they finally managed to drag him off, trailing blood. One of them comes back and grabs the small man’s impaled body off the cage, as if an afterthought. The other two slaverunners march out and slam the cage door behind them.

I now stand alone, wondering what might come next. I wait for a few moments, wondering if maybe they will release me now, although I know, even as I think it, that it’s a silly idea. I know that there are no survivors in Arena One. Ever.

Sure enough, moments later, the crowd erupts into an enormous cheer, and I look down and see another contestant being marched towards the ring. I’m surprised to see that this one is a woman. She marches right to the metal ladder, looking confident and defiant, and as they open the door she ascends the ladder in three quick steps and jumps in.

“SHI-RA! SHI-RA! SHI-RA!” the crowd roars.

With long black hair and black eyes, Shira looks to be in her 30s; she is incredibly well-built, her muscles bulging, with large breasts. She wears just a tight elastic top and tight black shorts, and her toned, muscular legs and arms ripple. She looks like a curvy, female action model. Curiously, she wears a small backpack on her back, and I wonder if it’s part of her outfit, or if she wears it for a reason.

She stares at me coolly from the opposite side of the ring. Unlike Sumo, she doesn’t seem to take me for granted, studies me as if I’m a serious contender. And that worries me. She seems much craftier. Oddly, I feel more on-edge facing her than I did him. I sense she has tricks up her sleeve.

She slowly begins to circle the perimeter of the ring, and I circle, too, keeping my distance. We circle each other, two wary opponents, each waiting for the other to make the first move. After a few seconds of this, she suddenly shrieks and charges, her hands held out before her like claws, aimed right for my face.

I wait until the last second, then sidestep her, holding out my foot as I do. It works: she charges right past me, trips, and falls on her face. The crowd screams in approval.

But she spins around in the same motion and with one hand grabs the back of my leg and with the other, grabs my hair from behind. It is a dirty trick, and she pulls me down, backwards, and I fall flat on my back, hitting the floor with a painful thud. In the same motion, she rolls over, on top of me, and grabs me tight in a bear hug, like a wrestler. She holds me tight and won’t let go, rolling over with me again and again.

She has my arms in a vice, and I can’t wiggle free. I feel her slowly squeezing the life out of me, and my breathing becomes more shallow.

“BITE HER! BITE HER! BITE HER!” the crowd chants.

I don’t understand why they’re chanting this, until suddenly, Shira leans back ahead and opens her mouth wide. She’s sharpened her teeth with a file, and they are pointy, like fangs. She lowers her head, aiming right for my shoulder.

I struggle to get free, but she’s deceptively strong, and she has me in a lock I just can’t get out of. She lowers her head, and next thing I know I’m in horrific pain, as her two teeth sink into my shoulder blade. I feel them puncturing my skin, feel hot blood pouring out of it, and I scream out in pain.

The intense pain gives me a newfound rush of adrenaline, though, and in a sudden burst of strength I manage to get my hands down into her solo plexus and push for all I can. This time, it works. She goes flying off of me.

I roll over quickly, my face red with exertion, my shoulder burning from the pain; I reach over and feel it, and my hand comes back red, covered in blood. Now I’m pissed.

I charge her, and before she can gain her knees I wind up and kick her hard, connecting in her ribs. There is a sound of cracking ribs, and the crowd ooohs. Without waiting, I wind up again and kick her again, hard in the face.

She collapses, blood pouring from her face. She is confused, squarely on the ground, and now I have the advantage.

I know that I should kick her in the head repeatedly, finish her off. But still, somehow, I can’t bring myself to. I still feel bad killing this woman, lying there, defenseless. I stand there, hesitating, as the crowd erupts into a chant.

“KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER!”

Still, I can’t bring myself to. I hesitate. And it is another stupid mistake.

I don’t see her hand reaching slowly behind her back, unlatching her backpack. And by the time I realize what she’s doing, it’s too late.

Her pack opens and suddenly, out comes a bright, multi-colored snake.

It slithers right for me.