RecruitZ (Afterworld Series) (6 page)

A shudder ran up my spine, remembering the torment that Gavin and I felt as we searched for our families’ names. It was such a horrible time. On the one hand, we were celebrating the fact that we had survived. But on the other, we were coming to grips with the reality that most of our family hadn’t. Survivors’ guilt took on an entirely different meaning for us then.

And now? I wouldn’t call it guilt. Just rage.

Standing beneath a large oak tree, I looked at the crowd of people that continued to grow. This was the only way into this underground world. I knew that. I thought I had prepared myself for it, but to see greed firsthand as fellow survivors bet on beasts that had left most of our world in shreds was something else. The evil that sprang up from this type of activity was far more apparent in person.

A shiver ran up my spine as my brother-in-law’s lifeless eyes flashed into my mind.

“
I won’t ever give up on finding the truth,”
I whispered to Gavin. The familiar ache rose in my chest as I thought about him. “
I love you, babe
.”

“Am I interrupting?” a man’s voice from behind the oak startled me.

“Uh, no,” I said, taking a step back. “Just babbling to myself.”

“Happens to the best of us,” he rumbled, his voice now familiar as he took a step out from behind the tree.

Even though they shouldn’t have, my nerves instantly calmed at the sight of him.

I felt a slight smile touch my lips as I watched him take a step forward. “I thought you didn’t hang out at these events?” I asked.

Preston, the bartender from the night before, just shrugged his shoulders and smiled. There was something commanding about him, soothing possibly. His broad shoulders filled out his sweatshirt and his baggy cargos fit him well. Judging by his wardrobe choice, he was ready to watch the events this afternoon.

“Preston, wasn’t it?” I asked.

He nodded and slid his hands into his pockets.

“So what brings you here today?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Thought you might like some friendly company, since it’s your first time,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“And that’s supposed to be you?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Indeed,” he laughed, and took a step closer at the same time I took a step back.

“Thanks,” I muttered, looking down at the grass.

“You look like you saw a ghost. Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes fastening on mine.

I nodded. “Totally fine. I just wasn’t prepared for what I saw in the building.” I couldn’t tell him who it was I saw in there or how, I was second-guessing my decision to ever come to a place like this. I had to make my entrance into this underground world as non-personal as possible, at least to insiders.

Preston narrowed his eyes at me and grabbed my elbows, slowly bringing me into him. My heart started beating rapidly as a mix between fear and hostility began to pump through me. What was he doing? He had no right to hold me like this.

Bending his neck slightly toward my ear, he whispered, “I think there’s something more that brings you here.”

I jumped back from him, pulling my arms away to keep a safe distance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped.

His gaze fell to mine, and I caught a glimpse of sadness behind his eyes. The same type of sadness I felt every moment of every day.

“I think you do,” he said softly, taking another step toward me. “You’re wrecked, and so am I.”

Feeling completely exposed, I shook my head and looked toward the tent. I swallowed hard, pushing the lump back down my throat. I hadn’t broken down in front of anyone and wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon, especially at a place like this.

“Aren’t we all? Aren’t all survivors wrecked?” I said, turning back to face him.

“Some more than others,” he said, pressing his lips together.

He stood quietly in front of me, watching my reaction.

I gave him none.

“It doesn’t look like you took my advice,” he said, cocking his head.

“What advice was that?” I asked.

“Coming armed.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” I said. “Which means you should watch yourself.”

Throwing his hands in the air. “Will do. But remember not everyone is…”

“Is what?” I interrupted. “Anyone who is here is scum.”

“Present company excluded, I hope?”

“Doubtful,” I replied.

The announcement calling all spectators came over the loud speaker, disrupting my intended verbal assault on Preston. Preston actually looked relieved by the interruption.

I turned around and began walking toward the white tent. Preston was right on my heels and as much as I hated to admit it, I was pleased. I glanced at all the people making their way to the tent and wondered how many of them were fathers and mothers betting their family’s allotment on a horrific event like this. Too many.

Music was turned up as we made our way into the tent. The blaring bass of Dubstep filled the tight quarters. The once spacious tent now felt like it was the size of a closet as everyone attempted to fit inside, shoulders and elbows knocking into one another. In the center of the room, there was a cage made out of chain-link fencing and barbed wire. There were a few metal benches framing the interior walls of the tent, but something told me not to find a seat there. I wanted to be close to the exit.

In each of the corners, I saw a square metal perch of some sort with a ladder leading to the empty platform. A man dressed in a black suit was standing in the far corner, underneath one of the platforms. His overcoat was draped over his arm, and he sipped champagne out of a flute as he watched the crowd assemble. People continued to filter by me as I stood watching my surroundings. I wasn’t sure what answers I expected to get from participating tonight, but I prayed there were some for having to endure this.

A man spit on the sawdust floor next to my shoe. He began laughing as he caught my look of disgust and leaned over.

“You don’t look like you belong here, darlin’,” he said, coughing into his hand and wiping it on his pants.

A shudder ran up my spine as his eyes took me in. Preston slid his arm around my waist as he took a step forward, landing right next to me.

“Is there a problem?” Preston asked, his brows pulling together as he stared the man down.

Preston was a good six inches taller than the spitter, and I could see how his presence would be overpowering to weaker men. The spitter slinked away.

“Thank you. But I can take care of myself,” I said, facing Preston.

“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Preston said, lowering his voice as he glanced around the space. “But sometimes it’s better in pairs. The odds of survival increase exponentially.”

“Not always,” I said, glaring at him.

The door closed, the music softened, and the lights were extinguished as my heart began beating at a rapid pace. What was going on? Right before panic began to set in, bright blue and green lights flashed on and danced off the walls of the tent, faintly lighting the space up. Some spectators began making their way to the benches while others gathered closer to the cage. I remained anchored exactly where I was, which was about fifteen feet from the tent’s opening. If I needed to escape, I’d be able to get there in seconds.

My eyes connected with the man in the corner, and he gave me a slight nod before continuing to scan the crowd. His stare was fearless.

“Who’s that in the corner?” I whispered to Preston.

“I thought you could handle this yourself?” he asked, his lips turned up slightly.

I ignored him and turned around to watch the events unfold. We had to be getting close to the first fight. Loud voices of excitement and intrigue were traded for whispers and hums as the crowd prepared for what was about to occur.

Footsteps marched outside to the beat of a man’s command, and the panic returned as the footsteps came closer. Were these the fighters?

“Hup. Hup,” a man yelled outside the tent opening.

I glanced back at Preston, and he placed his hand on my shoulder and leaned in so I could hear him. “It’s show time.”

The door opened up to reveal a line of men dressed in tactical attire carrying assault weapons. They all wore identical, black uniforms, and each appeared to be equipped with a bulletproof vest, an exposed hammer with a large head, several strategically placed knives, and a baton with a serrated edge.

I had to get that baton for my arsenal.

I watched the group of men march through the crowd, and I noticed white lettering emblazed on the back of each jacket reading TRAC.

“What is TRAC?” I asked, watching as the men divided into groups and headed toward empty platforms.

“It’s a private security company,” Preston whispered. “And the man you asked about is the owner of the company.”

“What’s it stand for?”

“Tactical Reinforcement and Capture,” he answered.

I nodded and watched the men climb the ladders to oversee the event. As soon as they reached their perch, they took their stance—weapons at the ready—and peered over the crowd of anxious gamblers. The only problem was that I wasn’t sure who the TRAC members were really being paid to protect, the zombies or the crowd.

“Does he have a name?” I asked.

“Marcus Lordan,” Preston said. I noticed the sound of hate peppering each syllable.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is without further adieu that I’ll introduce our first two fighters,” Brenda’s voice boomed over the speakers. I glanced around the tent briefly, trying to spot her. She was standing on the far platform in between two TRAC team members.

Dubstep was traded out for solid drumming, and I glanced around the tent as I watched the audience members close to the cage begin to pull plastic ponchos over their heads.

My stomach turned.

“Z1AY2, otherwise known as Curly will be fighting Z1AH9. You will notice Z1AH9 listed in your pamphlet under the section New RecruitZ. We are counting on you to give us a nickname for him once the fight is over, if he is still standing that is. Let’s hear it for Wave One in tonight’s lineup,” Brenda said into the microphone before the crowd began going wild.

A group of men promptly moved the crowd aside and placed portable chain-link fencing from the tent opening to the cage. I heard the clank as the metal was set in place, and the men scattered into the crowd. My heart started pounding as I realized there was no way out as long as that walkway for the fighters was in place.

“It is very unusual for the new ones to make it through their first round alive,” Preston said loudly, over the crowd.

I wondered how long this had been going on…how many champions were there to fight another day?

The music began blasting through the space again as the tent door opened up to reveal the first fighter, Curly. I understood his name now. His hair was long and blonde with cascading curls. He was dressed in a tattered, blue t-shirt and baggy shorts. I looked away quickly as my imagination began wondering who he used to be, what he used to do? I shoved the thoughts away as soon as they came. I needed to remain strong, and to do so, these fighters—these zombies—could claim nothing more than disgust inside of my mind. For my own sanity, I couldn’t allow for more. In my mind, they needed to be nothing other than beasts and fighting machines, not humans…never humans. I looked around the room at all the spectators and attempted to hide the displeasure I felt as I witnessed them cheering as the excitement level rose with each passing second.

“Whenever a fighter wins his or her first fight, they tend to turn into the champions of the arena,” Preston continued. “They live to fight another day.”

I snapped my head in his direction as the green and blue lights continued to revolve around the tent, stirring up pandemonium among the crowd.

“I wouldn’t call it living. Would you?” I asked, gritting my teeth. “It sounds to me like the real winner of these matches is the loser.”

Curly had six chains attached to him, one on each wrist and ankle, and two leading away from his waist. He was in the center of the aisle, and the chains dripped over the top of the chain-link fence, held on the audience side of the fence by three burly men. I watched as the zombie moved with the certainty I had recognized only one other time in my life. The day Gavin was stolen from me.

“Those are the guiders,” Preston said quietly, as the last of the men walked by as they led the fighter into the center of the cage.

“Are you ready for Z1AH9 ?” Brenda shouted into the microphone.

The crowd erupted once more, and all heads turned toward the opening. A man stepped in front of me, blocking my view. I tapped his shoulder, but he ignored me. A low chanting began around me and Preston joined in, which surprised me. He leaned down to me and whispered, “You better start acting like you belong before they figure out otherwise.”

I locked my eyes on him and he gave me a knowing nod. I closed my eyes and strained to understand what they were saying, what Preston was saying. It only sounded like a hum of mumbles that meant nothing. I heard the chains clinking against the fence as the guiders led the new fighter down the path, and the words became clear.