Surviving the Dead 03: Warrior Within (35 page)

The crowd cheered again, and the betting increased in volume and intensity. The warehouse began to have a carnival feeling, all of the troops drinking, and getting rowdy. As Two’s unconscious form was dragged out of the circle, Tommy motioned to me and Five. We stood up, strode into the circle, and squared off.

Five was tall, maybe six-two or six-three. Even half-starved, he outweighed me by at least twenty pounds. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that Kasikov had pushed his way to the front of the crowd and was watching me with a smug grin on his face. I looked at him, and he nodded to me, shaking his fists.

“
Aaaannnd FIGHT!” Tommy shouted, red-faced with excitement.

Five advanced cautiously, hands up, feet shoulder width apart. He didn’t move like the others, clumsy and unsure. His steps were even, he didn’t cross his feet, and he kept his elbows tucked in tight. This one had some training. From the way he stood, I was guessing some kind of kickboxing. I brought my hands up and began circling.

He was right-handed, so I circled left and switched my stance to southpaw. Keeping my hands just below eye level, I moved in and feinted a jab. He took the bait and sidestepped to slip it. I pursued and fired a left-right combination at his floating ribs. He had expected the punches to go high, and had his forearms up over his face, which worked out great for me. I turned my hips into the punches and was rewarded with a pained grunt from my opponent. He tried to counterpunch with a right hook, but I ducked it and circled away.

Five was angry now; those punches had stung him. He switched his stance to protect his bruised ribs, stepped in with a jab-cross that bounced off my forearms, and then tried to tie my head up in a Muay Thai clinch.

Yep. Definitely a kickboxer.

I slipped out of it, narrowly avoiding a knee aimed at my forehead. The momentum of the knee strike left him slightly off balance, and I took the opportunity to snap off two quick punches that rocked his head back, and step in for a takedown.

My arms wrapped around his lower back, pinning one of his arms in place. My right foot came down behind his ankle and I pushed my forehead into his chest, pulling hard against his back. He tried to balance by stepping backward, but only succeeded in tripping over the foot I had planted behind him. Right then, I knew I had the fight won. If Five had possessed an ounce of grappling skill, he would have been able to step out of that takedown. It was a simple technique—Day One stuff for any grappler. This guy wasn’t a grappler.

I landed on top, still pinning one of his arms. Shifting my weight, I came up on one knee, posted my head against Five’s shoulder, and brought my other knee up into his groin. He shouted in agony and curled up, pushing at my leg with his free hand to keep me from kneeing him again. I used the distraction to climb up into the full mount, centered my weight on his chest, and started throwing punches at his face.

Just as I had hoped, Five crossed his arms over his face and rolled over beneath me, giving up his back. I wasn’t hitting him very hard—I didn’t want to hurt him any worse than I already had—but it was enough to make him instinctively turn away. Just as I’d done in so many sparring matches on the Grinder, I hooked his legs, flattened him out, and slipped a forearm over his throat. With the choke locked in, I counted slowly backwards from ten. By the time I was done, Five had gone limp.

I released the choke, stood up, and faced Lucian. He met my gaze and stared back, a smile curling up one side of his mouth. It didn’t touch his eyes. Slowly, he began to clap.

“Another winner!” Tommy shouted.

The noise was deafening at that point. The troops crowded around the circle and heaved at one another to get closer to the action. Kasikov and a few other senior troops had to shove the mob back at gunpoint to keep them from spilling over into the circle. Once they had restored some semblance of order, Lucian stood and held up his hands, shouting for everyone’s attention.

“We’ve got three candidates left. Tommy, what do you think we should do?”

The fat man took a swig of whiskey and wiped his mouth. “Fuck it. Battle Royale!”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

Tommy motioned for the other two remaining fighters to step into the circle. We all realized what was coming at the same time and searched each other’s eyes.

I could tell the other two were afraid of me. Five had been a more competent fighter than either one of them, and I had beaten him in less than a minute. They looked at each other and exchanged a slight nod.

Fuck.

Honestly, I didn’t blame them. It’s what I would have done; deal with the worst threat first, then settle things between the two of them.

“Three men enter, one man leaves. Get it on!” Tommy stepped out of the circle, and the crowd went wild.

The other two fighters split up, coming at me from either direction. I needed to take one of them out quickly, and then handle the other one at my leisure. Four hadn’t looked as strong as One in his fight, so I decided to deal with him first.

When confronted with multiple opponents, if you have nowhere to run, the best strategy is to simply go at the fuckers head-on and beat them with sheer aggression. Four was being tentative, waiting for One to make the first move.

I charged.

It took me two steps the cover the distance. I leapt at him with a flying knee that I knew wasn’t going to land. Just as I had expected him to, he leapt to the right to get out of the way. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I hopped sideways, turned, and launched a spinning hook kick at the side of his neck. My heel made contact with a meaty thud, and Four toppled over like a felled tree. His head bounced off the concrete with a sickening crack. He didn’t move.

A collective “OHHHH!!!” resounded through the warehouse as Four hit the ground. I spun to face One, and found him charging. He dropped his weight and rammed a shoulder into my waist, driving me to the ground. I went with the takedown and pulled him into my full-guard.

The guard is a tricky position. To the uninformed, it looks like the fighter on top has the advantage. But in truth, the fighter on bottom is the one in control, assuming he knows what he’s doing.

One clearly had no experience fighting from this position, and began throwing wild punches at my head. I caught an arm, opened up my guard, and transitioned into a textbook triangle choke. One of my legs cut off the blood supply to his brain on one side of his neck, while pressure from his own shoulder did the job on the other side. I reached up and pulled down on his head to increase the force of the choke. Again, I counted slowly backwards from ten, and again, by the time I was done, he was out.

I released him and let him slump to the ground. The gathered troops were stomping and howling like madmen. Even Lucian was on his feet, pumping his fists in the air.

“Number three! Number three is the winner!” Tommy shouted, as if it weren’t obvious.

Most of the troops were elated by the spectacle, but a few looked dejected. They must have bet against me.

Not a good idea, that. 

Kasikov was standing at the edge of the circle with a satisfied smile on his face. The bookie in front of him ripped a piece of paper from his notepad and handed it to the big Russian. He looked at it and nodded, then started shouting taunts at the grim-faced men he had wagered against.

Lucian got up from his chair and shouted for silence. “All right, men. Playtime is over for today. Tommy, make sure everyone settles up their bets. Crew leaders, get your men back on duty. If you’re off duty, I don’t give a fuck what you do as long as you stay the hell out of my way. Kasikov, grab some bodies and get these maggots back to work. You,” he pointed a finger at me, “you stay here.”

I walked to the edge of the circle and waited. The Legion troops slowly dispersed as Kasikov led the remaining prisoners back to the tunnel entrance. Number Four, the slave I had knocked unconscious, still lay on the floor with a pool of blood expanding under his head. A cold feeling began to grow in my stomach.

“Hey, maggot. Wake the fuck up.” One of Kasikov’s men kicked the downed slave. He didn’t move. I walked over and knelt down beside him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the guard demanded.

“Checking his vitals.” I pulled up on one of his shoulders and put a couple of fingers against his throat. There was a pulse, but it was unsteady, erratic. Not good. I pulled one eyelid open and checked his pupils in the dim light.

“How’s he doing? He fuckin’ dead, or what?”

“He’s still alive, but he’s in bad shape. He needs a doctor.”

The guard turned around. “Hey Kas, whadya want me to do with this guy?”

“What is wrong with him?” the Russian said, walking over.

Calling to mind everything I had learned from Allison about brain injuries, I felt the area where his skull had struck the concrete. A large hematoma had formed, and he was bleeding from a laceration as long as my thumb. I pressed on the skull around the hematoma and felt it give a little.

“He’s hurt bad,” I said. “Skull fracture, cerebral contusion, hemorrhaging, and probably cranial herniation. If he doesn’t see a doctor soon, he’s going to die.”

The guard looked at me, then at Kasikov. “You know what the fuck he’s talking about?”

Kas ignored him, and rose up on his toes to see over the crowd. “Klauberg! Where is being Klauberg?”

“Over here,” a voice shouted to my right. “What do you want?”

I turned and saw a short, portly man with a balding head, a graying beard, and a pair of close-set, pig-like eyes emerge from the chaos. He wandered over and looked down at the unconscious slave.

“Oh, right.” He knelt down, pushed me out of the way, and performed the same checks I had just done.

“Nope. Sorry. He’s fucked.” The little man stood up to walk away.

“Wait,” I said. He turned to look at me, his brow furrowed over his cruel little eyes. I said, “Are you a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t you do something for him?”

He squared off with me and put his pudgy hands on his hips. “What am I gonna do, maggot? I’d need an emergency room, a neurologist, and a trained medical staff to save this piece of shit. Do you see anything around here like that? No? Didn’t fucking think so.” With that, he turned and walked away.

“Jenkins, Wilson. Get rid of this corpse,” Kasikov said, gesturing to two of his men. “Be making sure to dump his body far away. I am not wanting to smell it the next time I am on watch.”

The two men elbowed me out of their way as the grabbed the slave by his ankles and began dragging him away. I stared on helplessly, feeling the coldness in my stomach spread up to my face. My throat constricted, my eyes stung, and for a few moments, it was hard to breathe.

“Do not be worrying about him.” Kasikov clapped me on the shoulder. “You have done well, my friend. Soon, I am thinking you will be one of us.”

I looked at him, but he had already turned away. As he and his men led the prisoners back to the tunnels, the ones I had beaten cast hateful, envious glances at me. The two I had choked out didn’t look the worse for wear, but Six was in obvious agony with his broken nose, and shattered teeth. He sobbed quietly as he was led away, blood dripping down his face.

“Kasikov.” I called out. He stopped and turned to look at me.

“What about their clothes?” 

He glanced at them. “
Da
. You are being right. Go on, maggots. Get your clothes.”

Some of the venom left their gazes as they picked up their belongings. I looked each of them in the eye and made a silent promise.

Somehow, some way, I’m going to get you out of here
.

A tunnel connected the warehouse to a smaller building nearby that had once been the distribution company’s administrative offices.

Several of Lucian’s men led me there after putting me back in irons. Lucian himself stayed behind to hold a meeting with his senior staff, and sent his brother to see to my interrogation. We emerged from the tunnel into a basement filled with rusting, long-disused machinery. Elevator equipment, a few banks of servers, HVAC units, water pumps—all useless now.

The guards led me up a flight of stairs to the main floor where long ranks of empty cubicles sat dusty and forgotten. I tried to imagine the place as it must have been before the Outbreak. People sitting in those cubicles, staring at computer screens, occasionally gazing out the windows and wishing they were at home, or at the beach, or out with their families, or doing pretty much anything except sitting there under fluorescent lights with a bunch of other people just as miserable as they were. I wasn’t sure which was more depressing, the past or the present.

We walked through the building until we came to a large corner office farthest from the main entrance. The computers and other devices had been taken out and lay in a pile a few feet from the doorway. In their place was a large wooden desk, a few chairs, and several boxes of files and office supplies. Pens, printer paper, file folders, clips, staples. All neatly organized.

The guards had me sit down in one of the chairs. Aiken took a seat behind the desk and ordered the guards to wait outside. When they had closed the door, he picked up a manila folder and a pen.