Authors: Macaulay C. Hunter
“Blood, sweat, and tears,” the woman said, which wasn’t really an answer at all.
She was a bitch. As she leaned forward to watch, the short sleeve of her surfboard T-shirt hiked up. A broad-shouldered, well-muscled bitch. Man face and man frame and Ink hurled silent epithets at her for acting like she was in a position to spurn
him
instead of the other way around.
The zombies
got him to the wall, Dionysus backing up that last step and striking it. He held out his hands warningly, intending to scratch if they got any closer, and snapped his teeth. Then Nemesis lashed out his fist and Dionysus ducked. It soared over his head and left a bloody splash on the wall. Constanzo laughed and struck his armrests in delight. “Not so easy, is it, young upstarts?” he crowed to Thor and Nemesis.
But it was.
Thor swung and missed, Dionysus ducking the other way. He ducked right into Nemesis’ next blow, a swift uppercut to the chin that knocked his head against the wall. His neck exposed, Thor wrapped his hand around it. Dionysus chopped down on Thor’s arm to loosen the hold, but a blow Nemesis delivered to his nuts weakened the hit. As Dionysus raised his other hand, Nemesis caught it and bit off the tip of a finger.
Chomped
it off like a piece of carrot.
“Your zombie is going to have a great career,” Ink said as the finger
tip went flying and Nemesis chomped on another one. Dionysus raised his knee and Nemesis took a harsh blow to his stomach. He staggered back several feet, almost falling over, and Dionysus struck at Thor bloodily.
“No,” the woman said
. On her face was nausea. “I will not fight him again.”
That was insane.
Insane! “Why?”
“
I do not like to see him get hurt, or to hurt others. So I will just take him home after this and let him live out his life in peace.”
“
Sell him!” Ink cried. A fighter like Nemesis could command many thousands of dollars. Tens of thousands! She shrugged in disinterest and Ink stared at her incredulously for a moment before returning to the brawl. Batshit crazy! People would be lining up to buy Nemesis. Fuck,
he
would buy Nemesis if only he had the dough! Ink had guessed right about the woman. She had made a boyfriend out of a zombie just like the blind boy had made a buddy from one.
Nemesis wasn’t coming back to help with the destruction of Dionysus.
He was creeping along to get Thor. Ink yelled, “Thor! Thor!” in the fleeting but mad belief that his voice would ring over the stadium and warn him. Other people were doing the same, despite the fact that it made no difference.
Thor didn’t need the warning
s. He knew what Nemesis was up to. Releasing his chokehold on Dionysus, he jerked the zombie around and pushed him violently at Nemesis. The two of them went down and Constanzo screamed in his seat as Nemesis bit Dionysus’ nose. The zombie’s dollar value was going down by the second. Leaping up from his chair, Constanzo went to the bar and beat on it. He screamed for Dionysus to fight.
Thor made a sandwich of them, throwing himself on top of Dionysus’ back and ret
urning to the choke as Nemesis mutilated that handsome face from below. The announcer yelled something dumb about the threesome the zombies had made, and how parents should cover their kids’ eyes from this X-rated performance down there. How was it sexual? They were all clothed from the waist down.
As
Dionysus went limp from lack of oxygen, Thor grabbed hold of his head and slammed it down into Nemesis’ face. The Greek woman shouted with Constanzo and stood up in horror.
Better, Ink thought viciously.
Better that Nemesis perish here than to be relegated to a stall in this woman’s stables for all the long years of his life! The crowd was split in half, cheering for Thor, cheering for Nemesis, the announcer shrieking along for both of them.
Thor hadn’t had dope, but Nemesis had had a lot.
Not a crazy amount, swelling him up to cartoonish proportions, but just the right amount. With a heave, he pushed Thor and the body off his own and rolled away in the dirt. Then they were up, with Dionysus lying on the ground between them. Knocked out or dead, either way he wasn’t moving.
The newbies had vanquished the Old Guard entirely, at least for the
young male part of the Games competition. Volcanus wriggled in the dirt. Thor hadn’t killed him, but had left him too out of it to stand.
“If they don’t fight, we might just have a tie!” the announcer called.
But Thor and Nemesis were going to fight. These weren’t two zombies staring stupidly at each other. Everything in their posture reeked of hatred. And Nemesis
still
had all of his dumb facial prosthetics on! His manager had paid for top-drawer stuff. A close-up on the jumbo screens revealed only the tiniest tear in the rotted cheek, revealing a patch of tanned skin underneath.
Ink was one opponent away from Hawaii
and his chilled towel. One fight away from a million dollars and a permanent place in the clubroom, a grand property close to the Hill and an introduction to Cantine’s blonde. Adrenaline surged through him as Nemesis and Thor went for each other. Now he was standing at the bar and screaming
Thor Thor Thor! Take ’im out! Come on, Thor!
The fight was brutal.
The Greek woman looked positively ill at every fist to land on her precious boyfriend Nemesis. If Thor won, Nemesis survived, and Ink got his million big ones, he was going to make her an offer that she couldn’t refuse. With these two in Delwich Stables, Ink would be unstoppable. With the money she’d make, she could afford some therapy and a dating service.
Blows
landed on faces and chests; kicks bent knees and doubled them over. Ink screamed like a little child in a tantrum for his future, his voice just one thread in the deafening glissando of a quarter million people. Thor wasn’t giving Nemesis time to devise a strategy, and Nemesis wasn’t giving Thor time to get hold of him. They raged across the ring, slugging and tripping and tossing each other about like dolls.
There
had
been a strategy. Ink saw that soon. But it belonged to Thor.
Their fight had appeared to have no direction, but it had gradually moved closer and closer to fallen Volcanus.
Thor threw out another fist, one that looked like it had gone wild, but when Nemesis moved away, he tripped over the zombie sprawled in the dirt. The punch hadn’t gone wild at all. It had only been a fake. Nemesis landed on his side, and Volcanus attacked him.
The Old Guard still h
ad some kick to it. Holding onto Nemesis’ legs, Volcanus bit into the skin as Nemesis struggled to beat him off. Thor watched for a few seconds, blood rolling down his face and arms. The Greek woman was in agony and Ink was elated. Then Thor lifted his leg and ended it with two short, well-directed kicks, one to the head of Nemesis, and the second to Volcanus. Both of them were knocked unconscious, or had their necks snapped and died.
He had won.
Oh God, Thor had won, so Ink had won.
Aloha.
When the big oak doors to the clubroom opened, Ink was pulled into a mob of celebrants and a blinding wall of flashes. Hawaiian-themed music was playing over the speakers. He set down his luggage and Vasilov slapped his back, crying, “Here he is! The man of the hour!”
“Let’s see a kiss!” someone
yelled. Ink swept Nadia into his arms and planted a big smack on her for the cameras. She wrapped the back of her hand around his neck as everyone cheered. Then they broke apart, and Ink looked slyly around the room for Cantine’s blonde as he shook hands with Ivan Cantine himself.
Then
a crowd of other people fought to shake his hand, Gareth Hodging and his wife, Milla Gorvich, Stanson and smelly Bayder, everyone who was anyone and the sponsor of the Games himself. Even the announcer was there, and Ink forgave the man his idiocy because the guy was so excited to meet him. “Oh my God! Do you know how exciting this gig was for me because of your Thor?”
“You did a great job,” Ink said
magnanimously. “Even Thor thought so.”
Thor was standing on his podium in the position of honor
right beside the doors, with Maenad as the highest-ranking female on the other side. He was battered but still a stately sight. Her legs were badly injured and covered in bandages, but she still had the strength to stand. Nothing stopped Maenad! Even when staring at the lights, her face settled into a fierce expression.
The rest of the champions
encircled the round room, their wounds patched, broken bones splinted, and foul little Scrapper dressed in a cheap prince costume that had a gold lion brandishing its claws on the blue velour top. He looked tiny and stupid between his company of imposing Athena and an older, handsome male called Paris. The fighters stared to the center of a room, where the brightest light of all was dazzling them. The regular light there had been switched out for this giant one, and it chased all of the shadows away.
Ink Delwich had swept the Games.
Clapping his back again, Vasilov said to the sponsor, “Let’s have him try out one of these seats!”
They guided Ink through the party to the line of seats by the window
s. A ribbon and bow was stretched across one. He snapped it to applause and sat down. Vasilov said, “Tap the button on the side of the armrest, my boy. These are the most technologically advanced stadium seats in which your bottom will ever rest.”
“Just had them installed last month,” the sponsor said proudly.
“Top of the line.”
A screen lifted from the armrest and displayed itself in front of
Ink. The ring was divided into four quadrants. All he had to do was tap on the one he wanted to watch for a new perspective, and in the corner was a circle for an overhead view. If he missed something, either a whole fight or just a moment from it, he could view a replay menu and select what he wanted, even put it in slow motion. The sponsor was pleased at the enthusiasm his new stadium seats provoked, and then Vasilov swept Ink away. “There are a few people here, representatives from causes if you take my meaning. I will introduce you to the ones whose causes you might find tug at your heartstrings.”
Ink took the meaning.
Some representatives in here mattered more than others. He was introduced to Melvin Harbridge, an administrator for a charitable organization that provided funding to childhood cancer researchers. Gorvich donated to this one, due to a niece who had survived childhood cancer herself, and had been written up in the news for it many times. Shaking the man’s hand, Ink said, “Such a pleasure to meet you! I’ve always admired your organization’s work tremendously.”
“Mr. Delwich, it is an honor to meet you,” the man said.
“What a show your fighter gave us! I could hardly believe my eyes that these two fellows-” he gestured to Nemesis, whose podium was near Thor’s, “-are new! Beginner’s luck, eh?”
Ink didn’t see Adra-whatever anywhere
in the clubroom. “I was just as shocked as anyone, to tell the truth. But Thor taught me to have a little faith.” They laughed heartily and he added, “Childhood cancer has always been an issue close to my heart. One of the boys in my elementary school was struck down with it. How terrible to learn of your mortality so young. I didn’t understand at the time, but now I feel for his poor family.” All of it was a white lie, but statistically, the odds were in his favor that one of those kids to go to his school had experienced cancer. If Ink didn’t give a personal touch to the cause, they would think he was doing it only for the kudos. Vasilov beamed in approval at his side.
They
all agreed about how terrible cancer was and the man slipped over his card. Ink promised to give him a call as soon as he was back from Hawaii. And he would. Vendors had already crowded his inbox with offers, and he was going to be rolling in dough. A generous donation wouldn’t set him back one bit whatsoever, and it would pay off in goodwill and mentions in publications. Vasilov guided him around to two more representatives that would only make Ink burn brighter, a woman high up in the entertainment industry who also sought sponsors for children in third world countries, and a fellow into disaster response whose family had even more money than the Hodgings did. When another man interrupted to thrust out a card for an environmental foundation, Ink accepted it and caught the tiny shake of Vasilov’s head. As the two of them walked away together, Vasilov whispered, “Aleshire is not worth your time, but he can be spiteful. Throw him a small donation now and then as we all do, but do not let him pressure you into more.”
How wonderful to hear that the head of a worldwide organization wasn’t worth
Ink’s time. Ink was going up, only up from here. He could feel the floor rising under his feet. An old antagonism raised its ugly head and he thought
see, Mom? See what I just did?
She hadn’t believed in him, but
he
had believed, and look at him now! He was king of this room, king of the Games, king of the zombies, and soon to buy a castle that befit his position. Maybe Mom had seen it on television, Ink becoming sports royalty.
“I was thinking to myself: why not join in the fun?” Nadia was saying to a group of women.
“Everyone tries to dress down and let the child shine, but I thought-”
Checking around
the room, Ink said to Vasilov, “Where is Nemesis’ manager?” Ink wanted to buy that zombie from her, and silver-tongued Vasilov could make it happen.
“Adrasteia?” Vasilov asked.
“She passed along through an employee that she would be late. Coming, yes, but late.”
Milla Gorvich laughed and said, “Crying in a ladies’ restroom, no doubt.
So close, so
close
, she had the scepter in her fingers and lost it to Thor! Vasilov, let me speak to you for a minute over at the sofas? I have a fighter that I’m putting up for sale and let’s set up an appraisal in the next few weeks.” He took out his cell phone to make the arrangements, and she whipped out an old-fashioned appointment book as they strolled away together.
Ink went to the buffet. It
was magnificent, as it always was, but even grander than at most post-parties to match the prestige of the Games. Garlic-roasted shrimp cocktails, ham and honey-mustard palmiers, everything was mouth-watering and he didn’t recognize a third of them. And there was the blonde at the end of the table! Ink straightened his parrot shirt, wishing that he could have traded it out for a suit, and approached. He hadn’t even gotten his mouth open before the woman said, “Hello. You must be Ink.” Her voice was melodic, low and entrancing. In her napkin was a mini hot dog wrapped up in a flaky crescent. Each of her nails was painted red with a jewel at the center. Not too long, her nails, and not too short. Just right.
He was melting into a puddle
on the expensive carpet. She was the most exquisite woman he had ever laid eyes on. Feeling his IQ sever itself in half, he said, “Yes. I’m Ink.”
“And how did you
come by that unusual name?” she asked in amusement.
“It’s what my mother used to call me as a boy, short for Lincoln, because I always had ink
from my markers on my fingers,” Ink said, and that was the truth.
Charmed, she laughed and he asked, “What is your name?”
“Dusk,” she said. It was beautiful, but it didn’t fit her one bit. She was a walking sunrise with the name of the darkest stage of twilight.
But he wasn’t here to criticize
, whether it was her given name or one she had chosen for herself. “That’s beautiful. I’ve never heard that for a woman’s name before.”
“You’ve heard it for
a man’s?”
She was teasing him.
Dear Lord, she had him speared like a fish on a hook. His IQ cut in half again. “I’ve never heard it at all.”
“Then I’m pleased to be your first.”
He was down to zero. Whatever she said next, he would just nod moronically and try not to drool. Ever the queen of bad timing, Nadia appeared at the buffet and cried, “Ink, they want to take more pictures!”
These ones were beside Thor
, and then holding the oversized check made out for a million dollars. Nadia picked up Scrapper from his podium and carried him over, insisting that they all pose with him too since there had been two wins in the family. As she carried him back once the picture was taken, Ink shook hands with more managers and the king of vendors in Giles Mazo, who waved in disgust at a cell phone in someone’s hand and said without preamble, “I do not communicate by text and email, Mr. Delwich. I prefer face-to-face, or the phone at the very least. When will you be available to have an appointment with me to discuss merchandizing options? The longer we wait, the more money we lose. People at the crest of their excitement want to buy.”
“Come now, the boy is off to Hawaii!” someone yelled.
Oh God! Ink was off to Hawaii in a limo tonight. He would have to have his truck and trailer moved back home with the zombies. The neighbor girl could keep feeding them once they were there.
“Let’s speak on the phone the day after tomorrow,” Ink said.
“I’ll be settled in and we can have a long chat.”
“Excellent.
Good day. And where is the manager for Nemesis, for I must arrange a time with her as well . . .” He walked away in search, but she still hadn’t arrived.
“What about my zombies
and vehicle?” Ink asked Vasilov, who had finished with Gorvich and was now wandering around with a plate of food.
“Not to worry
, my boy. I’ll speak to Madeline over there. She’s the head of Secure and owes me a favor. They’ll be taken home and guarded until you return.” Vasilov parted the crowd with his bulk and Ink was reassured.
He hugged his vet, who was beckoned over to a threesome of her peers.
Then he went to the bar and ordered a drink. The television overhead was playing the best scenes of the Games and there was Thor swinging Dog of Tartarus! The bartender laughed and passed over the margarita. A slip of paper came with it, her phone number written there.
Ink only had eyes for the blonde, who was
tending the old man as he pushed away a plate from the buffet and demanded something else. Her voice too loud over by Scrapper, Nadia was telling her idea of an all-children stable to people who listened with faces washed clean of expression.
Divorce.
Pronto. He had to do this before he signed deals with Mazo. If he signed them too soon, she could lay claim to half. He should have printed out those divorce forms from the Internet years ago and gotten this process in motion! The petition, the summons, the property declaration, all of that had to be mailed to court to be filed and then he’d serve her . . . he wanted to smack himself for letting it go on this long. That had been a mistake and he was done making those.
One of the
oak doors opened between Thor and Maenad. It was Adrasteia at last. People clapped and cheered for her. Ink did too, needing to be seen as gracious. Her smile was strained and she stayed by the open door like she had just come to make an appearance for formality’s sake and then planned to take her zombie lover and split.
Ink turned back to watch the blonde at the buffet table, where she scooped up a different array of treats and ferried them to Cantine.
The other two women of his were seated on either side of him. They were injecting themselves into a conversation between wealthy business people and getting patronized or ignored. Gorvich had a handsome young man at her side, but he was only listening. He knew his place. Everyone waved Ink over to the last seat on the sofas, where he was welcomed into the chat.
He did a lot of listening, too.
He was too heady to trust that his voice wouldn’t crack from joy, or that his words would come out in the proper order. Only once did he speak, after being asked if he would be investing in property. “Oh, yes,” Ink said. “I was considering a move nearer the Hill. There are so many good properties in that area for stables.” And the bigwigs agreed with him! Heads nodded all around and Stanson said that the old Raynal ranch had just gone on the market. The house needed some love in a new roof and paint job, there were only two bedrooms, but it was a fine property and had had its stables upgraded five years ago. Ten by ten stalls, a wash stall too, tons of storage space, nice tack and feed rooms, there were spigots and electrical sockets everywhere and even a bathroom for the owner. And a small rink for training! That would get snapped up fast, so Ink should look sharp about it if he was interested.