Crossing Bedlam (33 page)

“Get out of there, Lloyd!” Cassidy shouts from high above. She is angrily fighting against Commodus, who has her in one arm to keep her safe in the box. “Give me my gun, so I can help him. He can’t win with his bare hands.”

“I see in his eyes that he believes he can,” the muscular man states, nodding his head toward a screen. He licks his lips at the same time Lloyd does, the camera having zoomed in on the serial killer’s face. “There is a spark that I want to see grow into an inferno. Your friend wishes to defeat the monster and it would be wrong to stop him. Besides, this is the biggest crowd we’ve had for an opening match in months.”

Back in the arena, Lloyd walks forward and wipes sweat from his brow. Flicking the droplets at the approaching Half-Dead, he imagines them sizzling on the radioactive creature’s skin. He feels queasy getting so close to the assassin, but it is not nearly as debilitating as he expected. Feeding off the excited crowd and his own bloodlust, Lloyd sprints forward and switches the machete to his left hand. The Half-Dead follows the weapon and prepares for the slash, so it is caught entirely by surprise when the serial killer delivers a jaw-snapping punch to the face. There are mild burns on Lloyd’s knuckles from the brief contact, but he jumps back and holds out his arms to reveal he is still in the fight.

“Did . . . Wait . . . No fucking way . . . The newcomer just punched a fucking Half-Dead with his bare hand!” the announcer shouts, stirring the stunned crowd. Everyone is on their feet to watch the spectacle, all of them whispering their theories on how the outsider can stand up to the toxic creature. “We might be looking at a new type of human here. Maybe he has a natural resistance to radiation or escaped from being altered by the Half-Deads in DC. I don’t know and all I want to do is see how this match plays out. All betting stations are open for the next two minutes and we have people in the stands to help if you can’t get there in time. Enjoy this one of a kind experience! I know I will.”

Having struck the Half-Dead a few more times, Lloyd is surprised by how easy it is to wail on the assassin. He guesses the creature has never had to deal with something that could hurt it at close range. A gurgling in his stomach makes him burp, which he assumes is another side-effect of the experimental pills the twins gave him in South Bend. So far, they have only dulled his stronger impulses and made him a little sleepy if he gets too worked up. If the worst he has to deal with is indigestion to get his hands on the Half-Dead then Lloyd is more than happy to spend a week with a twisted stomach.

Delivering another punch to the assassin’s side, the killer notices that his skin is sticking to his enemy and worries that his resistance is starting to fade. Finally snapping out of its fear and shock, the Half-Dead grabs Lloyd by the neck and hurls him against the far wall. He lands next to his paintball gun, which he ignores because there is no reason to go non-lethal. Stretching his back and shoulders, he waits for the assassin to get closer and lashes out with the machete to sever three gnarled fingers. The lost digits do nothing to slow the Half-Dead, but Lloyd ducks under its grab and slashes into its ribs. A fist knocks him upside the head and he flips onto his back before clumsily rolling out of reach.

“I think we gave them a good show, but I’m about to puke,” Lloyd mutters, his head spinning for a terrifying moment. Seeing the assassin lunge forward, he jumps back and takes a deep breath. “From one monster to another, you suck at your job.”

The Half-Dead pounces again, expecting Lloyd to dodge like before. Instead, the serial killer grips his machete in both hands and raises the weapon over his head. The blade comes down on the assassin’s head and is driven down to its wielder’s knuckles. With the Half-Dead still twitching and hissing, Lloyd frees the machete and delivers several more gleeful whacks that turn the creature’s skull into shard-filled pulp. Doubting that he can keep the weapon, he stabs it through his enemy’s back and twists to make sure the heart has stopped. Towels rain down on him as the crowd cheers and he cleans himself as best as he can. The nausea is getting worse and patches of burnt skin are on his neck, so he makes a note to tell the twins that their pills are not very effective for constant exposure.

“We will have a small delay while a biohazard crew cleanses the arena and the doctors tend to Lloyd,” the announcers declares, receiving no complaints from the crowd. Teams of workers come out in protective suits to replace the dirt and remove the radioactive corpse. “Pretty sure nobody wants to follow that display of pure awesomeness. It might not have been flashy or long, but this may be the first time a human has killed a Half-Dead in close combat. At least doing it without suffering severe injuries or dying as well. Don’t worry, folks, because I’ve just been told that we will have Lloyd appear for autographs as soon as the doctors clear him to leave a necessary quarantine. Now for a message from the man who brought us this great fight.”

All eyes are on Commodus, who is standing in the window of his private box. Cassidy is sitting on a chair next to the naked ruler, the young woman still unsure of what just happened. He accepts a microphone from one of his champions, but remains silent as he watches the doctors tend to Lloyd. Waving to the men in silver biohazard suits, he nods his head when they hold up three fingers and wiggle their hands. He is about to speak when the crowd chants the victor’s name and stomps their feet, the killer’s grinning face remaining on the big screen.

“All of you will be happy to hear that our newest fighter will be healthy in three to four days,” Commodus announces, stopping for the expected applause. He is mildly amused that the same sound is bursting from outside the arena and he can only imagine how much money has changed hands over this one fight. “Sadly, Lloyd and Cassidy have a more important journey ahead of them and only stopped here to earn some gold. So, as long as they win, our new friends will not be staying after their next match. I tell you this because it means you will only have one more chance to see them in action unless they return at a later date. Clear your calendars because it will be standing room only for a midnight match. It will be Cassidy and Lloyd versus . . .” The veteran pauses for dramatic effect, leaving even his bodyguards anxious to hear who will get to face the outsiders. “Me.”

*****

Five days after Lloyd killed the Half-Dead, the stands are packed and a massive crowd surrounds the brightly lit arena. Instead of an open fighting area, the smooth dirt has been covered by an assortment of walls and obstacles. Doorways open up to roofless buildings that are either dead ends or contain hidden passages to an underground tunnel system. Ramps lead to narrow walkways that crisscross over what could easily be mistaken for ancient ruins. The illusion is broken by the occasional depiction of Commodus’s face on the marble structures, but the graffiti gives off the sense that this is his playground. A cat-and-mouse match of his own design, the battlefield makes it difficult for the audience to see the action. So the excited crowd has been given neck pillows to remain comfortable when they stare at the large screens that show what is caught by flying cameras. Even so, everyone fears that they will miss something important and have already begun shouting threats at the men and women controlling the whirring drones.

Cheers erupt when Lloyd and Cassidy step out of an entrance, the pair dressed in their usual clothes. Armed with the paintball gun, the young woman waves at the crowd and tries her best to build some tension in her mind. After days of enjoying the spa and getting pampered, Cassidy finds that her muscles are remarkably loose. The chronic anxiety and stress of a survivor have been absent in her for days, but the young woman can already feel them returning now that her life is on the line. She notices an odd lightness to her steps and feels faster than she has in years, which boosts her confidence. It helps that she has learned a few new tricks from her sparring partners, all of which felt that she should know how to block with something other than her ribs and face.

Holding up a new machete that has his name emblazoned on one side, Lloyd revels in the attention. While not built like an ancient gladiator, the man emits the energy of a being who thrives in brutal combat. Having spent the last few days in the hospital, he is itching to get into a fight and stretch his legs. There are still some lotion-covered patches of burned skin on his arms and knuckles, but the doctors have cleared his system of the mild radiation poisoning and the pills. Without the medicine, Lloyd can feel his delicious bloodlust returning to full strength and all of the kills that he has failed to make during his journey come to his mind. Flipping his new weapon, he grins at the sight of his own face that gives the illusion of turning into the picture of a demon.

“All stand for Commodus!” shouts a man from the far side of the arena.

Wearing centurion armor, Commodus looks like he has stepped out of the past and is hungry for blood. He bangs his heavy spear against his shield to get the crowd to stomp their feet, most of them having never seen their leader in action. The giant, decorative sword is strapped to his back and drawing it signals a woman on the announcer tower to sing a powerful battle hymn of Commodus’s own design. He frowns when he hears that most of the audience is mumbling and trying to fake the words. Once the anthem is done, he plunges the sword into a stand that is shaped to look like a boulder.

“I think he’s getting his mythologies mixed up,” Lloyd whispers while watching the display on one of the screens. With all of the obstacles in the way, it is impossible for the opponents to directly see each other. “Good thing he’s wearing pants too. Not sure how I’d handle fighting a naked guy who is that aggressive and gifted. Mostly there’d be too big a temptation to make him a eunuch and that’s just offensive.”

“I was worried about that too,” Cassidy admits while stretching her legs. With a rejuvenated sense of energy, she is able to lift her booted foot to her head like a professional dancer or gymnast. “I really don’t want to kill him. I mean, he’s been so nice to us and this place is amazing. On the other hand, we really have to win and get back on the road. That armor is going to be a problem for you. Have any tactics in mind?”

“At least he can’t fly or fire lasers out of the damn thing,” her companion answers with a playful smirk. The crowd begins stomping their feet again while the announcer makes his introductions, the one for Commodus hinting that it will take a few minutes to complete. “I’m not much into strategy. Everything he’s carrying is a problem, so why focus on one part? I’ll let you work by a plan while I be my spontaneous self. Wish I had a magnet. Ideally one that had a bawdy message on it or maybe an inspirational kitten.”

“I don’t know if armor is magnetic.”

“There’s always glue.”

“Wouldn’t that mean stickers would work too?”

“Eh, too predictable.”

“Sometimes I think you doing the predictable would count as unpredictable.”

“Awww, now my cheeks are blushing. Not the ones you can see.”

A chorus of horns blare from the top of the arena and Cassidy sprints for the nearest ramp to reach higher ground. Not in much of a hurry, Lloyd makes sure his new shoes are tied before wandering into the fake ruins. There is a faint crashing noise that the pair assume is Commodus in his bulky armor. With so many twists and turns in the maze, neither of them can be sure of the direction he is coming from. Cassidy tries to spot the champion from her high perch, but his knowledge of the area helps the large man stay concealed. All she can see is Lloyd roaming through the lower paths, the serial killer occasionally stopping to pick his nose or warble in what she assumes is his imitation of a dying bird.

The glint of metal catches the young woman’s attention and she signals for her companion to be careful. She tries to find a way to get a clear shot at Commodus, his armor negating her non-lethal weapon until she can see his face. Walking across a narrow beam, Cassidy stops in the middle because the other side would expose her to their enemy. Needing the veteran to leave his hiding place, she fires a few harmless shots at what she believes is his shoulder. Her hope is to startle the patient man and herd him toward Lloyd, who is no more than twenty feet away. The paintballs splatter against the armor, which disappears behind the black stone wall with a hollow clang.

Before Cassidy can shout a warning, Lloyd hears a single footfall and dives away from a nearby doorway. Commodus’s spear slams into the far wall, the man wearing only the bottom of his uniform. Sparks fly when the machete strike the shield and skids along the metal disc’s decorations. The champion finds it difficult to get a clear view of Lloyd, who repeatedly aims for the man’s head and forces the shield to act as a blinder. Paintballs pepper Commodus’s arms and stomach, the ones with itching powder making him uncomfortable for a few seconds. He jabs at where he thinks his opponent is hiding, but the only result is Lloyd making the sound of a wrong answer buzzer.

“You are trying to irritate me,” the muscular man growls, charging forward to hit the serial killer with the shield. He raises his spear for a quick stab, but a paintball bursts against his sweaty forehead and sends black pepper into his eyes. “That is a very effective and agonizing weapon. Perhaps I should make a rule that bans them from fights unless every combatant has one.”

“I’ll leave a note for the next guy,” Lloyd says as he moves to attack. He is too close to avoid the spear as it is swung into his side and sends him through a fragile wall. “Blind does not mean deaf and stupid. Have to believe I’m fighting a guy with some type of radar or warning sense. You didn’t happen to be bitten by a glowing insect as a child, did you?”