the lights to shine and for his prey to rise into the cage. He took a step to the side, heavy boots scraping along the cement floor, his tight, leather one-piece suit squeaking a little as he did. He didn’t care about the sound. Stealth wasn’t an issue when facing off against the undead.
As much as he enjoyed the kill, he didn’t care for administering death to something that was already dead. And the taste . . . well, he could stomach a lump of decaying flesh if it meant the sweet red nectar of human blood shortly after.
Overhead, the buzzer blared. The place erupted into cheers, clapping hands and hoots and hollers. The bright white lights flashed on, their focus on the cage. The audience was a mere shadow just beyond.
It was all automated as no human referee would dare enter the cage before a fight went underway.
The low whirring of mechanical gears filled Ramus’s hyper-sensitive ears and his keen sense of touch picked up the mild vibrations in the cage’s cement floor.
About fifteen feet away an iron ring four feet wide lit up bright blue on the ground. The ring slid to the side within the cement, revealing a dark hole.
The crowd hushed.
Growls.
Ramus knew what was about to come through.
Mechanical gears got to work.
The dead began to rise.
It was a Sprinter. Ramus could tell by the ghoul’s pasty white face and bloodshot eyes and red irises. The other kind, the slower ones, were gray-skinned with deep shadows hugging their eye sockets.
The Sprinter immediately growled and roared and jerked at the electronic restraints shackling his wrists and ankles, the cuffs bound together with a short chain.
Any moment now someone off to the side would press a button and—
The buzzer went off again.
The shackles released from the dead man’s wrists and ankles. They clanged onto the floor by the zombie’s feet.
It was on.
The audience cheered, their stomping feet thundering throughout the arena.
The Sprinter charged toward him. Ramus waited until the ghoul was almost upon him before leaping over the creature’s head and landing on the other side.
As it was with all fights, Mr. Sterpanko’s words echoed in his head. Give ’em a show, if you want your blood. Nothing quick.
“Sprinters are never quick kills,” Ramus muttered, spinning on his heels and backhanding the zombie across the skull.
The creature lurched forward, regained its footing, then whirled around and ran at him, arms outstretched, long dead fingernails zipping through the air like razorblades.
Ramus stepped to the side, kicked the creature in the back, then brought his heels together, sliding in before administering a side kick to the rear of the creature’s neck. Bone crunched, causing the head to lean at an unnatural angle, but the ghoul didn’t care. It turned around, growled, then ran around the perimeter of the cage.
“What’s it doing?” Ramus said, remaining where he was.
The Sprinter darted in circles, at least a dozen times.
The crowd booed.
Give ’em a show.
Just as Ramus was about to make a run for the zombie, the Sprinter changed its course and came at him straight on, slamming its head against his. The force of the blow caused Ramus to bite down on his own tongue. Blood immediately filled his mouth. Something hard caught him in the jaw. A fist. Then fire lit up his midsection as the Sprinter tore its nails across his abdomen.
Ramus dropped to his knees and the Sprinter grabbed him under the jaw, jerking his head up and nearly separating it from his neck. A bone popped.
A toe broke as the Sprinter stepped on it. Crunch!
The Sprinter bit into his skull and tore out a chunk of flesh and bone.
Ramus licked his own blood from his lips and ignored the pain. “I don’t think so.” He’d heal soon enough anyway.
Quickly, he latched onto the zombie’s shins, grabbed hard and pulled, tearing the dead man’s legs out from under him. The Sprinter fell back with a thud.
Shakily, Ramus got to his feet and touched the top of
As much as he enjoyed the kill, he didn’t care for administering death to something that was already dead. And the taste . . . well, he could stomach a lump of decaying flesh if it meant the sweet red nectar of human blood shortly after.
Overhead, the buzzer blared. The place erupted into cheers, clapping hands and hoots and hollers. The bright white lights flashed on, their focus on the cage. The audience was a mere shadow just beyond.
It was all automated as no human referee would dare enter the cage before a fight went underway.
The low whirring of mechanical gears filled Ramus’s hyper-sensitive ears and his keen sense of touch picked up the mild vibrations in the cage’s cement floor.
About fifteen feet away an iron ring four feet wide lit up bright blue on the ground. The ring slid to the side within the cement, revealing a dark hole.
The crowd hushed.
Growls.
Ramus knew what was about to come through.
Mechanical gears got to work.
The dead began to rise.
It was a Sprinter. Ramus could tell by the ghoul’s pasty white face and bloodshot eyes and red irises. The other kind, the slower ones, were gray-skinned with deep shadows hugging their eye sockets.
The Sprinter immediately growled and roared and jerked at the electronic restraints shackling his wrists and ankles, the cuffs bound together with a short chain.
Any moment now someone off to the side would press a button and—
The buzzer went off again.
The shackles released from the dead man’s wrists and ankles. They clanged onto the floor by the zombie’s feet.
It was on.
The audience cheered, their stomping feet thundering throughout the arena.
The Sprinter charged toward him. Ramus waited until the ghoul was almost upon him before leaping over the creature’s head and landing on the other side.
As it was with all fights, Mr. Sterpanko’s words echoed in his head. Give ’em a show, if you want your blood. Nothing quick.
“Sprinters are never quick kills,” Ramus muttered, spinning on his heels and backhanding the zombie across the skull.
The creature lurched forward, regained its footing, then whirled around and ran at him, arms outstretched, long dead fingernails zipping through the air like razorblades.
Ramus stepped to the side, kicked the creature in the back, then brought his heels together, sliding in before administering a side kick to the rear of the creature’s neck. Bone crunched, causing the head to lean at an unnatural angle, but the ghoul didn’t care. It turned around, growled, then ran around the perimeter of the cage.
“What’s it doing?” Ramus said, remaining where he was.
The Sprinter darted in circles, at least a dozen times.
The crowd booed.
Give ’em a show.
Just as Ramus was about to make a run for the zombie, the Sprinter changed its course and came at him straight on, slamming its head against his. The force of the blow caused Ramus to bite down on his own tongue. Blood immediately filled his mouth. Something hard caught him in the jaw. A fist. Then fire lit up his midsection as the Sprinter tore its nails across his abdomen.
Ramus dropped to his knees and the Sprinter grabbed him under the jaw, jerking his head up and nearly separating it from his neck. A bone popped.
A toe broke as the Sprinter stepped on it. Crunch!
The Sprinter bit into his skull and tore out a chunk of flesh and bone.
Ramus licked his own blood from his lips and ignored the pain. “I don’t think so.” He’d heal soon enough anyway.
Quickly, he latched onto the zombie’s shins, grabbed hard and pulled, tearing the dead man’s legs out from under him. The Sprinter fell back with a thud.
Shakily, Ramus got to his feet and touched the top of
Similar Books
Message from a Mistress
Niobia Bryant
You're All Alone (illustrated)
Fritz Leiber
I'm in Love With a Stripper
Michelle Marola
Fated Folly
Elizabeth Bailey
Circle of Danger
Carla Swafford
First a Dream (Dreams Come True #1)
Emma Nichols
Embroidering Shrouds
Priscilla Masters
Wild Horses
D'Ann Lindun
One Handsome Devil
Robert Preece