“Maybe that redneck bastard got what he deserved,” Ross stated.
They continued jogging through the forest, parallel with the electric fence that kept them inside the parameters their captors had designated. Ross eagerly checked for a break, a missing section of fence that the dead could’ve created. They had passed one zombie who had tried breaking out of the arena, but paid the price dearly. The smell of his fried, dead flesh made Anthony puke. Everyone in the group almost followed suit. Ross hoped the Barkers wanted to save fuel for their generators and thought they had kept the fence inactive between “hunts.” If that were true, and he prayed it was, then the zombies could have broken out during those opportune times.
As they kept moving, Ross began losing faith in his theory.
“How much longer are we gonna keep running for?” Landry asked his father.
“You tired, boy?” Ross asked. “And you want to be an All-State running back?”
Landry laughed beneath his breath. They had probably already ran the length of five football fields, but he opted not to argue that fact with his father.
“I could use a quick breather,” he admitted.
In agreement, Anthony exhaled dramatically.
“I think we could use one too,” Tabby said.
Ross looked around. There were no zombies in his line of vision, even though the forest reeked of them. They weren’t far away. And who knew where the hunters were lurking. For all he knew, they could be squatting in one of the trees with a sniper rifle. Ross scanned the tall maple trees. They provided excellent coverage. As his eyes bounced from tree to tree, he expected to hear the gunshot that would end his life.
“Okay, but not too long,” Ross said. “And let’s stay away from the fence while we’re at it.”
“I thought you said the fence was our best bet for getting out of here,” Tabby said.
“I did.” Ross nodded to the top of the fence. A camera had been mounted to the top of the fence post, peering directly at them. “But we’re being watched.”
Ross put his arm around his son, steering him toward the middle of the arena.
“We can’t go back there. We’ll be sitting ducks in the open,” Tabby said.
“Maybe they won’t be expecting us there,” Ross said. “Maybe there is a way out, back where we started. And maybe there won’t be any cameras either.”
There were too many “maybes” in his logic, but Tabby didn’t argue. Instead, she comforted her son, throwing her arm around his neck. He smiled weakly. She mouthed the words “I love you” not knowing how many opportunities she had left to tell him. Anthony’s smile grew wider.
Together, the four of them walked toward the core of the arena where the smell of the dead became very bold.
Otis approached the gaggle of corpses. They were on their knees, crowded around their recent victory, rummaging through the sack of skin for inner parts and other tasty treats. Below the zombies, through the slick red mess that pooled outward, Otis recognized the pair of boots and the pant legs that stuck out of the feeding frenzy. Sheet, he thought. He raised his shotgun and started breaking up the party. The zombies looked away from their meal, their faces covered in slushy crimson fluids, growling at the intruder. One by one, Otis thinned the crowd until one zombie remained. It looked at Otis warily, then returned to snacking on his brother’s intestines.
Otis knocked the zombie in the head with the stock of his shotgun. The zombie fell on its side, snarling as it rolled across the ground. It tried scrambling to its feet, but Otis was there with his boot, jamming his steel-toe boot into the side of the zombie’s face, which dented on impact. Rotten teeth tumbled out of its mouth. The rancid stench was nauseating, even to Otis, who had smelled worse over the years.
“You sumbitches,” Otis murmured, bringing his foot down on the back of the zombie’s head. It crunched beneath his boot like shards of glass. Otis ground the corpse’s head into the dirt, rotating the ball of his foot while applying all the pressure he could muster. Once finished, he stomped on it several more times, making sure the dead remained dead.
Otis’s eyes found Floyd, or what the zombies didn’t have a chance to finish. His stomach was ripped open, most of his organs removed, becoming nothing more than chew toys. His mouth was agape, forever capturing that horrific final moment. Coagulated blood stained his lips. His right ear had been torn off, leaving a flap of skin hanging down his face.
Otis shook his head. There were no tears in his eyes. Otis wasn’t sure when the last time he cried, if he had ever done such a thing. He thought about Momma, what she would do if she saw her son’s brutal demise on the surveillance camera mounted in the trees. Otis thought about dragging his brother back to the house so that the vultures wouldn’t snatch up his remains. That way, Momma Barker could give her son a proper burial.
But that would take time—time Otis decided he didn’t have. Besides, he spotted a trail of footsteps leading away from Floyd’s body. Four different sets. They got away, Otis thought. Sumbitches got away and Floyd didn’t. The fact that the contestants had (so far) survived this apocalyptic obstacle course and his brother hadn’t enraged him. He felt his face grow hot and it wasn’t because of the orange globe in the sky or the bush on his face.
Otis marched on, following the contestants’ trail, more motivated to claim a kill than he ever had been.
Josh was not quite finished puking into a bush when Ben Ackerman strolled along side of him. He glanced up, a thick strand of upchuck hanging from his mouth. Ben loomed over him. He put his hand on Josh’s back.
“Is it the smell or the withdrawals?” he asked.
“Both,” Josh answered. “I think.” Vomit exploded out of his mouth once again. “They’re close? The zombies, I mean?”
“About twenty paces back. It’s hard to lose them.”
“How many?”
“Enough to give us problems if they catch up,” Ben said. “Plus, there’s still two more Barker brothers out there.”
“Unless Ross and his crew did as well as we did,” Josh said, sounding somewhat hopeful.
“Yeah,” Ben replied. “But we can’t be too sure of that.”
Josh brought himself to his feet, feeling a little better. His stomach remained uneasy. The feelings his body produced from the lack of drugs was still riding him like a pissed-off demon. The dragon needs to be satiated.
Victoria and Paul Scott jogged over to them.
“Guys!” Victoria gasped, almost breathless.
“What?” Ben quickly asked.
“It’s Ross and the others.”
“What about them?”
“They’re in the middle of the field,” Paul said nervously. “Just standing there.”
“What?” Josh asked. “Why?”
“Dunno,” Paul said. “But they better do something quick. If the zombies don’t get to them, those sick bastards are sure to find them.”
“Shit,” Josh muttered. “Have they lost their minds?”
“Sure as shit seems like it.”
Ben opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a thunderous boom. It had come from the direction of the open field, where previous contestants’ vehicles lay not-so-hidden. The four of them rotated toward the thunderclap.
Ben and Josh exchanged glances. Then they ran.
“Where tha fuck ya’ll think yer goan?” a familiar voice spoke from behind them. “Ya’ll left my brother fer dead. What’dja ya’ll think ya were goan just walk outta here ’live?”
Zombies limped toward them. Despite the approaching killer, the foursome continued walking towards the pack of corpses. Towards a longer, more agonizing death.