Earthfall (20 page)

“‘When the world ends, our mission begins.’ Yeah, I heard that already. I noticed your vehicle is armed with missiles and machine guns, by the way. Coming to offer help from the barrel of a weapon? I mean, you’ve already killed four members of my family, so why stop there?”

“Our weapons are defensive only, and
your
people attacked
us
! No warning, no attempted contact, nothing—just an outright attack while we were looking for what we needed. If you’re so frightened of us, all you had to do was keep your heads down. We would’ve been gone in less than two hours!” Andrews spread his hands. “That’s the truth, Law. Leona must have told you that, and I’m telling it to you again. We’re not on a mission of conquest, we’re here looking for what my people need in order to survive.”

Law snorted, but he seemed suddenly calm. He regarded the two men before him for a long moment. “Yes, yes, you both sing the same song. But it doesn’t matter, Andrews. It simply doesn’t matter. I’m not willing to take the chance. I know that if you don’t leave here, your people will die from a poisoned atmosphere. Kind of ironic that your impressive base actually becomes a mass grave, am I right?”

“Why? Why let that happen?” Andrews asked. “Harmony has everything you need. Food. Medicine. Building supplies. Technology. We can relocate you to another place and support you in recovery. Listen to me, Law—if we die, then you doom your own people. We’re your best chance at regaining what you lost in the war!”

“So you’d have us trade in what little we have left for the promise of a better future? Are you actually telling me that the
government
is back, and now it wants to help?” Law chuckled throatily, and Andrews could see he was actually enjoying the exchange. “I’m sorry, Captain. Those of us who managed to survive could never trust you. And why should we?” He turned away and walked out the door. As he passed the two men standing guard, he said, “Take them to the Pit.”

When he stepped out of the room, more filthy survivors rolled in after him, overwhelming Andrews and Spencer like a putrid tide.

T
he cavernous room
must have once been an arena of some sort, Andrews thought—perhaps a hockey rink. From the light of dozens of flickering torches that surrounded the rink, he could see that where there should have been a sheet of ice, there was instead desiccated earth dotted with sharp metal stakes. The bleachers surrounding the pit were filled with scores of wildly screaming survivors, ranging from filthy, scrappy men and women to twisted monstrosities—those who had been born with severe physical deformities, likely courtesy of the radioactive aftermath of the Sixty Minute War. He didn’t understand how they had survived for so long. There were over a hundred people present, and they cheered and howled like crazed animals as Andrews and Spencer were dragged and thrown into the pit. Spencer cursed as he landed on his injured arm while rolling out of the fall, and he wound up lying on his side, cradling his wounded limb. Andrews hurried over to him and pulled him to his feet as the crowd began to pelt them with all manner of debris.

“Come on, Spence! On your feet!”

Once Spencer managed to stand, Andrews dragged him to the center of the pit. He tried to shield Spencer from the pieces of wood and stone that were hurled at them; most missed by a wide margin, but occasionally one connected.

“Man, this rates a solid ten point five on the ‘Holy Shit’ meter,” Spencer said. “What the hell are these fuckers going to do to us now?”

“Nothing good,” Andrews said. As he looked around the pit, he knew what was likely to happen. This was in fact an arena, just not for the sport it had been built for. Andrews and Spencer were going to be the entertainment.

At the far end of the rink, he saw Law mount a gangway that led to a decaying broadcast booth. Behind him, Leona was dragged along by two burly men. Her hands were bound before her. She looked down at them, and her eyes met Andrews’s. Her expression was one of utter terror, and Andrews knew she had good reason to be frightened. Back at Harmony, Leona was considered beautiful. Here, in this shattered city where people still lived but humanity was dead, she would be a prized asset, perfect breeding stock. She would be passed from man to man until she could no longer provide what they needed. After that? Andrews wasn’t sure, but he had no doubt she might spend years wishing for death.

Law held up his hands, and the jeering assemblage fell into a sudden, respectful silence, watching him with a mixture of religious reverence and bloodthirsty anticipation.

“It’s been almost two years since this facility was last used, when survivalists from the north threatened our sanctuary with their tainted ways. And now, these two will meet their end in exactly the same manner!”

The crowd exploded into a barrage of cheers. Andrews could barely hear Spencer over the raucous din.

“Did he just say something about survivors from the north?” Spencer shouted.

“Yeah—I guess we were right, the Northwest might not have been hit so hard,” Andrews shouted back.

“A shame, man. I would’ve liked to have gone up there, maybe see some real pine trees and Mount Ranier, or something.” Spencer ducked as a dusty brick flew past his head.

Law held up his hands, grinning like a madman. When the crowd quieted itself, he looked down at the two men.

“The rules are simple, gentlemen. You fight until you are killed. Then, your carcasses will be divided up amongst my Family. After all … a nutritious meal
is
hard to come by these days.” To the crowd, he said, “And now …
it begins!
”

As the crowd erupted yet again, Law continued walking to the old broadcast booth. Leona was dragged along after him, and the small group stepped inside. Law took a seat before the booth’s open window, sitting up there like a demented Roman emperor settling in to watch gladiator games.

“You know, now would be a great time for Mulligan and the others to roll in and save the day,” Spencer said, fear evident in his voice.

“The only thing Mulligan’s saved in his entire life is a bad attitude.” Andrews turned in place as he scanned the cavernous room, hoping to get an idea of what was going to happen next.

Surprisingly, he
did
see what was going to happen next. A towering man leapt into the pit opposite them. He was even bigger than Mulligan, standing almost seven feet tall. He was extremely well-fed; his muscles rippled beneath scabbed, knobby skin, and just one of his thighs was almost as big as both of Andrews’s. But all was not perfect; the man’s right arm was a misshapen club of calloused flesh, and his left eye was missing, perhaps ripped out long ago in some past contest, leaving behind a scarred, empty socket. Completely bald, the huge warrior turned toward Andrews and Spencer and smiled hungrily, revealing rotting, black teeth.

“Missing an eye and a bum arm,” Spencer said. “Maybe things are looking up. The guy’s worse off than I am.”

“Don’t get too cocky, Sergeant,” Andrews cautioned. “He’s still going to be one tough customer. Keep to his left when you can, hang out in his blind spot.”

“Hooah. What about you?”

“I don’t have a busted arm. I’ll try and tire him out, then we’ll figure out how we’re going to take him down.”

If Spencer replied, Andrews didn’t hear him. The crowd’s cheering swelled, and the giant bellowed and charged before the two men had an opportunity to ready themselves for his attack. Andrews shoved Spencer aside and darted to his left, hoping to attract the giant’s full attention before he zeroed in on Spencer, who would be the easier target. He needn’t have worried; the giant was apparently looking for a fight, so he charged directly at Andrews, his club-arm held high, his mouth open wide as he released a guttural war cry. Andrews stopped short and waited for the disfigured warrior to close on him, his fists held out before him as he adopted a fighting stance. That encouraged the brute, and he pounded toward him with reckless abandon, his big feet stomping into the dry, packed earth of the arena, bearing down on Andrews like an out-of-control freight train. At the last moment, when the warrior was nearly on top of him, Andrews fell to his hands and knees. Unable to stop, the warrior tripped over Andrews and slammed face-first into the dirt, sending up an explosion of dust. The impact was strong enough to knock the wind of out Andrews and he floundered about on his back, frantically trying to take a breath while attempting to gather his feet beneath him and press his advantage. He rolled over onto his belly and pushed himself to his knees, his movements slow—too slow. The giant was already recovering from his spill, and he awkwardly levered himself to his knees with his good arm. Andrews saw Spencer moving in, racing to tackle the brute before he could get to his feet.

“Spence, no!” Andrews croaked, but his warning was lost in the cacophony of the cheering crowd.

Spencer ran right into the warrior, slamming into him with his shoulder like a linebacker. He practically bounced off the larger man. The warrior howled and swung at him with his good arm. Spencer tried to duck under it, but the warrior was surprisingly fast. He took the swing right across the head, and the blow sent him sprawling across the arena’s dirt floor. The crowd exploded with thunderous applause. The warrior grinned and hauled himself to his feet, stepping toward Spencer.

Andrews leapt toward him and delivered a powerful snap-kick to the giant’s side, throwing as much of his body weight into the attack as he could. The warrior lurched sideways with a sharp grunt as Andrews’s boot made solid contact with his ribs. Nevertheless, the warrior spun with uncanny speed and struck Andrews in the chest with his clubbed arm. The force of the blow was incredible; Andrews was literally lifted from his feet and went flying through the air. He landed on the hard-packed arena floor and rolled right toward one of the sharp metal stakes. The sharpened metal sliced open his temple as his head bumped into it. Andrews cried out and pressed his hand to the wound. When he pulled it away to struggle back to his feet, his palm was slick with blood. The crowd went wild at the sight of his injury, and dozens of natty survivors jumped up and down in the bleachers, shrieking in delight.

The warrior turned back to Spencer as he charged back toward him. He grabbed the front of Spencer’s uniform in one big hand and swung him around like a rag doll. Spencer tried to twist away, but to no avail—the giant’s grip was too strong. With a roar, the warrior lifted him into the air and hurled him away, as if the crew chief was no more substantial than a newborn infant. Spencer tumbled as he arced toward the arena floor, coming down squarely on one of the twisted metal stakes. The stake’s sharp tip erupted through his chest. Spencer shuddered, then tried to get up. Dark blood spread across his uniform blouse. Heart blood, Andrews knew.

Oh my God.

Satisfied that Spencer was no longer a threat, the warrior pivoted and charged toward Andrews. Andrews grabbed a handful of dirt as he rose to his feet and hurled it into the giant’s face. The warrior recoiled, rubbing at his eye with his hand while blindly lashing out with his clubbed arm. Andrews ducked under the first few swipes, then kicked the man-thing right in the groin. The warrior screamed and doubled over, sinking to his knees. Andrews stepped in and caught him with a fast uppercut that landed with such authority that the giant’s jaws slammed shut. Andrews pressed his advantage, punching the giant in the face again and again, ignoring the pain that blossomed in his hands. The crowd booed, furious that their champion was taking a beating so soon after downing one opponent. The warrior’s head rocked back and forth from the fury of Andrews’s blows, until it finally toppled over onto its back, bleeding profusely from a shattered nose. With a gurgle, it spat out bloody saliva and pieces of broken teeth. Andrews reared back and brought up his right foot, intending to stomp on the giant’s face, but a hurled brick struck him in the back of his right shoulder. He went down with a cry, stumbling across the giant’s body. Feeling the shift in the tide, the giant lashed out with his legs. One of his huge feet caught Andrews under the right arm, and he was sent rolling across the arena floor. He came to a rest next to Spencer’s spasming body. Andrews pushed himself to his elbows and, for a brief instant, his eyes met Spencer’s. Despite the bloodied stake piercing his chest, the crew chief was trying to sit up, to get back into the fight. The light was fading from Spencer’s face.

“I’m okay,” Spencer said, smiling. Blood bubbled from his mouth and nostrils, and then he died.

Andrews heard the giant warrior grunt as he pushed himself to his feet. He looked at Spencer’s body as it slowly relaxed, settling back onto the stake that had claimed his life. The crowd roared its approval, and Andrews knew the warrior must have been making his way back to him. Andrews felt a fire begin to burn in his chest, and he shoved himself upright, leaping to his feet. Hot rage fueled him, and he whirled to face the oncoming giant, ignoring the throb in his shoulder where the brick had struck him. He was surprised to find the warrior’s approach was slow and measured—no more charging, no more howling. Andrews had put a hurting on him, and he knew the warrior, despite his greater size and strength, was going to take his time. He had learned that Andrews was no pushover.