When Dead Men Bleed
Chapter One
“The Council of Zombies has confirmed the attack on Huck Lane two days ago was, indeed, a human terrorist attack.” The siren readjusted her bird wings while her serpentine fish tail rested atop the water, the microphone carefully kept above the surface. “They attempted to release a toxin known as H-Z47 onto the zombies in that area. We have reports that it has killed fifty zombies, side effects including blurred vision and slurred speech. The government advises survivors should go to their nearest ER for a checkup.
“Hybrids led these attacks: humans with DNA from various second-worlders to gain our abilities. Many of these Hybrids have taken their lives to keep from revealing where the humans are hiding. What other experiments have humans been testing on themselves, and possibly, other second-worlders?” The siren’s countenance turned serious, glittering with the bias of her own kind. “Humans once ruled, but the stronger species prevailed. No longer do we live in fear of humans. Quoting our president, Yvonne Berland, ‘This world is no longer theirs. They should be the ones fearing us.’
“This is Katrina from Seven O’clock News, signing off.”
Click.
“Humans,” my father spat, glaring at the television as he stood from his seat. “Their deaths would solve zombie starvation in a heartbeat.”
I watched him from my position on the floor, the monster truck in my hand in mid-flip. I didn’t know what he was talking about, really—I was too young. Humans? I’d only seen them in school and on the news.
Growing up, I realized it’s hard to tell a human from a zombie at first glance. Most of our differences are internal, but the biggest factor is our stench and the fact that zombies don’t have blood, but rather an acidic ichor that courses through us. As we grow older, though, our bodies rot and deteriorate, and we eventually waste away around eighty or ninety.
Zombies stand near the top of the food chain, next to vampires and werewolves. Cursed and Turned werewolves can be slain with silver. Cursed and Turned vampires can’t handle sunlight, stakes to the heart, and holy water. Born creatures are a whole other monster in themselves. With zombies, sever our brainstem and we’re done for.
Then there are anomalies called Bleeders—zombie abominations straddling the line between death and life. They aren’t dead, but they aren’t alive, either. With a pulse twice as fast as a zombie, a hunger reminiscent of a wildfire, and a body that’s never damaged for long, they’re truly undead.
Immortal.
Humans may be terrorists, but Bleeders are nightmares. All it takes is one scratch, and the zombie begins to bleed.
For centuries, the fae and the other “mythical beings” lived in a hidden realm. It was an entire dimension riddled with creatures, colors, and abilities beyond any human’s wild imagination—the second world.
A group of humans attacked the wizards that kept control over the barriers cloaking the second world. The barrier arced with a surge of power as the remaining wizards struggled to fix what had shattered, causing catastrophic changes to humans similar to radiation, forcing corpses to rise from their graves, hungry for the flesh of their origins.
This created the apocalypse.
The newly raised Mindless zombies killed off two-thirds of the human population. After a year had passed, rare mutations in humans and zombies appeared, turning them into Bleeders, or ghouls, as the humans first called them.
With the humans nearly wiped out, second-worlders revealed themselves, tired of hiding and ready to take the world as their own. This is when intelligent zombies began appearing—usually from humans that had been bitten or recently died.
The wizards attempted to reform the barrier, desperately trying to stop the impending war. But what once was an army of one-hundred wizards had dwindled to five. They were unable to repair the barrier that kept the second world hidden, and the two worlds collided with a hurricane of violence.
Humans disappeared from the map. The free became endangered, and the caught became food. If they weren’t enslaved, the new society labeled them as criminals and terrorists. Humans were punished for oppressing mythical creatures in the past. For crafting weapons that could single-handedly destroy thousands of fae. For thinking they were superior to any other sentient being.
For breathing.
The Bleeders were treated worse. Contained, starved, isolated… but they couldn’t be killed. Bleeders are between life and death.
And eternally so.
I had a force-fed view of humans my entire life: dangerous, stupid, crazed fodder that could do no right. I’d never officially met one, so the media, my peer’s comments, and my diet defined my own opinions. They became a part of me. Now, seventeen years later, as I descend the steps to impress a girl in a place I never should have been, it burrows in the back of my mind like a centipede.
Gleeful screams from people winning bets echo along the walls of the cave.
“Hey, welcome to the Hum-fights, my dudes!” A goblin guy with a weirdly placed nametag elbows through a group of bipedal, seven-foot tall werewolves to greet us at the door. “Place your bets, but save some money for a drink, because we serve the best alcohol in the country.”
“Pass,” Cayla says, lifting her hand and scrunching her nose as we hand over the entry fee. If it isn’t human, we can’t have it.
“Not me.” Etem pushes past us, his small tusks glinting in the light as he pounds his broad chest along with the low bass shaking the walls. “I could eat a table and be fine.”
The last creature in our little trio, Etem the ogre, makes a bee-line for the glowing bar, everything in a misty haze as fairies drift overhead, fog billowing from their tiny wings. Roots and weeds grow through cracks in the underground building, the air overrun with awful dog breath and even worse body odor. There’s an overwhelming stench of roses, as if the owners drenched this whole place in perfume beforehand.
“You sure this is a good idea?” I ask Cayla, glancing around anxiously.
She scoffs, her gray irises glinting with excitement. “Someone would have to knock us pretty hard to make us Mindless. Besides, don’t you want to see a human? Not in old movies or music videos. Not in packages or boxes. Breathing. Alive.”
My eyes find the ring through a gap in the crowd, the glinting of short platinum blonde hair switching my dormant hunting instincts on. Zombies haven’t needed to use them since human meat became mass-marketed and sold at every store in the world.
But I’ve learned that sometimes a glimpse is all that’s needed.
Loud cheering.
I swallow the instincts. “There aren’t any zombies here.”
She shrugs. “What’d you expect? Etem said riots break out sometimes.”
Carefully, we move through the crowd, overly aware of the swinging arms and elbows as I keep my temper in check.
Cayla gives me a worried glance as I tail her. “We should keep watch over Etem. Alcohol doesn’t do well in smaller ogres.”
My irritation flares as I’m reminded of the dangers of this place. Etem said he’d make sure no one clobbered us, but he’s left us to fend for ourselves. He’s a great friend, but I can’t tell you where his mind goes sometimes. Get him in a room crammed with energy and he’s suddenly a whole different person.
“Why’d you guys choose this place for y’all’s birthday?”
We find an empty spot in the front, a group of werewolves letting us by. I doubt anyone in this place would care about turning a zombie Mindless, and it’s keeping me on-edge.
I lean against the fence before me. Two humans stand in the ring, blood splattered against the rough concrete below. Whichever human loses, they get their brain cut out and whoever wants a piece of them feasts on their remains. The brains are for the highest bidders… a delicacy. Sure, human-eating creatures like zombies can live off frozen corpses or the human meat sold in stores, but nowadays most of them are artificial, causing a ton of health problems down the line. Apparently, it’s nothing like the real thing.
A handful of elves stand around the edges, no doubt complaining about how filthy this place is. They’re an arrogant species. The long overcoats they wear don’t do them any favors, either, making them look like a germaphobic cult. This is the last place I’d expect them to be, but maybe this group isn’t afraid of tarnishing their reputation.
“I mean, why not?” Cayla shrugs, gripping the horizontal bars before us, the Hum-fighting ring inches from our feet. “It was Etem’s idea. He wanted free drinks, and he thought maybe I’d want to try some real meat for once. And since our birthdays are so close together…”
“And if you don’t get to?”
She beams up at me, overflowing with excitement. “If I don’t get the chance, then at least I got to spend my birthday with my best friends.”
Someone bumps me, knocking my gut into the poles. I grunt and spin around to face whoever it was, fists clenching as I forget myself. A tall and gangly man with no mouth or nose stares at me with hollowed-out sockets, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. I clamp my mouth shut before my temper can get away from me.
“Whoa, no way can she beat that guy,” Cayla exhales, her hand fluttering to her mouth.
I will my chest to loosen as I size up the humans, startled by how much they resemble us.
There’s a short girl with a pretty face and short platinum hair, wearing skin-tight pants and a loose tank top with a pink A on the front. Her sun-kissed skin glistens in the warm lighting and her emerald eyes pick apart her opponent like he’s an open book.
On the other side is a rather large male, an assortment of blood splattered across his chest and his tree-trunk arms—blood that I assume isn’t his own. Sweat speckles his chocolate skin and there’s an old scar cleaving through the right side of his face. In the middle is his torn-off eyepatch. He has the fight, no questions asked.
“I can almost smell the blood on him,” Cayla mutters, staring at the man with an intense gaze. Zombie hunger is definitely waking her instincts, too. “Stay on your toes. According to Etem, once the fight is over, the ref cuts out the brain and allows the crowd to frenzy. First come, first serve. So be careful.”
The gangly dude behind me bumps my back once more as he walks away. The idiot better stay away from my head, or I’ll rip his off.
Cockiness takes over the man in the ring’s demeanor. “Say your prayers, princess!”
The girl’s head tilts in amusement. “The last person who called me princess no longer has access to their tongue. I prefer queen.”
The man laughs heartily, lifting his bloodstained club. “Sayonara, Blondie.”
A smirk tugs at the girl’s face as he rushes her. Before the club meets her head, she drops, rolling to snag a nail-studded bat, and is back on her feet in a blink. The nails glint as she brings the weapon around, and the loudest smack I’ve ever heard rings out as it connects with the man’s skull. Blood sprays the front row, and he crumples like tin foil, crashing to the ground with a loud thud.
The odds were against her. I probably could have beaten someone of her stature. She got in a lucky hit—at least that’s what I tell myself as I refuse to accept the information. It was such a quick fight. It couldn’t have been anything but luck.
The crowd roars to life as bets are won and lost. Carnivorous creatures shake the fencing, waiting impatiently for the say-so of the vampire referee who steps into the ring. Gently, he checks for a pulse. Upon finding none, he announces the girl is the winner. She beams with triumph… and perhaps a bit of insanity.
The atmosphere flurries with excitement as the vamp opens the man’s head with a small, automated bone saw, revealing a blood-soaked brain. He cuts it from the cord, backs away from the dead man, and stands before the girl to protect her from the oncoming frenzy. He then turns to the audience and projects his voice as he proclaims, “Those who wish to feast… feast.”
“Hybrids led these attacks: humans with DNA from various second-worlders to gain our abilities. Many of these Hybrids have taken their lives to keep from revealing where the humans are hiding. What other experiments have humans been testing on themselves, and possibly, other second-worlders?” The siren’s countenance turned serious, glittering with the bias of her own kind. “Humans once ruled, but the stronger species prevailed. No longer do we live in fear of humans. Quoting our president, Yvonne Berland, ‘This world is no longer theirs. They should be the ones fearing us.’
“This is Katrina from Seven O’clock News, signing off.”
Click.
“Humans,” my father spat, glaring at the television as he stood from his seat. “Their deaths would solve zombie starvation in a heartbeat.”
I watched him from my position on the floor, the monster truck in my hand in mid-flip. I didn’t know what he was talking about, really—I was too young. Humans? I’d only seen them in school and on the news.
Growing up, I realized it’s hard to tell a human from a zombie at first glance. Most of our differences are internal, but the biggest factor is our stench and the fact that zombies don’t have blood, but rather an acidic ichor that courses through us. As we grow older, though, our bodies rot and deteriorate, and we eventually waste away around eighty or ninety.
Zombies stand near the top of the food chain, next to vampires and werewolves. Cursed and Turned werewolves can be slain with silver. Cursed and Turned vampires can’t handle sunlight, stakes to the heart, and holy water. Born creatures are a whole other monster in themselves. With zombies, sever our brainstem and we’re done for.
Then there are anomalies called Bleeders—zombie abominations straddling the line between death and life. They aren’t dead, but they aren’t alive, either. With a pulse twice as fast as a zombie, a hunger reminiscent of a wildfire, and a body that’s never damaged for long, they’re truly undead.
Immortal.
Humans may be terrorists, but Bleeders are nightmares. All it takes is one scratch, and the zombie begins to bleed.
For centuries, the fae and the other “mythical beings” lived in a hidden realm. It was an entire dimension riddled with creatures, colors, and abilities beyond any human’s wild imagination—the second world.
A group of humans attacked the wizards that kept control over the barriers cloaking the second world. The barrier arced with a surge of power as the remaining wizards struggled to fix what had shattered, causing catastrophic changes to humans similar to radiation, forcing corpses to rise from their graves, hungry for the flesh of their origins.
This created the apocalypse.
The newly raised Mindless zombies killed off two-thirds of the human population. After a year had passed, rare mutations in humans and zombies appeared, turning them into Bleeders, or ghouls, as the humans first called them.
With the humans nearly wiped out, second-worlders revealed themselves, tired of hiding and ready to take the world as their own. This is when intelligent zombies began appearing—usually from humans that had been bitten or recently died.
The wizards attempted to reform the barrier, desperately trying to stop the impending war. But what once was an army of one-hundred wizards had dwindled to five. They were unable to repair the barrier that kept the second world hidden, and the two worlds collided with a hurricane of violence.
Humans disappeared from the map. The free became endangered, and the caught became food. If they weren’t enslaved, the new society labeled them as criminals and terrorists. Humans were punished for oppressing mythical creatures in the past. For crafting weapons that could single-handedly destroy thousands of fae. For thinking they were superior to any other sentient being.
For breathing.
The Bleeders were treated worse. Contained, starved, isolated… but they couldn’t be killed. Bleeders are between life and death.
And eternally so.
I had a force-fed view of humans my entire life: dangerous, stupid, crazed fodder that could do no right. I’d never officially met one, so the media, my peer’s comments, and my diet defined my own opinions. They became a part of me. Now, seventeen years later, as I descend the steps to impress a girl in a place I never should have been, it burrows in the back of my mind like a centipede.
Gleeful screams from people winning bets echo along the walls of the cave.
“Hey, welcome to the Hum-fights, my dudes!” A goblin guy with a weirdly placed nametag elbows through a group of bipedal, seven-foot tall werewolves to greet us at the door. “Place your bets, but save some money for a drink, because we serve the best alcohol in the country.”
“Pass,” Cayla says, lifting her hand and scrunching her nose as we hand over the entry fee. If it isn’t human, we can’t have it.
“Not me.” Etem pushes past us, his small tusks glinting in the light as he pounds his broad chest along with the low bass shaking the walls. “I could eat a table and be fine.”
The last creature in our little trio, Etem the ogre, makes a bee-line for the glowing bar, everything in a misty haze as fairies drift overhead, fog billowing from their tiny wings. Roots and weeds grow through cracks in the underground building, the air overrun with awful dog breath and even worse body odor. There’s an overwhelming stench of roses, as if the owners drenched this whole place in perfume beforehand.
“You sure this is a good idea?” I ask Cayla, glancing around anxiously.
She scoffs, her gray irises glinting with excitement. “Someone would have to knock us pretty hard to make us Mindless. Besides, don’t you want to see a human? Not in old movies or music videos. Not in packages or boxes. Breathing. Alive.”
My eyes find the ring through a gap in the crowd, the glinting of short platinum blonde hair switching my dormant hunting instincts on. Zombies haven’t needed to use them since human meat became mass-marketed and sold at every store in the world.
But I’ve learned that sometimes a glimpse is all that’s needed.
Loud cheering.
I swallow the instincts. “There aren’t any zombies here.”
She shrugs. “What’d you expect? Etem said riots break out sometimes.”
Carefully, we move through the crowd, overly aware of the swinging arms and elbows as I keep my temper in check.
Cayla gives me a worried glance as I tail her. “We should keep watch over Etem. Alcohol doesn’t do well in smaller ogres.”
My irritation flares as I’m reminded of the dangers of this place. Etem said he’d make sure no one clobbered us, but he’s left us to fend for ourselves. He’s a great friend, but I can’t tell you where his mind goes sometimes. Get him in a room crammed with energy and he’s suddenly a whole different person.
“Why’d you guys choose this place for y’all’s birthday?”
We find an empty spot in the front, a group of werewolves letting us by. I doubt anyone in this place would care about turning a zombie Mindless, and it’s keeping me on-edge.
I lean against the fence before me. Two humans stand in the ring, blood splattered against the rough concrete below. Whichever human loses, they get their brain cut out and whoever wants a piece of them feasts on their remains. The brains are for the highest bidders… a delicacy. Sure, human-eating creatures like zombies can live off frozen corpses or the human meat sold in stores, but nowadays most of them are artificial, causing a ton of health problems down the line. Apparently, it’s nothing like the real thing.
A handful of elves stand around the edges, no doubt complaining about how filthy this place is. They’re an arrogant species. The long overcoats they wear don’t do them any favors, either, making them look like a germaphobic cult. This is the last place I’d expect them to be, but maybe this group isn’t afraid of tarnishing their reputation.
“I mean, why not?” Cayla shrugs, gripping the horizontal bars before us, the Hum-fighting ring inches from our feet. “It was Etem’s idea. He wanted free drinks, and he thought maybe I’d want to try some real meat for once. And since our birthdays are so close together…”
“And if you don’t get to?”
She beams up at me, overflowing with excitement. “If I don’t get the chance, then at least I got to spend my birthday with my best friends.”
Someone bumps me, knocking my gut into the poles. I grunt and spin around to face whoever it was, fists clenching as I forget myself. A tall and gangly man with no mouth or nose stares at me with hollowed-out sockets, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. I clamp my mouth shut before my temper can get away from me.
“Whoa, no way can she beat that guy,” Cayla exhales, her hand fluttering to her mouth.
I will my chest to loosen as I size up the humans, startled by how much they resemble us.
There’s a short girl with a pretty face and short platinum hair, wearing skin-tight pants and a loose tank top with a pink A on the front. Her sun-kissed skin glistens in the warm lighting and her emerald eyes pick apart her opponent like he’s an open book.
On the other side is a rather large male, an assortment of blood splattered across his chest and his tree-trunk arms—blood that I assume isn’t his own. Sweat speckles his chocolate skin and there’s an old scar cleaving through the right side of his face. In the middle is his torn-off eyepatch. He has the fight, no questions asked.
“I can almost smell the blood on him,” Cayla mutters, staring at the man with an intense gaze. Zombie hunger is definitely waking her instincts, too. “Stay on your toes. According to Etem, once the fight is over, the ref cuts out the brain and allows the crowd to frenzy. First come, first serve. So be careful.”
The gangly dude behind me bumps my back once more as he walks away. The idiot better stay away from my head, or I’ll rip his off.
Cockiness takes over the man in the ring’s demeanor. “Say your prayers, princess!”
The girl’s head tilts in amusement. “The last person who called me princess no longer has access to their tongue. I prefer queen.”
The man laughs heartily, lifting his bloodstained club. “Sayonara, Blondie.”
A smirk tugs at the girl’s face as he rushes her. Before the club meets her head, she drops, rolling to snag a nail-studded bat, and is back on her feet in a blink. The nails glint as she brings the weapon around, and the loudest smack I’ve ever heard rings out as it connects with the man’s skull. Blood sprays the front row, and he crumples like tin foil, crashing to the ground with a loud thud.
The odds were against her. I probably could have beaten someone of her stature. She got in a lucky hit—at least that’s what I tell myself as I refuse to accept the information. It was such a quick fight. It couldn’t have been anything but luck.
The crowd roars to life as bets are won and lost. Carnivorous creatures shake the fencing, waiting impatiently for the say-so of the vampire referee who steps into the ring. Gently, he checks for a pulse. Upon finding none, he announces the girl is the winner. She beams with triumph… and perhaps a bit of insanity.
The atmosphere flurries with excitement as the vamp opens the man’s head with a small, automated bone saw, revealing a blood-soaked brain. He cuts it from the cord, backs away from the dead man, and stands before the girl to protect her from the oncoming frenzy. He then turns to the audience and projects his voice as he proclaims, “Those who wish to feast… feast.”
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