When Dead Men Bleed
Introduction
Chaos.
I follow Cayla over the railing, but I’m shoved backwards, my head barely missing the bars. Various flesh-eating creatures rush past me. When I finally get to my feet, I see they picked the man clean, leaving behind nothing but bones. Several witches gather, screeching and mumbling to each other about potions as they collect the bones.
I simmer as I saunter back over to Cayla, blood smeared across her cheeks and her pupils dilated as she cleans herself with napkins Etem had grabbed for her. She barely notices me as I hop over the fence, trying to stay calm. Etem flirts with a girl as if the world is somehow fair. I sound like a child, but I’m too worked-up to care.
Cayla sighs as everyone returns to their respective places. She licks her bloody fingers, moaning. Across the way, I notice a snobby, mold-crusted zombie that looks like he’s seen three generations munching on the brain he bought, his eyes rolling back into his rotting head with euphoria.
Fire licks my insides.
Zombies don’t feel many emotions, especially complicated ones, but anger… anger is the most potent for me.
“That was amazing,” Cayla breathes, appearing drunk as she sways into me.
Jealousy grips me, cold and hard. Doesn’t matter how much I like her. Right now, my fury is being pointed directly at her happiness.
The spot the man had fallen taunts me.
Hunger.
The vampire, wiping his hands on a white cloth, strides over to the human female. She gives a crooked smile and a nod, as if she’s giving the referee permission for something.
The vampire turns to the crowd, pushing his short black hair back with one long-nailed hand. “This was the last scheduled fight of the night. With a reward of more money than she can hold, this human could be free. But it all depends on if she wins the Hum-fight Championship in a few weeks. And that’s if she makes it out of here alive tonight. The ring is open for second-world challengers. Perhaps a zombie or wolf that didn’t get a bite of the tank this young girl took out.”
There’s a stiff silence that falls over the crowd, murmurs loud against the shuffling of feet. Has everyone had their fill, unlike me? Or do they want her to survive to satiate their gambling addictions?
I reign in my irritation as the rage consumes every ounce of my body. Despite the red flags waving furiously, I raise my hand. The zombie within is hungry. Starving.
“I’ll do it.”
My voice is loud, snapping Cayla out of her trance. “What are you doing? Are you nuts?”
“I know how to fight,” I argue, my mind locked on the girl. She sizes me up, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. No doubt from the internet.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I murmur, venom on my tongue. She doesn’t know that my parents finally caved after months of me begging to be in jiu-jitsu and compromised by letting me take self-defense classes. I never told her how active I was with track and weights—anything that wasn’t a contact sport. Zombie fragility has always hung over my head, and, while other parents bent over backwards to keep their zombie children safe, mine did all they could to help me protect myself.
A plus when you have a mouth and temper like mine.
“Don’t be dumb, dude,” Etem advises, leaning over Cayla to grab my arm. “Now you know what to expect. You can try again next time.”
I inhale deeply, my mouth growing tingly as the girl becomes my target. She glowers at me, her smirk taunting. If she wasn’t food, she’d be downright gorgeous, even in her insanity.
“She’s mine.”
The words are like a snarl out of my mouth as I climb over the bar, shaking off Etem’s careful hold. I walk right up to the middle-aged vampire, his impressively sharp fangs in full view, and his red irises gleaming with a thousand curiosities.
“A zombie?” he comments on a hum. “I’m unsure if this is idiotic or commendable.”
My attention snaps to the girl, who bounces on her toes. She licks her right canine and spins the bat around once, blood flicking off the nails.
“Yeah, well, I’m hungry.”
The vampire nods in approval. Toxins continue to seep from my gums, a paralyzing agent we use to stun our prey. It’s supposedly painful once it gets in the bloodstream. If not treated within twenty-four hours—and if the human isn’t eaten before then—they change into a zombie, too.
“What is your name, zombie boy?”
“Zeke,” I answer.
“Zeke the zombie,” he repeats, amused. “Very well. I’ll do well to remember that name, should you leave this ring alive.” Then, to the both of us, he says, “You may begin once I leave the ring.”
I watch him in my peripherals as my instincts kick in, hitting me like a truck and checking off all the boxes I’d learned in school. Pinpricks from hunger line my organs. My heart rate lowers. Eyes focus solely on the target, no doubt dilating as my other senses sharpen. When they’re young, zombies are fast and dangerous to humans.
And I’m twenty-three years young.
“You’re mine,” I threaten as I widen my stance, waiting for her to attack.
Glee floods her body as she laughs and places the bat on her shoulder. “Bring it on, Stiff.”
I dart to the side as she attacks, barely avoiding her swing. The wind from her bat brushes my face. I feel stronger, more powerful… like devouring her will be easier than I thought. Is this my full potential?
It’s intoxicating.
“Zeke, be careful!” Cayla calls, worry in her voice.
“You must be suicidal.” The girl appears to grow curious as she spins around, dragging the bat in the dirt as she looks me over, biting her bloodstained lip in thought. She’d definitely got a lucky hit before. I don’t doubt that, now. “I underestimated you. But you can’t win this.”
I roll up my sleeves. Button-down. Mom’s buy for me. “Or maybe you’ve met your match. You’re food, nothing more.”
“Is that so?” Her smile broadens, her teeth glistening with a weird light red tint as she lifts her bat. “You underestimate what a human can do when it’s fighting for its life.”
She sprints toward me again, faster than before. I dodge, but she digs in her heels and twists, the bat inches from my forehead before I raise my arm to block it. The nails pierce my skin and rip my arm open, the scent of my rot billowing out as bone and meat hang from the open wound. Black goo cascades from the cut as its acidity assaults my senses.
There’s a deluge of rage as the same goo spills into my mouth. The bile is a countermeasure if something bites us; it’s also something we can puke up on demand. Burns through whatever it touches.
The blow sends me back a few inches and I hear my friends cry out, my bones reverberating. The girl brings her bat back again and swings.
I duck.
That hit was so powerful. Do humans really have that kind of muscle strength? No wonder second-worlders were hesitant to take them on in the Bloody Ages.
With the threat of becoming Mindless, I sidestep her next swing and land a blow to her temple. She grunts in frustration as I shiver, struggling to control my instincts with common sense, ichor building on my tongue. As I look at the weapons lying around, the crowd is hard to block out, distorting my judgement. I could try to grapple her, then I could end it all with a bite.
But that could make me vulnerable to attack.
“You’re a zombie,” she spits. “Aren’t you supposed to be slow and dumb?”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug, taking a step back as she lifts her foot to kick me. I block it with my knee, feeling something crack. No pain reaches through—just a rush of increased rage. “But I’m not as helpless as you think.”
I kick her in the stomach and she stumbles back, startled by my strength. She trips over a spiked ball and falls on her butt, glowering.
She stands as I reach and grab a plank of wood at my feet. She brings the bat up, planning to bash my head in once more, and splits the wood in half as I block. My vision pulses in and out as bloodlust makes my jaw tingle.
I toss one plank at her and she smacks it away with the bat, distracted as I lift the sharper part of the wood high into the air and plunge it deep into her chest, feeling her ribs crack. She screams in pain and the bat falls to her feet as the crowd goes wild. Blood spills off her tongue as she gawks up at me. I swear her scleras go black as she extends her fingers, her long nails digging deep into my cheek—a futile attempt to take me out with her.
I grab her wrist and squeeze as she drops to her knees, sputtering and coughing. I bite into her arm—the first taste of victory.
It’s the worst thing I’ve ever put between my teeth.
She grins, blood seeping from between her lips as she yanks the plank out, hanging on to life by a thread. I can hear her heartbeat over the crowd, my instincts zeroing in on it as I pull away, taking a chunk of her flesh with me. Her blood pools in my mouth, but it nearly makes me gag.
She lifts a reddened finger to point at my face. “You’ll regret that.”
Our eyes hold one another’s as chaos erupts. No one pays attention to us as sirens pierce the air, authoritative voices commanding obedience. But I don’t understand. Cayla was basically waterfalling over the taste of human, and it’s worse than anything I’ve ever had from the store. Is this all my win amounts to? A rancid meal?
The girl cradles her chest as she stands on wobbly knees. Blood soaks her clothes, her organs destroyed beyond repair. Her gaze slides to where she’d scratched me, holding herself together as best as she can. “Congrats,” she hisses through her sardonic smile. “Looks like dead men can bleed.”
Something warm trickles down my cheek, the smell of copper filling my senses.
I lift my clean hand to my face, touching the wound. A swirl of emotions I’ve never felt before twists within my abdomen as my vision blurs and I return the focus to my fingertip. Dread. Fear.
Red, glistening, clotting blood.
I’m bleeding.
I follow Cayla over the railing, but I’m shoved backwards, my head barely missing the bars. Various flesh-eating creatures rush past me. When I finally get to my feet, I see they picked the man clean, leaving behind nothing but bones. Several witches gather, screeching and mumbling to each other about potions as they collect the bones.
I simmer as I saunter back over to Cayla, blood smeared across her cheeks and her pupils dilated as she cleans herself with napkins Etem had grabbed for her. She barely notices me as I hop over the fence, trying to stay calm. Etem flirts with a girl as if the world is somehow fair. I sound like a child, but I’m too worked-up to care.
Cayla sighs as everyone returns to their respective places. She licks her bloody fingers, moaning. Across the way, I notice a snobby, mold-crusted zombie that looks like he’s seen three generations munching on the brain he bought, his eyes rolling back into his rotting head with euphoria.
Fire licks my insides.
Zombies don’t feel many emotions, especially complicated ones, but anger… anger is the most potent for me.
“That was amazing,” Cayla breathes, appearing drunk as she sways into me.
Jealousy grips me, cold and hard. Doesn’t matter how much I like her. Right now, my fury is being pointed directly at her happiness.
The spot the man had fallen taunts me.
Hunger.
The vampire, wiping his hands on a white cloth, strides over to the human female. She gives a crooked smile and a nod, as if she’s giving the referee permission for something.
The vampire turns to the crowd, pushing his short black hair back with one long-nailed hand. “This was the last scheduled fight of the night. With a reward of more money than she can hold, this human could be free. But it all depends on if she wins the Hum-fight Championship in a few weeks. And that’s if she makes it out of here alive tonight. The ring is open for second-world challengers. Perhaps a zombie or wolf that didn’t get a bite of the tank this young girl took out.”
There’s a stiff silence that falls over the crowd, murmurs loud against the shuffling of feet. Has everyone had their fill, unlike me? Or do they want her to survive to satiate their gambling addictions?
I reign in my irritation as the rage consumes every ounce of my body. Despite the red flags waving furiously, I raise my hand. The zombie within is hungry. Starving.
“I’ll do it.”
My voice is loud, snapping Cayla out of her trance. “What are you doing? Are you nuts?”
“I know how to fight,” I argue, my mind locked on the girl. She sizes me up, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. No doubt from the internet.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I murmur, venom on my tongue. She doesn’t know that my parents finally caved after months of me begging to be in jiu-jitsu and compromised by letting me take self-defense classes. I never told her how active I was with track and weights—anything that wasn’t a contact sport. Zombie fragility has always hung over my head, and, while other parents bent over backwards to keep their zombie children safe, mine did all they could to help me protect myself.
A plus when you have a mouth and temper like mine.
“Don’t be dumb, dude,” Etem advises, leaning over Cayla to grab my arm. “Now you know what to expect. You can try again next time.”
I inhale deeply, my mouth growing tingly as the girl becomes my target. She glowers at me, her smirk taunting. If she wasn’t food, she’d be downright gorgeous, even in her insanity.
“She’s mine.”
The words are like a snarl out of my mouth as I climb over the bar, shaking off Etem’s careful hold. I walk right up to the middle-aged vampire, his impressively sharp fangs in full view, and his red irises gleaming with a thousand curiosities.
“A zombie?” he comments on a hum. “I’m unsure if this is idiotic or commendable.”
My attention snaps to the girl, who bounces on her toes. She licks her right canine and spins the bat around once, blood flicking off the nails.
“Yeah, well, I’m hungry.”
The vampire nods in approval. Toxins continue to seep from my gums, a paralyzing agent we use to stun our prey. It’s supposedly painful once it gets in the bloodstream. If not treated within twenty-four hours—and if the human isn’t eaten before then—they change into a zombie, too.
“What is your name, zombie boy?”
“Zeke,” I answer.
“Zeke the zombie,” he repeats, amused. “Very well. I’ll do well to remember that name, should you leave this ring alive.” Then, to the both of us, he says, “You may begin once I leave the ring.”
I watch him in my peripherals as my instincts kick in, hitting me like a truck and checking off all the boxes I’d learned in school. Pinpricks from hunger line my organs. My heart rate lowers. Eyes focus solely on the target, no doubt dilating as my other senses sharpen. When they’re young, zombies are fast and dangerous to humans.
And I’m twenty-three years young.
“You’re mine,” I threaten as I widen my stance, waiting for her to attack.
Glee floods her body as she laughs and places the bat on her shoulder. “Bring it on, Stiff.”
I dart to the side as she attacks, barely avoiding her swing. The wind from her bat brushes my face. I feel stronger, more powerful… like devouring her will be easier than I thought. Is this my full potential?
It’s intoxicating.
“Zeke, be careful!” Cayla calls, worry in her voice.
“You must be suicidal.” The girl appears to grow curious as she spins around, dragging the bat in the dirt as she looks me over, biting her bloodstained lip in thought. She’d definitely got a lucky hit before. I don’t doubt that, now. “I underestimated you. But you can’t win this.”
I roll up my sleeves. Button-down. Mom’s buy for me. “Or maybe you’ve met your match. You’re food, nothing more.”
“Is that so?” Her smile broadens, her teeth glistening with a weird light red tint as she lifts her bat. “You underestimate what a human can do when it’s fighting for its life.”
She sprints toward me again, faster than before. I dodge, but she digs in her heels and twists, the bat inches from my forehead before I raise my arm to block it. The nails pierce my skin and rip my arm open, the scent of my rot billowing out as bone and meat hang from the open wound. Black goo cascades from the cut as its acidity assaults my senses.
There’s a deluge of rage as the same goo spills into my mouth. The bile is a countermeasure if something bites us; it’s also something we can puke up on demand. Burns through whatever it touches.
The blow sends me back a few inches and I hear my friends cry out, my bones reverberating. The girl brings her bat back again and swings.
I duck.
That hit was so powerful. Do humans really have that kind of muscle strength? No wonder second-worlders were hesitant to take them on in the Bloody Ages.
With the threat of becoming Mindless, I sidestep her next swing and land a blow to her temple. She grunts in frustration as I shiver, struggling to control my instincts with common sense, ichor building on my tongue. As I look at the weapons lying around, the crowd is hard to block out, distorting my judgement. I could try to grapple her, then I could end it all with a bite.
But that could make me vulnerable to attack.
“You’re a zombie,” she spits. “Aren’t you supposed to be slow and dumb?”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug, taking a step back as she lifts her foot to kick me. I block it with my knee, feeling something crack. No pain reaches through—just a rush of increased rage. “But I’m not as helpless as you think.”
I kick her in the stomach and she stumbles back, startled by my strength. She trips over a spiked ball and falls on her butt, glowering.
She stands as I reach and grab a plank of wood at my feet. She brings the bat up, planning to bash my head in once more, and splits the wood in half as I block. My vision pulses in and out as bloodlust makes my jaw tingle.
I toss one plank at her and she smacks it away with the bat, distracted as I lift the sharper part of the wood high into the air and plunge it deep into her chest, feeling her ribs crack. She screams in pain and the bat falls to her feet as the crowd goes wild. Blood spills off her tongue as she gawks up at me. I swear her scleras go black as she extends her fingers, her long nails digging deep into my cheek—a futile attempt to take me out with her.
I grab her wrist and squeeze as she drops to her knees, sputtering and coughing. I bite into her arm—the first taste of victory.
It’s the worst thing I’ve ever put between my teeth.
She grins, blood seeping from between her lips as she yanks the plank out, hanging on to life by a thread. I can hear her heartbeat over the crowd, my instincts zeroing in on it as I pull away, taking a chunk of her flesh with me. Her blood pools in my mouth, but it nearly makes me gag.
She lifts a reddened finger to point at my face. “You’ll regret that.”
Our eyes hold one another’s as chaos erupts. No one pays attention to us as sirens pierce the air, authoritative voices commanding obedience. But I don’t understand. Cayla was basically waterfalling over the taste of human, and it’s worse than anything I’ve ever had from the store. Is this all my win amounts to? A rancid meal?
The girl cradles her chest as she stands on wobbly knees. Blood soaks her clothes, her organs destroyed beyond repair. Her gaze slides to where she’d scratched me, holding herself together as best as she can. “Congrats,” she hisses through her sardonic smile. “Looks like dead men can bleed.”
Something warm trickles down my cheek, the smell of copper filling my senses.
I lift my clean hand to my face, touching the wound. A swirl of emotions I’ve never felt before twists within my abdomen as my vision blurs and I return the focus to my fingertip. Dread. Fear.
Red, glistening, clotting blood.
I’m bleeding.
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