“Yep.”
I sigh and run my hand through my hair. “Just so you know, I still think this is an abomination.”
He laughs low and dark. “I’m glad someone does.”
*
Wyatt’s right about one thing. I haven’t truly seen an Eater up close in a while. That much is obvious when I finally get an eyeful of the one barred to one side of the ring. It’s a woman, or was one…heavy now and then. Thick drapes of skin hang from her arms and belly. I know Eaters aren’t really dead, not exactly, but they certainly aren’t what they once were either. Not human for sure. Her eyes are black with spiderwebbing veins, her skin pale and deteriorating more than I’ve ever seen before. Her clothes, cotton pants and a T-shirt with a faded, dirty kitten on the front, are ratty and torn. One foot still has a tennis shoe. The other bare and dark with soil. Everything about her gives the impression she’s been out there for some time.
She could be any of us.
“God, she’s gross.” Jude says from his spot next to me. “Have you ever killed one?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” He seems impressed. I just feel sick.
“Yeah. What about you?”
“Two.” He doesn’t look at me but there’s a familiar guilt—maybe shame—in his eyes. “I lived two blocks from Caroline’s house, the one you found us in. I haven’t spent much time out there at all.”
“Lucky,” I say and give him a light punch on the arm. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I’ve hunted since I was six. I’m a good shot. Not people, of course, but it does put a different perspective on things when you can compartmentalize.”
There’s movement in the ring and I act aloof when the door slides shut behind the Fighter. I don’t know him personally—although I heard Davis call his name one time. Hayes. He’s dark-skinned. Either bald or his head is shaved so closely you can see the light reflect back. He’s lanky and lean, but the muscles under his shirt are taut and hard. The twist in my stomach tells me this is a terrible idea.
“Ready?” a voice asks. The crowd is quiet. Jude bounces on his toes next to me.
“Ready,” Hayes says, giving a quick nod. The metal gate dividing the ring in two lifts into the air and the Eater doesn’t hesitate, charging full speed at him.
He moves fast, dodging her incoming speed, and I spot the weapon in his hand. He flips the spiked pipe like a baseball player in the dugout—a faint grin on his face.
Her arms flail, and her teeth snap. In contrast to her wild behavior, her senses are honed. Her nostrils flare, her eyes narrow with the intensity of predator looking for prey.
“Holy shit,” Jude declares under his breath.
Hayes goes on the offense, kicking the Eater with his foot. She totters but doesn’t fall, lunging forward with a loud screech that echoes off the walls. He doesn’t dodge this this time, instead swiping her with his pipe. The spikes land in her shoulder but she doesn’t stop.
“They don’t feel pain,” Wyatt says suddenly. I glance up, unaware he’d moved next to me. “They’ve been testing them. Thousands of tests. The screams are from hunger or some sort of reflex. Their nerve endings are fried from the infection. It’s one of the reasons they don’t stop.”
“But they’re still alive.” The Eater slams into the wall, inches from where we’re standing. She hits the floor with a thud, a trail of slime down the glass.
“I guess. Not dead. Not really alive.”
“Can the vaccine help them?” I ask. Haynes stands over her body, one foot on her leg. He lifts the pipe and even though I turn my head I hear the blow hit her head. I hear the splatter of flesh against the glass. I grimace, holding back nausea while the rest of the fighters around me, including Jude, cheer.
“No. It can’t help them.”
A buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the fight. I peek at Hayes, dripping of sweat with arms raised in victory as he stands over the dead woman.
Welcome to the apocalypse.
Chapter 9
On an impulse, I stop by Chloe’s room down in the medical floor on the way back from the fights. I pause in the doorway, taking a minute to gain composure. The scene I witnessed upstairs was disturbing. I get what Wyatt said, that it’s necessary, but it’s a level of violence I didn’t ever expect to be exposed to.
On the other hand, I didn’t expect to see a friend like this. Chloe sits up in bed reading and for the first time she’s not wearing a bandage on her head from the bullet wound. It’s also the first time I’ve seen the scar, red and rippled against her temple. It’s healing though, which is good. So very good. Her curly blonde hair is still shorn from the surgery—shorter even than it was when they cut it.