Page 83 of Once Upon an Apocalypse

Chapter 51

Myfeethitsolidground, landing in the middle of the balance-beam-thick wall. A gasp of surprise from the crowd turns into a shocking scream as I sprint toward spectators in the front row. Even Doctore looks surprised as I leap over the spikes jutting out of the ground. This time, my feet barely make it to the ledge of the half wall in front of the stadium seating.

I quickly get my balance in check, jumping down to the ground in front of a stunned and frightened audience.

“I’m not here for you,” I say. “I’m here for him.”

I point my finger toward the back of the stadium seating, where Doctore attempts to hide his fear behind that menacing smile. He might think he’s safe in that box, but I’m coming for him.

The people directly in front of me leap from their seats and sprint down the aisles as I climb up the rows of seating, keeping my eyes fixed on Doctore. He doesn’t even blink at my intimidating glare, believing I won’t be able to get to him this time. How I yearn to break him. When I reach the top row of the stadium, I lose sight of him. Before I look for an exit to find the room Doctore is hiding in, four Praetorian Guards charge me at once, dodging my swinging fists. They are fast. But I’m faster.

I drop to the floor, spinning my feet to knock over the bulkiest of them. He goes down with a sickening thud. I waste no time launching on top of him, sliding out a knife from the pocket of my pants. Instead of landing a killing blow, I place the blade to the man’s thick neck and look up at the others.

“Do you really want to fight for a man who cowers in the shadows? Who kidnaps innocent people to torture them, turn them into slaves, kill them? Whatever he’s promised you doesn’t exist. He can only offer you death.”

“Don’t listen to her,” a girl my age with short brown hair says. “She’ll poison your minds just like she did to Jonah.”

“I didn’t poison him. He just woke the fuck up. Doctore brainwashed you all. If you are survivors of his super solider serum, he thinks you belong to him.”

The man under me attempts to flip me over. A solid attempt that ends with my knife deep in his throat. As I slide the knife out, his blood squirts at my gray clothing, adding to the red stains from the ball pit. The three remaining guards look at me with pure hatred. A look I give back with no remorse. Remembering what Jonah told me, I stab down at the man’s neck, severing his spinal cord.

A scream like a banshee breaks the rising panic from the crowds as they continue to make haste toward the exits. The three remaining guards circle me as I stand up from the bloodied corpse at my feet. They aren’t armed with guns, but I can tell they are deadly. Just not as deadly as I am. Copperhead. That’s what Amos has called me since the day we met. And that’s what I am. A venomous viper, ready to kill when provoked. Oh man, am I ready to kill.

The four of us dance to the sounds of the surrounding chaos. Fists aimed at my face, rib cage, and kidney all miss their targets as I dodge, drop, and spin away from their attacks. I perfectly time a dive to the ground, making two of the guards punch each other. Suppressing a laugh, I stab my knife down into the neck of the girl, severing her spinal cord with a twist.

Two down. Two to go. These guys aren’t as big as the first one I felled. Maybe just as built as Amos. If they are gladiators like me, I need to fight harder. Backing away from them, I pretend like I’m hesitating to go up against them, already winded from the fight. When they think they have me cornered against a wall, I drop to the ground, rolling away from them, then sprint toward them before jumping in the air. Pain radiates through my bare feet as they land satisfying blows on each guy. One foot aimed for the groin, while the other hits a face after flipping around in midair.

I land hard on the ground without twisting an ankle. Something I usually do when attempting these jump kicks. There’s no time to celebrate as the guy I hit in the face recovers quickly. He grabs for me, gripping my braid and pulling me down hard. The force knocks the wind from me, but I jump up, swiping up with my knife. The tip of my blade slices into the soft, tender flesh of his belly.

Blood flows quickly from the wound, but he doesn’t take notice. I roll backward to give myself the momentum I need to stand up quickly, placing my feet firmly on the ground. An explosion behind me makes me lose focus. Turning around, I see that the shed in the arena has blown up somehow. When I turn back to my opponent, his fist meets my jaw, causing me to fly backward over a row of seating.

My heart races. Terror rising in my chest as I think of Amos down there, fighting for his life. Facing more than just two Praetorian Guards. There were so many zombies down there and now there’s no place to hide. He wouldn’t want me to go after him though. He would be livid if I gave up my chance to kill Doctore.

The reminder of my objective has my head swiveling to where he’d been standing at the plexiglass window. He’s gone. Shit. Then I see movement to the right. The guy I kicked in the balls runs away, likely going to secure Doctore. I need to make quick work of this last asswipe so I can follow him.

I jump over the row of seating I had fallen into, quickly spinning away from another blow. Reaching down with my knife in hand, I slice into the guy’s Achilles tendon. He immediately falls to the ground. Wasting no time, I slam my knife into the back of his neck.

My feet are numb as I run down the corridor outside the stadium. Willing myself to run faster, I launch myself up the flight of stairs to where I guess Doctore is waiting for me. At least I hope he’s waiting for me. A hallway of doors awaits me when I reach the top of the stairs. Taking a deep breath, I center myself, reorienting my location.

Third door on the right, I think to myself. It takes me eight long strides to reach the door. Then I use all my pent up rage, fueling my inhuman strength and kick down the door, entering the room with my knife at the ready. But there’s no attack. The guard I kicked in the balls stands next to Doctore, who sits calmly in front of a wall of screens. Monitors looking into the arena. Even though he has a panoramic view of the arena through the plexiglass window, these monitors allow him to view every possible angle of the carnage down there. I force myself to look away. I am on a mission and I will not fail.

“If you want your friends to survive, you will put that knife down, Laurel.” Doctore’s falsely soothing voice makes my skin crawl. The terror that once owned me threatens to take hold, but I refuse to give up. I refuse to let him win.

Loosening my fighting stance, I let the knife slip down between my fingers, pretending I have given up. When Doctore turns away from the monitors, my fingers grip the tip of the handle and fling it at the guard. The blade sinks into his chest as I sprint at Doctore. He turns away, attempting to press the scary red button on the table in front of the monitors, but I get to him first.

Pulling him by the collar of his too nice button-down shirt, I rip him off his chair and throw him to the ground. My hands wrap around his throat, squeezing with all their might. His dark skin turns a deeper color as he loses oxygen. His soulless eyes plead for life. No mercy. Death. I squeeze harder, feeling the tendons in his neck snap.

A sharp pain to my side loosens my death grip on Doctore’s throat. I grab the hilt of the knife from the guard’s hands and pull it from my side. Blood soaks my clothes. My blood. Shit. Before the guard can attack me again, a small red circle appears on his forehead, snuffing the life from his eyes. He goes down like a large sack of corn.

A gunshot. I spin around to see two military men with rifles. They aim their guns at me, asking my name.

“Laurel Hill. I’m from The Valley. This man kidnapped me and brought me here with my friends. They are in danger. In the arena.”

My answer seems to satisfy the men as they lower their weapons in Doctore’s direction. “This must be the infamous Dr. Gabriel Tuwile. General Greene is eager to meet you.”

Doctore’s once intimidating stare is now full of dread as he recovers from near death. I cannot let him live. My hands shake, not from fear but from exhaustion. And likely the excess blood loss to my side. I grip the knife in my hand, waiting for Doctore to look at me one last time. When his soulless eyes meet mine, I lunge at him with my knife. The blade lands dead center between his eyes.

“No one will be meeting with this man ever again,” I say before falling to the ground.

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