The Survivalist (Madness Rules) by Arthur T. Bradley

Author:Arthur T. Bradley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: apocalypse, survival, survivalist, teotwawki, survival fiction, prepper, apocalypse adventure
Publisher: Arthur T. Bradley

By the time the announcer finished his second round of introductions, the crowd was starting to get wound back up. Captain Ford was a town favorite, a war hero who had beaten the unfair justice system. He had only fought six times in the arena but had yet to lose a single bout. He had also killed two of his opponents by repeatedly stomping on their throats, which further endeared him to those who enjoyed the more bloodthirsty competitions.

As the announcer finished reminding them of the rules, Captain Ford stepped forward and smiled, showing off a couple of gold crowns. He was nearly a full head shorter than Tanner but as stout as a pit bull.

“Have you heard about me?”

“Some kind of war hero, right?”

“That’s right. I spent two years over there. And believe me, I killed a lot of men. A lot.”

“Good for you.”

“They say I have PTSD.”

“You sure it’s not PMS?” Tanner said, grinning.

Captain Ford’s face and neck burned a bright red.

“I’m gonna kill you for that. Do you understand what I’m saying? This is the last day of your miserable life.”

Tanner stared into the man’s eyes and saw only hatred. Hatred for his wife. Hatred for his country. But most of all, hatred for himself.

“You do what you need to, Captain, and I’ll do the same.”

“I can see this one’s going to be fun,” the announcer said, shaking his head.

They retreated to opposite corners, each man never taking his eyes off the other. The announcer shouted from the sideline for the fight to begin.

If Snaps was to be believed, Captain Ford was a ruthless murderer. Even if that tidbit had been intentionally planted to give him reason to fight, it didn’t change the fact that the captain was suffering from some kind of post-traumatic lunacy. That meant he was dangerous, not knock-your-teeth-out dangerous, but stomp-your-brains-out kind of dangerous. Tanner would have to be careful.

They circled each other for a moment, each looking for an opening. When Captain Ford didn’t see one, he took a chance and swung a wide haymaker. Tanner saw it coming, leaned back, and watched the fist sail by a good six inches in front of his nose. The blow had so much power behind it that the momentum sent Ford stumbling to his left. Before he could recover, Tanner stepped forward and hit him with a quick left hook to the back of his head. Instead of the usual hollow spongy feel of the mastoid, he struck something hard and metal. What would normally have left a man lying in a puddle of his own piss did little more than bruise Tanner’s knuckles.

Captain Ford wheeled around, clocking Tanner high on the cheek with his own hook. Tanner felt his eye begin to water, and he took a step back. Ford immediately advanced, firing a rapid series of jabs and crosses, none of them particularly powerful, but several landing. The more times Ford hit him, the madder Tanner got. There was no way in hell he was going to let some deranged captain keep him from getting back to Samantha.

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