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in piles all over his campsite.
    After just two hours’ sleep, Bear figured it was time to hit the trail again, so he crept through the dark, axe in hand. The axe was still in his hand, three days later, as he stood like a king at the top of the Mesa.
    The Darwin Games started at the Halo and ended at the Mesa. Sometimes no one made it. Most often, and fittingly for an audience surveyed to greatly prefer a one-on-one showdown, there were two survivors. Occasionally, there were three. Once, seven fought to a bloody death at the top of the Mesa.
    The Mesa, a raised metal platform 50 feet high, was surrounded by a large steel cage. There were only two ways to leave the Mesa: dead or by way of the winner’s trip to City 7.
    Bear stood inside the cage, waiting, smiling, and holding the same axe he had sent through the bodies of who-knew-how-many humans and zombies alike. He slapped the flat side of the blade hard into his left palm, then flared his nostrils.
    Bear’s axe was sharp, instead of dull from battle, and his wounds were mended. Of course.
    The first to the Mesa claimed the Bounty — a foot locker-sized box that harbored everything from medicine to food to fresh weapons. Jonah had no idea what other weapons were in the Bounty, but Bear clearly preferred his battle-tested axe. He was, however, fully garbed in a full suit of thick leather padded armor, loosely covering his massive body. Jonah wondered if there was a second, smaller suit inside the Bounty tailored for him, if only he’d been fast enough to reach it. Or if they knew Bear would reach the Bounty before him in enough time to only make one.
    With the Bounty box locked, Jonah was forced to walk to the Joker’s Box to see what awaited him.
    Jonah opened the box, hoping for something more than the machete in his hand, though he’d gotten proficient at using it and preferred it over most other melee weapons. What greeted him, however, wasn’t a weapon. It was a photograph — of his family, taken just after Adam was born.
    He looked at the memory and felt the sting of tears wanting to break him down.
    No time for this. Not now.
    They’re trying to mess with your mind.
    He left the photograph in the box and slammed the lid shut, hearing it lock a moment after.
    Jonah held Bear’s eyes for a minute before breaking his gaze and stepping onto the first step in the long and winding staircase wrapping the rock to the top of the Mesa. A pair of hunter orbs hovered above the stage, making long and lazy circles over the Mesa as Bear wiped the back of his hand across his beard, then turned to spit on the ground, twisting his grin into a growl.
    Jonah began to climb the ramp toward the cage and certain death for one of them. Once he was on the Mesa and inside the cage, the gate would lock behind him. Jonah couldn’t flee. The orbs were there to make sure no one did, even if they managed to force the gate open. Anyone watching The Games long enough was all too familiar with the powerful energy the hunter orbs could produce, blasting a person to ashes in seconds.
    Viewers cheered loudest during Mesa battles, often hoping this would happen, and sometimes believing they could will it into motion through the strength of their volume. It rarely happened, and despite a new Game every other week, and Jonah having seen nearly four decades’ worth of final battles, he had only seen the orbs cut contestants to nothing at the top of the Mesa a couple of times.
    He paused at the door into the cage, either at the end of his life or taking his final steps into the rest of it.
    Zombies no longer mattered.
    Not today, and probably never again.
    He looked over at Bear, who was relaxed and waiting, still smiling as if Jonah wasn’t any threat at all, even with a machete curled tightly in his palm.
    Jonah looked at the cage entrance once last time, then stepped inside, blinking twice as the gate swung shut behind him and a metal rod slid shut, locking them in.
    Bear stopped slapping