Dorothy In the Land of Monsters

by Garten Gevedon

  Horrors of a different kind plague my world, but they are horrors still. So our monsters don’t have actual fangs or suck actual blood, they are not actual wolves, but they act like it, and the damage they do is just as bad. Aside from magic, the biggest difference I can see is that here I am a sorceress with powerful charms and a rainbow of powers I can use to defeat evil and thwart bad guys. Here, I can help make the world peaceful and free of disease, enslavement, and atrocities—I can make a significant difference.

  If I have to go home, which it looks like I will, I will volunteer as much of my time as I can. Maybe even try to go into the non-profit sector, or join the peace corps. It’d be nice to live a life that fulfills me and maybe that’s how I can do it—work for a worthy charity that gives more to its cause than its employees. After leaving all this behind forever, I might be miserable but maybe if I can feel like what I’m doing there is meaningful, it’ll be worth it.

  As I try to form a new vision of my future, no prospect seems to stop the tears. If I give in to hope, a life with Nick in Oz is all I see. It’s just so hard for me to believe Oz brought me here to kill two Vampire Witches, burn down the Zombielands, and then leave when there’s still so much work to do. Why pluck me from another realm to do something many other people could have done? If Oz had given Nick, Ardie, and Werelion the same task, they could have done it without me. Oz could have taken barrels of holy water in on a cyclone and used his mist to carry it right to his vampire enemies and pour it over their heads. Why me? Because now I’m left like this, bawling in the bath at dawn.

  If I had never come here, I wouldn’t have known what I was missing—I could have gone through life never expecting love or true happiness and dreaming of the thrills and colors of other places. Now I know nothing will compare to what I have here, and I’m heartbroken.

  “No, I’m not leaving,” I breathe, and just saying the words aloud, even in a whisper, soothe me.

  “You must,” Oz says as he appears as a misty figment before me, and I sit up.

  “Why me?” I ask. I need to know.

  “Why you?” he echoes, uncertain of what I mean.

  “Yes, why did you bring me here and not barrels of holy water? Why bring me here just to send me away?” I ask, so harrowed and heartbroken unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face.

  “But I did not bring you here for I have no power outside this realm—I am tied to it.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, but I called out for help.”

  “Called out?”

  “Yes, I called out and asked for help because I am dying, or undying. Undeath is taking me over. Vampire blood flows in my streams, zombiism is spreading through me, and I have very little time left before I change too. That is why I need you to do this for me—I will die if you don’t.”

  “You could do it without me. What I want to know is why it had to be me.”

  “The magic inside you is the strongest I’ve seen in any being. There is something outside of you that helps you too, and I think it’s what brought you here. Perhaps it heard my call and carried you to me, to be a vessel of its power. Perhaps it’s why you are as strong as you are although I cannot be certain. But when you arrived, I knew it was you. Every time I have called out for help, it has given me a sorceress or wizard who helps heal what ails me.”

  “So, you asked for help and you got Oswald?” I ask, befuddled.

  “Yes, his clever and dramatic ways helped me quell the spreading of the plagues. The treaty he designed, knowing to survive in this realm he must invoke fear, enabled me to contain Gillikin without a struggle from the Zombie Witch and keep the vampires out of Emerald by order of the Vampire Witches themselves. This city was his idea. I had never known of such a place. And like you, he had the unique ability to draw upon my power, as sorcerers and wizards do—he spoke the words, and I followed his command. Although he did not realize that he had the powers of magic. Perhaps that is why it never grew in him the way it has you.”

  “It’s the boots.”

  “But it also isn’t.”

  That statement feels undeniably true to me—it’s not just the boots. Here, I am powerful, and I will miss it so much.

  “Why are you sending me away?” I ask in a voice far smaller than I intended.

  “A war is about to begin, and the Axeman is right—you are a target. Quelala is after you. Those dreams are not just dreams—he is speaking to you in your sleep. I am grateful to you, and I have grown fond of you. You are so young, and I cannot ask you to stay.”

  “But I want to stay.”

  “Not if your Axeman dies,” he reminds me and I sigh, because it’s true. To be here without him would be too painful. But I also want to be with him as long as I can.

  “Is there a way for me to go back later? If Glinda can send me back, why does it have to be now?”

  “The sooner you leave, the safer you are, but I do not know how Glinda will get you to Kansas because I do not know how to travel the realms. She does though.”

  “She does? How?”

  “I will let her tell you that.”

  “Fine,” I say with a disheartened sigh.

  “You have a long life ahead of you. If you stay you may not get to live it. That is why the Axeman sends you away so soon against your will and breaks his own heart. Because he loves you more than himself and he knows he will probably not survive, but like you he wants to do as much good as he can before he goes.”

  Tears burst from me and I sob, unable to control it. I did not understand how much this could hurt, that heartbreak feels like your heart is actually breaking, torn in half, ripped from your chest, stomped on, then put back.

  “Cry now, let it out, but be strong for him. He needs you to be. He is barely keeping his composure as it is.”

  “So, he loves me?” I ask, and I felt I knew the answer, but I have had doubts.

  “More than his own life and all the realms. Be strong for him.”

  “Okay,” I croak out and swallow my sobs, doing my absolute best to stop crying. Oz fades away into mist and after a few moments, my breath steadies and the tears stop.

  Just as it did before, everything I put on my list came to me including a map of the area from the Zombielands to Quadling. After a quick breakfast, I said goodbye to Jellia and Oz carried us in a bubble all the way to the far side of the Zombielands. On the opposite side of Quadling at the border of Jinxland and the Great Sandy Waste is Quadling’s capitol city where Glinda’s Castle stands, and in this spot we should have a clear path straight to it. A thick red cloud surrounds the Zombielands, which is a rainforest with violet soil and blackened trees with violet leaves. Menacing growls rumble from within alongside unnerving, high-pitched caws that pierce my eardrums and chill me to the bone.

  “What now, Dorothy?” Werelion asks without fear and it gives me courage, so I take out the Golden Cap and call the Vampire Bat Monkeys to us.

  “What will you ask them? We need to burn the Zombielands before we go to Glinda’s Castle,” Ardie says.

  “I know, but we need them to help us with this. These barrels are heavy, and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. There are a lot of them and they have to do what I tell them to, so why not make them cover the Zombielands with the oil? Once that’s done, we light it up then have them fly us away from the fire to Glinda’s Castle.”

  “It will work,” Nick says. “But we must be ready to run. Oz says he can contain the fire, but he is weak here and we cannot be sure. All his energy will go to trapping the escaping undead—we cannot trust it.”

  Chatters and yelps from overhead alert me they are near. Within seconds, the Vampire Bat Monkey King and his band land before us.

  “Hi,” I say as he kneels and opens his mouth to begin his spiel, cutting him off. “There’s no need for that. We need your help.”

  “What is your command?”

  “We want you to douse the Zombielands in the liquid from these barrels. Line the outside
and then work your way in. Once you are all out, we’ll light it up and you can carry us out of here,” I say.

  “No,” he says, flat and unwavering.

  “No?”

  “It’s suicide. We are the last of our kind. We will not eliminate ourselves for the sins of my father.”

  “Could you fly them over and pour them from above?” Nick asks.

  “Yes, that we could do, but we would need to fly high enough that the trees won’t catch us.”

  “We can’t burn only the tops of the trees. It needs to burn through and through,” Ardie says.

  “I will pour the oil on the ground,” Werelion volunteers.

  “No, Werelion, you don’t have armor. It’s not a good idea. I’ll do it,” I say.

  “No, I will,” Nick says.

  “I’m faster and my armor covers every inch of me—it is impenetrable.”

  “Dorothy, I—”

  “Nick!” I snap and calm myself straightaway, doing my best to speak in a composed tone. “I’m not a helpless damsel, and I appreciate you want to protect me, I do, but back off. I’m more capable than anyone else for this task.”

  “Except me,” Ardie says.

  “That’s a given. We’re both going to do it,” I say. “It’s a huge area and we’ve got a lot of oil to spill.”

  Chatters and screeches catch my attention and I look to the band of Vampire Bat Monkeys playing with Toto, so excited by him. He’s showing them all his tricks. They are clapping and jumping, and Toto is lapping it up.

  Once we devise where to place the oil, I call up my armor and walk over to the carts stacked with barrels. I lift one—light as a feather thanks to my magic boots. I grab a few spouts and one of the harnesses I requested for this purpose. Although I thought a Vampire Bat Monkey would wear it, so it might not fit. I step in and put it on as Nick walks over to help me strap it to my back. It’s so heavy he can’t lift it, so I pick it up with one hand and turn enough for him to finagle it into the harness.

  “I wonder if I could fit into those boots,” he says, and I chuckle.

  “You’d look good in heels,” I say and turn to face him.

  “Dorothy, I’m sorry—I do not intend to treat you like you are incapable. I only hate the thought of you getting hurt when we’ve come so far and we’re so close to getting you home.”

  “Don’t worry, I got this,” I say and with a kiss to his cheek, I grab two barrels by the handles and head over to the King. “Grab a barrel. It may take two of you to carry one—they’re heavy. And attach a spout,” I tell him and he turns and chatters to his band before they stop fussing over Toto and head over to the carts. “Try to douse it all. Break it up into sections, and if you need to get more, there is an entire cart left over.”

  After struggling with the weight of the barrels, they are ready. Ardie has no trouble carrying his barrel.

  The King chatters at them all, pointing in different directions as he does, and they take off. He grabs his end of a barrel and lifts off after them. And we watch on as they pour the oil over the tops of the trees. Zombie birds fly up toward them and the Vampire Bat Monkeys flap their wings to back away, but the thick mist keeps them protected, shutting out the escaping undead.

  From a safe distance, the Vampire Bat Monkeys continue to pour the oil over the tops of the trees and soon enough they return.

  “One last time you may call upon us before our service to you ends,” the King says.

  “All right, we’ll be needing that in a minute. Wait here. I’ll line the perimeter,” I say as Nick installs the spouts in my barrels. “Ardie, why don’t you work your way across. I’ll bring in another barrel for you when I’m done with the outside,” I say, and he nods.

  “Meet you in the middle,” he says and runs inside with his barrel at the ready, and I follow as my armor covers my face and eyes.

  This time on the screen before my eyes, veiling my vision in a haze of red light, I hurry past the thick mist border of the Zombielands. As I try to rush past the first set of trees, violet vines come at me from above with far more speed than I’d expect from a tree, zombie or not. My armor does the work for me and severs any vine that touches me, black-violet zombified gooey sap pouring out. I need to move fast.

  When I make it past the first set of trees and vines in this sinister undead jungle, I tip one of the barrels and run as fast as I can. Vines slap and grab me as I zoom by while zombie bugs splat against my armor, but I’m pouring a steady stream of lantern oil at the base of these trees, and if they’re anything like the trees outside of Munchkin, they should light up fast.

  When that barrel runs out, I toss it and tip the one in my other hand as I run. The vines get far more aggressive going for my neck and head, but I’m moving so fast they come out as slaps, and even with my armor, they hurt. But I keep on and come around to the other side of the Zombielands—thanks to having a map for once, I know I’m halfway around.

  On this side, the trees have branches and they stab at me, try to grab me—their crooked, jagged, black-violet branches extend before me and far ahead to prepare for my arrival, as if they’re all working together to get my brains—and my armor weaponizes, sharp blades spinning and slicing through the branches that try to imprison me as I charge ahead at least ninety miles an hour, spilling oil all the way.

  At two-thirds of the way around, the barrel has run dry, so I toss it and pull the last one off my back. The vines have returned, but these are thicker and cause me to stumble more than once. I keep on my feet though and get the job done. When I am back at the start, I toss the barrel and head through the thick mist, slowing to a stop when I reach the carts where everyone but Ardie waits. As my armor reveals my face, I say, “Can you guys help me push the last cart of barrels out of that ditch?”

  Werelion, Nick, and the band of Vampire Bat Monkeys all get behind the cart and shove as I pull it by the rope at the front. With a loud grunt, we get the cart out and the King says, “Three times we have served you and we have met our obligation.”

  “What? No way. That was a favor.”

  “It was a request, and we met the obligation. Good luck to you,” he says, and they all fly away.

  “Rats!” I burst and Werelion jumps.

  “Where?” he gasps as he dances from foot to foot looking for rats. Guess he’s still got a little fear left in him, and I think it’s a good thing.

  “It’s an expression. Relax,” I tell him as I go to my bag of weapons and grab the flamethrower and strap it to my back. “I’ll be back,” I say and pull that cart with all my might. Soon enough, I get it moving.

  As I make my way through the thick mist, my armor covers my face and eyes again. I wish I could pull this cart right to the center of the Zombielands but navigating through all the undead trees and vines wouldn’t work. I’d need to pick up speed and that would mean I’d need a clear path.

  A light buzz murmurs inside, and I know it’s magic, so I call it up. When I lift my arms up straight in front of me and then open them up wide, a force leaves me in a rush and all the vines and trees before me move to the sides clearing a path. I take off running, pulling the cart behind me as the vines and branches at my sides fight to reach me, but my magic keeps them at bay. When I reach the center of the Zombielands, Ardie is there.

  “We should work our way out from here. Straight lines to the edge,” I say, and he nods and gets started. I do the same. Barrel after barrel we cover enough ground to make sure it all burns. There are still barrels full of oil left over, so we use one to douse all the remaining barrels and the cart—we’ll use that as the detonation point.

  “Start running, Ardie. I’ll wait sixty seconds then I’ll light it up and book it out after you.”

  He nods and runs back toward Nick, Werelion, and Toto. As I count down sixty seconds, they surround me—zombies of every type—undead insects, birds, trees, zombie apes swinging on vines overhead heading down to the ground, and human zombies who look like the kind in movies back hom
e. They’re grunting, with lavender milky eyes, dragging legs and feet, snarling.

  Fifty-nine… Sixty.

  Right as they close in on me, I pull the trigger on the flamethrower, and they screech and stumble back as I swing the stream of flames around me in a circle to keep them away. I turn the flame on the cart, and it lights up in an instant. Faster than my mind can think it, I run away barreling through any undead in my path until I am on the other side of the red mist border.

  Nick and Werelion are standing at the misty border looking in and something is wrong. I run over and find Ardie trapped by the mist.

  “Ardie?”

  “I can’t get out,” he says and looks behind him, the fire is spreading and he looks scared.

  “Oz!” I shout, calling to him. “Let him out!”

  Nothing.

  “Get your ass over here right now and let him out!” I command and stomp my booted foot, shaking the ground.

  Nothing.

  “Screw you, Oz! Don’t you ever ask me for anything ever again!”

  How dare he! Ardie, of all zombies, who only came here to help him, and me, and he ignores us now? He sent us here. All of us. If Ardie dies, he will be responsible and I will make him pay for it.

  From the soles of my feet I feel it begin—the power from the ground below is mine—I buzz with it, vibrating the power of crimson severity and strength. The barrels blow sky high and the Zombielands ignite.

  All the undead creatures rush for the perimeter, swinging out of trees, flying into the mist, but none can get out. Ardie looks behind him as the fire grows and zombies of every kind rush toward him. He looks back at us and then hones in on me and smiles a sad smile that might break my heart if I wasn’t so determined to get him out of there right now. As I draw all of Oz’s power from the rainforest floor beneath my feet, I raise my arm and reach into the misty border when Oz appears in red smoke beside me.

  “Please, stop,” he begs.