Monster Age

by GR Griffin

  The Shattered Zone was exactly what it sounded like: fragments of earth and rock – miniature islands – scattered in the wind. Thousands of them. Like an explosion frozen in time. Miles of broken land, connected by nothing, upheld by nothing, and yet remained fixed in place, up high and down low. The tops of the broken pieces still held green grass and trees and bushes that yearned ripe berries. No ground. One misplaced step and it was a long fall down to Earth. When this zone came to be, it was an empty space void of life. It was but an experiment to test the plausibility of utilising the Obelisk. The whole project was scrapped seconds later. Too dangerous, for obvious reasons.

  However, what was even more bizarre was that the train was not going around it.

  The tracks, believe it or not, existed before the Shattered Zone was conceived. A hilly area, the tracks rose and fell over the uneven grounds. By some miracle, this exact same route survived the disaster. So people thought that if the track survived, trains could still ride on it. The original route of the tracks distorted as the ground underneath them shifted, shattered, and fell away.

  Fleck turned their gaze beyond and saw the train snaking through the floating rocks. They found out the true reason for those seatbelts as the train began to twist like a rollercoaster.

  Chapter 16: The Shattered Zone

  It started with the engine up front as it began to turn on its side while sticking to the track, cutting a line through the asteroid field of broken rock and soil. The following cars behind played follow the leader, one after another. The seatbelts. The excessive ties on the cargo. Everything made so much sense as Fleck stood there now, absorbing it in first-person.

  The guy in the ticket booth may have been understating it when he said the Shattered Zone was a little bumpy.

  Fleck had not the foggiest clue how trains chugging at those angles were possible, but they did know one thing for definite: they did not want to be standing there when it did.

  Under different circumstances, the logical course of action would have been to turn back and seek a securely fitted seatbelt in one of the cars behind, but a certain barrel-chested chef and his arsenal of cooking utensils placed a small hindrance on that idea. Also taking into account that said barrel-chested chef had landed a car behind, his sights set squarely on them. His apron, stained by the grime that clung to the tank’s shell. His frying pan bore the many dents laid on by Barb the Bounty Hunter, and judging by the look on his face, he was ready to add a few more with the help of Fleck’s head.

  Onwards was the only direction. They bolted across the flatcars, through shipments on both sides, amazed at themself that heading toward a capsizing train was somehow less dangerous than a chef’s mean cooking. Dom the chef gave chase; his ample girth possessed an inherent degree of speed and agility, as if there were a time where he ran track and field for the school sports team. That statement was partially true; there was no track for the school sports team, only a field. Without losing any momentum, he snatched the boning knife from the crate he hit earlier.

  Counting the cars up front as they hit the curve, Fleck realised they had less time than they thought, especially as they crossed the gap onto an empty flatcar. Many clean patches and dank lines festooned the deck, suggesting a good many things having been placed on it through time. Each twist of a container came signified with the churning of metal, creaking of straps and swelling of thick tarps; the contents keen to abandon ship. The train itself was locked to the tracks, but everything else was not.

  The car ahead packed with many tied down pieces of supplies made the twist, followed by the one they were halfway across. Gravity took a turn for the worst, except it wasn’t the world spinning, but the floor itself. As it twisted ninety degrees clockwise, Fleck leaned against it, sticking on for as long as possible. As it neared its revolution, Fleck made one final leap and landed on the side of a wooden crate on the car over, losing their balance and crashing onto their knees, almost tumbling over the side.

  Behind, Dom was inches away from the empty car as it was halfway through its shift in dimensions. He stood his ground and clambered atop the side of a box to his immediate right as it became horizontal.

  Still on their knees, attempting to regain balance, Fleck leaned over the side, and from the corner of their eye, looked down.

  They thought the stairwell back in Castle Highkeep was a long drop, same with the plunge into the moat, and more so with the waterfall from Highkeep Enclave to the Plain-plain, but nothing could have prepared them for the intensity before them. Through cracks in the shattered land – some high and many low – the layer of heavenly white was a long way down. A long, long way. A long, long, long way. There were not enough longs they could line up to illustrate their point.

  What illustrated their point perfectly was the tiniest dot crawled across the clouds. That of a Boeing 777. Not even the aeroplanes flew as high as the Outerworld did.

  A massive part of them wished now that they could reset to the very beginning, just so they could be hidden from anything remotely resembling sky, clouds, and the sun.

  From across the gap, the human child and the monster chef stared each other down. Fleck armed with the gun taken from Barb. The buckle busted and the strap too big for them to wield in true Hollywood fashion. Dom with the utensils provided to him by the establishment. He had already lost one knife and got his frying pan severely busted in, both of which would come straight out of his next pay check. Seconds passed, the train remained locked in its current position, mildly banking inwards, not balancing out anytime soon. Fleck wondered for those back in the passenger car. They hoped they had plenty of sick bags.

  It appeared to be a stalemate between the monster and the human, or at least that’s what Fleck thought…

  Using the boning knife he retrieved earlier, Dom whipped his arm out to the side, tossing the blade out sideways. The knife span out into the air before coming back like a boomerang and slicing into the centre of the flatcar; the handle, jutting out, vibrated momentarily upon impact. He stood up and tossed the pan’s rubber handle into his mouth and bit hard into it, and reached into his pockets with both hands and whipped out two paring knives – one with a blade shaped like a bird’s beak. Dom stepped back as far as his ground offered before stepping forward and leaping, arching his entire body as he brought his shoulders and feet back; a move that caught his million cloud coin ticket off-guard. His stifled bloodlust roar was so powerful that his teeth cut into the handle, adding further reductions to his pay. He drove the left paring knife into the deck and, as his body veered, stabbed the other in, using the boning knife’s handle as a foothold.

  This guy was determined, Fleck gave him that. Whenever an obstacle stood in his way, Dom found a way to overcome it with the power of fine dining. They did not know whether to be afraid or impressed by that trait. Dom’s commando war face would have been more intimidating if he had a sword or a knife in his teeth, and not what he used to prepare omelettes with the other day. He craned his neck and ended up banging the pan against the trodden wood. A smattered garble grinded out of his mouth; it may have been an insult hurled at the human’s way, but they could not make it out.

  He was vulnerable, out in the open, and completely defenceless. Fleck raised the tranquiliser gun in both hands, curling their left index finger around the silver ring trigger. The chef struggled to find his balance.

  They applied pressure… then stopped.

  A voice of reason whispered in the back of Fleck’s mind: now was not the time, not when he was dangling above oblivion. A stun dart would make him fall, and he would not stand a chance against all those pieces of flying rock. And with no way to reach their save, they had to choose their actions very carefully.

  During their hesitation, Dom had found his balance and pulled out the pan, ready for whatever Fleck hurled at them.

  They lowered the bounty hunter’s weapon with a sigh, then fled across the boxes.

  Dom’s face was undefinable. Not what he expected f
rom the likes of them. “Too afraid to finish what you started?” He said before biting back on the handle where the marks were fresh and grasping the slicing instrument once more. “Nhh wnmp.” In one fluid motion, he pulled the knives out and, using the one under his feet, spring-boarded over to the next car. The crate shifted as it took his burly weight.

  Fleck traversed the uneven, one-sided trench of crates, cages, and boxes, sliding their hand against what was once the floor and stepping gingerly over leather straps. The floor became the wall and the walls became the floor like in a horror house attraction. The pink sun played hide and seek, darting in and out of the debris. Pieces of the magical earth whizzed past so close that they could touch them if they reached out far enough. The straps tautened as their extra weight pushed them to their limits. The main priority was to avoid the edge.

  They reached the gap to the next car. On the other side clung a large object draped in a rustling black cover, most likely a piece of machinery. Fleck could make out the roundness of tank treads at the bottom and the silhouette of an arm pointing toward them.

  They heard the unwanted sound of their pursuer scrambling from far behind, having to keep his head low to avoid the cargo up top. Fleck swallowed hard, took on step back, and made the jump. Their heart must have stopped as they were in mid-air and the entire world froze for that fraction of a second. The passing fragments of rock stopped still, their edgings and crumbs in full clarity. No sound from either the clinking of metal or rushing winds. The drop became merely a painted canvas, no depth to it whatsoever. As fast as it happened, the moment ended and the child landed on the machine.

  They went to stand and the ground beneath them tilted back. The machine turned on its axis with a heavyset, shaking clank. Fleck, down on all fours, holding on to the edges, tried to move and ended up shifting the machine more backwards. Without warning, the behemoth swung itself down. Fleck held on as their footing gave away – Barb’s weapon slipping from their grasp and getting caught beneath the treads. The cover tore, revealing the machine to be a digger of some weird sort, painted blue with a big, caged glass ball for the driver’s compartment. They were latched to the arm.

  The loose sheet made it impossible for Fleck to keep their little fingers around, finding that out the bad way as they slid further and further down. They held on until they could hold on no more. They fell and managed to catch themself on the bucket – the scooping part – clawing their fingers around the teeth.

  Dom made it to the end of the car to catch a sight to behold. The digger with the arm pointing toward the planet. The human hanging by a thread at the end of it.

  The edge of the scooper dug into the soft skin of their palms, piling extra agony onto their purple fingers. The sensation burned their hands with intense fire, yet Fleck held on with vice-like grip. They looked up, catching the locomotive’s full length as it curved.

  They looked down – they should not have done that! No longer was it a painted canvas. Their booted feet dangled thousands upon thousands of feet in the air. The longer they looked, the further the drop stretched. Thousands of feet became millions of miles, swelling away their brain with dizzying nausea.

  Through the blur of heart-pounding tension and buckets of adrenaline, Fleck saw the irony in their predicament. Yesterday, they held on for dear life to avoid being taken to the Outerworld, now they were holding on for dear life to remain in the Outerworld.

  They looked straight ahead just in time. Incoming debris! A piece of rock, the same size as they were, hurtling toward them with the silent grandeur of a meteorite in outer space. Releasing the nerve dead fingers in their left hand, they flung themself to the side, narrowly dodging the rock. The hydraulic arm jolted sideways, nearly into another. More debris came from down low. Fleck forced their left hand to grab the edge and pull their legs up just in time.

  Dom watched with mixed feelings as the human dodged and weaved floating hazards. He was unable to do anything, expect look on. Should he be thankful that Fleck was dodging the asteroids? Or should he be rooting for them to smash headlong into a boulder? Either way, the grim reaper really had it out for this kid.

  Mercifully, the entire train banked to the left, levelling out before descending down a slight gradient, following the track as it curved left and right with no discernible pattern. Dom stepped onto the deck with the nonchalance as stepping off an escalator. The digger arm began to retract, arching closer back to the platform to Fleck’s relief and damnation. He was about to move when he glimpsed the wrist firearm nestled into the crevice of the circular wheel.

  “That looks like one of that gal’s weapons. Don’t mind if I do.” Without pulling his gaze from the hanging human, he stuffed the damaged pan down the back of the knot in his apron and took the gun. “Knowing her, this’ll make things a lot easier.”

  The mechanical arm slowly returned to the safety of the deck. The human’s fingers were ready to fall off. Their arms, thirsty for sweet circulation. The chef stepped over, taking position under the arm to snatch them as soon as they reached him. Fleck’s face suggested that they were a caterpillar’s length away from pleading.

  Dom mentally staged out how this was going to go down. Just before grabbing the child, he would give them a quick shot of whatever the gun did, rendering them helpless and ready for delivery straight to the castle. He did not know much about Barb, but it was a widespread fact that she did not kill. He had nothing to worry about as he slipped his index finger through the silver trigger.

  Dom offered them one hand while arming the other. They were feet away and approaching. “There we go, just a little closer. Let good old uncle Dom take care of y—”

  Fleck disappeared from his sight as a chunk struck the digger arm. The machine span. Fleck lost grip with one hand, dangling with the tips in the other. They completed a full three quarters of a revolution over the deck and back over the side before reaching their limit and landing at the front of the flatcar.

  Fleck’s first order of business was not to take off running, but to hop frantically in place, crying out as they wiggled the life back into their fingers, blowing on them a few times. The spectacle went on for a full fifteen seconds with Dom so courteously standing in place, watching as it all played out. When they were done, both made eye contact. Fleck shot him a grin, and he returned it.

  Fleck turned and ran a microsecond before Dom gave chase.

  * * *

  Faster. Barb needed to be faster. But she could not help it. She hated the Shattered Zone. All that floating debris made it high-on impossible to fly fast and hard. Her wing struck another rock. Dirt got into her eyes. Her ankle got caught on an exposed root, stopping her a moment while she untangled herself. Not to mention finding anything within this tangled mess was like finding a needle in a haystack. A very tiny needle in a grotesquely large haystack.

  Her pointy ears listened for the tell-tale sounds of a train; the chugging of the engine; the crunch of wheels against track. She found the squeal and homed in on it, until she found both the opening and the trail. The train engine was directly in front of her. Roaring full pelt in her direction. She got an excellent view of the cowcatcher.

  She altered her course just in time, twirling past the engine. The multi-coloured bulk containers rattled past a blur as she made her way further back, dipping and diving earthly obstacles along the way.

  Just ahead, she made out the human by their distinct blue clothes, ducking left and right, being hounded by the bully of a cook who was now using her tranquiliser gun… rather poorly, she might add. His fashion was sloppy, holding the rapid-fire weapon sideways like those humans who refuse to wear belts and hammer gold into their yellow teeth. It was likely a result of working with knives his entire life.

  Barb assessed the situation. With the amount of obstacles around, an elevated position would be both disadvantageous and dangerous. She swooped in fast and low, zooming down the aisle that separated the cargo. Fleck saw her dead ahead and hit the deck. Barb swoope
d over them and tackled Dom – the two rolling head over heels across the cars. He managed to kick her off, crashing her into the digger. The machine shifted, followed by the snap of a belt holding it down.

  Barb fell forward onto one knee, the curve in her lumbar having shifted up into the thoracic. She whipped her gun up and fired off a few blind shots. With no time to reach for his pan, Dom flicked out his favourite butcher knife and sliced the bullets in half.

  Barb reacted the opposite way Dom thought. Her smile was askance, difficult to read. “Ever wondered why I don’t use magic?” she asked. Dom was unable to determine who that question was aimed at, it might have been targeted toward herself.

  Dom was not going to wait and find out. He raised her very own weapon and pulled back on the ring trigger. Not even he could miss at that range.

  She threw her fist into the floor and launched her own brand of magic, revealing it for the first time to a civilian. Large, white spikes – fangs – erupted upward, around and away from her like she was the stone cast into the puddle and her magic was the ripple. The darts broke against them. The sight of it sent Dom running. In the rush, he dropped the butcher knife. It was gobbled up in the wave of fangs.

  He yelled, “I thought you didn’t kill!” The rumble of teeth rang close to his heels. Crates exploded into clouds of sawdust and splinters, their weird and exotic inners spilling out sharp, fluffy, shredded, and broken, in glorious shades of red, blue, yellow, green, brown, orange and black.