by Michael Okon
Wyatt smiled, shaking his head. “I told you, no relation, Doctor.”
Vincent went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Do you have any more presidential passes, Sharice?”
Sharice rifled through a canvas bag that lay on the table, handing Wyatt a large cream-colored scroll. It looked like a diploma, with a red ribbon tied in the center. Wyatt stared at the missive, his heart beating in his chest; the room receded.
“Open it; open the scroll,” Vincent said, his voice a husky whisper.
Wyatt slowly unrolled the parchment.
“Make sure you save it. It will be a collector’s item someday.”
“What’s this made of?” Wyatt asked, looking at the calligraphy.
Vincent didn’t answer him. Sharice pointed to the second paragraph. “We are only giving these out to the president and the other politicians and dignitaries coming tomorrow. You have a backstage pass to see how the park is run.”
Howard stood behind the counter; his jaw opened wide. “Backstage pass?” he asked in wonder. “How many of those did you get, Wyatt?”
“How many do you have, Sharice?” Vincent called over his shoulder.
“Four,” she replied, laying three others on the yellow Formica table.
“Excellent, one for each of the generous workers here tonight,” Vincent roared. Now he was in his element. Wyatt didn’t understand how he could have mistaken him for a bum. Dr. Konrad walked around the room, as if he were hosting a stylish soirée. He wore a broad smile, and his hands were outstretched to embrace the entire room. Vincent Konrad was a modern-day P.T. Barnum. Despite his unkempt appearance, this man could control a crowd. The room was silent, the electricity of Vincent’s presence captivating them all. “The price of these tickets is for you to tell the world about Monsterland. You will initiate the planet to the wonders I’ve created.”
“Yeah, us and about ten thousand others,” Manny said.
“Shut up, Manny,” Nolan responded.
Wyatt eagerly followed him around the room, his body buzzing with anticipation. He looked at the other people, noticing that everyone was captivated by Vincent. Fries sizzled in the oil, forgotten, the bright lights overhead highlighting the feverish glow of the older man’s eyes. Wyatt gazed at Vincent’s rapt face—a chill danced down his spine. Those eyes were hard, lit as though a fire raged on the inside. Wyatt watched the fathomless black orbs scanning the room, taking note of each person in there. They landed on him, probing so deeply he felt strangely violated, as though Vincent could see his private thoughts. He thought about Carter and his dislike for the mogul. Wyatt shuddered, his hand closing on the scroll, feeling the soft material. He turned it over in his hand and wondered if it were made from a chamois, the sheepskin he used to clean his car.
Wyatt heard Melvin shrieking like a hyena as he danced in the back of the restaurant. The room filled with the stench of burning fries. “We’re going to Monsterland … we’re going to Monsterland!” Wyatt glanced at Jade and then back to Melvin, who was running around like a whirling dervish. He closed his eyes and, for a minute, thought about holding Jade’s hand as they walked through the park. Reality invaded when Melvin ran up panting, “I am so pumped.” His voice cracked. Wyatt frowned.
Manny cursed and ran to the back. “My fries!”
With an imperious wave of his hand, Vincent stepped toward the door, stopping to turn and look at the group.
He pointed to Nolan. “You think you are in control. You are not afraid of anything, are you?” he asked in a provocative voice. “Let’s see if I have the ability to scare you.”
Wyatt looked down at the invitation. It was parchment, he realized. Parchment made of skin. It was some kind of animal skin. He felt the urge to drop it.
Vincent put his hand on the door to leave, but Wyatt called out. “Hey!” The doctor stopped to turn around and look at him. Wyatt held the invitations loosely in the palm of his hand. “Monsterland … it’s safe, right?”
Vincent laughed, his crew tittering nervously. “Monsterland is the safest place on Earth. I assure you, the safest place. And you will be the ones to tell the world.” He swept out of the restaurant.
Wyatt went to the window to watch Vincent’s entourage get into the big black Sprinter. He felt Manny next to him, observing as well. He smelled like burnt fries.
“Creepy sucker. Why’d you give him the burger?”
Wyatt shrugged. “He looked hungry.” He handed the manager one of the scrolls.
“Yeah, like a wolf.”
Wyatt shook his head, not sure at this point. “No, he has this … power. You know … what do they call it? Charisma?” Wyatt said, but, for the first time, doubting exactly what he found so captivating.
“He’s a creep,” Manny said. “I don’t like him or his park. I’m sorry they built it in Copper Valley. Here, take this.” He slapped his parchment into Wyatt’s hand. He wiped his hands down the sides of his dirty apron as if he touched something foul and filthy.
“No, it’s worth money. Sell it.”
“I don’t want anything to do with Vincent Konrad or Monsterland. Give it to someone.”
Wyatt’s fist closed around the soft material.
Chapter 5
Shonkin, Montana
The man’s fist closed around the cold metal of the fence. He shouldn’t have felt anything, but the hard surface of the chain link registered, and he sighed, knowing in some small part of his brain that the infection had now ravaged his thought process.
He opened his mouth, attempting to speak, and nothing emerged but the inhuman grunts indicating the virus had spread to his vocal cords. He tried again, squeezing out a word.
Words were his craft—he couldn’t lose that. Tears smarted his eyes; at least they still functioned. His voice, his tool of the trade, was almost gone. He was an eloquent speaker, nimble with words, able to twist and mold concepts into believable ideas.
Now he communicated with a one-note groan that no one understood, and it seemed only to gain him another portion of the bloody gruel they sent in through long pipelines.
He stared bleakly through the slats of the fence. It was covered with a privacy screen, shielding the outside world from the horror that was his life.
He poked the hard metal, his finger breaking off to land with a dull thud at his feet. He looked upward with despair, the constant drag of feet telling him they heard his appendage drop. He gagged, smelling them as they approached, their disease more advanced, their bodies rotting on their frames.
Most were missing parts—an eye here, an arm there. Some teetered on stumps—all that was left of their legs. Usually, by then, all reason was gone; their eyes were vacant, filmed over with a white substance; gray matter leaked from their ears, and they moved with mindless intent—brainless creatures, waiting to be put out of their misery with a final blow to their fragile heads.
There was a fight over his finger. He didn’t even try to retrieve it. He watched in disgust as two men tore at each other for the prize morsel. They shouldn’t be fighting over flesh, some small part of his mind reasoned.
They were fed regularly. Usually, it was recycled food from institutions, refuse they used to feed the hogs. Someone had to feed the plague victims before they fed on each other. He stood back, some shred of his long-lost humanity making his gorge rise. He backed away as the two fighters slugged it out over his fleshy finger. He heard the splat of their soupy skin hitting each other, the splatter of diseased bone and blood flying around the corner of the compound to scatter on the hard dirt.
He had traveled into the danger zone even though he was advised against it. He had to research for his job. It was safe, he was told. You could touch them. It was body fluids that were the problem, they assured him. After all, legions of people were there taking care of the infected. Hours after he returned, he woke from a nap to find his skin sagging, turning soft like warm putty. His face changed—his cheekbones jutting out, his skin hanging, shredding when touched. It hurt to
breathe, yet he lived. They came for him, locking him in the internment camp to feed or be fed.
For a few months, he had lived here, never appreciating his former life, never understanding what he had so casually tossed away, waiting for death to claim him. All he’d ever cared about was his career, and, ultimately, it had killed him.
There was no cure, of this he was sure. No treatment, no hope, just the endless hunger for flesh, any meat he could devour to try to feed the relentless hunger that gnawed at him from the depths of hell from which it came.
Chapter 6
Gracie White pressed a cool hand to her throbbing head. Wyatt and Sean were fighting again. She could hear their shouts all the way into the kitchen. They had been like this for the last year. She tried so hard to teach them the right things. She couldn’t understand it. They were always close as children. Wyatt had watched out for his younger brother, especially when Frank was moody. Recently, things had gotten terrible. They couldn’t be in a room for five minutes without a fight. It was like she didn’t recognize them.
When Frank and she split, the boys were younger, and she tried to shield them from the acrimonious divorce. Frank had stripped her of everything, using an airtight prenuptial agreement. She struggled on the pittance her ex-husband was able to negotiate. What a mess, Gracie thought with a bitter laugh. In truth, she was so happy to be out of the marriage, she didn’t care.
All Frank ever cared about was work, no matter what lies he fed them. Well, he could keep his mid-century modern in the Hollywood Hills, as well as the girlfriend he kept in a condo he didn’t know she knew about in Studio City. “Do you know why divorce is so expensive?” her lawyer asked her early on. “Because it’s worth it,” he answered with a laugh.
Frank was a high-priced attorney in Los Angeles and used a friend to make the ridiculous settlement. Moving to Copper Valley, her old hometown, infuriated her ex, but she needed to regroup. He'd cut the boys off completely, threw them away like yesterday’s trash, seeing them only for a few weeks last summer. Claimed he didn’t have time. He told them he was working on something big. Then he died, but of course, the boys didn’t know the circumstances.
The house vibrated with the impact of a door slamming. Oh no, they’re at it again, like two wrestlers in a ring. She was going to have to go back there and separate them. Gracie put the masher on the counter, her hand still resting on the bowl of potatoes. The butter melted into a yellow river between the half-smashed lumps. Wiping her hands on a dishrag, she turned to leave the kitchen when the back door opened and Carter walked in.
“Pork chops?” he asked, his dark hair tousled. “You okay?” He slipped his gun onto the top of the cabinet over the sink. “Ah …” he commented as another bout of shouting ensued. “Have you heard any bodies hitting the floor?”
He reached forward to take her into his arms. She fit perfectly beneath his chin, her body tense. He rubbed her back and then looked up when a thud shook the walls. “I’ll get them.”
“No, I’ll do it.” Gracie stopped herself when she saw the hurt flit across his face. He was trying so hard to bond with them. She cocked her head. “You sure?”
“I got it.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. Gracie heard his feet navigate the small house followed by his knock on their bedroom door. The shouting stopped.
Carter complained that the boys treated him as if he was temporary, like a rental. She hated that they’d clam up, their faces bordering on anger when he disciplined them. She knew her sons liked him; however, blending the family into a unit had proven a lot harder in practice than in theory.
Carter was a world of difference from their father. He was a good man—fair, kind, not flashy, the salt of the earth. In other words, the exact opposite of their father. He was a damn sight better parent than Frank ever was, but time dulled the disappointments, leaving the memories rosy and sentimental.
She didn’t get it. Frank had practically abandoned them and bankrupted her, forcing her to find a job in her old hometown, leaving Los Angeles and their privileged life behind them. In the end, he barely saw the kids; he was traveling too much for his client. She knew nothing more.
Frank was secretive and greedy, leaving her to fend for herself and support the kids. Initially, she thought he was doing that so he could get custody, but she soon realized he didn’t give a crap about them at all. Maybe it was better the boys didn’t understand that. What good would come out of them feeling abandoned?
She craned her neck, listening intently, but couldn’t hear anything. She had asked the kids to call Carter Dad, but they creatively managed to call him anything but that. Maybe they’d start calling him Dad soon.
She laid the platter of meat on the kitchen table and went back to mashing the potatoes. It was quiet in the house, and, by the time she was placing the mountain of steaming string beans on the serving dish, she heard the stomping of three sets of feet making their way into the hot kitchen.
The kitchen grew cramped as the adult-sized males filed into the room. Wyatt grabbed his chair, Sean had a toothy smile, and Carter’s face was unreadable.
“Sharing is caring,” Gracie said, expecting an explanation.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Sean shouted. “See, I told you.”
Gracie eyed Carter, her head cocked in question. “So?”
Carter held his hand out for the mashed potatoes to be passed to him. He looked at Wyatt with raised eyebrows.
“I don’t think it’s fair,” Wyatt said. “Look, it’s my ticket.”
“I told you how we are going to handle it.”
“You’re not my father! I don’t have to do what you say.”
“Wyatt!” Gracie said. “Apologize this instant to your dad.”
Carter scrutinized him.
It wasn’t that they didn’t like Carter; it felt unnatural, they kept telling their mom. While their father had not been the father of the year, he was still their dad, Wyatt always reminded her.
“Sorry,” Wyatt said, and then added, “Carter.”
Gracie sighed, and Carter stopped her with a gentle hand. “It’s good enough, Grace.”
“Look, I can’t give an opinion if I don’t know what happened,” Gracie said.
“I … Vincent Konrad came into work today.”
“What … Instaburger?”
“Yeah, well … he has to eat, right?” Wyatt said defensively.
Gracie shuddered. “I’m surprised. I guess I never expected him to eat at a place like that.”
“More’n likely he eats the same swill as the zombies,” Carter commented.
“He’s okay,” Wyatt replied. “He’s more than okay—he’s a humanitarian.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Carter said.
“He’s the best!” Sean half stood from his place with excitement.
“Settle down, Sean.” Carter nodded.
Sean hopped from foot to foot. “Listen to your dad,” Gracie told him.
Both boys looked at her but said nothing. Sean remained standing.
“What did he do?” Gracie broke the silence and put more beans on Sean’s plate.
“Aw, Ma,” Wyatt whined at her stern expression.
“He gave Wyatt four free tickets, and I want the extra one,” Sean crowed.
“Tickets … to Monsterland? I thought we talked about that.” Gracie put down her fork. She turned to Carter. “We didn’t take the tickets he offered to all the town workers. No … I won’t allow it.”
“Mom!” both boys said at once.
Wyatt was first. “I don’t know why you don’t want to let us go. He gave me a special pass, one that would allow us behind the scenes, to see how the park works.”
“Yeah!”
“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” Wyatt added.
“He has four invitations!” Sean shouted.
“Shut up, Sean,” Wyatt said.
“Wyatt …” Carter warned.
Wyatt’s cheeks grew red with frust
ration. He continued, his voice slightly elevated. “He gave me special VIP passes. He said it was safe. The mayor, senator, and governor are going to be there.”
“President McAdams too,” Carter said, and then added, “and me.”
“You?” Gracie looked miserable.
“We’ve all been called in. Jessup’s even bringing in volunteers. We’re not equipped to handle the level of people attending.”
“Dr. Konrad should supply his own guards,” Gracie said, biting her lower lip.
“He is,” Carter placated her. “He is supplying them at all seven of the parks. He has his global opening tomorrow. Monsterland is the biggest thing to hit the planet.” He shrugged, his face unhappy. “Look, Grace, once the president said he was attending, they had to pull out all the stops.”
“It’s like being part of history. I have to go. Vincent Konrad asked us to be his ambassadors to tell the world about Monsterland,” Wyatt said.
“Carter,” Gracie implored.
“I agree with you, but Grace …” He looked her full in the face. “It’s safe. Konrad’s got it all under control.” He glanced at the eager boys and then back at her. “I’d rather they got it out of their systems on a day when security will be high than a regular day. Besides, I’ll be there as well.”
Gracie still wasn’t happy. “What was the fight about?”
“Manny gave me an extra ticket. Brian Ferguson offered me five hundred dollars for it.”
“You’re not scalping a ticket,” Carter said, looking at his stepson. “You might as well give it to Sean.”
“See.” Sean beamed. “I’m going to Monsterland. Thanks, Carter.”
“Yeah, thanks, Carter,” Wyatt said rolling his eyes.
“They can watch out for each other,” Carter said with a shrug. He made eye contact with Wyatt. “Are we okay?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Carter said a quiet, “No.”
The room grew dark as twilight moved in. They heard the sound of the wolves howling miles away. Sean rose to turn on the light to chase the shadows from the kitchen.
