by Michael Okon
Gracie’s lips tightened. “You’ll be home early?”
“Early in the morning,” Sean said.
“What do you mean, early in the morning?”
Wyatt put down his fork and knife, calmly stating, “The park opens at sunset, Mom.”
Gracie raised her eyebrows at Carter. “Sunset?” her voice squeaked.
“I’ll be working.” Carter stood up bringing his plate to the sink. “I’ll be there, Gracie,” he said, and the subject was closed.
Chapter 7
“You don’t expect me to live this way?” Sylvie threw down the plastic packet of blood so that it leaked sluggishly on the Styrofoam dishes they used in the commissary exhibit.
It was a mock restaurant in the Vampire Village. Nobody could eat with the zombies, and nobody wanted to eat with the werewolves. “I can’t eat with these things on.” She gestured disgustedly at her capped fangs. It was late in the day, and they had all just woken up. The windows had been blackened to keep out the hot desert sunlight.
“Come on, baby,” Raoul pleaded. “It will only be for a little while. They said things would improve when money starts pouring in.”
“I don’t know why we have to wait,” she said with a sneer.
“Vincent Konrad is the richest man in the world. He promised us a better existence,” Angie complained. She considered the handful of vamps contemptuously, watching them suck on their packets in the dining room. She turned her attention to the guard standing by the exit. She had been recruited in New York, along with four others. She was tall with long legs and had ivory-colored hair. Her pupils were vertical like a cat’s, and they glowed with an inner light. She started to rise from the table.
“Where are you going?” Ian stared glumly at his plate. He was Asian, with straight purple hair that covered half his face. They were living together in the rooms above the park.
Angie smirked. “Dessert,” she said.
Sylvie and Raoul looked up, their argument stalled, watching Angie circle the guard, who ignored her. She leaned against the wall, smiling coyly at him. He smiled back but turned his face straight ahead.
“She can’t do that,” Sylvie said, with a shake of her pink curls. “What about her caps?”
“Watch her,” Ian responded with a cunning grin, his fangs evident.
“Where are yours?” Sylvie whispered.
“Look. If you leverage your fork just so …” He pushed the tines of a fork against a lever on the side of her mouth. She felt the brace pop. “Voilà,” Ian said with a flourish, holding the offending plastic caps in the palm of his hand. “Just slide them in for inspection. They’ll never know.” He sucked on his packet, the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “I hate mystery blood. Ugh, what is this stuff?”
“It’s better than the fish blood they gave us last week.” Sylvie made a face, sliding the caps into her pocket.
“It sent those two guys from Nashville to the infirmary. I haven’t seen them since.” Ian threw down the half-filled packet with revulsion. “They can’t expect us to survive on this. We have to do something.”
“Like what?” Raoul asked. “We’re practically prisoners.”
“Angie’s planning something big.”
“She’s satiating her hunger, nothing more. She’s selfish. I wish we were placed in the Paris park.”
“Ooh, la la. Aren’t you fancy.” Ian snickered. “Do you think they serve wine with the blood over there? I heard they are getting the same garbage.”
“Angie’s just a flirt. She wants all the men for herself,” Sylvie said with malice.
“A lot you know. She’s staging a revolution, one guard at a time,” Ian laughed. “There she goes.”
“What are you talking about?”
Slowly, Angie moved closer. They could hear her giggling as if the guard made a joke. She inched to his side, whispering something in his ear. Angie disappeared behind the door, the guard leaving a second after her.
“Clever,” Raoul said with appreciation.
“It’s against the rules!” Sylvie protested.
“Angie doesn’t follow the rules,” Ian said.
Raoul looked at Ian and asked, “Are you okay with that? You don’t get jealous?”
“As long as there is no kissing, I can tolerate it.”
“What will she do with the body?” Sylvie murmured.
“She’s not going to kill him. She’ll get him in a spot where nobody will see it. See that sanitation worker there?” He pointed to a uniformed worker cleaning out a trash can. “She got to him a week ago. He’s a drone too. The cafeteria lady, the maintenance workers … she’s working her way through the entire staff,” Ian said.
Raoul shook his head. “She’s jeopardizing it for all of us.” He was fiddling with the lock on his caps. They heard the familiar pop, and he smiled as he slid them off. “Ah … what a relief.”
Ian lowered his voice. “Look, she’s got the right idea. I think we should drone them all. Think of it as insurance. I’m not too sure about Vincent Konrad.” Ian looked around the room. “I don’t trust him. He hasn’t delivered a thing. Aside from that, there were more than two dozen of us in this park when we started. We’re down to fifteen now. What happened to those other vamps? I’m thinking of busting out.”
“And go where?” Raoul whispered.
“I still have relatives. They are in the blast zone in China; nobody wants to go there. We could hide out in Shanghai and move our way inland.”
“How will we get there from here? We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Raoul hissed.
Ian rolled his eyes toward the cafeteria worker. “The drones. They’ll get us through the desert safely. They know the area.”
Raoul gave a slight nod. “It might work. We’d have to travel at night, once the sun’s gone down. You have to get one that knows his way around.”
“You think?” Ian said, then chuckled.
Raoul agreed. Things had been terrible since they arrived. The doctor oozed charm when he painted a picture of recreating all their former glory. Instead, Vincent Konrad gave them poor reproductions of eighteenth-century clothing, and he stuck them in a sterile version of his concept of East Germany. They were assigned roles in a cheesy rock musical, the music so embarrassingly bad it was more painful to perform it than hear it.
And there was that crazy hunchback he forced into their act. What did he have to do with their image? Raoul had heard a rumor that the good doctor was doing a favor for a celebrity or someone who wanted a relative hidden. Someone who was rather important, he thought. It took a lot of gall to place that creature with the vampires. He had a good mind to take it up with the doctor, but lately, Vincent hadn’t been seen. He was too busy with his precious openings.
Every bad stereotype was there, making a mockery of their kind. It was supposed to be a place to keep them apart from the population, allowing them to be who they were in a safe environment.
While some found them mysterious, even sexy, Vincent made them into a joke. The show was humiliating. They weren’t scary—he didn’t revitalize their image. Then there were the forced blood withdrawals.
Vincent started taking their blood—for what, Raoul could only guess. Worse than that, he heard grumblings that Vincent was feeding the werewolves to the zombies and using their skins for parchment. What kind of monster was he?
“They’ll pick up on it eventually. If you drone too many of them,” Raoul said, “Vincent’s people will notice the staff has gone passive. If only …”
“If only what?” Ian looked up, his dark eyes alert.
“If only we could combine forces with the other inmates in the park; we’d outnumber Vincent’s people.”
“Who needs them?” Ian said. “Werewolves are untamed, and the zombies are so far gone, they’re useless.”
“Animals can be trained,” Raoul retorted.
“Angie’s training all the animals we’re going to need. Who cares about the others anyway? Once we dr
one the staff, we’ll have an army of allies. It will be the eighties all over again,” Ian smirked. “Either way, we are out of here tonight. After I take care of that hunchback.”
“Who, Igor? I think he’s cute,” Sylvie tittered.
“You would,” Ian sneered.
“Anyway,” Sylvie said, “we signed that stupid contract with him. In blood.”
“Who cares?” Ian said. “The drones will unlock the gates. We’ll slip out after the show.”
“Too dangerous.” Sylvie eyed the guards nervously.
“So, what are they going to do? Kill us? Last week, he threatened to feed us to the zombies.” Ian laughed as he walked toward the door. “Then he can add flesh-eating zombie vampires to his circus.”
“Where will you go?” she asked.
“We’re heading to the hills southwest of here late tonight. We’ll hide there until the sun sets tomorrow and then head west. We’ve picked two of the drones as slaves … and nourishment.”
“That’s one for each of you. Not enough for survival if we go.”
“Come with us. Pick a drone of your own, someone who knows the lay of the land.”
Raoul became thoughtful. He wasn’t comfortable here. He had given up one prison for another. With the right drone, they would find others. They could feed off the community. China, he thought with rising excitement. A lot of people in China hadn’t been exposed to their music. They may have a shot at something new in a frontier town, away from the tired population of Copper Valley.
Sylvie looked at Raoul. “This place is evil, pure evil. We have to get out of here.” It seemed she had the same idea.
Raoul stared toward the distant mountain range. His brain began to percolate.
Chapter 8
Traffic was backed up for miles on the 15. Wyatt, his friends, and his brother Sean had been at a dead stop for over forty-five minutes.
Floodlights lit the long stretch of highway, and enterprising vendors set up road stands, selling T-shirts, water, and fruit. The evening heat was going to be brutal. The radio announcer noted the time was 8:00 p.m. and the freeway to Monsterland was packed tighter than anything they’d seen before.
The teens were surrounded by a variety of license plates. Sean jumped in and out of the car, calling out different states excitedly. Twice Wyatt grumbled for him to get back in the car. All the windows were open, and Wyatt had shut the air conditioning off some time ago. The old clunker appeared dangerously close to overheating.
Police cars raced back and forth over the artificial grass on either side of the roadway. Overhead, a trio of black helicopters made a wide circle in the velvet sky and then started descending.
“Elvis is in the building,” Melvin intoned.
“I don’t think even Vincent Konrad has the capability of raising someone who’s been dead that long,” Howard said. “It’s McAdams and the senators. This is so disorganized. I told you coming tonight would be a mistake.”
Wyatt looked at Howard in the mirror. He was acting strangely. First, Howard gave some lame excuse why he couldn’t attend, and then he tried to talk them all out of going. He was jittery and nervous. Well, Wyatt thought, to be honest, Howard Drucker was always tense and nervous, but he appeared more so tonight.
News crews and their vans lined the median, the large satellites relaying and comparing all the different Monsterland openings. Reporters stood outside, their faces lit by floodlights, mics in hands and stories being told.
Melvin interrupted his thoughts. “He can’t raise the dead. Werewolves aren’t dead. Vampires technically are undead.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sean asked.
“Here we go again,” Wyatt said, resting his head in his hand. He was getting tired of the argument.
“One doesn’t die when they become a vampire; they just live for a longer time or until they get a wooden stake through the heart. Vampires have to be killed by specific means, making people think they are more special than they are.”
“As if sucking on blood isn’t enough to make someone think you’re special,” Howard retorted.
“Okay, but zombies are dead,” Sean interrupted.
“Go ahead, explain the facts of life to your brother,” Howard told Wyatt.
“They’re not dead either, just infected with the plague. They are catatonic and have this need to consume flesh, but any meat will do.”
“They’re zombies,” Sean said with a nod.
“Not in the truest sense. They die when you shoot them. Eventually, the illness gets them. That’s been the whole problem. They can’t live in society because they’re out of control. Their brains have been fried by the disease.”
“They look like zombies; they smell like zombies—”
“How do you know what they smell like, Sean?” Howard demanded. “When was the last time you rubbed shoulders with one?”
“As a matter of fact, I read about them.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Is Carter inside yet?” Melvin asked, interrupting the boys in the backseat.
“He left before three this afternoon,” Wyatt responded. He rested his arm out the window. He jerked his hand when it met the burning chrome. “Man, it’s hotter than hell out there.”
“Idiot,” he heard Sean mutter. He glanced at his brother, wondering if Sean was referring to him or Howard Drucker or even Carter. Sean was generally out of charity with everybody.
“Have you heard from him yet?” Howard inquired.
Wyatt shook his head. “Nope.” He looked at the sea of cars, wondering where Jade was in the traffic and if he was going to be able to spend any time with her. He sighed.
Howard stuck his head out of the car. “That had to be the president.” He sat back down with a groan. “You sure you don’t want to turn around?”
“Are you crazy?” Melvin shoved his hand into a package of crispy orange-colored Crux Chips. His upper lip and chin were the same color as his hair.
Melvin sat in the front, and Howard shared the back with the younger boy. A cooler filled with Whisp, their favorite carbonated beverage, was placed between them. They had eaten the sandwiches and were halfway through the snacks.
Wyatt watched Howard in the rearview mirror. His skin was pasty. He had been quiet since he joined them at five o’clock. He tossed his half-eaten candy bar into the trash bag.
“What’s the matter with you?” Wyatt asked him quietly.
Melvin fished out the candy bar. “You better finish all that. It says right here.” Melvin pointed to his brochure, flakes of Crux Chips landing on his T-shirt. “You can’t take any food into the park.” His werewolf head necklace was covered with rusty dust. Only the green glass eyes gleamed.
“Despicable,” Howard complained. “They control the food concessions so they can charge a fortune for limp bacon and crummy gray burgers. I think it sucks.” He pointed to Melvin’s pendant. “We chucked those years ago, Mel. Why are you still wearing that?”
Melvin grabbed the snarling werewolf head with his hand. “I love this thing. It’s part of my identity. Part of my mojo.”
“You don’t even know what that means,” Howard replied. “You look like a jerk with it.”
“You suck!” Melvin retorted. “You afraid of the monsters, Howard Drucker?”
“No, he’s afraid of Keisha,” Sean laughed.
“Shut up, I’m not scared of anything,” Howard responded, his face red. Their shirts stuck to them. They had worn long pants as advised on the news. They were uncomfortable as well as testy. “Can’t you put the air back on?” Howard whined.
“Don’t think so,” Wyatt commented.
“I wish I wore shorts.”
“They are trying to keep your limbs safe from the zombies. Carter said they only allow food in hermetically sealed pavilions where it can’t be smelled.”
“The werewolves’ superior sense of smell is no match for a human-made building,” Melvin said, his mouth stuffed with a Wee Wanda cake, the c
rème puff filling now dotting his chin.
“Oh, here we go again—vampires can out-smell a werewolf anytime,” Howard replied.
Wyatt let the conversation wash over him, his eyes darting every so often, searching for Nolan’s silver pickup. He wondered if Jade was sweltering in the heat in Nolan’s vehicle. Probably not. Nolan wouldn’t have to worry about conserving gas. His dad would buy it for him.
“That was mine.” Sean reached forward, trying to grab a powdered doughnut from Melvin’s hand. Melvin shoved the rest into his mouth.
“Cut it out.” Wyatt leaned over and punched his brother. “Look, I’ll turn this sucker around and take you home—”
“No!” Melvin and Sean cried out in unison.
“Peace, bro.” Sean made a v with his fingers.
“How seventies of you,” Howard said, pushing his glasses up. His face was glazed with sweat. “It’s so hot in here.”
Melvin returned the peace sign and then flipped Sean the bird. Sean’s retaliation was cut off as the car before them moved ahead a few feet. Wyatt turned the ignition on, lurching forward. The line started moving. They heard cheers from other cars around them. Melvin gave the thumbs-up signal to the car next to him.
The road split into six lanes with dozens of the new Monsterland staff waving flags, directing them to pull forward. A uniformed officer stepped into Wyatt’s view, directing them to stop. He was wearing the black jumpsuit of Monsterland; his red badge had the logo with his name in the center. Wyatt could feel the excitement level in the car amp up. Sean sat on the edge of the seat, and Wyatt looked at him in the mirror. “Put your seatbelt back on.”
“What?” he replied. “We’re stopped.”
Wyatt picked up his cell, threatening to call their mother. Sean ungraciously threw himself backward to put on his belt.
The officer peered into the back of the car, his flashlight illuminating the dark interior. Wyatt studied him with interest.
“We’ve set up a dumping station at the main gate. No food or beverages allowed,” he informed them, looking into the car.
