Monsterland

by Michael Okon

  “I’m highly allergic and need specific food,” Howard lied, testing the officer.

  “Sorry, son. We have a designated phone number where special meals can be ordered.” He pushed up the visor of his hat. “You needed to call in advance, though. Too late for that. I know someone who’d want to buy your ticket.”

  “I’ll suffer,” Howard said dramatically.

  The car inched forward, and the view was blocked by the row of tour buses in front of them. The vehicle before them turned left, and the boys sat in shocked awe as the vista opened. A massive concrete wall obliterated the horizon, giant iron gates separating them from the theme park.

  “Entrance at oh twelve hundred,” Melvin said in a clipped robotic voice.

  “The gate!” Sean crowed, jumping like a wild man in his seat. His seatbelt was off again.

  The entrance loomed before them. The first thing Wyatt noticed was the Monsterland logo, a large M in the center of vampire teeth. He looked up, spying iron letters barely visible in an arc overhead, the letters shaped with black metal. Wyatt stared at the gateway, his mouth dry. He had wanted so badly to go, all these months, plotting and planning a way to be able to attend, yet the sign pulled at a distant memory. The large lettering cast an imposing shadow. The iron gate was surrounded by twenty-foot-high, finely sloped concrete walls that made the place look like Hoover Dam.

  Cut—it—out, Sean, or I’m calling Mom. You’re not allergic to anything, Howard; and, Melvin, there’s no such thing as ‘oh twelve hundred.’”

  “It’s the coordinates.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Wyatt said with a laugh. Melvin was nothing if not entertaining.

  “If you take me home, you’re going to miss Jade.” Sean pointed to the pickup truck pulling up in the next lane. Nolan had the window open and was arguing with the Monsterland police.

  Wyatt craned his neck to see if he could get a glimpse of Jade. His heart started to beat faster; a telltale flush rose to paint his face when he spied her delicate profile. He leaned forward to get a better look at her.

  “Forget it; she doesn’t see you,” Howard observed. “They’re like the Gestapo,” he added.

  “The who?” Sean asked.

  “The Nazis’ special police.”

  “Who’s like the Gestapo?”

  “The Monsterland security. Did you hear that guy?”

  “What’s up with you, Howard Drucker? I thought you wanted to go.” Wyatt turned, looking at his friend’s pinched face.

  “Yeah, that was before, this is now.”

  Melvin hooked his arm around the headrest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Howard shrugged indifferently.

  “Come on,” Melvin said.

  “In theory, it sounded like a very good idea. You know, seeing vampires, zombies, and werewolves in their natural habitat.”

  “So?”

  “The point is, this,” he gestured to the massive gates looming before them. “It seems unnatural. It feels—”

  “What? Wrong? What else are they going to do with them? Kill them like in an old George Romero movie? This is so right,” Melvin said. “They were dying in those detention camps.”

  “Containment camps,” Howard corrected.

  “Whatever.” Melvin threw up his hands. “The hillbillies practically wiped out the werewolf colony once it was discovered. Vampires lived in fear, almost harried out of existence. Here they are protected. If they did that to the rhinos, maybe they wouldn’t have become extinct.”

  “It’s sterile, not real!” Howard was leaning over the front seat.

  “What happened to you? You were so excited about it,” Wyatt asked.

  “This was all over the internet this morning.” He typed something on his cell and then showed them the screen. It looked like a dilapidated portion of any American city. The image was filmed in a choppy fashion, bouncing around, going in and out of focus. The Werewolf River Run sign was in the viewfinder. Uniformed men, some with lab coats, entered the ride area. The camera panned out to view an artificial river with alligators rhythmically rising and falling in the water. There was a rustle and then shouts. A howl turned into a wail, and all four boys watched, their collective breaths held.

  “Was that filmed inside Monsterland?”

  “Shut up and listen. They’re speaking English, so I guess it was right here.”

  “Who did it?”

  Howard shrugged. “America’s Funniest Home Videos. How the hell am I supposed to know? They didn’t give any credits.”

  They clustered their heads together, fighting for space to see. Howard shoved the phone into Wyatt’s hands so he could hold it up for them all.

  The camera picked up a scuffle and then a muffled curse. An enormous dark animal tore from the brush, a gang of men following in hot pursuit. Its body was longer than a wolf, its hair a mix of black with gray highlights. It appeared to be about nine feet long. It growled, jumping high, and then, landing on all fours, it crouched low, snarling ominously. Its muscled shoulders bunched with raw power. Its mouth opened to reveal dripping yellow fangs that glistened in the light. Narrowing its golden eyes, it circled the area, and the men backed away warily. The paws were the size of dinner platters, and its broad chest heaved as it panted. Vincent Konrad was the tallest man in the group. He wore a white lab coat.

  “A werewolf,” Melvin whispered in wonder.

  “Watch,” Howard said.

  The beast was overwhelmed by a Taser shot at him. It cried out in agony. Four goons jumped on its back. It was pummeled mercilessly with metal bats. In the background, the screams of a dozen beasts could be heard, but a row of men brandishing rifles held them in check. The animal was beaten, and, when it lay senseless on the floor, it was given one last kick.

  The guard stood, wiping his hands. “Is it still breathing?” he asked, breathless from his exertion.

  The doctor bent over to examine the creature. “Barely.”

  “Is that Vincent Konrad?” Sean tried to grab the cell phone.

  “Shut up and watch!”

  “Good. Feed it to the zombies. They like their meat alive.” Vincent stood, wiping his hands on a proffered towel.

  “Whoa, that’s sick.” Wyatt’s eyes opened wide.

  “I heard the whales took a worse beating at the aquarium,” Melvin quipped.

  “That couldn’t have been Vincent—he wouldn’t do that,” Wyatt said with disbelief. He sat back, his stomach feeling unsettled, as if his world had suddenly tilted on its axis. Vincent Konrad was a man of honor, and that video had to be a mistake, he reasoned.

  “Who are you?” Howard demanded. “That was murder, and, the last time I checked, murder was against the law.” He fiddled with the white pocket protector, sliding out a pencil to look at its point.

  “You are such a nerd,” Melvin said, watching him.

  Howard slid the pencil back hastily, making his nervous fingers relax in his lap.

  “It’s not murder if they aren’t human.” Melvin said.

  “Who decides who is human?” Howard shouted back.

  Melvin downed a can of Whisp in one gulp and belched in Howard’s face.

  The sign loomed above them. The car inched forward as if it were hooked on a tram ride. The back door was opened, and capable hands pulled out the cooler and bottled drinks. They were ordered out of the car. Two white-uniformed men appeared on either side with large vacuum hoses. They vacuumed the crumbs from the front of Melvin’s shirt. He giggled as the suction pulled at his clothes.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Wyatt asked. He noticed Nolan, Theo, Jade, and Keisha were also outside their vehicle. Jade’s worried eyes found Wyatt’s. Jade bit her bottom lip. Keisha waved her entrance ticket.

  Wyatt pulled out his phone and started a text to Jade and then caught sight of Nolan and shoved his cell back in his pocket. What was he doing? She has a boyfriend, he reminded himself.

  “We’re supposed to be special guests,” Keisha yelled at t
he lead guard.

  “Yeah, join the crowd. Everybody has those today. You’re all special,” the guard retorted.

  They were allowed back into the cars and told to follow the signage to the garages that rose out of the desert like a modernistic mountain.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Sean suggested.

  “I don’t know about this place,” Howard replied.

  “You’re always the skeptic,” Melvin said.

  “So explain the video.”

  The ride to the garage was utterly silent. Wyatt glanced back in his rearview mirror and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, remembering why the sign unnerved him. It bore a striking resemblance to a picture he had seen in his history book. The words were in German and read Arbeit Macht Frei—Work Makes You Free. It was the entrance to the Auschwitz death camp.

  Chapter 9

  Billy’s sharp eyes scanned the soldered joints holding the glass-covered dome together. He was in human form, as was the rest of his pack. The loincloths that had been given out earlier lay in a discarded heap where they had taken turns urinating on them, so they’d be unwearable.

  This place was nothing better than a zoo. The collar on Billy’s neck chafed his skin. He was rubbed raw by it; the green LED light was always on the edge of his peripheral vision, a constant reminder of his captivity.

  Vincent Konrad made a mockery of science. He had no intention of finding a cure or studying the inhabitants, of that Billy was sure. The man was evil; his cold, obsidian eyes studied Billy as though he were nothing more than an insect under a microscope. They couldn’t communicate with the other inmates of the theme park. If only they could reach out to them, they could band together to get out of here.

  For all he knew, the vamps were happy with their confinement. Maybe they'd cut a better deal. Forget about the zombies; they were little better than a meal for his kind.

  If only the vamps would respond to his calls. He had tried, but they were cliquish, thought they were better than anyone else. Vamps cared for nothing except for their pleasure.

  Vampires had passed for years living within society, on the fringe—they still managed to carve out a place for themselves, until Vincent saw fit to incorporate them into his obscene operation. They were invited in, not drugged and dragged in like he handled the werewolves. Werewolves had lived peacefully for years in the swamps until Vincent hunted them down to put them in his freak show.

  Billy peered through the glass at the Vampire Village, trying to make contact with someone, anyone. He knew a vamp once; his name was Axel, of all things, infected when he was a roadie for one of the bands he followed.

  They were a cautious group, those vamps, initiating only those who desired to be included. Sure, they made drones, people they fed off, taking blood. Those drones begged for it and then turned into groupies whose slavish devotion ended when the vamp stopped sucking their blood for a month straight. Nobody seemed too bothered by it except for the Bible-thumpers, but they balked at everything. Vampire numbers had dwindled as their popularity decreased. Even his buddy Axel disappeared one day.

  Then Vincent came along, promising a safe home to what was left of the vampire population. They could have the run of the place, unlike the wolves, who he’d stuck in cages.

  It’s just that—Billy reasoned—why didn’t they realize they were making a pact with the devil? If he imprisoned one group, another was just as endangered. If Vincent were to succeed, he needed the help of the vamps, ’cause everybody knew you couldn’t reason with the zombies, poor souls. Once those suckers caught the virus, they declined until there was nothing left but an empty shell.

  Billy growled deep in his throat, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the park. To the left, he saw a huge sign announcing wait times for the zombie suburbs. Vincent had no intention of creating a cure. Why would he ruin his star attraction? Vincent probably had plans to make more zombies. After all, he had several more of these theme parks premiering all over the world tonight.

  Billy howled to his pack. He had spread his group to the four corners of their prison, getting familiar with their new territory.

  Behind the theme park, he saw a line of rust-and-dun-colored mountains. They were far from the humid swamps of the south, but he had a rather sketchy idea of geography.

  He barely remembered school or even his family. He had a new one now, and he had to protect his clan. Just over a ridge, he made out a snaking line of people waiting patiently to enter this strange land where he had been brought to live.

  His fingers gripped the metal tightly, his jaw going slack. They were coming to see him, to point and study—and laugh. He jumped down, his heart racing.

  It was dusk outside, but soon the artificial sky inside the dome would simulate the onset of evening allowing the bright full moon to assault both his and his friends’ nervous systems. He knew their skin would stretch, their limbs would lengthen, and they would howl in pained agony. Hunger so great would turn them into eating machines, and they would attack anything in their paths.

  He walked down a grassy trail, throwing himself onto a bed of moss. He was trapped in a controlled home where he would be the show. He understood now. This is why they had been taken from their homes. It was not to study them but to entertain bored school children looking for thrills.

  Petey and Little John sniffed at the air, letting out a yelp of warning. They were coming back.

  He had the rest of his group studying the routines of their keepers, checking for weakness in the security of the place. They had an army of guards, the same military types that had captured them late last year.

  They spent a long time underground in a medical facility, being probed, and, in Todd’s case, dissected to find out the reason they were half man, half beast. They had lost a few, allowed three new pack members in whose leader had been killed and skinned in the name of science.

  The alarms rang, and Billy reluctantly rose, walking to his cell. He pulled at the collar on his neck, feeling the band pulse with the current that zapped him when he didn’t obey. It wouldn’t come off, this indestructible collar; there wasn’t even a weak seam for him to wiggle. They had tried biting them off each other, only to be rewarded with a teeth-jarring zap that went straight to the middle of their heads. Oh, the pain of that shock, Billy remembered.

  The door opened, and he crouched low to enter, holding on to the bars as they locked back in place. He exchanged a questioning glance with Petey, who nodded abruptly, letting him know he had some success.

  The doors slammed shut, and he wondered why they were being locked up at this hour. Usually, they were allowed to run free all day. Perhaps Vincent was coming.

  Vincent Konrad was a frequent visitor. Of course, Billy remained mum; they all had. None of them talked to humans; they wouldn’t give anything away. Alone, they used nods, grunts, whines, and barks to communicate. It was enough.

  He couldn’t figure out Vincent’s motive. What did he want from them? The doctor would come by and stand outside his pen for hours, locked in a silent duel, leaving Billy clueless to what the man’s intent could be. Was it all for science? Or a sadistic form of amusement? Billy sensed it was something much more sinister than that, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Still, Vincent Konrad was not hostile. There was almost an indulgent air about him, as if Billy were his pet. Resentment roiled through Billy’s body. The doctor’s secretive smile infuriated him.

  Billy was still in human form, scrabbling around in the dirt of his small cell, the domed ceiling muting all daylight. He knew it was nearing night; his internal clock told him so. He rolled on the floor of his pen: feces, chicken bones, and a mess of feathers on the filthy floor.

  “What’s the matter, Billy? Didn’t your mother teach you manners? Look at this mess,” the jailor taunted. “I guess she was too busy rutting with a wolf.”

  “You leave my mother alone!” Billy forced the words from his throat, feeling them scrape his rusty vocal cords like a file. The s
entence came out garbled, barely intelligible, but he dragged the words from the recesses of his past to spit them out.

  He screamed from the pain of his atrophied throat muscles and rammed against the gate. In truth, Billy barely remembered his mother. He had fled his home when he realized that he was not like his brothers. Billy was different, his strangeness causing them to keep a distance. He tried to fit in but knew instinctively he didn’t belong.

  It happened when night descended, and the moon gazed balefully down at him. His body would betray him, changing, shredding his clothes, forcing him to flee his home to search for food. The ravenous hunger would send him running, hunting, looking for a living thing to rip apart and devour. He would eat, bloodlust in his eyes, searching for and stealing chickens and dogs, until one day he found it was not enough.

  When the moon disappeared, he felt himself return to his boyhood body to find the dismembered corpse of his neighbor spread about the greasy grass. He ran then, hiding during the day, foraging at night, howling at the moon, never resting until an answering cry told him he had found a home. There were seven others, all male, all the same.

  They lived in the Everglades, away from humankind, living off the dense population of alligators—until Vincent Konrad had destroyed their peace.

  “You filthy animal.” The zookeeper yanked on a four-inch-wide hose, his face smiling evilly. “Got to get cleaned up. Company’s coming.”

  Billy cringed as the nozzle jerked in the keeper’s hands, spraying his pen with hurricane-force jets of water. He folded up, his naked body beaten by the cold liquid. It forced him into a corner, his feet slipping on the slimy, muddy floor. His unkempt hair lay coldly on his back in long rattails. The knobs of his spine rubbed the brick in the back of his pen, scraping it raw.

  He surged forward, hitting the chain link fence so that it bowed outward, and he had the satisfaction of smacking against his jailor. His hands slid through the meal slot to grip the worker by his neck. Billy shook him like a rag doll. He snarled a smile at the satisfying thunk when the keeper fell on his backside. All the inmates laughed and then started their howling. Burning needles hit him on his hairy, naked chest when the guard tased him. Billy collapsed, breathlessly keeping his hands underneath him.