Monsterland

by Michael Okon

  “Team, go, go, go!” Barstoe said, in a fair imitation of a Marine drill sergeant.

  Carter responded like the soldier he once was, sprinting across the bridge that hovered over the muddy water. Jessup’s bulk made it dip so that it grazed the surface of the pond.

  Carter got to the other side of the bridge, searched the small piece of land and yelled back, “All clear!”

  The Secret Service men inched forward, the president sandwiched between the agents. The rope bridge stretched as they moved, shuffling their feet across the loose planks.

  Carter watched in amused silence until there was a loud splash. The lead agent yelled, “Halt!”

  The president was encased in a huddle; six burly agents sheltered him in a human shield. The external agents’ arms were extending like an angry porcupine and directed at the swirling water.

  Guns fired rapidly, their flashing muzzles illuminating the darkness.

  Carter ran to the shoreline in time to see the shell of a large tortoise roll over; its body riddled with bullet holes. “Turtle down!” he yelled, to verify the kill. Carter and Jessup shared a chuckle.

  The agents put their guns away and sheepishly escorted the president to the other side of the bridge. Carter wondered if they were as embarrassed as he was.

  “What a bunch of jerks,” Jessup laughed. “I’m going to leave you here. I’ll prepare the ride exit, just in case any rogue turtles are lurking in the bushes.”

  Barstoe refused to make eye contact with either Carter or Jessup. Carter was directed to take the front seat, Barstoe in the rear. They rode low in the water—between them, the president, and the extra guards, they were one more than capacity.

  The ride was mildly entertaining, Carter thought, very much like any other amusement park ride he’d taken the boys on. He smiled inwardly, noticing the fake wolves on the outcropping of rocks. Carter wanted to know if the kids at least enjoyed this attraction, and he wondered what Melvin’s reaction was to the animatronic werewolves. He hoped they weren’t too disappointed with it.

  Then, they hit the fifteen-foot drop into a hellish lagoon.

  They landed with a crash, bumping into an overturned boat, the water oily with blood. Carter knew something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

  Bodies bobbed in the water. Carter unhooked his restraint, shouting to the attendant. “Is this part of the ride?”

  The guide’s startled face told him everything—he was crouched low in the boat. The wolves’ howling started as the fake moonrise painted the horizon of the artificial lake.

  “I asked you if this was part of the show?” he demanded.

  Barstoe yelled an order and the Secret Service agents surrounded the president once again; their guns were drawn, their faces alert.

  “No … um … I don’t …” The River Run guide reached down to press the button on his radio. “Lights on. Something’s wrong. Code 8, code 8!”

  A weird silence descended. Carter saw a floating body in the water. His hand closed on the soggy suit. He lifted—it was surprisingly light. He squinted into the darkness at the face. Gentle moonlight bathed the pasty skin, and Carter gasped when he realized he was holding the arm of the Russian ambassador.

  Other bodies floated by, all dead, some with their throats torn out. The boat shuddered with his movement. The corpse rolled away, sinking, the arm detaching in his grip, torn from the trunk to be held aloft by Carter. He recoiled, dropping it into the water to land with a loud splash.

  “Down, down, down.” The Secret Service agent covered the president with his body. Nothing but the lapping water and croaking of frogs filled the cavern.

  Carter leaned over the bow, peering into the darkness, when a large shape leaped from the water, punching Carter in the chest. He landed painfully on the floor of the boat, blood spraying from the back of the craft to soak his shirt. He gagged.

  Distantly, through a misty haze, he heard screams and ripping sounds. Howls mixed with growls filled his ears, blotting out everything else.

  He pulled himself up, only to feel the hot breath of one animal against his cheek, and another had its back paw on his legs. He caught sight of a gold pendant in the furry neck of the beast, emerald glass eyes winking in the gloom. It teased a memory, but his muddled mind instinctively moved into protection mode.

  Carter scrambled up, reaching for the gun at his ankle, the boat swaying drunkenly as the beasts lurched off, pieces of humanity in their iron jaws. He tried to get his balance and, when he fired, the boat leaped with the recoil, sending him crashing against the bow. His head connected with the sharp side of a seat and Carter knew nothing else.

  Carter regained consciousness to the sound of blaring alarms throughout the theme park. The boat made its exit from the dark tunnel. He rubbed the bump on his forehead, his fingers coming away stained red. He felt his stomach flip and then Jessup was shaking him.

  “Come on, man. Get up. We have to get out of here.”

  Jessup had one leg on the landing, the other in the boat, his foot sliding on the growing puddle of blood. The hump of a dead body lay on the middle seat.

  “The president?”

  “Dead,” Jessup choked, his voice cracking. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He pointed to what was left of President McAdams in the middle of the boat.

  “You okay?” Carter asked. “Did anything happen out here?”

  “Everybody went berserk and ran when the boats started coming out with mutilated bodies. Carter, I don’t know how to say this, but I don’t understand why you’re alive.”

  Carter grunted. “I don’t know why it didn’t kill me.”

  He rolled up painfully, clutching his shoulder. It hurt where that thing, that animal, rammed him. He was surprised it didn’t knock him completely into the lagoon.

  Carter straightened, scanning the frantic crowds running for the exits. Papers littered the floor; trash cans were overturned; people screamed as they ran from the various shops. The piped-in music played serenely, giving Monsterland a surreal quality, as if Armageddon had moved into suburbia.

  “Guards?”

  Jessup shook his head. “They’re gone.”

  “Have you called for backup?”

  “Cells are working sporadically. I’ve sent images and messages out, but I’m not receiving anything.”

  Carter rose unsteadily to his feet. Jessup gripped his elbow and helped him out of the boat. “What do we do now?” Carter asked.

  “We gotta get to the control room.”

  Carter pulled out his cell, reading the last few messages from the boys. They were in Vampire Village.

  “I have to see if my kids are still in the Vampire Village.” He stared at the yawning opening, the dark confines a velvet abyss.

  Jessup nodded. “Five minutes. I’ll meet you at that pole.” He pointed to one of the shining columns holding up the mezzanine.

  A large gray shadow leaped from the depths of the ride, coming to stand before the two men. It had an odd hue of auburn mixed in its iron-colored hair. The intelligent eyes considered them and then growled ominously.

  Jessup moved into a shooting stance; the wolf grinned, baring long yellowed fangs, its gleaming eyes feverishly darting around the space.

  The wolf crouched as if ready to strike. Its snout was covered in blood, its paws wet. It was not as large as some of the other beasts Carter had seen inside, but the huge head lifted to make eye contact with him. Carter felt a strange dart of recognition. It couldn’t be, he thought.

  Jessup’s finger pressed the trigger, and Carter instinctively lashed out, kicking his arm, so the shot went wild. Jessup wobbled before he landed on his backside. The wolf leaped over him into the crowd, the gold pendant of a werewolf head with emerald glass eyes mocking them.

  The wolf turned, its eyes meeting Carter’s before it ran into the interior of the park.

  “What the hell, Carter?” Jessup got up, panting, his face shocked.

  Carter picked up the gun,
handing it to Jessup. “It wouldn’t have done you any good. We need special bullets,” he said and ran toward the deserted Vampire Village.

  “It could have killed us,” Jessup shouted.

  “But it didn’t,” Carter yelled as he took off.

  “Wyatt! Sean!” His shouts echoed back at him. He searched the empty shops, then raced through the vacant arena, finding nothing.

  His eyes caught the vague outline of a body half hidden on the stage. He wasn’t quite sure, but as he moved closer, he confirmed it was a teen propped in the corner against a speaker.

  He raced up the stairs, his heart in his throat, falling to his knees beside a dead adolescent.

  Carter turned the face to find one of Wyatt’s friends, Theo, his body cold.

  “No,” he muttered. He pulled out his cell and began texting to the kids, demanding, “Where are you?”

  The message refused to go through. No service.

  Carter took one last look around, then ran toward the steel poles to try to get to the control area.

  Chapter 21

  Wyatt stumbled through the park. It was pandemonium. Vendors poured out of the stores, banging into people who rushed the exits.

  He pushed through the crowds, stopping when a pack of werewolves emerged from the River Run ride like a cattle drive. Snarling, they dove into the frenzied crowd, grabbing limbs. He heard the tear of clothing, people shrieking as their arms were ripped from their bodies.

  It was like watching lions hunt on the savannah in Africa. His breath rasped in his throat. He pulled out his phone, opening the messages. Sean was in the garage. “Hurry.”

  Wyatt ducked into an alcove. Leaning against the cool stucco, he stared at the carnage in disbelief. Sweat ran down his heated face. He wanted to get home. He wanted to run to the safety of his room.

  Wyatt typed frantically. “Don’t wait. Get out of here.”

  “No keys.”

  Dammit! I should have given him the keys. Think. What would Carter tell me to do?

  “Walk. Use the wash behind the school.”

  “Carter told me not to walk there.”

  Wyatt exhaled and typed, “It doesn’t matter now. Don’t worry! Go!”

  “You?”

  “I’ll catch up.”

  He texted Jade, Howard, and Keisha: “Where r u?”

  A few agonizing seconds later his phone vibrated. “Help.” It was Jade. “We are locked in with the zombies. The guards are gone, we can’t …”

  “Come on, Howard Drucker. Answer.” He cursed. Nothing.

  Wyatt typed a message to Carter, hit send, but it came back as undelivered. He banged the back of his head against the hard wall, a rattle of glass catching his attention. He felt the wall with his hand, coming in contact with a box. Shining the light of his phone inside, he gazed with relief at the giant axe.

  He scanned the perimeter of his area for anything to break it but came up empty. Ripping off his shirt, he wrapped his hand tightly and then took a deep breath and punched the glass. It broke with the resonance of a rocket, and Wyatt grabbed the handle with both hands, yanking hard. It came away from the bottom, but the top remained firmly in place. His heart beating like a kettledrum, he frantically pulled at the handle, his feet lifting off the floor.

  He heard the growl before he saw the beast, the hair on his neck rising as the scrabbling of four paws came closer. His breath coming in short gasps, he twisted his wrist, wincing when the sharp angle of the glass sliced his hand. He felt hot blood drench his palm, the wooden handle becoming slippery in his grip.

  The beast hit him from behind, knocking him sideways, but the force lifted him high so that the axe unhooked from its mooring. Wyatt felt it slip from his fingers to skitter on the concrete.

  Winded, he rose and then ducked, rolling in a ball as the werewolf pounced on him. The sharp claws grazed the tender flesh of his ribcage, but he ignored it, stretching out, his hands feeling for the elusive handle.

  Wyatt’s head snapped up, and his vision filled with four hundred pounds of fur and bone, airborne, coming straight for him. He didn’t think—he didn’t have to.

  His hand closed on the smooth wood of the axe handle. He swung his arm reflexively, the silver axe head shining in the blackness. He put every ounce of strength into his arm as if he were hitting a grand slam in the Copper Valley ballfield.

  In slow motion, he watched it slice into the gray fur, his momentum forcing it through the dense cartilage so that the barking head was silenced before the brain had a chance to tell the mouth muscles to stop moving. It tore from his hand to travel with the corpse of the monster, looking like the lance they used to bring bulls down in bullfighting.

  The animal bounced high, the body continuing its onslaught, but Wyatt forced himself to twist left, missing the impact of the headless werewolf. It catapulted into a bench, pulling it up from the ground where it was bolted. The head landed with a loud splat.

  Wyatt sat stunned, panting, his legs numb. He pushed himself painfully to his feet, limping toward the dead wolf. He yanked the axe from the body, cursed softly, and then headed toward Zombieville.

  Chapter 22

  “Find them?” Jessup asked as they ran toward the forest of posts supporting the mezzanine. They had entered the park through the commissary, but it was locked tight. They couldn’t go back that way.

  “No,” Carter said, looking around the deserted street.

  People were hiding, and the wolves had spread out. They heard screams, but this part of the park seemed empty. Occasionally, a dark shape flitted by.

  Jessup and Carter studied the base of the steel poles, feeling their way around them in the darkness.

  “There’s no way up,” Carter shouted.

  “I don’t see any exit signs.” Jessup looked around and then up. He hugged the pole, trying to inch upward. “They’re too smooth to climb.”

  Carter searched the park, his eyes resting on one of two trash cans. He tried to lift it, but it was bolted to the floor. “Come on. Help me.”

  Together both men pressed all their weight against the mesh can. Carter’s veins stood out on his neck from the strain, his face crimson. The can groaned and then tore off its base. Carter rolled it toward the pole. They spied another one and soon heaved the second trash can so that they now had a structure nine feet tall. Carter hauled himself up, wobbling as he stood, but he used his weight to balance.

  Quickly, he stripped his shirt, wrapping it tightly around the pole. Using his feet as leverage, he began to inch his way up the smooth metal shaft. He looked down to watch Jessup climb the garbage cans after him.

  Carter paused, sweat pouring into his stinging eyes. He heard his phone ping with a message, but his hands were clutched tightly in his shirt. It would have to wait. Loosening his hold, he jerked the material upward to continue his slow climb.

  Emergency lighting had now turned on. Carter could hear screams and closed his eyes at the horror of the sounds of this disaster.

  He heard Jessup shout. A huge wolf stood on his hind legs, bright eyes glowing with excitement, its growls turning into frantic barking. Carter started to slide down, Jessup’s orders stopping him.

  “No. Go. We’ve got to shut this thing down.”

  The animal was leaping, its fangs snapping as it lurched up. Another circled the base of the trash cans, nudging them so Jessup swayed dangerously. “Get out of here!” he screamed.

  Carter let go with one hand, reaching for his gun.

  “Forget it. It won’t do any good,” Jessup called as the wolf finally grabbed his arm. He fought, pistol-whipping the beast, but it barked stridently, calling for help. Its jaws snapped, clamping on Jessup’s thigh, pulling him down off his pedestal. Jessup screamed once, the sound cut off as his throat was torn out.

  Carter’s eyes closed with disbelief, his gorge rising. His legs shook, the muscles screaming with the strain. His shoulders were on fire, his stomach churned, but he continued inching upward. The sounds of skin te
aring filled his head.

  The landing came into view, and he hooked his foot over the railing, his arms shaking with the effort. Dangling over the edge, his arms weakened for a moment, but adrenalin coursed through him, enabling him to vault over the barrier to land in a sweaty heap on the floor. With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone to look at the text.

  “Sean is on the way home. I will be too as soon as I get Jade. Zombieville.”

  “Zombieville,” Carter muttered.

  Rolling onto his knees, he stood on legs that barely supported him. He put his wrinkled shirt back on. Glancing over the railing, he saw the wreckage of his friend. His heart sunk.

  The wolves formed a circle below, their intelligent eyes watching him. They bayed with triumph. The green glow of the lights on their collars speckled the park, looking like a field filled with fireflies.

  Carter turned, and his feet carried him toward the other end of the tunnel. Lights went on overhead, dim now—a generator supplied the power, he reasoned. The weak light lit small pools of white that chilled him more than full darkness. If a generator was running the place, where were the support staff?

  His feet echoed in the dark tunnel, his breath loud in his ears. Carter paused, banging on the outline of doors along the wall. No response. He felt for a lock, found a keypad, but his tired mind couldn’t recall the numbers he had seen Vincent punch. Frustrated, he headed to the mouth of the tunnel.

  He ran toward the entrance, hitting his fist on the metal barrier separating him from the outside world. It reverberated in the confined space with a tinny resonance.

  Shouting, he placed his fingers along the seam, straining to separate the two halves. It was locked tight. Carter cursed.

  He heard scrabbling at the other end of the tunnel. There was a loud thump, as though a body were hitting the railing. He hugged the cool metal of the walls, moving toward the sound.

  He saw the shadow of a wolf jumping, its long claws trying to hook themselves on the glass barrier. It continued its attempts. It had to be leaping forty or fifty feet. Carter cursed again. Dual paws caught, the hind legs scratching against the glass. Carter watched the bared teeth gleam in the minimal light as the beast pulled itself up and over the barricade.