by Michael Okon
“What?” Carter asked.
Vincent studied Carter. He perched his hip casually on one of the desks.
“You catch wild pigs by finding a nice clearing in the woods. You sprinkle corn on the ground. The pigs find it and return every day to eat the food.” He folded his hands and then pressed his two index fingers together. He continued. “When they are used to coming every day, you put a fence down one side of the place where they are grazing on the corn. In the beginning, they are wary of the barrier, but eventually, they get used to the fence. They begin to eat the corn again, and you put up another side of the fence. They get used to that and start to eat again. You continue until you have all four sides of the enclosure up with a gate in the last side. Don’t you understand?” he asked. “You see, the pigs get used to the free corn and start to come through the gate to eat that corn again. All you have to do is slam the gate on them to catch the whole herd.”
He stood, a feverish light in his eyes. “Suddenly the wild pigs have lost their freedom. They run around and around inside the walls, but they are caught. Soon they go back to eating the free corn. They are so used to it that they have forgotten how to forage in the woods for themselves, so they accept their captivity. Monsterland is free corn. We have just captured the entire world.” Vincent threw his head back, and the echoes of his laughter bounced off the impregnable wall of his prison. He paused, looked at Carter, and shook his head. “Besides, how else were we to invade Russia? They’ve been playing with your Internet for years. It’s time to have the governments run by more capable hands.”
“Monsterland?”
“Oh, my interest in Monsterland was real. We will have theme parks all over the world. It is where we will put troublemakers. More inventive than prison, don’t you think? A zombie police force.”
“But the wolves …”
“A means to an end. A careless guard, a lost key, nature takes its course.”
“They have the run of the park.”
“It appears so … but looks are deceiving.”
“But what about the vampires?”
“Nobody cares about them. They are a dying breed. It’s the zombies that are valuable. No more expensive prisons. Put malcontents in with the plague victims—again, let nature take its course and poof … problem solved.”
“What are you getting for all this?” Carter gestured to the empty room.
“Power. I am the puppeteer. President Owens will follow my directions. You could say we’ve got a lot in common.”
“You’re sick,” Carter said, disgusted.
“I’ve been called worse.” Vincent sniffed. “Now I think it’s time for you to take your place in your new home.”
He pressed a button. Carter raised the shotgun.
“I don’t think so, Officer White.” Vincent drew a small revolver sliding out from his wrist. He shot once, winging Carter, who dropped his shotgun.
Carter recoiled, grabbing his shoulder. Two huge men entered the room. They were wearing uniforms with a new logo that had an American flag on it. It said Federation Forces.
“You thought I was alone,” Vincent spat. “I was never alone. You are outnumbered. Long live the new federation!” He punched his fist in the air. “My federation.”
“What are you talking about?” Carter’s veins bulged as he shouted.
“I have made a worldwide alliance to stop those pesky countries from interfering. Like the Euro and one currency, so shall we all be one nation.”
“The single European currency didn’t work out so well.”
“I’ll be the judge of what works and what doesn’t succeed, Officer White.” A group filed into the room, their faces wooden. “Time to end this.”
Carter watched in stupefaction as they took seats.
He heard Vincent order. “Kill the wolves.”
One of the men pressed a series of buttons. A high-pitched buzz filled the park. On the screen, the wolves started to run in circles. Their howls penetrated the thick building. The lights on their collars changed from green to red.
“Watch … watch … watch,” Vincent said eagerly. “We implanted transistors in their collars, only mine have an added kick,” he ended on a note of glee.
The earsplitting noise filled the park. The wolves howled, their faces aimed at the moon.
“Here it comes,” Vincent said with anticipation, his voice shrill.
One by one, the werewolves rolled and then arced up, their heads exploding in a spectacular eruption. “You’re crazy,” Carter told him.
“No, genius. Pure genius,” Vincent responded. “Give him to the zombies. Wait, I think I want to watch.”
Chapter 27
Raoul’s hand rested on Howard’s shoulder. To someone who didn’t know any better, it would appear they were friends. The passageway grew narrower, the sounds from outside louder.
“If we can get past security, there is a way out of here behind the wolf pens.” Angie gestured upward and continued. “A drone told me about a feeding pipeline that runs from the back of a supply silo over here.”
There was a dark, ominous tower behind the dome of the Werewolf River Run. Angie pointed to a large circular tube that carried food from a special tank toward Zombieville. “It’s filled with all kinds of blood and guts,” she told them.
Howard swallowed convulsively. He looked at Keisha, trying to make eye contact, but she was as catatonic as the guards.
Screams echoed in the thick air. Raoul’s eyes searched the dark streets for signs of the wolves, but he couldn’t see any.
“Do you think the wolves got out of the park?” Sylvie asked.
“Doubtful,” he replied. “They are too busy gorging themselves on human flesh. Tonight was a smorgasbord for them.”
“A Bacchanalian feast.” Angie slithered out, drawn to a bright trail of blood on the concrete. She crouched down and wiped her finger through the small puddle. Placing it on her lips, she sucked. “That’s vampire blood.”
“They didn’t stand a chance once the werewolves got out. They are probably all ripped to shreds.”
“What?” Howard exclaimed, the old debate supplanting fear in his head. “What of their superior night vision, dexterity, and intelligence?”
“Myths, my little friend. All myths. Just the junk we churned out in our old PR machine to make us more glamorous.” Raoul draped his arm around Howard’s shoulders in a warm manner. “We are nothing better than vermin that live off the rejects of society.” He paused. “Except for me, of course.” Raoul considered the supply line. “If we split up—”
“Don’t even think about it, Raoul,” Ian sneered. He had lost his drones in the melee. “The kid knows his way around. Unless you want to give him to us, and you wake the girl up?”
“Oh, I plan on waking her up,” Raoul said with a seductive smile.
Howard felt Sylvie stiffen next to him. She exhaled in a livid huff.
“You think she’s prettier than me?” she asked, her eyes watery and hurt. Howard wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or Raoul. The older vampire ignored her with a cold stare. Howard shivered.
Howard looked at Sylvie’s deathly pale skin and dirty pink hair. He watched her pat her hair in the age-old feminine way of fussing.
Howard wet his dry lips and considered the most logical way to answer. His brain told him to tell Sylvie that she was more attractive than Keisha. His heart chose this inconvenient time to come to life and twisted painfully when he glanced at Keisha.
Sylvie watched his face, her own turning a dark purple with rage. Balling her fists, she twirled, punching Keisha full in the chest. Keisha went down like a sack of potatoes, rolling face down on the floor.
There was a tentative howl and a clatter of sharp nails on the empty pavement. Ian craned his neck down the dark alleyways of Monsterland and saw nothing. He moved farther out.
Howard gaped in astonishment, his breath whistling out of him as a massive shape hurtled from the darkness to land with a g
rowl on Ian’s chest. They all backed away, watching Ian wrestle with a werewolf, his cries mixed with fierce growls. Ian’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight; his sharp nails gripped the wolf by the thick scruff of the neck, trying to twist free.
Angie jumped on its back, and Howard thought, inanely, that it looked like a werewolf sandwich.
Raoul grabbed Keisha’s arm and then gripped Howard, pulling them from the tunnel. “Come on, Sylvie!” he ordered.
“You’re leaving them?” Howard was aghast.
“I told you I care for nothing,” Raoul responded as he herded them toward the supply tube. “Up you go.” He pushed Howard onto the riveted bars, forcing him to start climbing onto the winding pipe that disappeared around the other side of the dome.
Howard wrapped his arms around the cold metal tube, wondering, with a shudder, what was coursing through it. The liquid vibrated against his fingertips.
Howard turned in time to see Ian’s face being separated from his skull, his dying screams smothered by a spout of blood. The wolf caught Angie around the waist, shaking her limp body like a rag doll.
“Don’t look down,” Raoul said.
“Too late,” Howard wheezed. The wolf stood still, watching him intently. A gold pendant dangled from a chain around its powerful neck, and green glass eyes shined back at him. Howard cocked his head. He knew that pendant.
I guess I was wrong, Howard thought. “Werewolf wins,” he said, his voice barely a squeak.
They climbed, their bellies hugging the round metal tube. He heard Keisha cursing loudly as if she were coming back to life. Howard smiled—that was the Keisha he knew.
“What are we doing here?” she complained, her brows lowered.
“Shut up, or I’ll drone you again,” Raoul warned. He sniffed the air, his face alert. “Zombies.”
“This was supposed to take us out of the park,” Sylvie moaned. “It took us to the zombies! I’m scared, Raoul. Let’s go back.”
Raoul kicked out, his face furious, his razor-sharp teeth feral. “Stop whining, you stupid girl.” Sylvie grabbed his leg, and they both slipped.
Raoul reached out, taking hold of Howard’s ankle, so they all descended in a rush onto the black pavement outside Zombieville. Howard heard Keisha yell, “No!” as his head connected painfully with the concrete. Howard lay flat, staring at the starry sky with a dazed expression.
Keisha leaped down, coming to stand between Howard and Raoul, her stance combative.
“I know taekwondo, you bloodsucking creep.”
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” Raoul said, walking toward her.
Howard’s eyes softened. He wanted to agree. He thought that too.
“Ugh.” Keisha gagged. “Is that the best you can do?” She circled him warily, ready to kick.
Howard raised himself, shaking his groggy head. His hand was against something soft, his fingers in a puddle of sticky wetness. He turned over to come face-to-face with the open eyes of a guard, his dead fingers wrapped around the handle of an axe.
Howard reached out to grab the axe, but Raoul walked backward, kicking it out of the way, laughing maniacally.
Raoul growled appreciatively to Keisha, his eyes gleaming. “I’m going to enjoy making a woman out of you.” He moved slowly toward her; his eyes dark with passion.
“No,” Sylvie screamed, picking up a discarded tree limb, swinging it in a wide arc toward Keisha.
Howard looked around wildly for a weapon. He stood, his hands fisted.
Raoul jumped back, the branch grazing him. He fell, rolling to come up behind Howard, grabbing both his arms in a tight hold, laughing. “I think I like her better, Sylvie. What are you going to do?” He shrugged.
Sylvie bent in half, her mouth opened in a high-pitch scream. Her eyes turned into dark, hot pits of hatred. She moved toward Keisha, using the branch like a javelin.
“Nothing better than a little cat fight,” Raoul commented. “We’ll flip a coin for the winner. Do you have a quarter?”
Keisha dodged Sylvie with nimble footwork. Sylvie squared off with her, her attention diverted for a minute. They impacted, Keisha’s long legs scissoring upward to smash into Sylvie’s short form.
Sylvie twisted to come up into a crouch, using the branch to try and trip Keisha. She swiped at the girl’s feet, but Keisha jumped high, kicking her in the face.
Raoul winced at the sound of cracking bone. “Ouch, that’s got to hurt.”
Howard struggled uselessly against Raoul’s superior strength. Raising his foot, he brought it down on the vampire’s instep. Raoul reacted by punching him in the face. Howard dropped, the lights fading for a minute.
The vampire grabbed him by the lapels, shaking him violently. A sound split the night, and Raoul looked toward the high barrier enclosing Zombieville. It gaped open.
Shuffling feet filled the silent night, followed by the moans of the plague victims. A group of four made their slow way through the half-opened gate toward them. They walked like, well, zombies. Howard considered them. They were soft, all squishy—their green skin and stiff, outstretched arms seemed surprisingly fragile.
“One of you better hurry and finish this thing,” Raoul called out placidly, his hands still wrapped around Howard’s neck. He subdued him. “You could take them,” he told Sylvie.
She ignored him, her balled fist connecting with Keisha’s chin.
“Stop fighting! They are the enemy!” Howard screamed, his stunned look exchanged for sheer horror. He stared at the moving wall of flesh coming their way.
What was wrong with the vamps? Hysteria bubbled in Howard’s chest. They were stronger, more agile; they had superior intelligence; they had working opposable thumbs, for God’s sake! “Move, damn you!” he shouted to Raoul. “Do something!”
Raoul did something then. He placed Howard in front of him to shield him from the approaching zombies.
Howard twisted. Raoul stood behind him, frozen, his eyes wide with … fear? Raoul is afraid, Howard thought disgustedly.
Sylvie fought on with mindless hatred, her sharp nails aiming for Keisha’s soft skin.
They were all going to die. Howard had to do something. Vamps were friggin’ useless! Howard scrambled, feeling his pockets for anything, a key, a pen, a … pencil.
Howard gripped the pencil in his fist, turning to Raoul’s frozen face.
He heard Keisha’s cry of dismay as she slid in a slick of blood, going down on one knee. Howard’s breath stopped in his throat as he took the number two lead pencil and rammed it directly into Raoul’s exposed chest.
“Take this, you bloodsucking leech!” he yelled, his face a frozen grin from the irony that he was driving a wooden stake into the fiend’s chest.
He turned to see Keisha’s prone body roll to the side, reaching out to grab the discarded axe a few feet from the body of the dead guard.
Howard yelled, “Keisha! Use the wooden handle!”
Keisha looked at the axe head and then at the handle. She slammed the axe on the concrete, separating the metal and leaving a sharp splintered point.
With a war cry, she ran straight for Sylvie, impaling the vampire straight through the heart. Sylvie dropped where she stood, her skin turning mottled as blood rushed from her mouth in a dying breath.
Keisha was panting, and she fell to her knees. Howard raced over, propping her arm over his shoulder.
“I think I love you,” said Howard. He grabbed her, kissing her fully and passionately on the lips. Keisha’s opened eyes drifted shut.
Keisha pulled away to study him. “Now you get romantic?”
The sound of moaning interrupted them. She glanced behind her, watching as the zombies landed on Raoul’s body, their satisfied mouths chomping on his limbs. “Ugh.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
They turned to flee—a werewolf stood, growling, blocking their exit. It was tense, its muscles bulging under fur, twin green chips of glass reflecting against the pelt. Howard considered
the beast’s intelligent hazel eyes, and his mouth dropped open.
Keisha tugged his arm, her knees weakening in fear.
Spinning, they saw the zombies look up, their faces cocked with interest, their lifeless eyes deep pockets of emptiness.
Keisha yanked her broken axe handle from Sylvie’s body, brandishing it, while Howard took out another number two pencil from his pocket protector.
The lone wolf howled from behind them.
“Crap,” Howard muttered.
Chapter 28
Wyatt scrambled through the streets, the axe in front of him, his mesh-covered arm outstretched. Bushes parted, and two men came at him—one was on his knees, which were now bloody stumps, and the other was in a lesser state of decay.
Wyatt swung the axe. It connected with the soft middle of the taller man. Wyatt jumped back, avoiding the blood and bone that flew out. The corpse fell to the artificial turf with a dull thud.
The man on his knees made a grunting sound like a rooting pig. He knocked the axe from Wyatt’s hand. Wyatt reached out with his meshed arm, the fingers sinking into the eye sockets, and he pulled hard. The head came off with a soft whish, the grinding sound of the gristle and bone making Wyatt gag.
He spun in a circle, throwing the disconnected head at another group of shuffling zombies that fell like bowling pins. “Strike,” Wyatt said with satisfaction. He paused, realizing with a start that they were incredibly fragile.
Bending, he picked up the heavy axe and ran through the devastation into the house where he heard a steady thrum of knocking.
Dust motes danced in the air, the waning moonlight illuminating them like fairy dust. The sky had lightened somewhat, and Wyatt wondered what time it was.
He searched the gloom. A woman lay on the floor, dragging herself toward him. She moaned piteously.
Wyatt screamed Jade’s name, ducking into the dark corners, his feet shoving the slow-moving wrecks of humanity that crawled along the floor. They grabbed at his legs, squeezing his thighs.
Using his axe handle, he butted them away, watching in revulsion as body parts broke off to land with muffled thumps on the floor. He picked off their relentless hands, chopping with the ease of a butter knife, their diseased limbs falling in a cascade of carnage.
