by Michael Okon
He kicked the slow-moving woman out of the way, yanking open the door to a bedroom, finding Jade cowering in a corner. Wyatt rested the axe against the wall and peeled off the bloody mesh armor from his arm.
He pulled her into his embrace, and she curled up against him, her body shaking with dry-heaving sobs.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. What happened to your protective gear?”
“Once we heard the alarms, we tried to run. It was too heavy, and Nolan made me take it off.”
“Where’s Nolan?” Wyatt asked.
“Nolan …” she stuttered between gulps. “Nolan …”
“Did he leave you here alone?” Wyatt cupped her face with his hands.
Jade’s blue eyes widened until the irises were fully surrounded by white. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream.
“What?” he demanded.
Jade peeked over his shoulder fearfully.
Wyatt placed himself in front of Jade protectively. Nolan was behind him, his eyes filled with an unholy light, his skin a sickly shade of green in the dark room.
“Nolan, man. You scared me …” Wyatt said, turning back to Jade.
“Wyyyatt!” Jade jumped, grabbing at his shoulders. She pointed at Nolan, who grinned evilly. Wyatt sniffed and then peered closer in the gloom.
Nolan appeared … strange. He smelled foul. A large chunk of skin was missing from his forearm. Nolan’s eyes had sunk into his skull, and he held his arms outstretched, ready to wrap his hands around Wyatt’s throat. His voice was as dry as a hacksaw, but it still worked.
“I knew you wanted her, you creep.” Nolan clenched his hands, and the skin on them looked waterlogged, as though he had been underwater for hours.
Wyatt’s hair stood up on his scalp when he noticed the telltale white spots on Nolan’s bluish nails.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothin’.” Nolan grinned in a parody of a smile. “Come on, buddy; I’m desperate to have a word with you.”
Wyatt backed near a closet, feeling Jade behind him. They were trapped in the room; there was no escape.
“Can’t we talk about this?”
Nolan laughed, a raw, scraped sound. “You think I’m just going to let you have her? She locked herself away from me a long time ago. She told me this was our last date, didn’t you, Jade?” He leered behind Wyatt. “You think I didn’t see her making eyes at you for the last few weeks? Did you?” He tapped Wyatt hard on the chest. Wyatt pushed him away. Skin sloughed off to hang like a drape on Nolan’s wrist.
Wyatt stared at the bloody hands, sucking in his stomach to avoid a second touch.
“Well, babe, you were right about one thing. This will be our last date, and it’s going to last a long, long time,” Nolan told Jade.
She wailed.
“Shh …” Wyatt warned her. “You’ll bring more of them in here.” He pushed her further behind him, but Jade moved in front of him defiantly.
“I hate you, Nolan. You’re a bully.” Jade stood rigidly in front of Wyatt. “I never liked you, but I was afraid to not go out with you.” She turned to Wyatt. “He made me date him. I hate him.”
Nolan bent his diseased face close to Jade, looming over her. “Be afraid, Jade,” Nolan spat. “Be really afraid. Remember when I twisted your arm. Remember how it felt?”
Jade spit viciously in his face, a glob of saliva landing on the putty skin of his cheek.
Nolan reacted impulsively, shoving her hard so that she hit the wall with a loud crash and slumped to the floor.
Wyatt felt his chest tighten; his face grew red. He balled his fists impotently, because to touch Nolan, he risked infection. Nolan reached out to Wyatt, and he dodged his arm, easily.
“Yeah. Stupid little Jade. I told her I’d beat the crap out of her little brother if she didn’t go out with me,” Nolan snickered.
Nolan moved closer, almost on top of him. His hand was inches from Wyatt’s unprotected neck. Wyatt closed his eyes in resignation, knowing he was doomed. He looked up to stare death in the face.
“Hey, Nolan,” Wyatt heard Jade’s voice from behind.
Nolan craned around almost dislocating his neck.
“I’m breaking up with you.”
The axe hung suspended as if in midair. It wasn’t until Nolan’s body was split in two that Wyatt watched in astonishment as Jade triumphantly pulled the axe out of Nolan’s lifeless back.
Nolan collapsed like an empty suit of clothes.
Wyatt grabbed her hand and said, “Let’s get out of here.” He took the axe from Jade.
They bolted from the room to find zombies crowding against the windows outside, blocking what little light could come in. Wyatt cracked the door, then slammed it shut. They were outnumbered, and there was no way out.
Jade turned to him and said, “How are we going to get out of here?”
Wyatt looked at her and replied, “I’m going to rush them and make a path for you.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, they heard the thud of zombies dropping like flies outside.
Wyatt peeked out the window to see a lone zombie methodically smashing the heads of the plague victims. He was using a small boulder to do the deed.
Was he eliminating competition or creating an escape route?
Wyatt’s eyes met the creature’s, and he knew instinctively, the thing meant them no harm. Wyatt opened the door.
“Out,” the zombie rasped painfully. “Out, get out of here.” The zombie dropped the boulder and grabbed his throat from the pain of speaking.
Wyatt didn’t need any more encouragement than that. Grabbing Jade’s hand, the axe in the other, he turned sideways. Stopping for a second, he said, “Thanks.”
The zombie seemed exhausted by the effort. Raising his hand, he pointed to the gateway, whispering, “Now.”
Wyatt dashed from the door, dragging Jade behind him. More zombies came at them like a driving rain, but Wyatt was fast, dodging through them as if they were a sloppy defensive line, swinging his axe like a claymore.
The muted light beckoned from the gate, and the sky lightened. Wyatt’s feet tore up the grass, and he heard Jade panting behind him, but he held her in a merciless grip. Bowing his head with determination, he pressed on, his heart pumping like a steam engine, the gate his only goal.
He reached the metal barrier, swinging Jade through, turning to see that strange male zombie shoving his pursuers onto the ground and then crushing their legs so they couldn’t follow.
Chapter 29
Wyatt rounded the gate and then pulled it on the wheels to close it, but he couldn’t move it far enough alone. It was too heavy. He heard Jade’s intake of breath, and, when he turned, he saw a werewolf standing, blocking off the main exit. His name was being called, and to his left were Keisha and a bloody-looking Howard Drucker, holding her hand.
Wyatt glanced to each of them, the breath leaving his body at the relief of seeing his friends. Between them were the torn and bloodied carcasses of a dozen zombies.
Howard Drucker looked at Wyatt and then the wolf and back to Keisha.
“I feel like I’m stuck in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” Howard shouted.
“Well, I’m not gonna be ugly,” Keisha retorted. “So that leaves good and bad.”
Howard gazed at Keisha with a dopey grin. “I think we’re bad. Super bad.”
Keisha smiled. “Okay, genius, how are we going to get out of this one? I don’t think your number two pencil is going to work on him.” She gestured to the wolf with a nod of her head.
Howard looked at the spot. The wolf was gone.
Wyatt ran to Howard and Keisha. “You guys okay?” He grabbed Howard by both upper arms.
Howard held up his bloody pencil. “Never better. Where’s Nolan?”
“Nolan split,” Wyatt said.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” Howard told him. “We were about to be annihilated by a group of zombies, and some wolf tore them to shreds.”
“
Where is it?” Wyatt searched.
“It disappeared.”
Headlights lit up the road. A golf cart filled with four men pulled into the clearing. Behind the cart, the sun peeked its way over the rocky hills. The sky lightened to a lilac hue.
“Ah, Alec Baldwin,” Vincent Konrad said as he stepped out of the cart.
“Wyatt,” he corrected him. He watched Carter being pulled from the back of the vehicle. His shirt was torn, and his shoulder was bloody. His face hadn’t fared too well either. A man bashed him on his bad shoulder with a shotgun. Carter groaned, then fell to his knees. Another hopped out of the cart, kicking him in the stomach.
Wyatt surged forward but found himself imprisoned by the iron grip of one of Vincent’s henchmen. He looked around. They were surrounded by a ring of guards in uniforms he hadn’t seen before. They were all armed with rifles.
“Carter!”
“A family reunion. Eh, Frank? What do you think of your boy?” Vincent called to the lone zombie, who staggered from the small space where he had squeezed through the gate.
“Wyatt,” Vincent directed a question to him, his face filled with mirth. “What do you call a lawyer who turns into a zombie?”
Wyatt looked at Vincent and then at the wreck of a man who stood on unsteady legs. “What … are you … doing?” The words were wrenched from the zombie’s throat. “This was … supposed … to be … a place of learning … and science.”
Vincent went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “You didn’t answer my riddle. What do you call a lawyer who turns into a zombie? Don’t know? I’ll tell you. Frank Baldwin. No relation to Alec, of course.” Vincent laughed at his joke. “To Alec, get it?”
Wyatt sagged against the guard and then his face inched up to come to land on the shell of humanity that stood swaying in the center. “It can’t be.” Wyatt’s heart sank. “It looks nothing like my father!” Wyatt shouted, tears streaming down his face.
Vincent came forward like a demented game show host. “It can be, and it is. Oh, how I wish I had the press here, but, sadly, they are all dead. No more press but mine from now on. Thank you very much.”
There was a scuffle, and a group of zombies broke free from the gate to make their slow way toward them. Vincent nodded, and two guards moved forward, spraying them with bullets. They dropped where they stood.
Carter was shoved against Wyatt. He tottered, and Wyatt held out a hand to steady him. He sank to his knees and then leaned against Wyatt’s leg, his face down.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Wyatt asked.
Carter shook his head. He had a cut over his eye, and his cheek was bruised.
“Do you?” Wyatt asked again. He looked at his birth father, searching for something recognizable, but found nothing.
Carter’s eyes found Wyatt. “I didn’t know about that. I know your dad—”
“Worked for me, Wyatt. He was my attorney. Your mother was not happy with that. Said he worked too hard, ignored the family. Felt the work was unethical. Imagine that, an unethical lawyer. An oxymoron, if I ever heard one. You know,” Vincent confided, “I helped with the arrangements in the divorce. Used a crack LA team that knows the ins and outs of hiding funds from pesky families. They hadn’t been getting along for a while, right, Frank?” Vincent supplied helpfully. “I couldn’t have my attorney distracted. He had work to do. Besides, he believed in me. Believed with so much passion that he left all his money to my research.” He turned to Frank. “You weren’t supposed to get infected, you stupid man. I told you to keep your hands to yourself. Never could keep his hands off the ladies.” Vincent shrugged. “C’est la vie. Now he’ll have his son with him for as long as he lasts.”
The zombie raised a hand—his destroyed vocal chords grunted, but the sounds were little more than groans. His mouth shaped the word no. His sad eyes looked from Carter to Wyatt. He pointed to Vincent, his face changing into a sneer. He moved toward the doctor, anger written all over his face.
Vincent backed away. “Now, now, Frank. What’s all this? Suddenly you care about the boy. You and I both know you didn’t give a damn about anything except for money.” Vincent’s laugh was cut short when the zombie picked up speed in a burst of energy. Vincent’s eyes opened wide with fear, and he screamed, “Shoot him. Shoot him now!”
A shot rang out, and Frank Baldwin fell to his knees. He wobbled for a second, then collapsed. His eyes locking with Wyatt’s before they closed forever.
Wyatt turned and grabbed the axe that lay behind him. Carter pulled himself up and then moved in front of Wyatt, knocking him to the ground as another shot rang out. Wyatt felt Carter fall against him and cried out, “Dad!” taking Carter into his arms.
Vincent turned to the guard. “Finish them off.” He walked toward the cart, dismissing them.
The guard raised his rifle. A long black shadow raced from between two buildings, ripping off his arm, and the shot went wide. The wolf grabbed the gun and then turned, laying it at Wyatt’s feet. A gold pendant with green glass eyes filled Wyatt’s vision. The wolf panted and then spun, leaping to attack the throat of another guard.
“Look, werewolves!” Howard pointed to the west, distracting them. Everyone turned to look in that direction.
Wyatt picked up the gun, but the remaining soldiers broke rank, disappearing into the rubble.
Vincent turned, his voice panicked. “Stop, you imbeciles. You’re supposed to protect me! I’m the leader of your world.”
Vincent jumped into his cart, turning abruptly to make his escape. Wyatt held up the rifle, and all things around him turned soft—the only thing he could focus on was the round shape of Vincent’s dark head. He felt a tug on his leg. Carter looked up, his face bleached white but his voice firm. “Close one eye, and aim for the biggest part of him, son.”
Wyatt nodded, relief filling his chest. “You okay?”
“Flesh wound. Just shoot the son of a bitch.”
The gun fit against his shoulder as if he had held it a hundred times. He didn’t think about the sound. His world shrank to his father’s corpse, the reassuring weight of Carter against his leg, and the outline of Vincent’s head. Closing one eye, he squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He clicked it open—the chamber was empty.
He heard Carter’s soft curse as he hauled himself to his feet.
The wolf circled, leaping over a cluster of dead bodies, its long body stretching over the road, almost airborne. The five of them saw the cart roll over from the impact of the wolf hitting it. Vincent tumbled down the soft side of the road and then scrambled to his feet to escape down the path.
The wolf easily ran after him, leaping on his back so that he fell clumsily. He reached into his pocket to aim a small gun, but the wolf stretched out with his snout, clamping his jaw on Vincent’s wrist, pulling. Vincent watched in revolted fascination as his hand detached. He screamed, high and long, the sound echoing in the empty park.
The wolf jumped on his chest—the sound was cut short. Vincent rolled, sobbing for the wolf to leave him be. The animal allowed him to crawl away. He scrabbled on the ground to escape. Vincent looked back, relief flooding his face. “Thank you,” he cried. “Thank you. I will take care of you. I will reward you.”
He rambled on; his voice was desperate. The wolf raised its head to give a long howl. Everything stopped, even Vincent, who turned to look back. He must have seen something the others didn’t, because he raised his bloody stump, screaming, “Nooooooooooooo—” The wolf raced to him, the shriek died as the werewolf tore Vincent’s head off in a single yank.
The werewolf trotted away, its prize between its long fangs, Vincent’s lifeless eyes staring back at them, mouth caught in a soundless scream. The wolf shook the head, then flung it into the bowels of the theme park.
“Melvin was right all along,” Wyatt said with admiration.
Keisha turned to Howard and said, “I told you, Howard Drucker, vamps are useless.”
“Dang it!” Howard responded, w
ith a grin.
They watched quietly as the last werewolf took a flying leap over the concrete wall to disappear into the shimmering desert.
“Let’s get out of here,” Wyatt said, taking Jade’s hand in his own.
Carter nodded as he limped over to the dead guard to pick up a gun. He searched the sky, noticing the sun painting the ridge of the eastern mountains.
“First we have to lock the zombies in.” They followed him to the barricade. They all worked together to shove the iron gate closed. There was a muted fumble on the other side followed by the soft thud of the zombies impacting the hard surface.
The iron clanked loudly as the lock slid into place.
Overhead, a trio of Air Force jets zoomed low, made a wide curving arc, and flew over again. In the distance, a sea of black helicopters flooded the sky, heading with determination toward the park.
“I guess the military has decided to reassert themselves,” Carter said.
“What?” Wyatt asked.
Howard walked next to him, placing his fingers over his eyes to shade them from the slowly rising sun. “It means our government has gone back to work.”
“Sean?” Carter questioned, turning to Wyatt.
Wyatt checked his phone, reading messages, his eyes tearing up. “Home, safe with Mom. She’s freaking out. I have forty-five messages from her. Should I tell her we’re okay?”
Carter hooked his arm around Wyatt’s neck.
“Yep. We’re okay.”
In the rusty-orange-colored hills, the sun rose, coating them with warmth, and a lone wolf howled.
Acknowledgments
Monsterland always resided within me from the first time I stepped into a theme park as a kid. While I enjoyed conventional rides with both anticipation and fear, I never understood why there wasn’t a more primal theme park created, one that captured what scares us most—monsters. Monsterland was born on a lazy summer afternoon, after a classic-movies marathon binge. The story took shape and became so much more than a fear of monsters, but that of a group of teens teetering on the cusp of adulthood, and as the story grew, so many current issues from bullying to finding acceptance and happiness in one’s own skin, found their way into the manuscript. This is so much more than a monster book, and I hope the readers see that. I couldn’t have written Monsterland without the love and support, as well as the professionalism and expertise of the following people:
