by Brent Abell
“Wait! Wait! Don’t shoot, I’m alive! I’m alive,” the man shouted.
“Who are you?” George asked. He kept the gun aimed at the man. In the corner of his eye, he spied Harry sneak around the other side of the rack he had taken refuge behind.
The man froze when the gun Harry held pressed against the side of his head. “The man asked you a question.”
“My name is Johnny Gaines and I live here,” the skinny man said.
“Live here?” Harry asked. He lowered the gun from the man’s temple, but kept it at the ready.
“There’s a community of us living here in the park, but most of the time we stay within the Fairytale Castle. We fortified it and small groups roam the park checking for food and zombies, and to make sure the perimeter walls are holding. A guy from Miami swore he saw a horde of them things collapse a brick wall because so many of them kept pushing against it,” Johnny said. He lowered his arms and tried to catch his breath.
“How many are here?” George inquired.
“About fifty, I think,” Johnny answered.
“Anyone in charge?” George continued.
“We have a leader, yes. A man named Rendell Walker. He took us in and takes care of our little slice of safety here in Milton Mouse World.”
“He accepting any new residents?” Harry asked with a big grin spreading across his face, “I could live here forever.”
“I can take you to him. He’ll want to know how you got in here to begin with.”
George and Harry lowered the guns and nodded to each other. A safe place to rest sounded perfect, but George had his reservations.
Sounds too good to be true, he thought and followed Johnny back out into the park.
***
Rendell Walker stood on the balcony and watched the three figures march up Main Street, toward the castle, and smiled. The twilight sky glowed in purples, reds, and oranges as the last of daylight faded away. He loved the late evening hours; they helped to calm him and focus his mind. People depended on him and that was no small order for a man who all his adult life had cleaned the shit and piss off the bathroom floors from the bastard children who came to Milton Mouse World in droves every day.
But, every dog has his day and having the proverbial ‘keys to the kingdom’ on the day the zombie infestation reached the theme park was a God-send. While the new dead ate their way through the throngs of dazed tourists, he holed up in the employee-only floors of the Fairytale Castle. From his perch, he sat for days and watched the zombies eat through the remaining visitors who didn’t hide very well. He found it very entertaining and every so often, when he saw someone exhibit some sort of survival skill fighting through the park, he’d rush down to let them up into his hiding spot.
Then they had moved on.
Somebody cleared their throat behind him, announcing their presence.
“Yes?” Rendell asked without turning to acknowledge the person behind him.
“Johnny has reached the first checkpoint and he has two people with him,” the man reported.
“Doug,” Rendell said turning, “go and welcome them. These two might be the answer I’ve been seeking the past few days.”
“Answer to what? You have been rather quiet up here for the last days and the rumors are swirling among the people.”
“Rumors?”
“They wonder if it’s all over and they can go on back to check on their homes or search for family.”
My people want to abandon me? He thought.
“I can see beyond our walls here and you can tell them the danger is still out there. Have Johnny bring me the two people he found on Main Street, I want to see what information we can get from them,” he said and quickly turned back to the balcony.
Doug waited a few moments before leaving to do Rendell’s bidding. He knew if he didn’t the Maze awaited.
***
Harry stopped and stared at the Enchanted Adventure Castle’s gates. The dragon adorned wooden doors looked like they were twenty-feet tall and the memories of all the cartoons he had watched as kid came flooding back. Reality did settle in after a fleeting moment of remembrance. The once pristine white of the castle’s outer walls was marred with black scorch marks from fires and the moat around the castle smelled like a sewer. He peered over the draw bridge as they crossed it and saw feces and other waste floating by. Wrinkling his nose, he hurried to catch up with George and Johnny.
“Have you guys seen any zombies in the park lately?” George asked.
“No, we haven’t seen any for about a week now. Not sure if they think the foods all gone or if they gave up trying to get inside here. Whatever happened, Rendell will fill you in.”
“Damn that moat stinks,” Harry muttered when he caught back up.
“Electricity went out about four days after the worst of the attacks went through here. Hard to flush when the plumbing doesn’t have the juice to run the pumps anymore,” Johnny said and gave an amused snort.
“Well, for the last week, we’ve been on the road headin’ north, so we know what you mean about the lack of nice things,” George said.
Johnny reached up and gave a series of knocks on the massive wooden doors. Another sequence of bangs on the door answered Johnny back and they heard the metal latches on the inside begin to slide from the door. The heavy wooden doors groaned as they swung outward revealing the fortification built within.
Men stood in lines on either side of the door with rifles, shotguns, and shovels. Their clothes were dirty and stained with weeks of sweat from the sweltering Florida heat. Dirt caked their faces and all of them looked dazed.
“What’s with the goon squad?” George asked.
“These men watched their families die the day the park was overrun by the zombies and they’ve never been right in the head since. We have water and an almost unlimited amount of clean shirts from all the shops and storerooms, but they prefer to stay like this; the way they dressed on that day,” Johnny explained and led them on.
“Some men just can’t take the trauma, I suppose,” Harry whistled and strolled past the doors.
“Shut up,” George said and pushed past him.
The three men marched past the filthy sentries and entered another world.
***
George felt like he’d gone through a time warp and ended up in the Middle Ages. The survivors used every little bit of the castle’s interior to build a market place on the main floor and had a wide array of weapons and defense apparatuses positioned strategically around the entrance hallway. People milled about like nothing was happening on the other side of the castle walls. A chill ran up George’s spine as he looked at the dead expressions the people in the square wore on their grimy faces.
“Harry? Maybe we shouldn’t put these people out or anything,” George whispered quietly.
Johnny turned and smiled his broad toothy grin, “Oh, come now, you’re not putting us out around here. Let me take you to Rendell and then you can decide if you want to go back out there or if you want to stay here in our little refuge.”
“Let’s hear the man out at least,” Harry said and slung his rifle over his shoulder.
George never realized he was gripping his so hard his fingers were growing numb and his knuckles turned white. He nodded over at Johnny and he led them up the winding staircase to the upper-levels of the castle.
***
After twelve grueling flights of stairs, the three men stood before the penthouse. In the world before the zombies, the penthouse only saw use as a special suite for sick and dying children so they could feel special one last time. Now, it served as the personal room and residence of Rendell Walker, King of all he could see. George sniffed the air and noticed the funky smells of waste and sweat from the lower levels were gone and he could breathe without wanting to vomit.
“Welcome to Paradise,” Johnny said and opened the chamber door.
George looked into the large antechamber and saw a makeshift throne set up at the f
ar end. The stone floor was lined with food boxes, guns, and ammo. Then an unmistakable stench found George’s nose.
“Zombies,” he muttered and raised his rifle.
“There is no need for your weapons here. Welcome, please drop your guns on the floor; you’re among friends in this happy place!” a voice called out from the shadows around the throne.
A diminutive man stepped out from the shadows and held his arms open wide. George stifled a laugh and covered his mouth with his hand. The figure stomped over to the throne and climbed up on it.
“Please, come here and let me see our guests, Johnny,” the man cackled.
Johnny led George and Harry closer to the throne and motioned for them to stop a few feet in front. In the alcoves besides the windows, George heard rattling that sounded like chains and the familiar moaning of the undead.
“I found them in the Bedlam Candies Boutique when I was out on patrol this afternoon,” Johnny said and backed away.
“Who are you?” the man on the throne asked.
“Are you the one they call Rendell?” George answered back with another question.
“Who told you my name? We do not use the name of my former life here. My name is either ‘sir’ or ‘his majesty’,” Rendell sneered back.
“Whatever you say, Rendell. Honestly, I think the two of us will be better off in the world beyond your gates,” George said and turned around. Pointing to the windows, he continued, “I have no need to stay someplace where the enemy is already within the gates. I don’t sleep with zombies.”
“Kneel,” the voice called to him. The tone dripped in ice and the malice in the order chilled George’s bones. He glanced over at Harry and he had a lost expression on his face.
Damn fool wants to stay I bet, George thought and turned around.
“I said kneel!” the small man roared.
“Fuck you,” George snorted and spit on the floor before the throne.
Rendell shot from his perch and stormed over to George. He was short and only came up to George’s chest. He puffed his chest out in a sense of macho bravado and dug his finger in George’s breastbone.
“You dare to enter my kingdom and disrespect me in this manner? I said kneel!”
George and Harry stood their ground. Harry fidgeted with his belt and he felt his knees ready to bow before the raging leader. George didn’t move a muscle. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down his face, but he never made a single move to wipe it or give Rendell any satisfaction.
“Johnny, please,” Rendell said. He waved his hand toward George and smiled.
Johnny stepped up behind George and kicked the back of his knees. George felt them buckle, but he managed to hold his balance enough to stay standing. A grin crossed his face and he watched Rendell seethe.
“Why is he still standing?” Rendell shouted.
Johnny kicked George again and pain raced up his body as his knees gave out and he fell to the floor, wincing in pain. Harry quickly followed suit and knelt before Rendell.
“Very good, very good, but I can’t have insubordination such as this in our happy little kingdom. Johnny, take the defiant one to the holding pit. The groveling one I want taken to the special place where he can be reunited with his friend,” Rendell ordered and returned to the throne.
“As you wish,” Johnny said and bowed before he handcuffed George and Harry.
Walking out of the long room, the sound of Rendell’s cackling filled the air and George felt a rage building behind his normally calm veneer. Harry’s face looked beaten and he pondered what exactly the ‘special place’ was.
***
When George awoke, he heard the chanting surrounding him. The loud jeers pierced his eardrums and made his head hurt. Shaking his head, he tried to remember how he had gotten in the makeshift cage he found himself in. Last thing he remembered was Johnny shoving him into a wall and slamming his head into the smooth granite before the world faded to black. He wiped his eyes and blinked, trying to see where he was at now.
A few wet globs landed on his face and in his hair as another round of insults rained down on him. Finally, he opened his eyes and he wished he could shut them again. The cage sat in the middle of a large platform stage. Rendell sat in a large booth to the left with a goofy grin etched across his face. All around the stage, where families used to sit and watch Milton Mouse and his friends race to enter the labyrinth’s magical center, the stands were now filled with the degenerate dregs of the new humanity Rendell Walker had granted asylum to. George looked up and saw the filthy faces leering back at him, each face etched with hate. They spit at him again and he caught a whiff of their unwashed bodies. Their eyes glared at him with the animal flames society had once kept in check.
In the new society, all bets were off.
He stared slack-jawed out at the new humanity where all the pomp, the social mores, and all the other bullshit was stripped away, revealing the true face of human nature. For a fleeting moment, he preferred the zombies to the heathen crowd gathered around, cheering for his demise. He found himself empty inside and felt pity for those around him. “Forgive them, for they know not what they do,” he whispered.
Rendell stood from his throne, cobbled together from ride parts and stuffed animals. Raising his hand in the air, the mob grew silent. Around the bleachers, they fixed their gazes upon their god, their savior, their redeemer…their madman.
“People of my kingdom, I welcome you to the festivities this evening as we send another outsider into the labyrinth to fight for his life,” he yelled out and waved his hands around.
The people erupted in cheers and pumped their filthy fists in the air in return.
“Tonight, we have an outsider who has sought to take a piece of our world. With his partner, they tried to kill me and leave you as feed for the zombie hordes outside our gates! They broke into our secure haven and want to tear our family asunder!” Rendell screamed. His face turned beet red and veins pulsated in his forehead, threatening to explode through his skin.
“The maze with them!” the crowd shouted in response.
Fear prickled his flesh and the hair on the nape of George’s neck stood straight up. In his life, he’d been called every name in the book and, in the recent weeks, had many an unfriendly encounter with a person or four, but hearing the way they called and gleefully screamed for his blood unsettled him. He glanced up at Rendell and saw him grinning back at him.
“I’m coming back for you,” George threatened.
“I’m scared,” Rendell sneered at him and turned to the crowd again adding, “Release him!”
George closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind. He knew when the cage door swung open, his life was forfeit and he needed to chance the odds. The lock clicked and the heavy rusted chain fell from the door, clanking on the ground.
“If you make your way to the center of the maze, rewards and riches await you! There might even be a little gift like a gun or a token of our appreciation for entertaining us tonight,” Rendell said smugly.
George looked up and spat toward Rendell, “Fuck you.”
“Oh no, not me, George. Get him out of there!” He ordered and sat back down on his throne.
The guards next to the cage gathered around and started banging their batons on the bars. The god awful noise quickly gave George a headache and he rushed out of the cage and ran into the maze’s bushes.
***
He ran. George didn’t look back; he ran as fast as his aging body could take him. The cheers from the barbaric crowd faded and the chants became silence. His lungs burned and his shins began crying out in pain. He was in better shape than he was before the zombies, but he still didn’t look like the picture of health, or near health. A small roll still tried to fall over his belt and hide the buckle and his arms had some dangle to them when he raised them, but he pushed all the pain aside and ran to survive.
The rows of dying bushes sped past him and he made turn after turn without watching where he w
as going until he found a dead-end. He stumbled and almost lost his footing trying to stop from running straight into the bush.
His face stopped a few inches from the leaves and he saw a glint of metal hidden in the twisted branches. Six long knives were tied to the fence and pointed at George’s face.
Fence means I’m at the side of the labyrinth. I need to go back. Why the hell did I run and not pay attention? He mused and turned around.
Around the corner, he heard a low moan followed by the familiar slow steps of a zombie. Quickly, he checked his pockets and found them empty.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
Around the corner, the footsteps drew closer and closer. George’s heart began to thud in his chest and he felt the same tingles and light-headedness he had experienced earlier, in the shop, return. He placed his hand on his chest to make sure his heart wasn’t going to leap from his body in protest over the amount of stress it’d been under lately. A post-zombie world will do that to a guy.
Crouching down in the corner, he decided to bide his time and see what came around the corner. In the glow from the torches lit around the top of the labyrinth, a large shadow crossed the hedge and covered the ground like a giant. The shadow’s hands looked like cinder blocks and the head looked like a huge orb with large floppy ears.
When it came around the corner, George caught a whiff of the rotting zombie and gagged. He also found himself frozen in terror. The zombie turned toward him and he could see the brown dog suit clearly.
Poor Spike, he was a good dog, George thought and almost laughed. Here in front of him stood the zombiefied version of Milton Mouse’s cuddly canine companion. Tufts of the fur suit were ripped away and dark streaks of dried blood covered the suit. The mouth wore a twisted grin and, between the torn costume lips, fresh pieces of meat dangled down its chin. One eye hole was torn away revealing the once-human eye beneath; it burned with hunger and rage.
Finding his escape route blocked, George took another look around to see his options.
