Monsters

by Peter Cawdron

  “Are you OK?” McIntyre asked, his hands running over Lisa’s arms and shoulders. She grimaced with pain, holding her leg in the wooden brace.

  McIntyre rested his hand on James’ shoulder, looking him in the eye.

  “Stay here.”

  With that, McIntyre hobbled out, looking for his men. Blood dripped from his uniform. From what James could tell, he’d been bitten multiple times on the arms and upper chest but had avoided being stung.

  The reinforcements tried to recover the injured. James learned several of the soldiers had cut away from the main group on foot, circling around the buildings, avoiding the attention of the hornets. In all, they lost fourteen men and a horse.

  It was dark when the troop arrived at the gates of the Richmond compound. James wasn’t sure what he expected, but a little over four miles from where they had been attacked, they approached the high-walls of an old prison.

  Fires burned in barrels, warding off the cold.

  People milled around everywhere, intensely curious about the incoming soldiers. Their clothes were torn and tattered. There was a surprising number of children under the age of ten.

  McIntyre, James and Lisa all rode the lead horse. As they entered the courtyard, James leaned forward and asked Lisa, “Why so many children?”

  “Orphans,” was all she could say in reply.

  James felt a knot form in his throat.

  General Gainsborough was standing on the concrete steps of the entrance hall. He called out, yelling at the soldiers.

  “Hah! Well done. You have succeeded. You have returned my little girl to me.”

  The soldiers, peasants and children cheered as though they were welcoming them home from some victorious battle. It didn’t feel like a victory to James, but he knew Gainsborough was talking more broadly than of the encounter with the hornets. For him, the focus was the return of his daughter, not the loss of his men.

  Several soldiers helped Lisa from the horse, carrying her gently. Gainsborough kissed her on both cheeks. He whispered something in her ear, but Lisa didn't reply. The last James saw of her was as several servants carried her inside on a stretcher.

  McIntyre reported to Gainsborough as James climbed gingerly from the horse, blood soaking through the bandage on his neck. The general stepped up to James as he alighted from the rope ladder.

  “Thank you,” he said, grasping James’ right hand with both of his hands. “Thank you for all you have done for my daughter. There is much we must talk about, much I need to learn, but you are weary from your journey. I will have my doctors attend to your wounds.”

  James was silent. He felt intimidated in the general’s presence.

  Gainsborough walked among the troops, picking out those that had been with McIntyre and greeting them individually. He patted them on the shoulder, shook their hands, asked about their injuries and showed concern, but he never stayed with any one soldier for more than a few minutes. McIntyre remained by the general’s side the whole time, talking to him, telling him about each of the men and what they’d endured.

  A nurse escorted James up the crumbling stairs and into the prison hospital.

  Chapter 07: Prison Life

  After having his neck wound cleaned with alcohol and stitched, James found himself in a dark ward, lying on a hard, straw mattress.

  There must have been at least twenty or thirty other people in the ward, but they were deathly quiet.

  Moonlight streamed in through the rusting bars of the windows lining the far wall, casting a soft light in the long room.

  Minutes felt like hours.

  His neck stung more now than it did when he was bitten. Lying there, his mind raced, thinking of escape. Part of him wanted to run, while it was still early in his captivity, before they suspected him of being a flight risk, but his rational thinking won the day, and he considered how he needed to plan his route. Getting out of the prison compound would be difficult enough. Surviving beyond the walls was another matter entirely. Besides, as much as he chided himself for it, he was intensely curious about Lisa and her father. James had felt something for her during those days on the farm with Winters. She might be able to switch that off, but he couldn’t.

  It was late in the morning when a nurse woke him. Startled, James sat up, taking a moment to recognize where he was.

  “You slept well,” the nurse said, touching the back of her hand against his forehead, checking for a fever. “General Gainsborough has sent for you.”

  James was still coming to grips with the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows, surprised he hadn’t woken earlier. From the steep angle of the shadows, he figured it must be close to noon.

  “I’ve brought you a fresh change of clothes. There’s a shower at the end of the hall.”

  The nurse stared at him for a moment, waiting for a reply. James blinked and said, “Thanks.”

  A soldier followed him to the shower room, but waited outside while he enjoyed warm water for the first time in days. The soap was gritty, but seemed to work well, and after soaking for a few minutes he felt renewed. James dressed and accompanied the soldier through the prison to meet Gainsborough.

  Walking past row upon row of cells, stacked four stories high, James was surprised by the number of people living in the prison.

  Clothing had been hung over the railings to dry.

  Children scurried about, playing with each other.

  Vats of what he assumed were communal soups or stews bubbled away over an open fire. Smoke drifted lazily to the blackened ceiling above before wafting out through broken windows.

  The noise was overwhelming, as though everyone was talking at once over the top of someone else, each person vying to be heard. An elderly man squatted in the corner, defecating into a rough hole in the floor. Most of the people look malnourished, sickly and weak.

  As they turned into another wing, James got a glimpse of several cells being used as metallurgy workshops. There was a forge of some kind, larger than the one his grandfather had in Amersham, and the sounds of industry drowned out the talking.

  Metal resounded against metal.

  The wall on one side of the prison had been broken open to allow the engine compartment of a train to fit half in the corridor. Steam hissed. Pistons pumped with rhythmic monotony. Pipes clattered, shaking as the steam passed through them.

  Blacksmiths worked on glowing red metal.

  They walked into what must have once been a gymnasium. The floorboards were buckled. Soldiers milled around, prepping arrows, repairing armor, stitching up leather jackets.

  At the front of the gym sat a large table. Several men worked on turning a suckling pig over a bed of hot coals just outside the double doors leading to the farm.

  “There he is,” cried Gainsborough, marching over toward James with his arms out wide, greeting him like an old friend. “Our hero. The man who rescued my daughter.”

  McIntyre was less than impressed. He sat on the edge of the table, stone-faced. James got the distinct impression Gainsborough was overacting, baiting McIntyre, while McIntyre was still undecided about James.

  Gainsborough shook James’ hand, holding on for a few seconds longer than James would have liked, making him feel uncomfortable. Perhaps that was the point. There was a dynamic at play within the room, of that James was sure, but he was struggling to read it properly. Gainsborough smiled warmly, but James was wary. The old general must have sensed his uneasiness.

  “How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

  James never had the chance to reply, not that he wanted to.

  “We have set a feast in your honor. To welcome you to the clan and to celebrate your victories.”

  Slowly, James found himself warming to the old man. Perhaps he’d been too cynical. But then again, perhaps he hadn’t been cynical enough. Either way, he felt swept up in the moment.

  “There is much we want to tell you. So many things to talk about. Please, come and dine with us.”

 
; Lisa was there. James hadn’t recognized her at first. Her hair was up and she was wearing make-up, which surprised him. The jewels on her dress sparkled in the sunlight streaming in through the windows high overhead.

  “Sit here, with my daughter and me.”

  “Thank you,” James managed, his eyes overwhelmed with the spread of food before him.

  Servants laid out platters of meats, plates of vegetables and delicacies the likes of which he’d never seen. The smell of mushrooms wafted through the air, followed by the sweet scent of braised pork, and James found himself salivating.

  Gainsborough had him sit on his right, between him and Lisa, while McIntyre sat on the left. There was so much food. The general used his knife to spear a slice of meat and dragged it on his plate, while servants busied themselves around them, dishing up sides of vegetables.

  “Eat. Eat,” the general said. “My men wait for us to finish. It would be impolite for us to keep them too long from their sustenance.”

  McIntyre didn’t waste any time.

  Lisa helped herself to some dark meat, but James settled on the pork. To his surprise, he saw Lisa’s leg had been set in a plaster cast. Gainsborough must have noticed his curiosity.

  “My physicians tell me you and your friends did a good job with Lisa’s leg, saving her from amputation. They tell me the brace was strong, keeping her leg well aligned. For that, I thank you.”

  James nodded, still somewhat overwhelmed by the feast.

  “Lisa tells me you defeated a bear and a wolf to rescue her. McIntyre doesn’t believe it. But I, myself, I think it is true. Huh?”

  James looked at the general, resplendent in his military dress.

  “Yes, it is true,” James replied, talking with his mouth full.

  “McIntyre doesn’t believe one man could take on a bear and survive, but I believe. And do you know why? Because my daughter hates me. She hates what I have done here. She would do anything to undermine my rule. She would not do anything to help me, not so much as to lift a finger in support of all I have built. And so I believe her because she gains nothing from this being a lie.”

  Instinctively, James turned toward Lisa, wanting to see the look on her face. Under her breath, she whispered to James, saying, “Don’t fall for this. Don’t drink of my father’s wine.”

  James was confused.

  “You must regale us with your stories of bravery,” Gainsborough continued, missing what Lisa had said. James looked at the bronze cup before him. He picked it up, sniffing it before sipping the cold water within. Wine? He wondered what she meant, and realized she was speaking figuratively.

  Gainsborough rested his hand on James’ shoulder. “I feel like I know you. Your face looks familiar. Have we met before?”

  “No, sir,” James replied.

  “You look like someone I knew once, a long time ago, but I can’t quite place where. You’ve never been to the north?”

  “No, sir.”

  Gainsborough seemed lost in thought for a second, but he quickly got back on track.

  “You must see what we are doing here. We are reclaiming the land. Fighting back the monsters. Ours is a humble start, but we progress a little further every day.”

  Gainsborough was larger than life. He ate with both hands. A pork chop in his right, a torn piece of bread in his left. Grease ran down his full beard. His hair was gray, but slightly curly, giving it a natural wave that swept up and to either side. James found himself being drawn into the general’s energetic personality.

  “McIntyre tells me you are a reader. This is good. Readers are not criminals. Readers are not wizards or witches. They are not to be feared. Readers are intelligent. They should be shown respect. But I ask you, what is more important than a reader?”

  “I don’t know,” James replied biting into a delicious piece of pork.

  “A writer. Without writers, there can be no readers. Writers are the originators, the creators.

  “For a reader, there is only the past. All their efforts can only relive what someone else has written. But writers ... Writers command the future. That’s what we’re doing here, James. We are writing the future of mankind. We are not content to simply read about the past.

  “No one ever accomplished anything by looking backwards. We must write the future. And our future cannot be one of submission to monsters. We must make our own future, write our own stories, and chronicle our own exploits, like your gallant rescue of my daughter.”

  James was excited. As much as he loved his dad and their trips to the library, Gainsborough was right. Readers only ever looked back. There was never any talk of change in the future.

  “Help me write the future,” the general said.

  He had turned sideways in his chair, one arm resting on his knee while the other pressed against the table. His presence was overpowering, intimidating. This was a subtle, almost positive form of intimidation, something James had never known before. Not one that threatened harm or malice, but one that refused no for an answer, one that demanded compliance. James felt himself swept along by the current of a mighty river.

  “We need good men. We need writers. We need those that read from the past and apply what they’ve learned to help shape the future.”

  Gainsborough snapped his fingers.

  “Bring me the table.”

  A soldier brought over a small wooden box.

  “Is it charged?” Gainsborough asked, opening the box.

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, backing away.

  Gainsborough reached in and pulled out a thin, metal object slightly larger than a book but not as thick. He pressed something on the top and a light shone forth from the shattered, glassy surface, surprising James.

  “Do you know what this is?” the general asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s everything.”

  Gainsborough handed the flat metal rectangle to him. James was surprised by how light it felt. One entire surface lit up, showing a picture of children running in a meadow. The words “Slide to unlock” flickered and glowed at the bottom of the picture. At the top, the word “Tablet” appeared, and James guessed this was what Gainsborough meant when he said table. But that Gainsborough didn’t know the correct, more descriptive term surprised James. Gainsborough couldn’t read.

  “Go on,” Gainsborough said, gesturing with his hand.

  James ran his finger over the cracked glass and the image changed, showing a series of colored boxes arranged in rows.

  “Hah,” cried Gainsborough, turning toward McIntyre. “Never ceases to amaze me.”

  “What is it?” James asked.

  “It is everything you’ve ever wanted to know. Everything you could ever learn. Touch the word ‘books’ and see what happens.”

  James pushed his finger firmly against the glass and the screen before him changed, revealing what looked like a library shelf with a dozen books on it.

  Gainsborough gestured with his hand, indicating James should swipe up and down. He did so and watched as hundreds and hundreds of book covers scrolled past his fingertips.

  “Pick one,” Gainsborough said. He was clearly enjoying the sense of wonder sweeping over James. One title in particular caught James’ eye, jumping off the screen at him.

  Brave New World, Aldous Huxley.

  The book opened to the copyright page. Gainsborough made out as though he were flicking sheets of paper, and James copied, brushing his fingers across the fine cracks in the glass screen and watching as a page appeared to turn, revealing the start of the novel.

  “How?” James asked, turning the tablet to one side and examining the edges and looking at the logo on the back.

  “It’s not magic,” the general replied. “It’s technology. This is our past, all of it, hundreds of thousands of books, more books than you could read in a lifetime, and all of it on a device that weighs less than a single book.”

  “So all we’ve lost,” James began, barely able to articulate what he was
thinking. “All the books that were burned, all the desolate libraries, we can restore them with this?”

  “Yes.”

  Gainsborough took the tablet back from James, turning it off and placing it in the box.

  “This is not just our past, it is our future,” he added. “We can reach these heights again.”

  James was awestruck.

  The soldier returned and took the box away, handling it with a sense of reverence.

  “You see. We have much to offer a reader like yourself.”

  James struggled to contain his excitement. “How many tablets do you have?”

  “Just one that works. It is a tease, the promise of all that lies out there waiting to be discovered. There are unimaginable treasures like this just waiting to be uncovered in the ruins.”

  Gainsborough stood. James started to get to his feet, but the older man signaled he should remain seated.

  “We need good men. We need those that want to rebuild this world. Stay with us. Learn from us. Help us.”

  The general didn’t wait for a response. He rested his hand on James’ shoulder and patted him as he walked away. For his part, James was still stunned by the tablet. He wanted to read those books, all of them, or at least as many as he could.

  McIntyre followed Gainsborough. He leaned down as he passed James, speaking softly.

  “Don’t get too comfortable up here. From tonight, you eat with the rest of the men.”

  Soldiers formed up in lines according to rank and began crowding around the table, taking their food.

  One of the servants helped Lisa stand, bringing her a pair of crutches. James stood as well, not sure quite what he should be doing next.

  “You should leave while you still can,” Lisa said. “Before you get in too deep.”

  She turned away from him before he could respond. Leave, he thought. Last night, that had been his intention. Now he wasn’t so sure. Part of him wanted to return to the farm, to be with his father, but a whole new world seemed to be opening up to him. And the prospect of getting his hands on the tablet again was too much, clouding his thinking.