Monster Gauntlet (13 page)

“I NEED THIS ON CAMERA NOW!”

Terrified the end of the story wouldn’t be recorded, he grabbed whatever shots from every camera still working in the area. He settled on a wide shot of the moonlight meadow, barely seen through the forest trees. You couldn’t see the action, but you could hear it.

Moira was yelling, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Then she was shouting something that couldn’t be made out. The monster shrieked. Moira’s voice sounded more like a war cry than a scream. The monster roared in rage. Then it sounded like it was howling in pain!”

“I NEED THIS NOW! I NEED THIS NOW!” Ziegler screamed.

“Sir, a new hover cam is ...”

The director saw the camera rapidly descending on the scene. The view was blurry and out of focus. He didn’t care. “Take hover cam!”

Like a missile locking onto a target, the hover cam found the ground and the blurry, shaky view of the hill came into focus. The spindly monster seemed to be entangled and struggling in a strand of colorful Christmas lights.

The beast was shaking. Then it started sparking.

“What the ...?”

Then, with a final cry of rage and pain, the monster exploded.

The aerial camera view shook from the shock wave. Bright light illuminated the faces of everyone in the control room as they peered at computer monitors or watched video screens. Most of the people jolted and fell back in their chairs as if they had been blown backwards by the blast.

“Whoa,” Kent gasped.

The director slumped backwards into his chair, exhausted, relieved, and happy. He was out of breath, and the sweat secreted out him as his breathing and heart beat slowly returned to normal. He looked like a man in the afterglow of an orgasm achieved after a session of strenuous sex.

Like a co-pilot taking over for a pilot, the AD looked at the director and then assumed control.

Two more hover cams had entered the area, providing some shot variety. The AD ordered one to get a close-up on the flaming remains of the monster, and the other to get a shot of Moira.

The director didn’t protest. His AD was doing his job right by practically reading his mind.

A good show was about storytelling. What made for a good ending? The end of conflict.

 Now they had the two shots that showed the end of the story. This was a particularly good episode. Just between Moira and the forest monster alone, there had been a build-up, conflict, a re-match, and a final battle. There was a clear winner. And a clear loser. The remains of the monster were now scattered around the site like a group of tiny campfires.

Moira stood on top of the hill like the victor of some savage battle. The fires in front of her reflected in her stare. There was a look of shock, disbelief, and something bordering madness in her glazed-over eyes.

Her body and her face were splattered with blood, probably both hers and her opponent’s.

“There,” Kent said approvingly. “That shot is money.”

The camera zoomed in on Moira until her face filled the screen. Moira MacMillan: blood-splattered, filthy, exhausted, and triumphant.

–––––

Maximilian Cain burst into the control room. Everyone’s posture instantly improved.

“Ziegler! Talk to me! What the hell just happened?”

The director, who had regained most of his composure, sat up straight, and simply said, “We got it.”

“What?”

“The fight. The explosion. The finale. We’re good.”

“Yes, I know you got the explosion! I just watched it! What I want to know is, what the hell was that? What just happened?

“Well, we had technical difficulties with the cameras in the area.”

“‘Technical difficulties?’”

“Um, yeah. Light streaks, lens flares, or something. We think it’s moisture affecting the chips in the cameras. Or an electrical disturbance. Ball lightning or something. Damn wet country.”

“And you think that brought down the hover cams?”

Satisfied with his work, Ziegler discovered he was less intimidated by the boss and more irritated with this line of questioning. “I don’t know. Ask engineering.”

Cain stared at him and said, “And what about the monster? Was it supposed to blow up?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell happened?”

The director looked at the AD and TD, and then back at Cain. He hated saying, “I don’t know,” so instead, he paused and said, “We think Moira had a grenade. One of Marine’s, probably. It’s the most likely explanation.”

Cain looked at Ziegler, then back at the monitors. Moira was still standing on the top of the hill, looking down at the smattering of small fires and gore were all that remained of the monster’s body.

Finally he said, “That was wild. The frantic pace, the quick cuts, the shaky cam, the crazy camera angles. You could barely make out what was going on. Your brain had to fill in the details.”

He sighed. “That was out-of-control.”

“Sir, I ...”

“I loved it.”

Everyone stared at Cain.

Cain laughed, “Relax! I’m breaking your balls! I loved it!”

The control room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“That was awesome,” he said. “And you’re telling me that was all real? I don’t like the fact that we’re having technical problems, but the bottom line is it worked. The ratings are going to be incredible!”

On the screens in the background, Moira fell to ground and slumped over.

Kent shouted, “Med-lab! Status on Moira!”

A technician called back, “Vitals are stable. Blood loss is minimal. No fever. EEG shows alpha waves turning to theta. She’s falling asleep.”

The room seemed to exhale another sigh of relief.

After a moment, the director called out to the crew.

“OK, AD. What have we got left?”

Kent looked at his computer and said, “We’ve got the witches near the watch tower. Then there’s the banshee, but Moira’s got her protection amulet against ghosts. We’ve got wolves in the woods. And the werewolf. And ...”

“No,” said Maximilian Cain, effectively ending the discussion. “No more monsters. Whatever nasty things you have still roaming around out there, call them off. All of them. We still need runners for future episodes. Nobody’s going to volunteer in the future if they saw how hard this girl fought and she still dies.

“Also, I can’t wait for the exit interview. We have to hear her side of the story. The Bogeyman had a lot of defenses. We need to hear how she blew it up.”

Cain, took in a deep breath and exhaled, satisfied with his decision and with the results of this whole effort in Scotland.

“We have a winner,” he said. “Moira MacMillan is our new champion. She’s done. Bring her in.”

When the monster exploded, I cried out in shock.

What now? It breathes fire?

I was surprised, yet at the same time, I wasn’t. I couldn’t predict anything anymore.

I froze and watched the scattered, flaming remains of the monster. The moon stared down at the scene. Wind blew through the grass and the trees. A few stray streaks of light zoomed past. Then they were gone.

I stood there until my breathing and heartbeat slowed to normal. After a while, I started thinking, Nothing’s happening. It’s not attacking. In fact, I think the attack’s over. I think it’s gone. Could the explosion have been an accident? It feels ... unintentional. Maybe the monster stepped on a land mine. God, are there land mines out here?

I remembered something random. Back in the day, Princess Di used her celebrity status to bring attention to people in poor, war-torn countries who lived in fear of land mines. Those bombs certainly were a real-life horror. Could they be a “monster” on Monster Gauntlet? I doubted it. That didn’t feel right. Then again, they did cause carnage and death in a dramatic fashion, so I didn’t know.

That still didn’t seem right. The producers of the show wanted to cause fear more than anything else. The anticipation made the fate worse. The audience wanted a chase and terror before the kill.

I worried that smell of the monster’s burning flesh might draw more predators, but then the feeling passed. Maybe it would ward things off instead. I told myself that, partially because I wasn’t about to move through the woods at night, moon or no moon. Plus, if there were mines around, I didn’t want to step on one. Something killed the monster, after all. The bottom line was, I wasn’t moving from this spot. I thought I could still see colored fireflies flicking around the field. I tried to get a better look, but they’d be gone, making me wonder if I’d seen anything all. Maybe I was tripping and my brain was fried. I needed to sleep. I felt ready to pass out. I flattened out, trying to look like part of the hill as much as possible. I closed my eyes, and I was gone.

–––––

I opened my eyes and sat up abruptly, wondering, Where am I? The sky was deep blue, in a starless state that couldn’t really be called night but was still too dark to be called morning.

For a moment, I was in a panic, wondering where I was. Then it came, back to me, and I winced. Somehow, I’d hoped to awaken somewhere back in time so this whole ordeal could have been dismissed as a nightmare. But there I was. It was a nightmare, but it was real and I wouldn’t be able to escape it by waking up.

Once I became mentally oriented, I felt a small sense of relief. But that didn’t last long. With my mental state momentarily sated, my physical body spoke up with its own complaints. I had to pee. I was thirsty. I was hungry. I was cold. My feet felt numb. My head hurt. To sum it up, I was a mess.

A distant sound jerked me upright. All of my body’s complaints were silenced as I listened. It was a distant drone, a pumping, rhythmic sound that was getting louder. When my brain could finally file it in the right category, I was hit by a jolt of joy. A helicopter! They’re coming to get me!

Alright, I’m going to make the next part quick. The helicopter came and landed in the field. Armored guards came and got me. They carried me to the helicopter and away we went. I never thought I’d be so happy to see those guys again.

They flew me back to the base and took me to a hospital, or what looked like a hospital, right there on site. I was stripped and showered in a procedure that felt less like a cleaning and more like a decontamination.

I got examined, and then I was allowed to get dressed. Then they took me to a small cafeteria. I devoured my food. God it was good. I knew it was actually not that good, but to me, it was delicious. Everything tastes great when you’re starving.

I finally ended up clean and in a real bed, so I wasn’t complaining.

I had just settled in to sleep when Vasha burst in with a cameraman. She shoved a microphone at my mouth like a thug pointing a knife at my throat.

“Congratulations, Moira! You survived the Gauntlet! How do you feel?”

How did I feel? I made it short and said, “Hungry.”

“I mean, emotionally,” Vasha continued. “How do you feel?”

What did she want? A big ‘I’m happy to be alive’ moment?

I thought for a moment and just said, “I’m glad it’s over.”

“I’ll bet. What was the worst part?”

Do we have to do this now? I thought.

I said, “All of it.”

Vasha smiled, satisfied by my answer. I wondered, Was that really something to smile about? The fact that I had been traumatized by the whole thing?

She asked more questions, each more obnoxious than that last. Maybe I was just irritated. The cameraman held his camera about a meter away from my face, like a man with a bazooka ready to blow my head off.

Finally, I said, “Look! I need to sleep! I’m in pain and I need to sleep now. So go. We can do this later.”

“Oh yes we will,” Vasha said coolly. Then she smiled again. Apparently, my admission that I was in physical pain made her happy, and she had gotten what she came for.

Then she said, “OK. That’s good for now. Rest now. You’ll need it. You have a big day this afternoon.”

“What’s going on this afternoon?” I asked, suddenly afraid to hear the answer.

“Your exit interview,” she said. “The fancy one. Then you get to tour the Control Room and meet the people who worked on the show.”

Vasha smiled again. For a change, this grin didn’t look smug. She looked genuinely excited for me that I was getting a rare opportunity.

“Sounds good, right?”

Actually, it did. I had a plan. A plan for revenge. No, for justice. It would help if I could get all of my targets in the one room at the same time.

When I said nothing, Vasha said, “You won your freedom. You’re getting a chance to talk to the producers again and to see behind the scenes. You must be looking forward to that.”

I looked into Vasha’s blue eyes. They had a sinister beauty and radiated power, but this time, I met her gaze with equal force. She only thought she was in the power position. I said, “Vasha, you have no idea. In fact, I can hardly wait.”

I saw something – a flicker of doubt, or a moment of confusion – in Vasha’s eyes. Then it was gone. She smiled for the camera and said, “Good. It’s going to be exciting. It will really be some show.”

I simply said, “Oh yes it will.”

–––––

It seemed like I had just settled in when Vasha returned with a small entourage. Four hours had past. I had been completely out.

“Have a good nap?” she asked with her fake friendliness for the camera.

I just shrugged.

“Do we have to have the camera on right now?” I asked, turning away.

“Of course,” Vasha said. “But now it’s time go. The show is still running live, you know. The producers don’t want to wait. It’s time for your exit interview. Get up. These people are here to help you get ready.

I looked at the people Vasha had brought with her. They were there to get me “cleaned up,” she said sarcastically, as if nothing would help. Behind them, lurking outside the door but still clearly visible, were two armored guards. I had won the show, but clearly, I wasn’t free.

Everyone in the room (and probably the world) was waiting for my next move. The cameraman kept his camera on me like a weapon locked on target. I sighed, realizing that I had no privacy. I probably never would, ever again. I swung my legs out of bed and stood up. I was in my underwear and that was it. I normally wouldn’t have the body confidence to do that, but I didn’t have a choice and at this point, I really didn’t care.