Monsterland (7 page)

“And go where?” Raoul whispered.

“I still have relatives. They are in the blast zone in China; nobody wants to go there. We could hide out in Shanghai and move our way inland.”

“How will we get there from here? We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Raoul said with a hiss.

Marvin rolled his eyes toward the cafeteria worker. “The drones. They get us through the desert safely. They know the area.”

Raoul gave a slight nod. “It might work. We’d have to travel at night, once the sun’s gone down. You have to get one that knows his way around.”

“You think?” Marvin said with a laugh.

Raoul nodded in assent. Things had been terrible since they arrived. The doctor oozed charm when he painted a picture of recreating all their former glory. Instead, Conrad gave them shabby reproductions of eighteenth-century clothing, and he stuck them in a sterile version of his concept of East Germany. They were assigned roles in a cheesy rock musical, the music so embarrassingly bad it was a more painful to perform it than hear it. And there was that stupid hunchback he forced into their act. What did he have to do with their image? Raoul had heard a rumor that the good doctor was doing a favor for someone who wanted a relative hidden. Someone who was rather important, he thought angrily. It took a lot of gall to place that creature with the vampires. He had a good mind to take it up with the doctor, but lately he hadn’t been seen. Too busy with his precious openings. Every bad stereotype
was there, making a mockery of their kind. It was supposed to be a place to keep them apart from the population, allowing them to be who they were in a safe environment. While some found them mysterious, even sexy, Vincent made them into a joke. The show was humiliating. They weren’t scary—he didn’t revitalize their image. Then there were the forced blood withdrawals. Vincent started taking their blood—for what, Raoul could only guess. Worse than that, he heard grumblings that Conrad was feeding the werewolves to the zombies and using their skins for parchment. What kind of monster was he?

“They’ll pick up on it eventually,” Raoul responded. “If you drone too many of them,” he said thoughtfully, “they’ll notice they’ve gone passive. If only…”

“If only what?” Marvin looked up, his dark eyes alert.

“If only we could combine forces with the other inmates in the park; we outnumber Conrad’s people, after all.”

“Who needs them?” Marvin said contemptuously. “Werewolves are untamed, and the zombies are so far gone, they’re useless.”

“Animals can be trained,” Raoul retorted.

“Marissa’s training all the animals we’re going to need. Who cares about the others anyway? Once we drone the staff, we’ll have an army of allies. It will be the eighties all over again.” Marvin smirked. “Either way, we are out of here tonight. After I take care of that hunchback.”

“Who, Igor? I think he’s cute.” Sylvie tittered.

“You would,” Marvin sneered.

“Anyway, we signed that stupid contract with him,” Sylvie said hotly. “In blood.”

“Who cares?” Marvin said. “The drones will unlock the gates. We’ll slip out after the show.”

“Too dangerous,” Sylvie whispered.

“So, what are they going to do? Kill us? Last week, he threatened to feed us to the zombies.” Marvin laughed as he walked toward the door. “Then he can add flesh-eating zombie vampires to his circus.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

“We’re heading to the hills southwest of here late tonight. We’ll hide there until the sun sets tomorrow and then head west. We’ve picked two of the drones as slaves…and nourishment.”

“That’s one for each of you. Not enough for survival if we go.”

“Come with us. Pick a drone of your own, someone with the lay of the land.”

Raoul became thoughtful. He wasn’t comfortable here. He gave up one prison for another. With the right drone, they would find others. They could feed off the community. China, he thought with rising excitement. A lot of people in China hadn’t been exposed to their music. They may have a shot at something new in a frontier town, away from the tired community here.

Sylvie looked at Raoul. “This place is evil, pure evil. We have to get out of here.” It seemed she had the same idea.

Raoul stared toward the distant mountain range. His brain began to percolate.

C
HAPTER
8

T
raffic was backed
up for miles on the 15. They were at a dead stop for over forty-five minutes. Floodlights lit the long stretch of highway, and enterprising vendors set up road stands, selling T-shirts, water, and fruit. The evening heat was going to be brutal. The radio announcer noted the time was 8:00 p.m., and the freeway to Monsterland was packed tighter than anything they’d seen before. They were surrounded by a variety of license plates. Josh jumped in and out of the car, calling out different states excitedly. Twice Wyatt grumbled for him to get back in the car. All the windows were open, and Wyatt had shut the air conditioning off some time ago. The old clunker looked dangerously close to overheating. Police cars raced back and forth on the artificial grass on either side of the roadway. Overhead, a trio of black helicopters made a wide circle in the velvet sky and then started descending.

“Elvis is in the building,” Melvin intoned.

“I don’t think even Vincent Conrad has the capability of raising someone who’s been dead that long,” Howard said
sarcastically. “It’s McAdams and the senators. This is so disorganized. I told you coming tonight would be a mistake.”

Wyatt looked at Howard in the mirror. He was acting strangely. First, he said he couldn’t go, with some lame excuse, and then he tried to talk them all out of going. He was jittery and nervous. Well, Wyatt thought, to be honest, he was always jittery and nervous, but he appeared more so tonight.

News crews and their vans lined the median, the large satellites relaying and comparing all the different Monsterland openings. Reporters stood outside, their faces lit by floodlights, mics in hands and stories being told.

Melvin interrupted his thoughts. “He can’t raise the dead. Werewolves aren’t dead. Vampires technically are undead.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Josh asked.

“Here we go again,” Wyatt said wearily, resting his head in his hand. He was getting tired of the argument.

“One doesn’t die when they become a vampire; they just live for a longer time or until they get a wooden stake through the heart. They have to be killed by specific means, making people think they are more special than they are.”

“As if sucking on blood isn’t enough to make someone think you’re special,” Howard retorted. “Anyway, blood-borne diseases can’t get them either.”

“Okay, but zombies are dead,” Josh said impatiently.

“Go ahead, explain the facts of life to your brother,” Howard told Wyatt.

“They’re not dead either, just infected with the plague. They are catatonic and have this need to consume flesh, but really any meat will do.”

“They’re zombies,” Josh said with a nod.

“Not in the truest sense. They die when you shoot them. Eventually the illness gets them. That’s been the whole
problem. They can’t live with society because they’re out of control. Their brains have been fried by the disease.”

“They look like zombies, they smell like zombies—”

“How do you know what they smell like, Josh?” Howard demanded. “When was the last time you rubbed shoulders with one?”

“Happens. I read about them.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Is Carter inside yet?” Melvin asked, interrupting the boys in the backseat.

“He left before three this afternoon,” Wyatt responded. He opened his window, sticking his arm out. He jerked his hand when it came in contact with the burning chrome. “Man, it’s hotter than hell out there.”

“Asshole,” he heard Josh mutter. He glanced at his brother, wondering if Josh was referring to him or Howard Drucker or even Carter. Josh was generally out of charity with everybody.

“Have you heard from him yet?” Howard inquired.

Wyatt shook his head. “Nope.” He looked at the sea of cars, wondering where Jade was in the traffic and if he was going to be able to spend any time with her. He sighed gustily.

Howard stuck his head out of the car. “That had to be the president.” He sat back down with a sigh. “You sure you don’t want to turn around?”

“Are you crazy?” Melvin shoved his hand into a package of Doritos. His upper lip and chin were the same color as his hair.

Melvin sat in the front, and Howard shared the back with the younger boy. A cooler filled with drinks sat between them. They had eaten the sandwiches and were halfway through the snacks.

Wyatt looked at Howard in the rearview mirror. His skin was pasty. He had been quiet since he joined them at five. He tossed his half-eaten candy bar into the trash bag.

“What’s the matter with you?” Wyatt asked him quietly.

Melvin fished out the candy bar. “You better finish all that. It says right here.” Melvin pointed to his brochure, a lump of Doritos landing on his T-shirt. “You can’t take any food into the park.” His wolf-head necklace was covered with orange dust. Only the green glass eyes gleamed.

“Greedy bastards,” Howard complained. “They control the food concessions so they can charge a fortune for lousy turkey legs and crappy gray burgers. I think it sucks.” He pointed to Melvin’s pendant. “We chucked those years ago, Mel. Why are you still wearing that?”

Melvin grabbed the snarling wolf’s head with his hand. “I love this thing. It’s part of my identity. Part of my mojo.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Howard replied. “You look like a jerk with it.”

“You suck!” Melvin retorted. “You afraid of the monsters, Howard Drucker?”

“No, he’s afraid of Keisha,” Josh laughed.

“Shut up,” he spat. “I’m not afraid of anything,” Howard responded hotly, his face bright red. Their shirts stuck to them. They had worn long pants as advised on the news. They were uncomfortable as well as testy. “Can’t you put the air back on?” Howard whined.

“Don’t think so,” Wyatt commented.

“I wish I wore shorts.”

“They are trying to keep your limbs safe from the zombies. Carter said they only allow food in hermetically sealed pavilions where it can’t be smelled.”

“The werewolves’ superior sense of smell is no match for a man-made building,” Melvin said, his mouth now stuffed with a Little Debbie cake.

“Oh, here we go again—vampires can outsmell a werewolf anytime,” Howard replied.

Wyatt let the conversation wash over him, his eyes darting every so often, searching for Nolan’s green Nissan. He wondered if Jade were sweltering in the heat in the tiny compact. Probably not. Nolan wouldn’t have to worry about conserving gas. His dad would buy it for him.

“That was mine.” Josh reached forward trying to grab the glazed bun from his hand. Melvin shoved the rest into his mouth.

“Cut it out.” Wyatt leaned over and punched his brother. “Look, I’ll turn this sucker around and take you home—”

“No!” Melvin and Josh cried out in unison.

“Peace, bro.” Josh made a
v
with his fingers.

“How eighties of you,” Howard said, pushing his glasses up. His face was glazed with sweat. “It’s hotter than hell in here.”

Melvin returned the peace sign and then flipped Josh the bird.

Josh’s retaliation was cut off as the car before them moved a few feet. Wyatt turned the ignition, lurching forward. The line started moving. They heard cheers from other cars around them. Melvin gave the thumbs-up signal to the car next to him. The road split into four lanes with two uniformed people waving flags, directing them to pull forward. A uniformed officer stepped into Wyatt’s view, waving for them to stop. He was wearing the black jumpsuit of Monsterland; his red badge had the logo with his name in the center. Wyatt could feel the
excitement level in the car amp up. Josh sat on the edge of the seat, and Wyatt looked at him in the mirror. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“What?” He replied. “We’re stopped.”

Wyatt picked up his phone, threatening to call their mother. Josh ungraciously threw himself backward to put on his belt.

The officer peered into the back of the car, his flashlight illuminating the dark interior. Wyatt watched him with interest.

“We’ve set up a dumping station at the main gate. No food or beverages allowed,” he informed them, looking into the car.

“I’m highly allergic and need specific food,” Howard lied, testing the officer.

“Sorry, son. We have a designated number where special meals can be ordered.” He pushed up the visor of his hat. “You needed to call in advance, though. Too late for that. I know someone who’d want to buy your ticket.”

“I’ll suffer,” Howard said dramatically.

The car inched forward, and the view was blocked by the row of tour buses in front of them.

The vehicle before them turned left, and the boys sat in shocked awe as the vista opened up. A huge concrete wall obliterated the horizon, giant iron gates separating them from the theme park.

“Entrance at 012 hundred,” Melvin said in a clipped robotic voice.

“The gate!” Josh crowed, jumping like a wild man in his seat. His seatbelt was off again.

The gate loomed before them. The first thing he noticed was the Monsterland logo, a large
M
in the center of vampire
teeth. Wyatt looked up, spying iron letters barely visible in an arc overhead, the letters shaped with black metal. Wyatt stared up at the entrance, his mouth dry. He had wanted so badly to go, all these months, plotting and planning a way to be able to attend, yet the sign pulled at a distant memory. The giant lettering cast an awesome shadow. The iron gate was surrounded by twenty-foot-high finely sloped concrete walls that made the place look like Hoover Dam.

“Cut. It. Out, Josh, or I’m calling Mom. You’re not allergic to anything, Howard, and, Melvin, there’s no such thing as 012 hundred.”

“It’s the coordinates.”

“You’re an idiot,” Wyatt said with a laugh. Melvin was nothing if not entertaining.

“If you take me home, you’re going to miss Jade.” Josh pointed to the Nissan pulling up in the next lane. Nolan had the window open and was arguing with the Monsterland police.