Monsterland (17 page)

Jessup nodded. “Five minutes. I’ll meet you at that pole.” He pointed to one of the shining columns holding up the mezzanine. A large gray shadow leaped from the depths of the ride, coming to stand before the two men.

It had an odd hue of auburn mixed in its iron-colored hair. The intelligent eyes considered them and then growled ominously.

Jessup moved to his stance, the wolf grinned, baring long yellowed fangs, its slivered eyes feverously darting around the space.

Carter jumped up, his arms wide. The wolf crouched as if ready to strike. Its snout was covered in blood, its paws wet. It was not as large as some of the other beasts they had seen inside, but the huge head lifted to make eye contact with Carter. Carter felt a strange dart of recognition. It couldn’t be, he thought.

Jessup’s finger pressed the trigger, and Carter instinctively lashed out, kicking his arm, so the shot went wild. Jessup wobbled before he landed on his butt; the wolf leaped over him, the gold pendant of a wolf’s head with emerald glass eyes mocking them as he loped into the crowd.

The wolf turned, its eyes meeting Carter, before it ran into the interior of the park.

“What the hell, Carter?” Jessup got up, panting, his face shocked.

Carter picked up the gun, handing it to Jessup. “It wouldn’t have done you any good. We need special bullets,” he said and ran toward the deserted Vampire Village.

“It could have killed us,” he shouted.

“But it didn’t,” Carter said simply, still running.

“Wyatt! Josh!” His shouts echoed back at him. He searched the empty arena, finding nothing and then ran toward the steel poles to try to get to the control area.

C
HAPTER
21

W
yatt stumbled through
the park. It was pandemonium. Vendors poured out of the stores, banging into people who rushed the exits. He pushed through the crowds, stopping when a pack of werewolves emerged from the River Run ride like a cattle drive. Snarling, they dove into the frenzied crowd, grabbing limbs. He heard the tear of clothing, people shrieking as their arms were torn from their bodies.

It was like watching lions hunt on the savannah in Africa. His breath rasped in his throat. He pulled out his phone, opening the messages. Josh was at the garage. “Hurry.”

Wyatt ducked into an alcove. Leaning against the cool stucco, he closed his eyes from the scene playing out before him. He stared at the carnage in disbelief. Sweat ran down his heated face. He wanted to get home. He wanted to run to the safety of his room.

Wyatt typed frantically. “Don’t wait. Get out of here.”

“No keys.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. He should have given him the keys. Think. What would Carter tell him to do?

“Walk. Use the wash. You know the way.”

“You?”

“I’ll catch up.”

He texted Jade, Howard, and Keisha: “Where r u?”

A few agonizing seconds later his phone vibrated. “Help.” It was Jade. “We are locked in with the zombies. The guards are gone, we can’t…”

“Come on, Howard Drucker. Answer.” He cursed. Nothing.

Wyatt typed a message to Carter, hit send, but it came back as undelivered. He banged the back of his head against the hard wall, a rattle of glass catching his attention. He felt the wall with his hand, coming in contact with a box. Shining the light of his phone inside, he gazed with wonder at the giant axe. He skirted the perimeter of his area for anything to break it, but came up empty. Ripping off his shirt, he wrapped his hand tightly and then took a deep breath and punched the glass. It broke with the resonance of a rocket, and Wyatt grabbed the handle with both hands, yanking hard. It came away from the bottom, but the top remained firmly in place. His heart beating like a kettledrum, he frantically pulled at the handle, his feet lifting off the floor. He heard the growl before he saw the beast, the hair on his neck rising as the scrabbling of four feet came closer. His breath coming in short pants, he twisted his wrist, wincing when the sharp angle of the glass sliced the back of his hand. He felt hot blood drench his palm, the wooden handle becoming slippery in his grip.

The beast hit him from behind, knocking him sideways, but the force lifted him high so that the axe unhooked from its mooring. Wyatt felt it slip from his fingers to skitter on the concrete. Winded, he rose and then ducked, rolling in a ball as the werewolf pounced on him. The sharp claws grazed the
tender flesh of his ribcage, but he ignored it, stretching out, his hands feeling for the elusive handle.

Wyatt’s head came up, and his vision filled with four hundred pounds of fur and bone airborne, coming straight for him. He didn’t think—he didn’t have to. His hand closed on the smooth wood of the axe handle. Without a thought of the improbability of his untrained and weak impact, he swung his arm reflexively, the silver axe head shining in the blackness. He put every ounce of strength into his arm, as if he were hitting a grand slam in the Copper Valley ball field. In slow motion, he watched it slice into the gray fur, his momentum forcing it through the dense cartilage so that the barking head was silenced before the brain had a chance to tell the mouth muscles to stop moving. It tore from his hand to travel with the corpse of the monster, looking like the lance they used to bring bulls down in bullfighting. The animal bounced high, the body continuing its onslaught, but Wyatt forced himself to twist left missing the impact of the headless werewolf. It catapulted into a bench, pulling it up from the ground where it was bolted. The head landed with a loud splat. Wyatt sat stunned, panting, his legs numb. He pushed himself painfully to his feet, limping toward the dead wolf. He yanked the axe from the body, cursed softly, and then headed toward Zombieville.

C
HAPTER
22

“F
ind them?” Jessup
asked as they ran toward the forest of poles supporting the mezzanine. They had entered the park through the commissary, but it was locked tight.

“No,” Carter said flatly, looking around the deserted street.

People were hiding, and the wolves had spread out. In the distance, they heard screams, but this part of the park seemed empty. Occasionally, a dark shape flitted by.

Jessup and Carter studied the base of the steel poles, feeling their way around them in the darkness.

“There’s no way up,” Carter shouted.

“I don’t see any exit signs.” Jessup looked around and then up. He hugged the pole, trying to inch upward. “They’re too smooth to climb.”

Carter looked around the park, his eyes resting on one of two trash cans. He tried to lift it, but it was bolted to the floor. “Come on. Help me.”

Together both men pressed all their weight against the mesh can. Carter’s veins stood out on his neck from the
strain, his face crimson. The can groaned and then tore off its base. Carter rolled it toward the pole. They spied another one and soon heaved the second trash can so that they now had a structure eight or nine feet tall. Carter hauled himself up, wobbling as he stood, but he used his weight to balance.

Quickly, he stripped his shirt, wrapping it tightly around the pole. Using his feet as leverage, he began to inch his way up the slippery metal pole. He looked down to watch Jessup climb up the garbage cans after him.

Carter paused, sweat pouring into his stinging eyes. He heard his phone ping with a message, but his hands were clutched tightly in his shirt. It would have to wait. Loosening his hold, he jerked the material upward to continue his slow climb.

Emergency lighting had now turned on. He could hear screams, closing his eyes with the horror of the sounds of this disaster.

He heard Jessup shout. A huge wolf stood on his hind legs, iridescent eyes glowing with excitement, its growls turning into fierce barking. Carter started to slide down, Jessup’s orders stopping him.

“No. Go. We’ve got to shut this thing down.”

The animal was leaping, its fangs snapping as it lurched up. Another circled the base of the trash cans, nudging them so Jessup wobbled dangerously. “Get out of here!” he screamed.

Carter let go with one hand, reaching for his gun.

“Forget it. It won’t do any good,” Jessup called as the wolf finally grabbed his arm. He fought, pistol-whipping the beast, but it barked stridently, calling for help. Its jaws snapped, clamping on Jessup’s thigh, pulling him down off his pedestal. Jessup screamed once, the sound cut off as his throat was torn out.

Carter’s eyes closed with disbelief, his gorge rising. His legs shook, the muscles screaming with the strain. His shoulders were on fire, his stomach churning, but he continued inching upward, the sounds of skin tearing echoed loudly in his ears.

The landing came into view, and he hooked his foot over the railing, his arms shaking with the effort. Dangling over the edge, his arms weakened for a moment, but adrenalin coursed through him enabling him to vault over the barrier to land in a sweaty heap on the floor. With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone to look at the text.

“Josh is on the way home. I will be too as soon as I get Jade. Zombieville.”

“Shit,” Carter muttered.

Rolling onto his knees, he stood on legs that barely supported him. He unraveled his shirt from the tight wad it was in his hand and put it back on. He stood, his legs rubbery, his mouth watering, and he fought the urge to vomit. He glanced over the railing to see the wreckage of his friend. The wolves formed a circle below, their intelligent eyes watching him. They howled with triumph. The green glow of the lights on their collars dotted the park, looking like a field filled with fireflies. Carter turned, and his feet carried him toward the other end of the tunnel. Lights went on overhead, dim now—a generator supplied the power, he reasoned. The weak light lit small pools of white that chilled him more than full darkness. If the place was being run by a generator, where were the support staff?

His feet echoed in the dark tunnel, his breath loud in his ears. Carter paused, banging on the outline of doors along the wall. No response. He felt for a lock, found a keypad, but his tired mind couldn’t recall the numbers he had seen Vincent punch. Frustrated, he headed to the mouth of the tunnel.

He ran toward the entrance, hitting his fist on the metal barrier separating him from the outside world. It echoed in the confined space with a tinny resonance. Shouting, he placed his fingers along the seam, straining to separate the two halves. It was locked tight. Carter cursed loudly.

He heard scrabbling at the other end of the tunnel. There was a loud thump, as though a body were hitting the railing. He hugged the cool metal of the walls, moving toward the sound. He saw the outline of a wolf jumping, its long claws trying to hook themselves on the glass barrier. It continued its attempts. It had to be jumping forty or fifty feet. Carter cursed softly. Dual paws caught, the hind legs scratching against the glass. Carter watched the bared teeth gleam in the minimal light as the beast pulled itself up and over the barricade.

Carter’s breath whooshed out of him. He turned, running to the nearest invisible door that dotted the wall. The paws scraped against the tiled floor, the loud panting filling his ears.

He felt the sides blindly for a keypad. Closing his eyes, he frantically tried to recall the number he had watched Vincent type into the keypad earlier.

“Five-eight.” There was more. He pressed his sweaty head against the wall. He could do this. He whispered the numbers again. He moved his fingers over the keypad. Come on, numbers, numbers. What were those numbers? he thought, closing his eyes, trying to recreate the moment with Vincent. All he saw were those dark eyes mocking him. He slapped his head. Think, he ordered. “Five-eight-forty-five-oh-…” What was the next number? He tried again, going for the five. The animal was picking up speed, another wolf landed with a thud after reaching its goal. Four pairs of claws clicked on the surface of the floor. There was an additional number to the code, he recalled
Vincent had covered the keypad. A menacing growl echoed behind him. Carter hissed with fear, his fingers punching the keypad, going through the sequence again and again, his fingers slick with sweat, pressing each of the digits until he got to seven. The wolf launched itself at Carter, the lock made a noise and the door popped open. Carter squeezed in, slamming the door behind him, smiling at the satisfying thwack and the arm-numbing vibration of the wolf hitting the steel door. Carter slid on the floor, his back against the abused door, laughing with relief.

C
HAPTER
23

T
he tunnel was
dank, water from the lagoon dripped from the overhead pipes. It was dark. Here and there, pools of blood coagulated around the abused bodies of the staff of Monsterland. The wolves had done their damage, Raoul told them. Now they were waiting for the chance to finalize their escape.

Howard groaned. His neck ached as if it had been wrung—well, it was, he thought. He cracked open one eye to survey his surroundings. His glasses were gone, and everything had a fuzzy quality. They were underground, the belly of the park; he looked up at the pipes, knowing from the muted sound that he was under a body of water, like an aquarium.

He scanned the room. Keisha was sitting, her eyes closed, her knees against her chest. A trickle of blood sluggishly oozed from a spot on her neck.

Howard stiffened. Booted feet stood next to his face.

“He’s up.” A girl with matted pink hair crouched to look at him. She pulled his face from the dirty floor. “I like him. Can I have this one?” she asked with a plaintive wail.

Raoul separated himself from the shadows on the wall. “Not yet, Sylvie dearest. Young Howard here will lead us out.”

Howard sat up, groaning. “How did you know my name?”

Raoul smiled contemptuously. He nodded to Keisha. “My drone told me. She told me everything, Howard Drucker.” He said the name slowly, savoring it, as if by saying both names they were confidants, close.

Howard pulled at his tied hands, bound painfully behind him.

“What did you do to her?” Howard demanded.