This Land of Monsters

by Tim Gabrielle

  “Stay here,” he said. “I think it’s clear at this point what will happen if you make a break for it.”

  The soldier stood up and walked into the woods in the direction of the weeping dead thing. The two remained on their knees and kept quiet until he had completely disappeared into the woods.

  “So you’ve been carrying that hot little number around in your bag this whole time and you didn’t think to share with me?” asked Duncan as he stood up and brushed off his knees.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Stand up, you twit,” he spat. “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. I’m just through with being on my knees for Mr. Macho.”

  Duncan gathered his bag and reattached his knife to his belt while Nash stood and watched.

  “Aren’t you gonna get your shit together? You should put your girlfriend back into your bag before he decides he wants it for himself,” said Duncan with a grin. “As a matter of fact…”

  “Don’t touch it,” said Nash. He reached down and grabbed it a second before Duncan could.

  “Oh relax, drama-queen,” said Duncan as he reached into his back pocket for the now-muddied Playboy. “Fine by me!”

  Duncan bopped Nash on the head with the magazine as the crying in the distance crested into a vicious squeal, followed by the abrupt return of eerie silence. Nash and Duncan stood together in the late afternoon air and listened to the soft sounds of the forest. Nash always valued these moments, when the sounds of the old world crept through the madness. It comforted him to know that no matter what happened in the lives of men, the natural world moved onward, unscathed. The birds still sang and the fish still swam, unaware the world around them had gone through a fundamental change.

  The soldier returned shortly after, his knife at his side and a red strip of cloth in his other hand. He bent down and cut the strip off the dead woman, then placed them both into his pocket.

  “Get your gear on kid,” he said as he stood to his feet and sheathed his knife.

  Before he grabbed any of his things, Nash knelt down and readjusted the dead woman’s tank top. Duncan rolled his eyes as he watched and looked to the man for a reaction but got nothing from him. Nash slid his backpack onto his shoulders and picked up his axe and stood at the ready in front of the two men.

  “I’m going to take the two of you to my camp. There are people there, and it’s safe. I will not hesitate to remove you quickly should there be any disruption of the peace. Are we going to have any problems?” he asked as he turned his gaze to Duncan.

  “No problems here chief,” he said as he put his palms slightly in the air in a submissive posture. “You think we can manage that, Buddy Boy?”

  Nash didn’t respond and left Duncan standing with his hands in the air.

  “We weren’t just running from her,” said Nash as he looked down at the dead woman. “There was someone out on the road with a scoped rifle. Was that one of your people?”

  “No,” he said flatly after a short pause. “We should get to camp. Let’s get moving.”

  Duncan walked in front of Nash, with the man behind them as he scanned the forest. The screaming dead woman had scared most of the birds away, but they slowly returned to fill the air with their melodies.

  “How far is this little love-shack of yours?” said Duncan as he kicked leaves into the air as they walked. “I don’t think we’ve even done proper introductions!” Duncan turned around with his hand extended toward the man, a big, smile on his face.

  The man grabbed Duncan by the hand and placed a pair of handcuffs on him, so fast that Nash barely saw it happen.

  “What the hell?” yelled Duncan as he looked at the cuffs now strung between his wrists.

  “Consider that your first hint as to how interested I am right now in pleasantries. Keep talking, and I’ll tape your mouth shut.”

  Duncan scowled at the man as he turned and continued walking, quieter than Nash had ever expected him to.

  “That red strip, the one you took off that girl back there. I saw a slowpoke that had one on its wrist earlier today, too.”

  “Slowpoke?” said the soldier, motioning for Duncan to keep walking as he turned around to see why they weren’t moving. His face was sour as he watched as the man and Nash talked to each other.

  “Oh, sorry. That’s what we call the slow ones that don’t attack,” said Nash, forgetting that he’d coined the term himself.

  “I knew what you meant. We can talk about this more once we’ve gotten you settled at camp. Let’s keep moving, it’s getting dark.”

  The two resumed walking as the late afternoon gave way to early evening.

  “My name’s Sullivan,” said the man, quietly so only Nash heard.

  “I’m Nash, and that’s Duncan.”

  “What’s your business with him?” asked Sullivan.

  “He’s my stepfather. Was my stepfather? I’m not so sure anymore.”

  Nash was fully aware it could be naïve to put his trust in the man they’d just met, considering minutes ago he’d had his gun focused on them, but something told him that Sullivan was trustworthy. It seemed that Sullivan was not at all blinded by the repulsive charm Duncan emanated. In Nash’s eyes, and in the eyes of his mother, Sullivan was “good people.”

  He hadn’t thought of his mother and good people in a long time, and Nash smiled slightly as they walked.

  Chapter 6

  The sun had begun its fast descent over the horizon by the time they reached Sullivan’s camp. It was impossible to tell how much daylight they had left, as the farther they moved into the woods, the denser the canopy of trees above them became.

  “Stop here,” said Sullivan from the back of their walking formation. He made his way past them, patting Nash on the shoulder as he moved. He disappeared into the thick woods ahead of them, once again leaving the two of them alone.

  “Well you two seem chummy,” said Duncan as he looked at his agitated wrists. “You bunking with him tonight? He seems your type, Buddy Boy.”

  Nash ignored him and tried to see where Sullivan had disappeared. He strained his eyes against the increasing darkness, finding it impossible to see anything in the dense woods. He gasped as strong hands dug into his shoulders before he was thrust backward against a large tree. His teeth smashed down hard on his tongue, which sent the familiar, metallic taste of blood into his mouth. Duncan was in front of him quickly, his handcuffs pressed against his neck.

  “When I ask you a question, you answer me,” sneered Duncan. Their faces almost touched as he glared at Nash. The burning stench of alcohol crashed out of Duncan’s mouth as he spoke. “You’ve been ignoring me a lot lately and I’m not liking it at all. I don’t care if you don’t like me, as a matter of fact I prefer it that way, but when I ask you a damn question, I expect a damn answer.”

  His voice was filled with a desperate need for control. He spoke softly, a manic grin on his face as he continued to spew his stinking, boozy breath at Nash.

  “Tell me…do you plan on shacking up with Mr. Macho over there.” His smile transformed into a sneer. “A boy like you needs protecting and I’m damn near ready to retire from that job.”

  Nash struggled for breath as a bead of blood trickled out of his mouth from when he’d bit his tongue. With each second, Duncan pressed more of his weight against him and dug the cuffs against his throat, shortening his air supply. His head radiated with waves of pain and his eyes blurred from the intense pressure. Nash heard a slight rustling before the butt of Sullivan’s gun connected with the side of Duncan’s head, sending him sideways into the musty dirt. Nash fell to the ground in pain, the indents of the metal cuffs still outlined on his neck as he gasped for breath. Sullivan crouched down over Duncan and placed one of his giant hands around his throat. He squeezed tight, Duncan’s eyes filling with panic.

  “This is your last warning. Anything like that once we’re inside my camp and I’ll escort you to hell myself.”

  Nash was shocked at how
calmly Sullivan spoke as he loomed above Duncan. Duncan looked up, his eyes a furious red. Sullivan kept his grip long after he was done speaking.

  Duncan inhaled deeply as Sullivan suddenly released his grip. He gasped for breath, the sound echoing through the trees as fresh air filled his choking lungs. Sullivan stood up, grabbed Duncan by the handcuffs, and pulled him behind like a set of rollaway luggage. Nash walked behind them and watched as Duncan pulled back and forth attempting to find some weakness in the cuffs; instead the cuffs dug deeper into his increasingly agitated wrists. He stared into Nash’s eyes with a deep, seething anger, letting him know that he’d be punished at some point in the future. The punishment he would inflict on him later was the last thing on Nash’s mind though. Duncan was receiving what he had deserved for months, and Nash was happy to watch.

  After struggling in vain against Sullivan’s strength, Duncan finally relented and allowed himself to be dragged through the dirt in silence. Duncan’s wrists fell and smashed against the ground as the three of them stopped in front of a long, thickly camouflaged, chain-link fence. It rose about six feet into the air and was coated in mesh and forest debris, which made it nearly impossible to see through it. A small rectangle opened up in front of them and revealed a set of eyes peering back at them.

  “Welcome back, Sully!” said a cheerful female voice from the other side of the fence. Duncan rolled onto his stomach and onto his knees, quickly back on his feet as the eyes watched from behind the wall.

  “Sullivan and two guests,” said Sullivan to the woman inside.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on in, Mr. Fancy.”

  The rectangle closed, followed by the sound of multiple locks being undone. It hadn’t occurred to Nash until then, but he faintly heard the sound of people on the other side of the fence. It had been a long time since he’d been in the company of anyone other than Duncan, and the curiosity of what lay beyond the fence bubbled inside him.

  A portion of the disguised fence creaked inward. The sweet voice that they’d heard did not at all match the woman standing in front of them. She was almost the same height as Sullivan, with broad features from head to toe. Her long, matted hair was tucked behind a red bandana and looked just as scraggly as Sullivan’s beard The new, dirty world had taken its toll on her, but her smiling eyes could brighten any room. She looked disapprovingly at Duncan and took note of his handcuffs. She didn’t allow his manufactured smile to sway her, either.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked with a concerned glare. She folded her arms under her large bosom as she looked at him.

  “Seemed like it at the time,” Sullivan said as he shrugged his shoulders, slightly smiling at her. “Nash, this is Dianna. She’s our gatekeeper.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, young man.” Nash’s hand disappeared into her much larger one as they shook hands between the gate entrance.

  “I’m gonna get Duncan here put away someplace safe,” said Sullivan as he walked with Duncan in front of him.

  “Hold on now, I thought this was America! Nash, call my lawyer!”

  “I’m just going to say sorry right now for anything he does, or says,” said Nash as he watched Sullivan forcefully move Duncan through the camp.

  “No need to worry, sweetie; we’ve dealt with his type before. I assume he’s your father?”

  “He’s my stepfather, technically speaking. He’s always been awful it’s gotten much worse. I’m sure you’ve seen how this world changes people.”

  “I don’t agree with you about that,” said Dianna as she locked the gate behind her. “This world just amplifies what you already are; it brings out the truth in people. Don’t fool yourself, kiddo. He was always like that.”

  “You’re right about that,” said Nash.

  “I’m always right,” she said as she placed her large hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to the Treefort, Nash.”

  A feeling of safety settled over him as he looked at the space inside the fence. People walked about the space, smiling and talking as if the world outside the fence was nothing but a distant memory. The camouflaged fence stretched far into the woods in four sections and formed a square around the people living inside. The back part of the fence was lined with two rows of RVs, each neatly placed behind the other. Nash watched as Sullivan unlocked a small pop-up trailer and forced Duncan inside, making sure it was locked again before he walked away.

  “This place is amazing,” said Nash.

  “You’re right about that, sweetie,” she said. “It used to be an old camp retreat. Sullivan found it and retrofitted it into what it is today. We should get you settled in before the sun goes down.”

  Dianna led him through the Treefort toward the area where the RVs were parked. There was a large fire crackling in the middle of the square that sent flecks of light into the sky as people stood talking together as twilight settled upon them. They smiled and waved as Dianna and Nash walked by; Nash awkwardly returned their friendliness as they moved through the camp. Nash heard Duncan banging on the walls inside the small holding trailer as they came to a stop in front of the RVs.

  “They all look brand new,” said Nash as he looked up and down the line.

  “You don’t miss a thing, do you Nashy-Boy?” she said with a chuckle as she squeezed his shoulder. “There was a dealership nearby and Sullivan was able to bring twelve of them here. Parked them all and built the fence around them. We can get you settled in this one.”

  Dianna stepped forward and opened the door of the RV in front of them. She held up a battery-powered lantern as they stepped inside together. With the exception of the king-size bed at the end of the RV, everything else had been stripped away.

  “I know, it looks weird with everything torn out except the bed. Sullivan did it to all of them to make room for as many people as possible. Most everyone sleeps with sleeping bags and blankets on the floor and take turns in the bed. That’s what works for the majority here, but you and your stepdad can decide what works best for the two of you.”

  “How many people are there here?”

  “I’m thinking there are roughly six out of the twelve RVs with eight people in each. With you and your stepdad, it makes about fifty people.”

  “If half the RVs are empty, why doesn’t everyone spread out?”

  “I think it makes people feel safe,” she said. “I tried myself one night. I moved into an empty RV to be alone and I simply couldn’t take the silence. The snoring, the smells, the shared heat of the summer nights; it was more comforting than being alone.”

  The two stood silent for a moment and listened to the voices of the people outside. The flickering light of the campfire filled the RV as it danced on the walls like a prehistoric television program.

  “We have a food truck!” she exclaimed to break the silence. “Why don’t I walk you over there?”

  “That would be great; I’m starving.”

  He placed his bags on the floor and leaned his axe on the wall near the door. He already felt safe at the Treefort, but if he had to leave in a hurry, he wanted his axe accessible.

  The two of them stepped out of the RV into the warm summer evening. Smaller fires had popped up all throughout the camp, which gave the entire Treefort a campfire glow. Laughter and chatter rose from the Fort as an unseen man played an acoustic guitar and sang lyrics Nash had never heard. He watched as a young couple sat together on two swings and held hands as they gently swayed back and forth.

  “How do you keep this place safe? I know there’s a fence, but it seems like any noise could easily attract someone…or something.”

  “It’s never been much of a problem out here, and trust me, it’s been tested. You’d be surprised how well the fence around this place and the trees outside nullify any noise in here.” Dianna gave a hearty high five to a teenage boy who walked past them. The sound rippled across the Treefort as the boy giggled at his now tingling hand. “Sullivan, myself, and a group of six others have an RV to ourselves and take turn
s surveying the border nightly. There’s never a time when the fence isn’t being watched.”

  The two of them continued their walk toward the food truck through a sea of smiles and curious glances.

  “The food truck closes down around 6:00 every night. It’s not that we don’t trust everyone to police themselves with their food intake, but it’s easy to forget how important it is to keep our food supplies rationed. It gets pretty jovial in here sometimes, can’t have too much merriment!”

  “I didn’t expect it to be an actual food truck,” said Nash, smiling as they walked up to the large food service truck. It was almost as big as the RVs, but much older. The side of the truck had a large sliding window, as well as a metal shelf below the glass. The glow from the fires illuminated a cartoonish painting of a Latino man who wore a large sombrero and held a taco in each hand. Harsh, artificial light reflected off the glass as a figure moved about inside the truck.

  “Let’s get you some grub,” she said while she knocked gently on the sliding-glass door.

  “One sec!” said a younger female voice from inside, followed by the sound of ruffling papers as she moved toward the window. “Is that you Dianna?”

  “Yeah, honey, it’s me. I’ve got a newcomer here who needs some of your fine cooking.” After some more rustling from inside, the window slid open as the girl leaned outside.

  “Who’s the new guy?” she said as she looked directly at Nash and smiled.

  Her long blond hair was wrapped in a messy bun with strands that hung down over a pair of large framed glasses, the lenses missing.

  Melissa.

  Chapter 7

  Melissa handed a bundle of food and water to Dianna, who stood amused at the dumbfounded look on Nash’s face. When he had taken the picture from her bedroom, he had assumed she’d been killed. Her room had been destroyed and streaks of blood and mayhem spanned the entirety of the house. The thought had never occurred to him that she may have survived, let alone that she’d be giving him food and water out of an old taco truck.