Midnight Law

by Geanna Culbertson

  Toyland’s army had reached the snow-capped mountains minutes ago. Despite the fact that we were airborne, we moved at the same pace as the carriages and plastic horses below. These swans did not have the speed and dexterity of real birds. Frankly, I was surprised they even maintained flight. I guess magic was at play.

  Questing: Laws of physics need not apply.

  We flew deeper into the frosty landscape, temperature dipping. I was now very grateful for the thick military jackets we’d been given. Eventually our green trail dropped out of the sky in a graceful downward curve, disappearing into the mountain pass. Chance gestured for us to descend. I gave a wave to the squeaky bear riding the nearest swan before directing our bird lower. Our glowing trail entered a cave; we landed maybe fifty feet downhill of the entrance, hiding our swans behind some rocks. Farther down the slope, maybe a quarter of a mile away, the rest of the ground army continued its march.

  Snow blanketed everything in sight. Our powder-white swans blended in well with the scenery. The birds seemed fine being left on their own. Immediately upon our dismount they curled their necks as if to take a nap. We felt confident leaving them here for a few minutes.

  Whirring propeller sounds passed overhead. I glanced up. Looking past the fog of my own breath, I spotted the planes. Those aircrafts were much faster than the bulk of the Toyland army, and had flown ahead to patrol the area and keep watch. They were now joined by the rest of the airborne troops—plastic swans and Pegasi included—but only for a moment. The latter aircrafts started to descend.

  “What’s going on with the troops?” Blue asked. She pointed downhill.

  The ground units had also broken pattern. A few regiments split off from the main body and headed left and right.

  “Sundown is probably any minute now,” I said. “The rats are going to rise so the troops are taking position.”

  Girtha glanced around, her expression nervous. “I haven’t seen any rat remains. Where do you think they come from?”

  “Maybe they just appear,” Blue suggested. “Curses are crazy. Let’s try not to hang around to see how this one plays out.”

  We hastened uphill to the mouth of the cave and pursued our green light trail inside. The trail offered dim illumination. Everything was eerily silent; the only sounds were our boots crunching over icy ground.

  The cave turned and twisted until it opened up into a much larger cavern filled with stalagmites and stalactites of ice. On the far left of the cavern, our trail of light continued to elude us. There was an epic fissure in the floor and our light plunged into it. We carefully stepped over the uneven ground until we arrived at the crack and looked down. There it was. Our final Midnight Law flame floated in midair, maybe ten feet below. This was the brightest flame we’d seen so far, but maybe that was because it was our last one. Our finale.

  Beyond the flame, the fissure fell into darkness.

  “How are you going to get down there?” Girtha asked Chance.

  “He’s surprisingly great at climbing,” Blue responded. “Not as great as me, but for him this should still be easy.”

  “Thank you?” Chance said. He knelt on the ground and eased over the ledge, grabbing onto the brim of rock where the floor split apart.

  “Be careful,” I said.

  He nodded then lowered down the wall of the fissure, moving one hand or foot at a time. Watching him made me nervous. It was weird being a bystander as someone descended into danger. I had no doubt Chance was a good climber. I was a good climber too. Plenty of the heroes at school were. But that didn’t change the fact that below him, past the flame, was a black drop so coated in darkness that we had no idea how deep this crack in the world went.

  Finally, Chance made it to the flame. From where he held onto the rock, his target was only a couple feet away. He maintained his grip with one hand and pulled out his pocket watch with the other. Chance reached out. The instant his watch made contact with the flame, the entirety of our light trail was sucked into the timepiece. The pocket watch glowed fervently.

  Chance smiled up at us in triumphant. He stowed the watch back in his pocket as its light started to fade. As it did, I realized a problem. The more the light radiating from his pocket diminished, the more we were consumed in darkness. Soon it’d be pitch black.

  I glanced around. “Oh crud, what are we going to—”

  A bright white light drew my eyes. Blue held up Crisa’s wand, grinning. “It’s always up to me to light the way, isn’t it?”

  It wasn’t tons of light, but it was enough to let Chance see clearly and climb back up. Girtha and I helped him out and to his feet. Then the four of us stood together.

  “So, what was the final factor?” I asked, gesturing at Chance’s pocket.

  “Let’s find out together.” Chance pulled out the watch and flipped it open.

  Four important factors of a relationship filled the quadrants of the watch with dim green light. Patience, respect, forgiveness, and . . .

  “Perseverance,” I read aloud.

  I felt surprisingly moved. This quest had shaped us as individuals and as a group—connecting us with these relationship factors one way or another. It was almost hard to believe you could learn so much about yourself and the people around you in such a short time.

  Chance snapped the pocket watch shut and stored it before looking around. “No portal, which means there’s still more to learn about perseverance.”

  “We’re not going to pass any tests inside this cave,” Blue said. “Everybody stay close and follow me.”

  By the faint light of Crisa’s wand we found our way back. As we neared the mouth of the cave though, screams, shouts, snarls, explosions, and cannon fire began to echo toward us—the soundtrack of war. My friends and I exchanged a panicked glance and ran to the exit.

  In the twenty or so minutes we had been underground, the tranquil mountainside had been transformed into the playing field of battle. Downhill, soldiers engaged in close combat with innumerable gruesome rodents. Clearly taller than any of us, the zombie rats were a medley of gray fur and exposed bone and muscle. The creatures wore the tattered remains of crimson military jackets.

  “Well, there’s the source of my nightmares for the rest of my life,” Girtha said.

  While the rats seemed to have sheer numbers on their side, the Toyland army had devised several clever weapons to even the odds. A contraption mounted on one of the snowbanks fired three giant popcorn kernels per second, pulverizing the enemy in a continuous stream of large pellets. Teddy bears used supersized lollipops to smack the rats. Airplanes dropped smoke bombs and actual bombs. The former painted the white landscape with bursts of purple and emerald green clouds to provide camouflage, and the latter fell over rat-only areas—blasting the creatures back into the afterlife.

  We hastily clambered down the snowy embankment in the direction of our hidden swans. I knew we had deadlines, but the call to action overpowered me. “Should we try to hel—”

  Girtha screamed. I whirled around as she fell face-first to the ground.

  A gray, furry paw with long claws and exposed wrist bones had reached out of the snow and grabbed her by the ankle. Before we could help, a full zombie rat shot through the powder between us. Half the skin and fur from its face were missing, revealing the bones of its cranium. One of its eyes sagged lower than the other, both irises blood red.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, a dozen more zombie rat paws suddenly thrust out of the snow around us, popping up like weeds. Their arms followed—pushing and clawing against the snow at a shocking speed so the rest of their decaying bodies could break free from the powder.

  The full zombie rat blocking our way to Girtha dove at me—claws first. Thankfully Chance was ready, because I was not.

  My friend cut through the creature with his sword. Since the rat was already dead, no blood spilled. The zombie rat simply collapsed.

  This victory was short-lived. A half-dozen rats had fully freed themselves by then and wer
e coming after us. Other rats were free up to their torsos. More paws emerged with every passing second. For being dead, these things were a lot faster and stronger than I’d hoped.

  I sprinted to Girtha and used my sword—a loner from the Toyland army—to chop off the hand grabbing her. She hastened to her feet to face the oncoming infestation.

  A rat sprang toward us. I prepared to defend my friend, but she was ready. As it lunged at her with its mouth open, she sidestepped and swung out, punching the rat in the jaw and sending it tumbling through the snow. I pivoted and stabbed my blade through another rodent.

  More creatures charged toward us and my friends dashed to meet them. I moved to do the same, but a decrepit paw grabbed my ankle. I cut that threat off at the wrist, and when a different rat face emerged from the snow next to me, I slammed my foot down on it.

  “Our swans are gone!” Blue shouted, coming around the bend of the rocky area where we’d parked. She fired a set of throwing knives into a zombie rat’s face. Then she activated her Questor Beast eyes, spun, and spit acid at another rat, dissolving its stomach.

  “Hopefully they’ve gone home,” Chance said. He ducked under a bony tail, slashed off a rat arm, then rolled through the snow as the tail flicked back like a whip. Chance snapped his fingers and grabbed the tail midair. The entire rat turned to gold. “We weren’t going to leave with this going on,” he said. “It’d have been too easy.”

  “So now what?” Girtha shouted. She’d followed my lead and was playing a dangerous version of whack-a-mole by bounding through the snow and slamming her massive boots down on any zombie rats beginning to rise.

  I surveyed the scene through drifting purple and green smoke. The whir of airplanes sounded overhead. We seemed to have our situation under control, but farther down the fighting was intense. Not far off, a zombie rat tackled a teddy bear to the ground and began tearing into the creature’s stomach fluff with its teeth.

  Crud, that bear needed help!

  “Assist where you can and try to find the Nutcracker King. He’ll be going after the Hydra-Rat,” I shouted. “The sooner this monster dies, the sooner this is over.”

  I sprinted toward the endangered stuffed animal. The rat was disemboweling its fluff as the bear waved its arms and legs in panic. I leapt onto one of the bear’s chubby legs, came up behind the rat, and skewered it with my sword.

  I kicked the re-dead rat off the bear and stowed my blade. “Are you okay?” I asked, looking down at the bear’s face.

  “Ugh, I think so. Can you put my stuffing back?”

  I hastily gathered up the fluff protruding from the toy’s stomach and shoved it back inside; he’d need stitches to keep it in though. I slid off the bear and retrieved his giant lollipop weapon. It was like Crisa’s spear in terms of weight and length, plus the wide surface of the lollipop was ideal for smacking something. In fact . . .

  I spun the lollipop stick with both hands and whacked an incoming rat in the head, shattering its face and skull. The now-headless rodent collapsed to the snow.

  I whirled the lollipop in my hand again, impressed.

  Talk about jawbreakers.

  The bear tried to get up, but it faltered and turned its head to the side, vomiting a stream of candy pellets. A toy vehicle, which I recognized from Earth as a pick-up truck, sped along the mountain pass below us. This one had a long bed in the back and a bright red cross painted on the side with the words “Medical Unit.”

  “Hey! Over here!” I shouted.

  The toy soldier driving the truck spotted me and maneuvered through the mayhem to stop beside us. Doloris and two other nurses hopped out of the back where several injured and moaning soldiers already lay. They worked to get the bear ready for transport. I turned back uphill and swiftly rejoined my friends.

  I tossed Girtha the lollipop stick. “Here. I know you prefer hand-to-hand combat, but weapons are better against these monsters. You’re strong—this weapon should be fun for you.”

  She twirled the stick as easily as if it were a baton. “Thanks. I like it.”

  “I saw the king headed that way.” Chance pointed to our one o’ clock. Let’s go.”

  The four of us charged deeper into the fight, cutting down innumerable rats in our path. We jumped over carcasses in the snow, avoided rising zombie hands, and tried to stay out of the way of the toy army units and their more unique assaults.

  Three teams of toy soldiers ran past us just then, carrying three huge, lit firecrackers—each the size of a hefty log. They planted the firecrackers behind rocks then bolted away. Seconds later, the area exploded, creating a massive crater. As I fought my own rat attackers, in my peripherals I saw toy soldiers operating plastic bulldozers ram handfuls of rats into the crater.

  Mr. Whiskers, the orange tabby cat, leapt over the fighting while our sock monkey friend rode him like a pro. The cat tore into several rats, tossing a couple into the air before batting them with his paws.

  Modest snow began to fall around us and mix with the different kinds of smoke. Swords clashed with claws. Chance turned creatures to gold whenever he had the opportunity. Blue continuously destroyed monsters with acid spit.

  “There!” Girtha pointed with her lollipop at a higher area of the mountain. I looked up. The Nutcracker King on his brown horse and a battalion of toy soldiers were meeting an army of rats at the entrance of another cave. My team and I moved in that direction, Girtha leading the charge with her lollipop as she spanked and beat rats down into the snow.

  Geez, maybe she should carry that thing full time.

  When we arrived at the crest of the conflict, the main faction of fighting had moved inside the large cavern. The scene was so congested with soldiers and zombie rats it was hard to take more than five steps without stabbing something or leaping out of the way as other fighters fell into our path.

  I slashed at a rat, only managing to trim its whiskers as it dodged deftly. I moved to strike again when the claws of another creature raked my arm from behind, cutting through the fabric of my jacket and the skin underneath. I flinched, and the hesitation cost me. The first rat tackled me to the ground, reared its head, and opened its jaws. Blue appeared like magic and shoved her hunting knife through the monster’s neck right before it bit my head off. Girtha followed up by sending it flying with her lollipop. Chance finished the job—turning it and the second rat to gold.

  Blue offered me a hand up and we kept moving. Girtha flipped the grip of her lollipop and charged forward with it like a javelin, swinging it side to side to clear us a route. We followed closely behind her until we finally spotted the Nutcracker King’s horse. He wasn’t riding it anymore. He had rushed ahead on foot with a dozen toy soldiers, three plastic hunting dogs, and our friend Kevin, to face the creature responsible for this battle at the back of the cavern.

  The Hydra-Rat (a.k.a., the Rat King) was easily eight times the size of the other rats. We’d fought the multi-headed Questor Beast in Camelot, but this monster was way grosser and more intense. The Rat King was a grotesque abomination with thick, meaty limbs—two legs and arms in the normal places, plus five extra arms sprouting from the monster’s massive torso. One enormous, and decayed head sat atop a regular rat neck. Additionally, six smaller rat heads grew from sinuous, furry necks (long like snakes) that protruded from the creature’s top half. One grew from each shoulder, another two from the clavicle, one by the spine, and one from the front ribcage. The monster’s military uniform was grungy and torn beyond belief, but the seven crowns on its seven heads still sparkled.

  No matter which way the Nutcracker King and his soldiers approached the monster, there was a partially zombified rat face ready to take a bite, or a rat hand ready to take a shot. While several rat hands had long claws to rely on, others wielded rusty swords.

  How the frack had the Nutcracker King managed to kill this thing so many times? His idea of perseverance must’ve been mixed with a good dose of insanity.

  Blue and Girtha charged in together to
fight alongside the soldiers. The pair had that in common—rushing into danger as easily and confidently as other girls rushed to shoe sales at shopping malls. Chance and I were right behind them.

  Girtha got a lucky shot in right away. She shoved her lollipop into the mouth of a Rat King head, giving a toy soldier the opportunity to chop off its neck. The main rat head roared so loud the cavern trembled. Things after that did not go as smoothly.

  Girtha was scratched badly by the claws on one of the Rat King’s paws. Chance and I kept busy fending off the monster’s many swords. Blue attempted a spit shot, but the Rat King knocked her back with its enormous, fleshy tail precisely when she fired. Blue took a hard hit while her spit missed the monster and created a sizable crater in the floor.

  We kept trying to attack the monster, but success was limited. Given the range of its movement and plentiful body parts, the Rat King’s next assault was a complete wildcard every time. Kevin seemed to be the only member of our team making headway. As a rodent himself, he was quick on his four feet and able to evade the chomping jaws of the Rat King’s heads.

  Just then, our mouse friend darted in and took a huge bite of the Rat King’s meaty, rotten leg. The monster roared and tried to snap at Kevin with one of its heads, but the Nutcracker King had been ready for that and sliced off said head. When another head came at Kevin from behind, he was ready with his own sword and hacked it off too. Four to go.

  “Jason, I’ve got an idea.” Chance was next to me, stowing his sword in its sheath. “What if we don’t kill it? The magic didn’t leave Rumpelstiltskin because he didn’t die; I just froze him in gold. If I do the same here, maybe the Rat King curse doesn’t get rebooted. He can only regenerate after he dies, right? So what if he doesn’t?”

  “Chance, that could actually work,” I said, in awe at the brilliance. “What do you need?”

  An ear-splitting holler made us both cringe. The Rat King had lost another head.