“Toto, my dog. When I’m sad, he knows somehow, and he always makes me feel better. Every day he wakes me up with kisses and cuddles with me. Toto’s my best friend. We take care of each other, and I know people don’t have dogs here, but…” I say and giggle.
“Why do you laugh?”
“General Boq asked if he was my husband. I said he was my companion, and he thought…” I stop, laughing to hard to speak. He smiles. “Sorry, it’s so silly,” I say as I collect myself.
“I did not think he was your boyfriend,” he smirks.
“Good.”
“Toto likes Ardie very much.”
“Ardie hunts with him. They bred his kind to hunt, and he loves it. Toto’s got a great nose. He’s a bloodhound,” I say, and his eyes widen.
“He drinks blood?”
“No! The name has to do with being pure blood or something. Toto’s a mutt though. Mixed with another kind of dog, but I’m not sure what. Something ferocious, I think. Most bloodhounds are docile. Toto can be feisty. But he’s not a biter.”
“That is a good thing in this realm,” he says as we reach the brook.
First, we fill the bottles, then he washes his face and hands, and I do the same.
“There are leaves in your hair again. Shall I be your comb?”
“Sure,” I say and lie back on the same rock.
He takes off his armor and clothes, but this time he takes off everything.
“Nick,” I warn, eyebrow raised. As his eyes darken, a proud grin takes over his face, and he has every reason to be.
“You should remove your shirt. It will get wet again.”
I realize he’s right but…
“This is not an invitation for sex or anything,” I warn as I remove my blouse. I still have on my bra so it’s no big deal.
“I know. You cannot remove your pants. I remember, believe me.”
As I lie back, he gets into the water and positions himself behind me. He runs his fingers through my hair, and with the help of the water rushing by, he removes the fragments of pale, dead leaves entangled in the chocolate brown strands. Upside down and from above, he leans over and places a light kiss on my lips. With a soft groan, I roll my eyes at him and he chuckles.
“All clean,” he says once he’s done.
I sit up and twist the water from my hair. When he gets out of the stream, very naked, looking so tempting, my eyes pore over him, and his do the same to me.
“Your undergarment is…” he says and stops, staring right at my breasts.
He intumesces before my widening eyes, and it takes everything I have not to do something about it. But I don’t. I won’t. Instead, I sit on the rock and ring out my hair.
“Is what?”
“Unique, and I like it,” he says, a smoldering smile playing on his lips.
“I can see that. I’m trying not to stare,” I admit.
“You stare all you like.”
Even with such a tempting invitation, I force myself to avert my eyes and focus on squeezing the water from my hair. After a few thorough twists, when my hair is much dryer, I put my shirt back on and he dresses. I do my best not to watch, but I fail. He’s perfect, with chiseled everything, broad shoulders, cut abs and arms, and those sparkling green eyes—he’s so hot I can see why he gets a lot of girls.
Once dressed, we take up the bottles and head back to the cabin, walking side by side.
“Dorothy, what is a fling?” he asks, his shining eyes and straight nose squinched in puzzled amusement.
“A dalliance. You know, a short sexual relationship. I’ve never had one.”
“Ah, I see. Only long relationships then?”
“Only one. My ex-boyfriend. We were together for a year and a half, and I didn’t sleep with him right away.”
“A year and a half you were together, but you say you have never been in love?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong—I liked him, but I wasn’t in love with him. There aren’t many options where I live. He lived on a farm near ours. We attended the same school and only a few people go there. The area I live in is desolate. He was older, so when he graduated and went to college, we broke up.”
“How much older?”
“Two and a half years. He’s about twenty now.”
“What is college?”
“School, but for older kids. Higher education. He went to a technical college where you learn a trade. His family owns a farm, so he went for agriculture. Unlike me, he liked Kansas.”
“You do not?”
“No.”
“But you will still return?”
“Yeah, I don’t plan on staying in Kansas too long. After I finish high school, I’ll go to college somewhere else, if I can afford it. I have the grades and the test scores because all I do is study these days, but no cash,” I shrug.
“You do not have the money to pay?”
“No, but I can take out loans. I may not get enough though, and then there’s paying them back,” I say and sigh, daunted by that unfortunate aspect of my future.
“You would borrow the money even though you do not have the means to pay?” he asks confused.
“Yeah, it’s normal where I’m from.”
“That seems risky.”
“Most people are in debt their entire lives. Unless I miraculously get a scholarship, which is highly unlikely, I’ll probably go to a community college first to save money. It’s much less expensive.”
“Do you want that life?”
“No, but what other options do I have?”
“Stay in the Land of Oz, in the Emerald City.”
“And do what? I have no money in this realm, no skills.”
“You have those boots. They give you great skills,” he says.
“What would I be? An assassin for hire? No thanks.”
“I said I would take care of you.”
“Yeah, like I believe that.”
“I would.”
“How kind,” I say with an eye roll. “You’re a smooth talker, I’ll give you that. Too bad for you that’s not a job.”
* * *
We arrive back at the cabin with the water, and we eat apples and turkey for breakfast. Ardie fed Toto when we were at the stream, so throughout breakfast, Ardie and Toto play fetch. As I watch them play, Nick watches me, and the heat of his stare is penetrating, etching into me. Our eyes connect when I cannot help but look at him, and it’s as though he can see straight into me. It makes my heart race in vulnerable anticipation, but then an enticing grin takes over his face, and I become nauseated.
The dichotomy of the attraction and repulsion I experience with this guy makes me queasy. There are moments where he’s so sincere, sweet, sexy, and the chemistry between us is so extreme all my good sense goes out the window. But then there’s the other side of him, the side that wants nothing from me other than the use of my body for his pleasure. It’s that side of him, the side that’s so blatant it verges on lecherous, that makes it clear sex is all he wants. From one moment to the next, he goes from swoon-worthy, falling in love sort of moments to suggestive winks and eyebrow waggles, and it’s so confusing it’s as though I split in two, like a forked river. One second, I’m just floating along, and the next I’m divided, going one way and the other all at once.
Where is my sense of pride? Am I that big a sucker for a pretty face? What is wrong with me? Focus on your food, Dorothy, and just eat.
We finish our breakfast, gather our things, then hit the road. And we walk for hours and hours.
The trek through the thick woods has proven to be quite the task. The terrain is rough, broken, jagged. Dried branches and dead leaves from the surrounding trees blanket the crumbling yellow brick. As we walk up and down hills over and over again, the only sounds come from a few birds that caw their warning calls throughout the ominous forest.
Now and again, a deep growl comes from some wild animal, or perhaps a werebeast, hidden among the trees. Not knowing what makes the scary so
unds causes my heart to speed up, but Toto knows, and he knows well enough to walk close to my side, not daring to bark back. On the plus side though, because it is a bright day, no vampires are out, so that is a relief.
Old blackened blood only speckles the crumbling bricks, letting us know it’s been a while since anyone slaughtered anyone here, but as we approach a stretch of dense forest, I notice the bricks ahead are bloodier than most we’ve past.
“Do you see how much bloodier those bricks are?” I say to my companions as we approach the red doused stretch of the once yellow road before us.
A long, low growl from Toto rumbles, stirring my senses. In half a breath, my boots cover me in curving, fluid plates of shining silver metal. When Nick turns to me with a questioning expression, an arrow shoots down from a tree and clinks against his helmet.
Arrows rain down on us, and Ardie scoops Toto up into his arms, turning away to shield him from whatever is attacking. Three arrows pierce the zombie—two in his arm, one in his back—and he does not even flinch. Protected from the assault by our armor, Nick and I are both free to appraise our surroundings. I raise my arm to shield my exposed face as I scrutinize the landscape, my keen eyes poring over the sinister panorama. Then I spot them. Human-shaped figures nock arrows up in the trees that line the sides of the road, but I can’t see if they’re vampires because they’re shaded by tight clusters of leaves.
“Zombies,” Nick breathes as he eyes the trees, readying his axes for a fight.
“These brains are mine!” Ardie calls out.
Zombies descend on lines that hang from the heights of the trees as a large spear comes flying right at me. I catch it in one hand before it penetrates my skull. As the zombies land and menace toward us, I throw the spear back, chucking it through the air like a javelin. It strikes with the speed of a bolt of lightning, piercing the zombie in the center of the pack. It goes clean through his chest into the tree behind him, taking a large chunk of his midsection with it, but the zombie keeps coming as though he was never hit.
This poses a problem.
“Nice try,” the zombie with a gaping hole in his chest says.
In tattered purple uniforms that make the zombies look as though they were once a militia in the seventeen hundreds, the one I struck leads the mob as they advance, the blue-gray of their skin revealing itself the closer they get. Black cuts and scars on their hands and faces make them look far worse than Ardie, as though they have been undead much longer than he has.
“These brains are mine,” Ardie growls, his eyes like steel.
There are at least twenty, and in the time we need to take each one out, I worry they will harm Toto.
“Not anymore, young zombie,” the one with the gaping hole says. “Let me guess, you sustain your hunger by eating the brains of animals like the one you carry.”
Black sludge fills the hole in his torso as he speaks, sloshing onto the ground, forming a viscous film that grows together around the zombie’s injury like festering black magic. When the film fuses, it morphs into a thin layer of blue-gray tissue that bubbles pus as it contains the gelatinous death goop. The disgusting sight makes me gag, and I almost vomit.
“Fear for your soul is worthless, and protecting the living as you hunger day and night, regretting the gift of eternal life zombiism has given you is pathetic. Perhaps it is time we put you out of your misery.”
As they draw near, the female zombie at his side takes out a broadsword and positions to decapitate Ardie, brandishing it toward him.
“Get ready,” Nick says under his breath as they close in on us with dragging steps. As fast as I can move, which is faster than most thanks to my magic boots, I turn to Ardie and open the bag of weapons on his shoulder, taking out the flamethrower.
“Run for cover and keep Toto safe. You don’t want to be here when I light them all up.”
My suit, far quicker than I am, lifts the rifle-like torch, takes aim, and presses the trigger. A flame ignites a gelatinous solution that shoots toward them with the force of a fire hose, burning up the zombies in close range. Ardie bolts into the copse of dense trees at our backs with Toto tight to his chest and my bag of weapons hanging on his shoulder.
The ten zombies before us ignite like torches, wailing as they fall to the ground in a blazing heap while the ones at the back run away in fear. I give chase, speeding through the wall of undead flames into the thick woods. Axes at the ready, Nick follows, and we come upon them faster than I imagined we would—it seems older zombies are slow and easy to catch.
“If we can avoid the flames in the woods we should. Fire will spread fast here,” Nick says as we run toward them.
I drop the flamethrower, and in an instant, my suit of armor grows sharp blades from my knees, fists, toes, and elbows. At the sounds of our approach, the group of around ten see us charging toward them, and they scatter. Nick gives chase in one direction, and I go in the other. Instinct or the boots take over, and I leap off the ground, flying in spinning twists and flips, my bladed limbs kicking out. Zombie heads fly, rolling through the leaves, splatting against rocks as their now-detached bodies go limp, falling, oozing black blood from their necks.
Sylphlike, I land on my feet, scan the woods, and when I look up, I see zombies descending from the trees. Some are on lines and others climb down, gripping the trunks with spiked shoes. The zombies on lines reach the ground fast, while the others move slow enough I have some time before I’m swarmed. There are at least thirty, and I worry about Nick, wondering how many he may be facing. I’ll need to handle these guys fast and get to Nick to help him.
Mettle imbues me, and it’s surprising because I should be afraid, running away in fear, but something in me only wants to eliminate them so they can’t attack anyone else.
As a group of around fifteen close in on me from all sides, my suit of armor sends me into action. I flip in twists and kicks and spirals, taking some out by beheading them, but anywhere else I strike only slows down others.
Dozens more arrive, attacking, unfazed by my strikes and stabs. With long swords extending from my fists, I behead and slice the ones closest in two, lengthwise and across, even diagonal, but there are too many. The number of zombies on me only increases the more zombies I behead and dismember, and I recall what Nick said—no matter how many he kills, more keep coming.
When I take out one, three more come to take its place, and soon enough I have at least fifty surrounding me, grabbing at me from all sides as I attack as many as I can at once. There are so many they pull me down to the ground and pile onto me as though I was the ball in a rugby ruck. Growls and grunts and ravenous bites, they yank and pull and scratch and hit, but my suit protects me from it all, and when one goes to bite my exposed face, my armor covers me altogether. Darkness is all I can see and panic sets in.
Blackness, snarls, and the weight of more and more zombies piling onto my body consume my senses. Then the armor covering my eyes and face turns into a screen of sorts, and the outlines of their menacing faces and clawing hands glow like blue night vision. The weight of so many on me, scratching at me, biting me, and striking me should suffocate me, and I’m gasping, but I have plenty of air to breathe. It should be far more painful than it is, and I should panic, but a stillness of mind allows me to think about how to get out of this.
Images enter my mind at lightning speed.
Porcupine.
Blowfish.
Blooming flower.
Coffee grinder.
I wish my boots could poke out sharp spikes like a porcupine, but have long, slicing grinder blades on the ends that open like the bloom of a flower. If it could do that, I could get them off me. If I can’t, I’ll die here. Or turn undead. I think I’d rather die than suffer the way Ardie does. Tears well in my eyes as sorrow.
My suit bucks as it adjusts, and the zombies piling onto me groan and screech as they try to scurry away, their black blood and guts spraying as I impale them, my suit grinding them up from the inside.
Space above me opens as they try to flee, and I can move again. I thrust out my arms and legs with as much force as the suit allows and get on my feet. As I look out at the fight ahead of me, there are so many zombies surrounding me it’s pointless to count. I should have never dropped that flamethrower. Now I will have to kill each one and there are far more than I expected.
My rotating bladed spikes shrink back into my armor and long swords grow out of my fists. Like lightning, I strike with speed and force as they come at me from all sides and from the trees above. In long sweeping motions I spin, beheading entire rows, ten at a time. Some of them are skilled fighters, but they are slow, and I realize, aside from the shoes, that my biggest advantage is speed, so I think fast, as fast as I can move. I envision it all in my mind’s eye—how I can take them all out before they are on me again—and as I visualize it, I do it. After only a few minutes of high-speed sweeping strikes, I have beheaded almost all of them.
The zombies on the outskirts of the melee run off in fear, and when the last of the attacking zombies’ heads roll, I give chase. In a flying leap, I flip through the air over a group of five and cut off their heads before I land on my feet with a deep bend at the knee. Three more climb a tree about a hundred yards away and I race after them.
When I arrive at the tree, I scale the trunk far faster than they did, and when I am right beneath them, I reach up and pull them down, grabbing their feet and tossing them to the ground, one after the other. When all three splat on the forest floor, they get up unfazed, but because they are broken from the fall, they’re slow. I push off the trunk, dive down and attack, beheading all three in one spinning flip, the sword from my fist taking out two and the sword from my foot taking out the other.
After a graceful landing, I survey the woods around me and see a group of about ten zombies running off in the distance, so I bolt after them. When I reach them, I attack straightaway, and I take less than ten seconds to eliminate them all.
Another scan of the woods and I spot a group of six dashing away in the other direction. Fleet-footed, I sprint after them, moving faster than any human should be able to move. The leaves of the surrounding trees rustle as I pass, and at the mere start of the thought of doing it, I leap up and bank off tree trunks, gaining height, bounding from one tree to the next with each mounting step. When I get close enough, I descend on the group in an Olympic level free dive. Elaborate twists and somersaults close the gap between us, and with my arms out, spinning in a windmill, I behead them all with the biserrate antennae-like blades that protrude from my fists before landing on my feet with the grace of a cat. As I stand upright, their lifeless bodies hit the ground and their heads roll away.
Dorothy In the Land of Monsters Page 10