Monsterland

by James Crowley

  “But I should have listened to you. I’m sorry too, Franklin. Sorry I called you a quitter, sorry I got you into this—”

  “Into what?” Franklin interrupted. “This place? Our journey? You didn’t get us into this. We all did.”

  Charlie sat down next to Franklin in the sand.

  “And I am no quitter,” the Monster said after a while. “Thanks to you, perhaps, as now we cannot turn back.”

  “What about Abigail and Zalika?” Charlie asked.

  Franklin looked out at the night.

  “The marauders have a healthy start on us, but we are fewer in number and without wagons, so let us hope we catch them soon. An opportunity to rescue the children will present itself. And this time—”

  “I’ll listen to you,” Charlie said, finishing the sentence. “I will. I promise.”

  “And I,” Franklin promised, throwing his arm around him, “I will listen to you too.”

  “Deal.” Charlie smiled. He was glad to have his friend back.

  They followed the marauders’ tracks for the rest of the night, the freshness of the trail telling them that they were getting close. Near dawn the terrain quickly changed; the sand gave way to broken rock, and they rode up onto a low ridge that looked out over the endless salt flat below.

  “They say this goes all the way to the Vast Inland Sea,” Franklin said, taking a measurement with his sextant. “But not many dare to cross this wasteland. There are no wells, no water that we know of out here.”

  Thinking of Abigail and Zalika, they rode on, following the tracks, and the ridge dropped them down to the hard, cracked earth of the flat. Ringo seemed distressed and the horses were hesitant out on the salt flat, but Charlie and Franklin eased them along, stroking their manes and pushing them forward.

  In the afternoon, when the sun was high, they came to a rise of loose, fragile stone that jutted out like a narrow finger across the scorched earth.

  “A reef from another time,” Franklin said, pulling the brass telescope from his saddlebag and scanning the horizon. “Look there. You see?” Franklin raised the telescope again, his gaze focused on a tiny shifting line—the only sign of movement in the distance. “It’s them.”

  He handed Charlie the telescope.

  Charlie adjusted the lens, trying to bring the marauders into view. “I don’t see them. Oh wait, yes, I do. There they are!” Charlie exclaimed, giving the telescope back.

  “Yes, there they are. Looks like they have the children tied up on horseback in those ridiculous sacks,” Franklin said, refocusing the lens. “They’re led by a rope, one sack on one horse, a second on the other, one for Abigail and one for the queen’s daughter, I would reckon.” Franklin adjusted the telescope again. “And maybe fortune is smiling upon us. Their party appears to be splitting.”

  Charlie shielded his eyes from the sun and could just barely make out their movement without the telescope. A group of horsemen were breaking off, turning south and leaving the main party.

  “At least they’re fewer in number now,” Franklin said. “With these witches about, it’s only a matter of time before they spot us from the air, so this may be our only chance.”

  Franklin looked back at the boy.

  “You and the dog, you’ll have to join me now, Charlie. I see no other way. This place alone is dangerous. I cannot leave you here,” Franklin said, his eyes shifting back to the marauders in the distance. “You ready?”

  “I’ll be all right.” Charlie took a deep breath and nodded firmly.

  They dropped down the loose rock, back to the dried mud of the flat, and rode up on the caravan’s flank with the sun at their back and purposely in the marauders’ eyes. When they were within a few hundred yards, Franklin slowed the horses to a trot.

  “I will ride straight into their midst—”

  “Franklin, you can’t. There are too many,” Charlie pleaded.

  Franklin eyed the line before them and tightened the cinches on his saddle. “Half of them are cowards. They will turn and run as soon as they see me coming. A quarter will hold their ground until I am upon them and then do the same.”

  “But, Franklin, that still leaves the rest of them . . .”

  “Yes, the real monsters. They won’t be able to resist taking a crack at an old Ranger. They will charge, and when they do, they will meet the aberration that gave them their name.” Franklin pulled loose the ties on the battle-ax and hefted the heavy weapon in his hand. “Put the dog across the pommel of your saddle and ride with me—single file. We will angle toward their rear, cutting off this open space and the captives from the front of the line. Then I’ll free the rope on the string of horses, and you will lead them out here onto the flat. If we are hassled, keep riding. I’ll take on whoever dares to try to stop us. You understand?”

  “I understand,” Charlie said, following Franklin’s example and tightening his rigging.

  “Now, there are ransoms involved, so they won’t give up easily. But I will be watching. You just keep moving. Except for the werewolves and the witches, the rest will have trouble catching Goliath.” Franklin turned and almost grinned. “As for the witches and werewolves, Charlie, leave them to me.”

  Franklin rode ahead at a slow clip, and Charlie, with Ringo balanced on his pommel, followed behind. The marauders in front of them continued to ride without breaking or turning back, so Charlie wondered if they had been seen. Almost in answer, a witch floated up from the marauders’ line and flew straight at them just a few feet above the ground. They had been spotted.

  Franklin spurred his horse faster, glancing at Charlie and calling back to him. “Here we go!” Franklin shouted. “Hold on, and stay with me!”

  Franklin pushed forward, swinging his crossbow from his back and bringing it up to his shoulder. The witch was almost upon them when Franklin’s arrow struck its target. She was still for just a moment before tumbling off the broom, hitting the dried lakebed below, and disappearing in a cloud of dust. A second witch dropped in from somewhere above, but Franklin already had her in his sights. When he shot this time, though, the witch veered to the side and the arrow flew wide. The Monster slung the crossbow back across his shoulder and lifted the heavy battle-ax. The witch swooped down again, and Franklin stood in his stirrups to meet her, swinging the heavy ax down as she passed. The blow splintered the broomstick, sending its cackling pilot head over heels to join the other witch sprawled out on the desert behind them.

  When the second witch fell, the line of marauders broke apart, spreading out as Franklin rode straight toward them. He let out a roar, and half of them, as he had said before, simply turned and ran. But Franklin only rode faster.

  “Now, Charlie! Now!” Franklin shouted, leading his horse toward the back of the broken line and the captives.

  Charlie and Franklin rode straight into the chaos of the scrambling marauders, meeting little resistance amid the confusion. When they reached the string of horses, Franklin caught hold of the lead rope that tied them together and cut it from the wagon. He handed the loose end to Charlie, and then spun around in his saddle to bring his heavy ax down on a hobgoblin who was biting at Goliath’s and Faust’s legs.

  “Run, Charlie, run! Don’t look back! You keep riding. I will catch up to you,” Franklin shouted. “I promise!”

  Charlie gripped the rope and pulled, but the second horse stood scared and refused to move. Franklin retrieved his ax from the hobgoblin and slapped the broad side of it across the flank of the horse, making him jump forward to follow Charlie.

  “Go, Charlie, go!”

  He held the rope as tight as he could, and Goliath ran, the other two horses struggling to keep up. As they broke clear of the turmoil, Charlie looked back despite what Franklin told him. The Monster was holding his line, taking on any creature that dared to try to follow. Then Charlie heard that familiar roar again, the earth-shatteri
ng cry that seemed to say, I am ready to die out here today. Are you? But it did not frighten Charlie as it had in the past, perhaps because of the other howls and screams that could be heard, or because Charlie knew that no matter how angry he was with him, Franklin would still be there to protect him.

  Charlie let Ringo drop down to run beside them, and he rode across the flat as fast as he could, pulling the horses along with him. He couldn’t tell how far he had ridden, but reminded himself to keep going until he could no longer see the cloud of dust that was Franklin and the mob on the horizon behind them. Twice he glanced back to see Franklin break from the battle and try to join them, but both times he had to stop to push back marauders who had caught up to him. The next time he looked back, Charlie had lost sight of him completely.

  Finally, he slowed the horses and jumped down from his saddle. Ringo immediately lay down, settling into the shade provided by the standing horses, and looked up at him.

  “What?” Charlie said as he untied his sword from the pommel and moved over to the first horse and his canvas cargo. “No water yet. Better to see what Franklin thinks when he rejoins us.”

  “Charlie?” Despite the muffled sound, he recognized Zalika’s voice from inside the canvas. “Charlie! Is that you?”

  He quickly cut the rope that held the large sack and pulled it loose. Zalika, her bandages a mess, struggled free as Charlie helped her down from the horse.

  “Charlie!” she cried, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, it was dreadful, just dreadful! We kept riding and riding. I thought we would never stop . . .”

  Charlie rushed toward the other horse.

  “I thank you, my mother will thank you,” Zalika went on with relief. “She will reward you handsomely.”

  Charlie reached up to cut loose Abigail’s sack, but something wasn’t right. It felt different, lumpy. He yanked at the rope, and the sack slipped forward and fell. It landed with a thud, throwing itself open, and they were both surprised by the potatoes that rolled out onto the hard, parched earth.

  Charlie kicked at the potatoes with an alarmed look on his face.

  “Where’s Abigail?” Zalika asked.

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said. “We saw the horses with the sacks. We figured one was you and the other was Abigail.”

  “But it is not.”

  “I can see that.” Charlie kicked another potato. “We should go back. We have to tell Franklin before we get farther apart.”

  “Go back . . . for that common girl?” Zalika exclaimed, barely able to conceal her shock beneath her loose wrappings.

  “Yes.” Charlie swung back onto Goliath’s back. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “But it’s not safe! We should wait here for the Monster,” Zalika pleaded.

  “Franklin,” Charlie said. “He likes to be called Franklin. And he needs to know about Abigail.”

  “But if we waited . . .”

  Ignoring her protests, Charlie turned Goliath back to where he had left Franklin in the melee. With little choice but to follow, Zalika jumped onto the marauders’ horse, and with Ringo running behind, they rode with the third horse trailing them for the better part of an hour before Charlie thought he saw the speck of a lone rider.

  “I’ll go ahead. Any sign of trouble, run back the way we came,” Charlie said. “Franklin said if you ride that way, you’ll eventually hit the water.”

  As Charlie rode on, he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword until it was clear that this hulking rider was Franklin.

  “Charlie!” Franklin called as he rode up. He was covered in dirt, and some of his seams had come undone, but he appeared mostly intact. And there, sitting on the pommel in front of him, was Abigail Rose. “Looks like we forgot something, eh? Almost missed her on my second pass. They had her in a wagon with their other contraband.”

  “Hello, Charlie,” Abigail said, again with little emotion, even with the ordeal they had just been through.

  “Ha, and I see you have recovered the queen’s daughter,” Franklin continued as Zalika rode up to meet them.

  “And a sack of potatoes . . . ,” Charlie said.

  “Potatoes? Well, at least we have something to eat,” Franklin said, turning his horse to look back behind them. “No time for celebrations, though. We have to keep moving. They will regroup and follow soon enough. More than likely joined by that party that left them earlier.”

  “I’m sorry, Franklin.”

  “Sorry? Sorry for what?”

  “Well, I didn’t keep riding, and I missed Abigail . . .”

  “Nonsense, Abigail is here,” Franklin said, “and you have rescued the queen’s daughter. If Tok had gotten ahold of her, we would’ve had an all-out war on our hands.” Franklin playfully hit Charlie in the shoulder, practically knocking him off Goliath’s back. “Your bravery might have saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives.”

  “You think so?” Charlie said.

  “Without a doubt.” Franklin smiled at him and rode on at a trot. “But come now. We are not out of this yet.”

  Zalika rode after Franklin and Abigail, but Charlie sat on his horse looking back across the flat. The marauders will follow, he thought, but let them. He and Franklin could handle it. They beat them once, they could do it again. And now that they had Abigail and Zalika, they could get back to finding Billy.

  — chapter 34 —

  The Salt Flat

  FOR THE NEXT two days, they rode hard across the salt flat, trying to avoid the heat of the desert sun by traveling at night. At dawn on their third day, Franklin thought he saw movement on the horizon behind them, so they pushed on even as the sun rose high overhead. Ringo ran out in front of them as the day started, but as the miles wore on, he trailed behind, sometimes by several hundred yards, his tongue dangling almost to the ground. Franklin would circle back and place him on the pommel in front of Abigail to rest, then, an hour or so later, he’d set the dog back down, and the whole cycle would start again. By the end of that same day, they had run out of water, so Franklin took them off course to the north to search.

  After a while, they came upon a shallow indentation, a dried puddle, really. Franklin suggested the area might have been a small oasis at one time and dropped down from his horse to examine the ground, which was covered in jagged cracks. He explained that when the surface water evaporated, large sections of parched clay had been pushed up in these platelike pieces.

  “Look,” Franklin said, removing several large sections, digging with his hands into the damp earth that was exposed beneath. Charlie marveled once again at the Monster’s strength and the ferocity of his work—he soon had a hole about half his size cleared, and his arms were covered in wet, sticky mud. Charlie dropped off his horse to help but found that the Monster had already reached water. They watched as it seeped into the small pool that Franklin had made and drank all they could before filling their waterskins.

  “We should rest here,” Franklin said, surveying the surroundings and marking the area on his map. “Then we will take what water we can carry and continue. It’s safe to assume these marauders are suffering from the same problems that we have encountered, but it would be wise to keep moving.”

  Exhausted as they were, Charlie, Zalika, and Abigail agreed. They gathered their strength and pushed on, though Ringo was now content to ride on Charlie’s pommel exclusively.

  Around noon the next day, Charlie noticed that Franklin was looking behind them more often. There were clouds of dust on the horizon in that direction, and as the day wore on, they seemed to be moving closer. Late that afternoon, Franklin stopped and pulled out his telescope.

  “It is what I have feared. They are tracking us and they have hounds with them. They will find us, sooner or later, no use pretending otherwise.”

  “I don’t understand,” Abigail said. Her face was shadowed beneath her bonnet. “Why do they kee
p coming?”

  “For me,” Zalika replied. “I am afraid that I have brought these troubles down upon you all.”

  “Nonsense,” Franklin said. “We are all in this together. Now, not another word about that. Besides, I won’t allow you all the credit. I am sure that there are a few who’ll remember me as well.”

  The Monster looked to the north through the telescope.

  “There are rock formations ahead, looks like the flat craters a bit, even. Maybe the end of this torture is near. If we can make it there, perhaps we can fortify ourselves somehow, or hide among the stone.”

  They rode toward the rocks at a steady pace. They were an odd collection of sandstone spires with windblown alcoves; some stood jutting up from the crater’s floor while others lay broken where they had fallen.

  “We have to time this. If we take the horses out too fast they will never make it. It’s still too far, you understand, Charlie? They’ll wear out,” Franklin said, glancing back behind them with greater frequency. “So when I tell you, not before, you run. Make it to that crease, there. Hide up in the rocks with Zalika and Abigail. You hear me?”

  “Yes, I hear you.” Charlie had to shout over the commotion of the horses. He paused and took a deep breath. “Franklin . . .”

  “What is it, boy?”

  “I’m pretty scared,” Charlie admitted.

  “There’s no time for that now,” the Monster said. “All we can do is ride.”

  So they rode on, and near dark Charlie noticed that Franklin looked uneasy. It was the hounds. The first had appeared in packs, and in no time the mongrels that raced forward were almost even with them on both flanks—with more trailing directly behind. The hounds were running with large wolves, rabid-looking hyenas, and bulldogs, some with two heads that bit and snarled at each other as they ran.

  Franklin eyed their progress warily; swinging his crossbow across his shoulder, he took the horses to a gallop. But the rabid pack followed, increasing their pace. Then the dogs were gaining. Franklin spurred Faust forward as the pack closed in, and the other horses started to run with his pace.