Monster Gauntlet (12 page)

I staggered towards the hill. The lights vanished. Maybe I was hallucinating. I fact, I was sure I was. I was bleeding. My hands hurt. My legs hurt. My head hurt. Remember, I’d been hit in the head by my first attacker too.

Instead of taking cover in the trees, I wanted to be as far away from them as possible. I wanted to be out in the open. I wanted to be the middle of the field, on top of the hill, as high up and as far away from the surrounding trees as possible.

I made it to the hill and climbed up it. It wasn't big at all. It was more like a grassy mound manufactured for a golf course. Still, I liked being high up, even if only by a few meters. My legs were giving out, and this was as good a place as any to crash.

I collapsed on top of the mound and rolled on to my back. I stared at the sky. The moon was so full it lit up the sky and washed out most of the stars. Still, some were visible in the dark side of the sky.

I lay still and stared at the sky. Giant moonlit clouds floated in space like islands in the sky. A shooting star streaked by. I gazed at everything and at nothing. The moon looked close and unnaturally large, as if it were part of a movie poster or storybook cover.

I saw another comet go by, then another. The last one seemed to hover in space in front of me for a moment, then continue on its way. My impression was that it passed in front of the clouds.

Glowing orbs and strange flashes of light seemed to be moving in and out my field of vision. As soon as I turned to my head to get a closer look, they were gone.

So that's it, I thought. I'm seeing things. My brain is fried.

I lay on the mound as the weird light show buzzed around me. I thought about how I got there. I thought back to how my day started. Breakfast was a distant memory. The helicopter transport and the ejection into the arena seemed so long ago it was like it happened to somebody else. I reflected on how long I had lasted. I felt the corners of my lips twitch into the faintest trace of a smile.

We had done well. We survived the beast of the marsh. I survived the psychopath. Marine killed the kelpie. The vampire killed Marine, but not me. I got lucky.

I sensed (or maybe just hoped) that the encounter with vampire was the final confrontation. It was the "boss" at the end of a video game level. He was the big guy you had to beat before you could clear the level and advance to the next one. The monster was almost invulnerable, but I had torched it by accident by creating a flamethrower. I didn't know if it was dead, but I doubted it would return after I melted off its face.

I thought about the rest of the Runners. I hoped they were still alive. I imagined them huddling around a campfire, surrounded by the protective walls of the watchtower, fearfully riding out the night and waiting for the sunrise that would ensure their safety and freedom. They would wonder what happened to Marine and me.

Marine. He didn't deserve what happened to him. None of us did. I thought about his fate (and probably all of our fates): torn apart by monsters for the amusement of the masses. Why did I ever agree to this? Whatever the reason was, it wasn't good enough. 

As I lay there on the mound, I watched the weird lights zooming around. I remember hearing somewhere that the "white light" some people report seeing during near-death experiences is just a form of hallucination caused by a dying brain.

Near death. Was that where I was now? How many people were watching me now? How many were rooting for me to survive? How many were waiting for me to die? Probably a lot. After all, most people probably tuned in to watch me get killed. And killed violently, not by a concussion or bleeding to death.

I wanted to think that there were Scottish viewers supporting me. I was one of their own, and I couldn't imagine they'd be rooting for the monsters to successfully slaughter me.

In my mind, anybody Scottish was behind me. I was representing my country. If I succeeded, they could be proud of my toughness. I would be an example of our Scottish tenacity.

Only I wasn't. I hadn't been exceptionally smart or strong. In fact, I was so weak now I could barely move.

I lay on my back staring at the stars and the other mystery lights. My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes. I was so sorry I had participated in this abomination. By being a part of it, I was helping create content for this show and the sick bastards who got off on this type of thing. While I hadn't brought the monsters to Scotland, I was feeding them. Feeding the creatures, and feeding the audience’s appetite for mayhem.

The producers couldn't have the show without volunteers, right? Then again, maybe they could. This was like the death penalty. I remember thinking I had a choice, but it was more like the illusion of choice. Whatever it was, I shouldn't have gone along with it. It wasn't even the likelihood of a gruesome death that made it wrong. It was about the insult of the producers infecting my country with this evil.

As I lay there, bleeding, hurting, hungry, and losing my mind and probably my life, I was disgusted. I was disgusted with my weakness, with the show, with the violence, and with everyone connected to this nightmare. I was repulsed by the monstrosities that were let loose in my country. With my last ounce of strength, I cried, "Oh Scotland, I am so sorry.”

A snapping branch jolted me awake. Slowly, I looked around. I spied a few stray fireflies, but the main light show was over. I had no idea how long I'd been out. I remembered a fading fragment of a dream, which told me I'd really been out. I had no idea for how long. At this level of exhaustion, I practically entered the dream state as soon as I closed my eyes.

Another stick snapped. This one sounded closer. I rolled on to my stomach and flattened out against the ground, facing the direction of the approaching noise.

My eyes were adjusting to the night. The full moon was so bright I could see the hard shadow I cast on the ground. My eyes scanned the dark tree line.

Then I saw it.

There was a shadow there, something blacker than the surrounding blackness. I couldn't tell if it was moving. I thought it did, but it seemed to be in the same place. It could have been a trick of the light.

I thought I saw the shape sway. Seeing things, I think.

By the way the object remained in place, I was almost convinced I was looking at tall, thin tree stump or something. Then two long "branches" sprouted off of it. The ends of those uncurled into long fingers with claw-like nails.

Oh God. It's that thing. It found me. My heart pounded in my ribcage like a frantic animal that wanted out.

I heard tiny twigs get mashed as the thing took a step forward, and then another.

My “fight or flight" instinct jammed in the middle of the two options. There was nothing to fight with, and nowhere to run. My fingers dug into the damp grass. I clung to the grassy knoll as if it were the hump of a large animal that might suddenly buck me off. I felt around for a weapon and came up with nothing. I felt naked and vulnerable. I was weak and out-of-shape and completely unprepared to deal with the threat.

Damn, I thought. They tricked me and I totally fell for it.

It was all so clear to me, now that I was looking out from inside the trap.

I thought the lights were a sign of safety. They reminded me of the "faerie mound" in the field in back of the home I grew up in back in Skye. The lights were reassuring. They were beautiful. However, "beautiful" does not always mean "good." I used to scoff at guys who couldn't tell the two apart. But there I was. I'd fallen into the same trap. I felt like an idiot.

The moonlit meadow looked beautiful, like a night gallery lit with paper lanterns and Christmas lights. Only now I knew what the lights really were. They weren't faeries, at least not the type I had hoped for. The lights had many names: Hobby Lanterns. Ghost lights. Will-o'-the-Wisp. The stories varied, but the point was the same. The lights led nighttime wayfarers astray. They offered the illusion of safety while in reality, they were leading a traveler into trouble.

That was exactly what happened to me. I was lost and the lighted meadow had looked like a welcome refuge from the darkness. But now I saw the other side of it. The trickery had drawn me out into the open. Where I had once felt free from the trees, I now was now completely exposed.

 Doom. That’s what this was. Death was so certain I breezed past the denial, anger, and bargaining stages right to acceptance. Almost. I pondered with quiet amazement the idea that right now, at this moment, I was alive, and soon, maybe in minutes, I wouldn't be.

The monster drew itself up and raised its head like a dog trying to catch a scent in the air. I couldn't see its nostrils flaring or its black eyes moving, but I could make out the something blacker than the surrounding blackness growing larger on its face. It was the huge mouth, now gaping open.

The monster swayed in different directions, then it slowly turned and stopped, facing the top of hill. As its giant maw opened, tingling fear squirmed down my spine. My brain was filled with only one thought.

I am so screwed.

“Boo-yah!” burst Assistant Director Kent. “The Bogeyman found Moira!”

He turned to the director. Ziegler never took his eyes off of the enormous bank of video monitors in front of him, but from his profile, Kent could see a smile on his lips too. That was good. Ziegler hardly ever smiled, but he was clearly pleased with the turn of events.

“Looks like we’re close,” the AD said.

The director said nothing but gazed at the monitors. The visions varied dramatically. A lonely castle stood sentinel over a dark Scottish loch. Moonlight stirred on rippling water. A deceptively peaceful field spread under a gaping sky. A bonfire burned by ancient stones. Moira clung to a hilltop. A monster lifted its head in the air, trying to pick up a scent.

“TD!” the director shouted to the technical director. “Bring up Sector 10, now!”

The videos of the “hot” situation expanded and moved to the center of the wall of screens.

The director commanded the control room like a general, and the room responded to his orders.

“TD! Ready Moira’s live cam. I want everyone to see what she sees at the moment she dies. And I want to make sure we get a good kill shot.”

Good? The technical director thought incredulously. Then, almost under her breath, she muttered, “It’s just not right.”

The AD smiled like an adult amused by a child and said, “What’s wrong?”

“The thing. She shot it and burned it. It should be dead.”

“But it’s not,” Kent said.

“It’s not fair,” the woman said, standing by her conviction.

Kent replied, “Was it fair for her victims?”

“Knock it off! Both of you!” yelled the director. “Get your head in the game! Ready the night vision cams!”

Moira watched the monster. It sniffed the air, moving its head in different directions, when it froze and then slowly faced the top of the hill.

“Night vision on Camera 8! Ready 8! Take 8!”

 In the grainy, black-and-white night vision view, the monster’s face almost resembled that of a great white shark. Its black, pupil-less eyes blinked and it opened its enormous maw. Kent could almost swear it was smiling.

The director was shouting more orders. The assistant director had never seen him so excited.

“That’s it! He’s spotted her! Get ready everyone! This going to be awesome! Ready 3! Take 3!”

The monster started moving towards Moira. Its dark shape moved across the moonlit meadow. The staff of the control room leaned in closer to the screens.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light. Then another. Then the main screen went blank.

“What? What the hell? Ready 1! Take 1! TD, what happened to Camera 3?”

“I ... I don’t know. It just went off-line.”

The image on the big monitor was shaking. The vision of the earth and sky zipped out of view. There was a sound of breaking glass, and the screen went dark. Camera 1 was gone.

“What!? What the hell is going on?” Ziegler yelled.

Cameras in that zone were going out one-by-one. They blinked out, leaving dark “holes” in the wall of monitors.

“Engineering! What the hell is going on?”

“We’re ... We’re looking into it, Sir.”

“You’re ...? Ready the Hover-Cams! Get them to Sector 10, NOW!”

On screen, a cloud of darkness parted to reveal a moonlit forest far below that grew increasingly larger and more detailed.

The director was momentarily calmed.

“Good,” he said. “Take Hover-Cam!”

The video looked like the view from a descending alien spacecraft.

“Ready Thermals on 9!”

The forest turned bright blue with two large red specs in it.

“That’s them!” AD said.

“Thermals off! Take 9!” director shouted.

The main monitor displayed a bird’s eye view of the meadow. One black figure was approaching a smaller one.

Suddenly, bright streaks shot across the screen, as if the hovering camera were taking anti-aircraft fire.

There was a popping sound. The earth suddenly rushed up in a blur to fill the screen. Then everything went black.

After a moment of shocked silence, AD offered, “Um ... Sir? We lost the hover ...”

“I can see that, dammit! Engineering! What the hell? What’s left? Where’s Moira’s live cam?”

The AD nervously said, “Um, she chucked it.”

“She ...? Goddammit! This is the finale! Give me every camera we’ve got in the area!”

The monster was approaching. Moira was on her feet.

In the night vision camera, the air around the hill seemed to be abuzz with bugs, like a field on a hot summer night.

Bursts of light would temporarily blind the night vision cam, but then again, it didn’t take much light to do that.

The monster was at the base of the hill. A new hover cam showed Moira’s view as the thing looked up at her, arched its back, and roared at the sky.

The TD shuddered.

“God that’s creepy,” said the AD.

“It’s great,” the director sighed in relief. “It’s ... OH GOD NO!”

The new hover cam went out.