Monsters (39 page)

The bat pulled Lisa off the ground, slowly gaining height as it struggled with the combined weight of both her and the soldier. Even from the height of the bus, he couldn’t reach the monster. The bat was already too high, its wings thrashing at the air as it cleared the lamp posts. Within a fraction of a second, it would be over. Lisa would be out of reach. He’d failed. There was nothing he could do. The bus came to an end beneath his pounding feet and he found himself jumping, flying through the air, but he was going to fall short, he’d end up nowhere near the bat, missing it by almost four feet.

James swung his sword, putting every ounce of strength into his blow, aiming for the soldier’s arm just above the handcuffs, praying he didn’t miss.

The sword severed the arm just above the wrist and both he and Lisa fell back to the rough concrete. The bat, free from the extra weight, lifted high into the sky, its wings spread wide as it soared around toward its nesting tower, carrying its hard-won prey with it.

James rolled as he landed. His shoulder caught on a curb and pain shot through his right arm. He got to his feet and ran over to Lisa, his right hand still gripping the sword even though his arm lay limp against his side. James was shattered, physically and emotionally. He pushed through the pain, realizing Lisa needed him to be strong.

Lisa was still screaming.

Blood had spattered across her hands and legs, but it wasn't her blood.

“Hey,” he began, shaking. “It’s OK. You’re going to be OK.”

She grabbed him, hugging him tight. It hurt to hug her, but he needed to hold her. He'd come so close to losing her.

Above them, another fiery projectile soared through the darkness, sailing into the distance and exploding in a burst of flames further down the street.

James stepped back from Lisa. He pulled the soldier’s warm, severed hand from Lisa's handcuffs. He dropped it on the ground, trying not to feel the dead fingers slip from his hand. Emotionally, he didn’t want to think about what he’d done. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t transform that searing memory to some intangible, impersonal act. He couldn’t look at the hand, he had to look into Lisa’s eyes.

They were both in shock.

James felt sick.

He wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hair was matted with blood and he could feel a lump on the back of her head.

Her eyes cast down at the bloodied hand lying in the gutter, and she stepped away in revulsion.

He looked around. They were within fifty yards of the library, and James thought about taking her there to hide. He knew the layout well, and figured they would find refuge in the basement.

“Let her go,” Gainsborough said.

McIntyre came up beside them and pulled Lisa from him.

“This is between you and me, now,” the general said. Above him, bats soared through the air, but their level of agitation had waned. They were no longer willing to risk injury by dropping down and attacking the soldiers.

The battle was swinging away from the monsters, with squads of men firing their crossbows in unison, targeting individual bats and bringing them down in a volley of arrows. After the initial confusion, discipline was being restored and the soldiers were gaining the upper hand.

The old general stepped forward, swinging his sword at James, surprising James with his vigor. James stepped back and the first blow passed harmlessly before him. Gainsborough lunged again, and James parried feebly. His right shoulder was broken. The force of the general’s blow reverberated through his sword, causing pain to resound through his arm.

“It’s over,” James said, his feet slipping on the loose gravel. “Your army is in ruins. Your men are deserting.”

“Oh, it’s over, all right,” Gainsborough said, coming down with a strike from above. James deflected the blow with his sword but he could barely hold onto the hilt. His shoulder throbbed in agony, sending pain shooting down his arm. He switched the sword to his left hand. Gainsborough was playing with him, enjoying the moment.

“Father, No!” Lisa cried, kicking and struggling against McIntyre’s grip.

Gainsborough struck again.

James was clumsy, his left hand lacked dexterity, and he struggled not to be hit by the glancing blow.

Gainsborough jabbed, catching James on the left shoulder, puncturing the muscle with a clean thrust.

Blood seeped from the wound.

The old general moved with deceptive speed. He spun around, driving at James with a forceful blow.

James blocked, but the sword was knocked from his hand and he slipped to his knees.

James tried to reach the fallen sword, but the general placed the blade of his sword under James’ chin, ignoring Lisa’s screams. McIntyre put his hand over her mouth, forcing her to watch.

“You should not have crossed me,” Gainsborough said, pulling back the sword, ready to strike a lethal blow.

The musty smell of wild dogs wafted on the breeze.

A low, resonant growl filled the air, causing Gainsborough to freeze momentarily.

“Step away from the boy.”

James turned and saw his father walking toward him out of the misty, smoky haze.

Bruce was flanked by two massive dogs, towering above him, their dark outline silhouetted by the distant flames. The sound of their claws striking the concrete struck fear into the hearts of the soldiers around Gainsborough.

James could see grown men cowering, slinking backwards, wanting to melt into the streets and disappear.

Gainsborough froze at the sight of these monsters coming out of the dark of night.

Bruce walked forward calmly.

The dogs kept pace beside Bruce, snarling at the soldiers. Saliva dripped from their twitching jaws. Their ears were pinned back. With their teeth bared, they growled, itching to attack, struggling to contain themselves.

McIntyre loosened his grip on Lisa and she broke free, running over to James and dragging him to one side, away from her father.

The dogs tensed, ready to spring, awaiting the command from Bruce.

Gainsborough turned toward Bruce, his sword out in front of him, the steel blade trembling in his hand.

Seeing so many soldiers around them, the dogs spread apart, still waiting for Bruce to unleash them.

The soldiers continued to back away slowly. No one had seen a wild dog this close before, not outside of a defensive structure with spears and pikes protecting them. No one wanted to provoke the two massive beasts as they would tear them into pieces. It seems they realized how tenuous Bruce’s control was over the monstrous animals and didn’t want to risk upsetting that balance. The slightest move could incite the dogs to attack.

Gainsborough dropped his sword, sinking to his knees.

Bruce stepped forward, pulling his sword out of its scabbard. He held the blade to the general’s throat, raising the old man’s chin with the cold steel so he could look him in the eye. James understood what he was doing. Bruce was mimicking the exact manner in which Gainsborough had intended to kill him.

“No,” Lisa cried. “Please, don’t.”

“Dad, no,” James said.

“It has to end,” Bruce replied, his sword outstretched. “It has to finish here, tonight. There can be no more war among us. Life is too precious. Don’t you see? Men like this are the real monsters.”

“It has ended,” James said, pleading with him. “We’ve won.”

Bruce never took his eyes of Gainsborough. For his part, the old man didn’t flinch. He never begged for mercy or sought leniency. In that moment, James knew Gainsborough would accept his fate, whatever that may be.

“Don’t do it,” James added. “You’re better than this. You’re better than him.”

“You don’t understand, son. We thought all this ended on Bracken Ridge, but it didn’t. There’s only one way this can end. He cannot be allowed to live.”

“Dad.” James spoke softly. He had staggered over beside his father and had his hand resting on his shoulder. “I understand what you’re feeling. I understand the loss of your brother all those years ago. But times must change or we have no chance at a new future. Don’t you see? Look in his eyes. He is a defeated man. No one will follow him. Not anymore.”

One of the soldiers standing beside McIntyre raised a crossbow, pointing it at Bruce. Simon raised his crossbow as he walked over to the soldier, touching the sharp tip directly against the man’s forehead, daring him to fire.

“You want to think carefully about what you do next,” he said coldly.

McIntyre intervened, putting his hand out and gently pushing the soldier’s crossbow down toward the ground. He said, “He's right. Let the madness end. There has been too much bloodshed.”

McIntyre was looking at James as he spoke, not at either Bruce or Gainsborough. Somehow, James understood. For all the tension there had been between him and McIntyre, James knew this wasn’t more posturing on his part, this wasn’t some ploy simply to displace the general. Somewhere, deep within, that sense of honor James had first sensed while on horseback to Richmond still shone through. McIntyre was the right man caught on the wrong side of history.

Bruce spoke to Gainsborough.

“Do I have your unconditional surrender this night?”

“Yes.”

Bruce then spoke to McIntyre, recognizing his authority from his uniform.

“You will withdraw your men. You will depart from the south, never to return. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” McIntyre replied. Gainsborough mumbled consent as well.

Bruce put his sword back in its scabbard. With brute force, he ripped the stars from the General’s shoulder boards, causing the old man to rock back and forth with the violence of that act.

“You are witnesses,” Bruce cried, casting the bronze stars on the ground before the soldiers gathered around. “You will bear this testimony, that this man shall never again hold the rank of an officer.”

No one spoke.

Apart from the distant cries, the night had grown uneasily quiet.

The dogs held their ground, staring down the soldiers, still growling softly.

“Now, be gone,” ordered Bruce. “Depart and never return.”

Gainsborough lowered his head. McIntyre walked over and helped the old man to his feet. His shoulders were slouched. He no longer moved with the arrogance he’d once held.

Slowly, the remaining soldiers disappeared into the swirling mists, their forms fading from sight until only Bruce, James, Lisa and Simon remained.

The dogs sniffed at the air.

Bruce raised his fingers to his lips and let loose a loud wolf whistle, calling off the other dogs.

Out of the mist, the dogs appeared, seven of them, bloodied and torn.

Two older men approached, walking in through the haze. James didn’t recognize them. They introduced themselves as Shakespeare and Sherlock.

Bruce tended to the dogs, giving them a friendly pat, looking at their wounds as he thanked them for their service, talking to them as though they understood him.

Simon was in awe of the huge dogs, keeping a wary distance, but impressed by how the readers worked with them. Shakespeare called Simon over, letting the dogs smell him and encouraging him to pat them. James smiled, understanding Shakespeare was passing the torch to yet another generation.

“What now?” Lisa asked, rolling her arm in its shoulder socket, trying to work out the pain. Blood dripped from around the cuffs still hanging from her wrist.

James was aware his father could hear him. Bruce made out like he was more interested in the dogs, but he was within earshot, and James could see his father wanted to say something but was deferring to him.

James walked over to Bruce as his father gave one of the massive beasts a good, hard rub under the neck.

“Dad?”

“It’s your life. It’s your call, son.”

James could see they were all waiting for him to speak his mind, especially Lisa.

“We can’t stay here. We need to go back to Richmond. In the morning, we’ll meet up with Anders and the others, and return to the north.”

“But why?” Bruce asked. “What is there for you in Richmond?”

“There’s unfinished business, Dad.” James was looking at Lisa. “There can be no more north and south, no more war between the tribes. We will never rise above the monsters if we continue fighting with ourselves. There are no differences between us, none but those we imagine. The old general was right about one thing: It’s time to write a new future.”

“What will you do that is any different?” Simon asked.

James held Lisa’s hand as he spoke. She squeezed his fingers, signaling her support, and that made him feel confident. In the midst of the exhaustion and pain, he felt strangely at peace.

“We will do the one thing that has made a difference throughout all time, we will teach. We’ll teach people to read and write. We’ll teach people to value knowledge, teach them to rediscover the science of old.”

“How?” Lisa asked with tears in her eyes.

“We will open a school. And we will do it together, for those from the north and the south, from the east and the west. Understanding shall be our banner. Wisdom shall fly as our standard. And when knowledge prevails, the reign of monsters will be at an end.”

The End

Interview with the author

Where did the idea for Monsters come from?

2012 was the National Year of Reading in Australia, and that got me thinking about how easy it is to take reading for granted.

Literacy is a relatively modern phenomenon. For most of history, reading has been a privileged act, something reserved for priests and monks.

Access to written knowledge was pivotal to each of the great revolutions of the modern era, the scientific revolution, the reformation, industrialization and enlightenment. Reading brought mankind out of the dark ages. And that got me thinking, what would life be like if we lost the ability to read?

Few realize how free, open access to knowledge is the cornerstone of civilization, but what if that knowledge was taken away from us? Would people fight to restore knowledge within a crumbling society? I think the answer is, yes.