Monsterland by Michael Phillip Cash

had plans to make more zombies. After all, he had several more of these theme parks premiering all over the world tonight. Billy howled to his pack. He had spread his group to the four corners of their prison, getting familiar with their new territory.
    In the distance, he saw a line of rust-and-dun-colored mountains. They were far from the humid swamps of the south, but he had a rather sketchy idea of geography. He barely remembered school, or even his family. He had a new one now, and he had to protect his clan. Just over a ridge, he made out a snaking line of people waiting patiently to enter this strange land where he was brought to live.
    His fingers gripped the metal tightly, his jaw going slack. They were coming to see him, to point and study—and laugh. He jumped down, his heart racing. It was dusk outside, but soon the artificial sky inside the dome would simulate the onset of evening and the bright full moon that attacked both his and his friends’ nervous systems. Soon their skin would stretch, their limbs would lengthen, and they would howl in pained agony. Hunger so great would turn them into eating machines, and they would attack anything in their paths.
    He walked down a grassy trail, throwing himself into a bed of moss. He was trapped in a controlled home where he would be the show. He understood now. This is why they hadbeen taken from their homes. It was not to study them, but to entertain bored school children looking for thrills.
    Petey and Little John sniffed at the air, letting out a yelp of warning. They were coming back. He had the rest of his group studying the routines of their keepers, checking for weakness in the security of the place. They had an army of guards, the same military types that had captured them late last year. They spent a long time underground in a medical facility, being probed, and, in Kenny’s case, dissected to find out the reason they were half man, half beast. They had lost a few, allowed three new guys in whose leader had been killed and skinned in the name of science.
    The alarms rang, and Billy reluctantly rose, walking to his cell. He pulled at the collar on his neck, feeling the band pulse with the current that zapped him when he didn’t obey. It wouldn’t come off, these indestructible collars; there wasn’t even a weak seam for him to wiggle. They had tried biting them off each other, only to be rewarded with a teeth-jarring zap that went straight to the middle of their heads. Oh, the pain of that shock, Billy remembered.
    The door opened, and he crouched low to enter, holding on to the bars as they locked back in place. He exchanged a questioning glance with Petey who nodded abruptly, letting him know he had some success. The doors slammed shut, and he wondered why they were being locked up at this hour. Usually they were allowed to run free all day. Perhaps Vincent was coming.
    Vincent Conrad was a frequent visitor. Of course, Billy remained mum, they all had. He didn’t think any of them talked, especially when they were in human form. Alone, they used nods, grunts, whines, and barks to communicate. It was enough. He didn’t like Vincent at all. He would come by and stand outside his pen for hours, watching silently, intentlywaiting for Billy to reveal something, anything to give a clue as to why his body did the things it did. He knew Vincent learned nothing new. His pack was safe.
    He was still in human form, scrabbling around in the dirt of his small cell, the domed ceiling muting all daylight. He knew it was nearing night; his internal clock told him so. He rolled on the floor of his pen, feces, chicken bones, and a mess of feathers on the filthy floor.
    “What’s the matter, Billy? Didn’t your mother teach you manners? Look at this mess.” The jailor taunted. “I guess she was too busy rutting with a wolf.”
    “You leave my mother alone!” Billy forced the words from his throat, feeling them scrape his rusty vocal cords like a file. The sentence