We ducked under the big garage door just as she hit the “Close” button. The sun would be going down soon so we hurried past the ravine and across Mr. Nelson’s pasture. Once on the other side of the fence, we walked into the open field and checked out the light. It was fading fast, we had to hurry.
The final scene was that the hero—that would be me—and the new sidekick hero, Jeremy–would take one final look at the place where the zombies had fallen. Then as they turn to walk away, sure they’d finally finished them off, the zombies start to rise from the brush.
THE END
Yeah, we left it open for a sequel—you just never know when you might be in the mood for another zombie alien vampire movie.
We huddled around James to look at the footage and it was great. The light was really spooky, perfect. It was a good thing because if we didn’t leave right then we’d be going home in the dark. And my mom would kill me.
“Hey, guys, check that out,” Jeremy said. “What is that?” He pointed to the mound, the setting sun reflecting in his eyes.
Or was it the flicker of light we saw, like a fire? I started walking toward the mound, like something was pulling me to get a closer look.
“Hey, there’s a fire burning up there,” Brendan said, walking next to me.
We could see flames through the trees as we got closer.
Then we heard screams.
We stopped dead in our tracks.
Then Max screamed. “Oh. My. Gosh! Oh. My. Gosh!” Max repeated over and over, rubbing his cheeks and smearing the paint on his face. If he hadn’t been paralyzed with fear, I was sure he’d have been half way home by then.
The screaming on the mound cut off, but we could still see flames.
“Think someone fired up the old pit?” James asked.
“Think we should get the heck out of here!” Max yelled, stumbling backward.
Jeremy grabbed Max’s arm. “Hold on, Max. Let’s stay calm and think about this a minute. After all, it’s just a fire.”
“Jeremy’s right. Probably some perfectly logical explanation,” I said.
“Look, we’ve known from the first time we came over here someone had been lighting fires up there. We saw ashes and all,” James said as we walked closer. “Whoever it was probably decided to come back and have a wiener roast or make s’mores or something. Simple as that.” He stopped. “Patrick, remember what your mom said. We need to start back.”
“James is right. We should go. But, what about, maybe . . .” Max sputtered.
No way was Max going to be satisfied without an answer to the sounds we’d heard. “That sound, you know, the noise?”
“Probably just an animal or something, Max.” I said. “No big deal.”
Brendan shot another look at the mound. “James is right. We’re letting our imagination run away again, and we promised Patrick’s mom—”
The screams came again, earsplitting shrieks. And loud yelling like a giant was on the loose up there.
“There’s nothing imaginary about that,” Max said, his voice hoarse. Close to panic now, he could barely croak out, “I’m telling you guys, it’s the ghosts of those people buried there. And maybe you-know-who.”
Of course we all knew he was talking about. Fury—the wild crazy Indian in a story his grandpa had told him. He just wouldn’t let go of that whole thing.
The sounds stopped, just like that. Just like it had before.
“Okay, that does it!” I said, whirling to face the direction of the mound. I was tired of all the mystery and wild stories. I wanted some answers. I headed for the mound.
“Patrick!” Brendan yelled and came running after me. “Where are you going?”
I stopped and turned to look at my friends.
“What are you doing?” Brendan asked.
“I’m tired of all this bunk about ghosts and stuff, guys.” I pointed at the mound and started marching toward it again.
“Patrick, don’t do it!” Max yelled. “What if—”
“What, Max?” I stopped and turned around. “What if what? Huh, Max? If there really are ghosts—which I do not believe in—what can they do to us? Really?”
“Well . . . uh . . . I guess . . . but—”
“Max, buddy, I’m tired of guessing and you making up wild stories about what it could be. I’m ready to know what’s going on and I am going to find out. While something is actually going on and I can see it with my own eyes. You can come or stay here. It’s up to you. I don’t care.” I turned and was nearly to the tree line when Max called after me again.
The rest of them ran to catch up with me, Max trailing behind. Our weapons in hand, weapons that would do us absolutely no good against any real danger, we charged up the slope to the top. As we rushed up the hill we heard a ‘whump, whump, whump’ noise, like someone beating a drum.”
We were panting and out of breath when we broke into the clearing. And came to a screeching halt.
Dancing around the fire ring was a group of very short, black-haired, black-eyed people. Kids? They took one look at us and began screaming.
Loud blood-curdling whoops sounded over the noise the kids were making. A very large man, dressed in buckskins, black hair in long braids, a spear raised over his head, rushed into the clearing. He skidded to a stop when he saw us, lowering his arm and staring.
“FURY!” Max screeched. His eyes bugged like they were going to explode from his head and he was shaking from head to toe.
I think he might have peed his pants. I almost did.
Dozens of little black eyes turned on Max. They turned up the shrieking a notch and ran toward the tall warrior, huddling close to him and hiding their eyes in his leather pants.
What were they doing running to him like that? Didn’t they get it, that we were there to save them? Some of them were crying hysterically and clinging to the man and each other.
James put his hand on my shoulder and whispered behind me, “Patrick, look.” He nodded from me to Jeremy then Max and Brendan. In the firelight, the gray paint made their faces look really weird, like they glowed. The fake blood seemed to be dripping off their jackets. The way they were holding those phony weapons, it looked like they were ready to pull the trigger and blast the whole crowd.
At the same time, if I looked anything like Jeremy, his face mostly hidden by his hat pulled down close on his head, we were a pretty scary sight too.
The big Indian grabbed the kids and pushed them around behind him, shielding them from the assault team of blood-sucking, flesh-eating, zombie alien vampires.
One brave little kid peeped around the long legs, his dark eyes big and unblinking as he looked at me. Then he took a step toward us.
“Patrick?”
I looked at him and dropped my side arm before he tackled me.
“Jimjoe!”
My hat fell off as I picked up our little friend from the apartment complex day camp. He wrapped his arms around my neck. Then more than a dozen little kids squealed and rushed us.
“Patrick?”
“Mr. Meeker?” I said, recognizing the tall Indian.
I set Jimjoe on the ground and took a step toward the big Indian. Or should I say, my youth leader from church. I was about to ask what was going on, but stopped in my tracks as another Indian walked into the light of the camp fire. I sucked in a huge gulp of air.
“Dad?
“Mr. Morrison?” one of my friends squeaked out, staring bug-eyed at the two men. I was having trouble breathing.
“Patrick, what are you doing here?”
I could ask you the same thing was on the tip of my tongue. But before I could get a word out, I noticed another Indian and a cowboy near the edge of the circle.
Seriously? For real? Was someone back there in the trees cloning these guys or something? What was going on?
The little kids hopped up and down pulling at our hands, shouting, “Come play with us.”
James eased up beside me while the other guys bunched as close as they could with the kids crowding around us.
“Patrick, what is going on here?” Max asked.
“You’re asking me? Are you kidding?” How come they thought I always had the answers. “I don’t know any more about what’s going on than you do.”
“But . . . your dad . . .”
“Aren’t you boys supposed to be on your way to the Festival?” My dad came around the fire ring walking toward us. “Patrick, weren’t you supposed to wrap up your filming and go home?”
“Yes, sir, we finished shooting the last scene, but then we saw the fire and heard screaming and we thought . . .”
Mr. Meeker started to walk toward us, but those other guys hung back.
“Dad? Would you please tell me what in the world is going on here? Why is Jimjoe and the other kids here? Why are you dressed like that, and who are those men?”
He started laughing. They all started laughing.
I did not see anything funny about any of this.
When we started talking, the kids moved away from us and started skipping around the fire, playing.
“Dad?” This whole thing was very confusing and I wanted some answers.
He looked around at Mr. Meeker and the other men, smiling. “Well, Clyde here got the idea to bring the kids over here so they could play.”
Mr. Meeker stepped forward to explain. “Patrick, you guys know they don’t have much of a place to play around the apartment complex. These kids were used to being in the forest so I thought they’d like it here with all the trees. I’ve been bringing them here to play sometimes.”
James leaned close to me and muttered in my ear, “Why are they in that get-up?”
“You talking about the kids or my dad and Mr. Meeker?” There was more than one story here.
“All of them.”
“Yeah, and who are those other guys?” Jeremy added under his breath.
Where would I start? My friends were shooting more questions at me than I could manage. I eyed Dad and my youth leader, including the men watching the kids play around the fire ring.
I pointed to Mr. Meeker. “Okay. So you’ve been bringing the kids over here to play?”
He nodded he had. I interrupted him when he started to say something. I turned to my dad and asked, “And why are you here?”
“Oh, well, I came to help Clyde. That’s a bunch of kids, you know.”
I knew.
“Why are they dressed that way?” I pointed to the kids. Some of them were still dancing around the fire ring. A few had taken seats on the logs. “And what about you, Dad? And Mr. Meeker? Why are you dressed like Indians?”
“The kids have asked questions about the fire ring and the stumps,” explained Mr. Meeker. “It seemed a good time to tell them about the mound and the Native Americans who came here.”
“Since we’re taking them to the Festival at church we thought we’d just go in these outfits,” Dad said, touching his fake buckskins. “And the kids’ native clothing makes great costumes, don’t you think?”
Oh, my gosh! I’d forgotten all about the Festival. My mom was going to kill me!
Just then my phone beeped that I had a text. I had a good idea who it was.
Mom: Patrick, I’m taking Taylor’s car, going to church. Come home! Now! She will bring you boys in my car. NOW, young man.
There were still so many questions! I felt like my head was going to blow off my shoulders.
“You too?” my dad asked holding his phone. Mom had texted him too. “Hey, Clyde, we’re supposed to be at the church with the kids. We better wind it up here.” He started helping Mr. Meeker round up the kids. “Can you boys get back to the house okay? The church van and Clyde’s SUV are full.”
“Yeah, we’re all right.” I hoped we could make it back across the field and pasture without breaking our necks. My mom might do that for me anyway. “But, dad . . .”
“Patrick, this will have to wait until later. We really have to get the children to the Festival now.”
“Okay, we’re going. Just one thing first,” I said, pointing to the two strangers. “Who are those guys?”
My dad looked at me, surprised. “Why, Patrick, you boys know Bill Nelson.”
Mr. Nelson? Like in Mr. Nelson’s farm? Mr. Nelson’s pasture? That Mr. Nelson? How were we supposed to know? I didn’t exactly recognize this native version of Mr. Nelson. So who was the cowboy?
“Oh, and that’s his brother, Earl. They’re helping with the kids.”
“Patrick, we have got to go.” The day campers were already running through the trees down the other side of the hill. There was a down side to the mound, where I’d wanted to go, to see what was there. And these little kids looked like they knew exactly where they were going. My dad ran after them, calling back over his shoulder, “See you at the church.”
Kemo Sabe and Tonto started dumping dirt on the fire.