Rise of the Zombie Scarecrows Read online

“Hey, give someone else a turn to be hero for a change,” he said, grinning as he clicked his camera a few times. “At least Cory got in on it this time. Photo will be in the paper tomorrow. Couple of heroes, huh? You’ll have to share some hero space with Mr. Loughlin.”

  After that, we ordered a deluxe pizza to celebrate the coolness of not being in trouble. And doing something useful to help out Nicole. I should have felt really good for the rest of that evening. Mom, Nicole, Cory and I watched one of Mom’s fave campy flicks, Army of Darkness, on dvd. (Gran took a pass when she heard the title.) And we chowed down on a huge pile of caramel corn. But I couldn’t enjoy any of it.

  Because down deep, I couldn’t stop thinking about…yep, Monica Buckley.

  And sure enough, on Friday morning there we were on the front page. Holding our cameras and grinning like a couple of idiots. The headline read Local boys with cameras help bust pumpkin vandals.

  Mom was smiling over her coffee. Gran was smiling too. Wider than usual. “I’m going over to see Buddy at lunchtime today,” she said. “I made him some nice thick tuna sandwiches on crusty bread. Can’t wait to hear his take on this thing.”

  It was a good bet he was getting lots of mayo and chopped-up apples in his sandwich.

  “What’s up with that, Mom?” my mom asked Gran. “You got a thing for Buddy Dalton now, or what?”

  I’m pretty sure Gran started blushing. And she was speechless for the first time ever.

  Cory and I rode our bikes to school to avoid the attention on the bus. I was proud of what we’d done. But kids had started to call me Sherlock Holmes even before this latest incident. I was already sick of hearing it. As soon as we rode up to the school, though, someone yelled out a window, “Nice work crackin’ the case, Sherlock.”

  And during the announcements, the principal announced that, yes, we had a couple more heroes at the school this morning. But he didn’t go into detail like he had with Monica on Tuesday. The Bridgewood Weekly couldn’t print the vandals’ names since they were juveniles.

  I wondered if Tim Dalton and Rick Smith would show up at school that day. How could they face anyone after what they’d done? But if nobody knew who the pumpkin vandals actually were, their not showing up would make it obvious.

  I’d mentioned all of this to Cory on the bike ride to school. We’d decided to keep our feelers out throughout the morning. We’d find out what everyone else knew, then compare notes in the cafeteria at lunchtime.

  Lots of kids came up to me in class and in the hallways and asked the burning question. So who was it, Dylan, I heard over and over again. And all I did was shrug.

  Tim Dalton did come to school. He treated me like I was invisible, which didn’t matter because that was how I always treated him. He’d been a whiner in middle school, from what I remembered. He had an overprotective mom who dropped him off at school every day instead of making him take the bus with the rest of us. And back then, he’d picked his nose in public. And ate it! He’d never had many friends, for obvious reasons.

  Only one person said something interesting to me that morning. That was Rick Smith.

  “Wasn’t me, Dillweed,” he murmured as he passed me in the hall. That was Garrett’s favorite name for me, which Rick had probably overheard at middle school. How totally lame.

  “Whatever,” I muttered back. “Tell it to the judge.”

  He turned so red I thought his head would explode as he stalked off.

  “Nothing, zippo, nada,” I told Cory when I plopped down at the table in the cafeteria.

  “Me either,” Cory said. “Nobody knows who it was. Everybody wants to though.”

  I unwrapped my sandwich. It was a big thick tuna salad on crusty bread with lots of mayo and chopped-up apple. And there were four gingersnaps. And a couple of Clementine oranges, and a ziplock bag of jujubes, Gran’s favorite candy. It seemed I was in her good books again.

  But nothing really mattered that day. Because Monica didn’t even show up in the cafeteria at lunch. And neither did Charlie Wells. I was antsy the entire time, and Cory could tell. He kept watching me and shaking his head.

  “Okay, so I know I have the hots for Ivy Adams. And I know I check her out whenever I get the chance. There’s at least a little payoff. Yesterday in the hallway she actually smiled at me, so I’m hoping for that today too. But dude! You look like a sad puppy. Monica is so done with you. Get over it.”

  “Shut up, Cory,” I said. “I’ll catch you later, okay? And let you know when I come up with a cool ending for our movie.” Then I did a glum zombie walk right out of the cafeteria. I shuffled along the hallway and through the double doors into blinding October sunshine.

  Chapter Six

  And that was when I caught Charlie and Monica in the middle of a kiss.

  They were under the big maple tree on the front lawn of the school. Right in front of everybody. Including me. So I turned around and ran straight back into the school.

  For the rest of that afternoon I felt sick. I rode my bike home before last period so I wouldn’t have to face anyone in the halls. I didn’t care if the attendance office called to report me. It couldn’t make me feel any worse than I already did. Nothing could. No matter how mad at me Mom and Gran got, no matter how hard I got lectured or how long I got grounded. Nothing would hurt me as much as seeing Monica Buckley getting kissed by that stupid Charlie Wells. Maybe Cory was right. Maybe it was time for me to forget about Monica. I needed to get over her, since she was clearly done with me.

  I was feeling bruised from the inside out when I walked through the apartment door. And Gran wasn’t home. I guessed she was still hanging out with Buddy. Even my grandmother had a boyfriend now. I had nobody, and I didn’t want anyone but Monica. I dropped my backpack at the door, went straight to my room, flopped on my bed and instantly conked out.

  Until someone started shaking my shoulder.

  “Why are my father’s coat and hat lying on the closet floor?” Gran said in my ear.

  “What?” I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Those are your father’s things? No wonder they stink like mothballs!”

  “Yes. And that’s all I have left of him. They’re your legacy too. Was that your scarecrow costume the other night? Honestly, Dylan. Do you have straw for brains, or what?”

  Hmm. Sometimes I wondered that myself.

  “By the way. You took the wrong lunch bag this morning. That sandwich was meant for Edward.” She was still looming over me and glaring.

  “Who the heck is Edward?” I asked. “Another one of your boyfriends?”

  “Dylan!” She was half smiling. “That’s Buddy’s real name. I call him that sometimes. You were supposed to take the leftover chicken and bread for lunch.”

  “Wow, sorry about that. Day-old chicken on stale bread wasn’t good enough for Edward, I guess. I’m sure your boyfriend has food at home though.”

  “Look, I told Chuck Wells that I’d bring Edward his lunch today. So I had to stop at Rocky’s Roadhouse for some Reuben sandwiches.” She rolled her eyes and tsk-tsked.

  “And who is Chuck Wells? You’re confusing sometimes, Gran.” I sighed loudly.

  “It’s Ed—Buddy’s stepson. Buddy married Chuck’s mother after his first wife died. Chuck still looks out for Buddy, even though his mom passed away a few years back. He’s a very nice man.”

  Suddenly I was wide awake.

  “Is that Charlie Wells’s dad? So you mean Buddy Dalton is Charlie’s step-granddad?”

  “Correct,” Gran said. “And maybe you should make your own lunches now. I’ll start your supper. Not that you deserve it.” When she winked, I knew she was joking, sort of.

  Gran left my room. And I sat there on the edge of my bed, thinking about how much I loathed Charlie Wells, until our supper was ready. It was wieners and canned beans. Talk about slacking off in the kitchen, all because of her new boyfriend! I didn’t dare say that out loud.

  Later that evening Cory called to find out if I was still mad. And to see if I’d figured anything out for our movie on Saturday. Guys don’t stay mad at each other for long though. So my answer was no and no again.

  “You mean you haven’t come up with anything?” he yelped into my ear. “We shoot tomorrow! All those kids will show up in their costumes, and we won’t…”

  “Then you think of something,” I told him. “I’ve got too much other junk on my mind.”

  “Sorry, I got nothing,” he said. “Not as creative as you are. Don’t read so much either.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Maybe we’ll just wing it.”

  “We can’t have random zombie scarecrows wandering through town. The humans have to figure out how to stop them. Or it’ll suck big-time.”

  “Okay, so let me think a bit more then,” I said and hung up on him.

  That night I couldn’t fall asleep, I guess because of my afternoon zonkout. So I was lying there trying not to think about Monica and Charlie at the same time I was trying to come up with an ending for our movie. I’d slept for a bit when I heard Mom come in from her shift at Rocky’s. And I started thinking some more.

  Straw for brains. That’s what Gran had said to me. I knew what she really meant. I thought of the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, the character that turned out to be the smartest. He had straw for brains but was terrified of a lit match. And flames freaked him out.

  Flames. Of course. “That’s it,” I said out loud.

  I was so pumped I dialed Cory’s cell-phone number right away.

  “Dylan? I was asleep, you jerk,” he mumbled when he answered.

  “I’ve got it,” I told him. “Meet me at the dollar store at ten.”

  “Thanks for waking me up, dude,” Cory said when we met at Dollarama on Saturday morning.

  It had da
wned a perfect fall day, cool and bright and not a chance of rain. Dawn of the Dead, I couldn’t help but think on my way to meet Cory. One of Mom’s other favorite undead flicks. The George A. Romero version from 1978, of course, she always said. Not the remake.

  “Hey, you’re the one who kept bugging me to think of something. Guess I work better under pressure. Great ending though, isn’t it?”

  As we parked our bikes, Cory grinned at me. “Not sure. You haven’t told me yet.”

  “You mean I didn’t blab it last night? I guess I was half-asleep. It’s epic!”

  I told him while we shopped for the rest of our props. And he liked it too.

  After we’d paid, we rode our bikes back to Cory’s house to print the rest of the script. We didn’t have a printer at the apartment. An unnecessary frill, Mom said. I could print at the school library, she said.

  As we wheeled along the busy main street, two bikes approached from the opposite direction. When we were close enough, I realized it was Charlie and Tim.

  “Great,” I said. “My two favorite people. Let’s turn before we meet up with them, okay?”

  But it was too late. They’d already seen us.

  “Hey, Dillweed,” Tim yelled. “How’s it goin’?” What a dork.

  “Bite me, dork,” I told him as they rode past us.

  “Don’t you mean Sherlock, Tim?” Charlie called over his shoulder, then laughed at his dumb joke. “Your ex-girlfriend’s an awesome kisser, by the way.” And they were gone.

  I swear I instantly started to boil inside my skin.

  “Couple of weenies,” Cory said when he saw my face. “Forget about ’em, Dylan.”

  But I’d already turned my bike around to follow them.

  “Seriously, dude,” Cory said, following me. “It’s so not worth it.”

  “You don’t know how much I hate that he was kissing her,” I growled as I started pedaling harder. “I’d love to punch his lights out.”

  “But he’s way bigger than you,” Cory said, trying to catch up. “And me!”

  “But there’re two of us,” I told him.

  “And two of them,” Cory reminded me. “It won’t end well.”

  “Tim doesn’t count. He’s puny. He’ll be too busy picking his nose.”

  “Yep, that’s true,” Cory agreed.

  We let them get just far enough ahead that they wouldn’t notice us following them. I was feeling breathless, my heart pounding hard, an unfamiliar fury surging from somewhere inside me. Somewhere I’d thought was mostly dead. It felt pretty alive right now though.

  And then they turned onto Beechwood Lane. Buddy Dalton’s street.

  “Crap. They’re going to visit their grandfather, I bet,” I said.

  “What?” Cory said. “Am I missing something?”

  “You sure are,” I said, then told him what Gran had told me the day before.

  “Nice grandsons,” Cory said with a scowl. “What a couple of dweebs. I wonder if he even likes them. Guess you have to like your own flesh and blood though, huh?”

  “Not necessarily. And anyway, Charlie isn’t blood. But he is a total jerk.”

  We rode past Buddy’s house. Their bikes were dumped on his front lawn. And they were about to go inside when Charlie spotted us.

  “Hey, Sherlock! You followed us here? Are ya jealous of Mon and me? Or crushing on me like all the other girls?” He gave a loud laugh, sort of like a donkey. Or more like a jackass.

  “Yeah, the Dillweed probably is,” goofball Timmy piped up.

  Mon? Nobody called her Mon. She hated that nickname. I stopped my bike in the middle of the road and put both feet on the ground. My hands turned into fists.

  “Cool it,” Cory warned me. “Their grandfather just had a heart attack, remember.”

  “Duh! I know,” I growled. “But I can’t do nothing.” Then I knew exactly what to do.

  “Okay, you know what, you jerks?” I said. “Don’t bother showing up in the park today. You’re out of the movie.”

  “No kidding, dork,” Tim said. “You really think I was still coming?”

  Charlie’s face went hard.

  “Well, I’m still showing up,” he told us. “I need this for my volunteer community service.”

  “Seriously?” Cory laughed. “This doesn’t count for community service, you idiot.”

  “Nice try, loser,” I said. Then we got back on our bikes and rode away.

  When I took a chance and looked back, Charlie was standing in the middle of the road, giving me the finger. With both hands.

  Chapter Seven

  I had no regrets for cutting Charlie from the movie. In fact, I felt amazing for a change, especially after that little adrenaline rush in front of Buddy’s place.

  That afternoon Cory messaged the main cast on his cell phone. He reminded them to text everyone else to show up on time and in costume. They’d blend well with all the other Halloween madness happening in town that day. I thought it would be a challenge to get Gran to let me wear my great-grandpa’s clothes again. But she didn’t put up a fight.

  “Take good care of them,” she said as I headed out to meet Cory in the park at four thirty. “If you get anything on that coat, you’ll have to pay for the cleaning bill yourself.”

  “I will guard this stinky old coat with my life, Gran.”

  “Don’t get smart. Maybe I’ll see you out there on the streets. I’m going over to Edward’s to help him hand out candy. We’re even carving his pumpkin first. And look.” She held up a pair of gray, navy and maroon-striped socks. “He’s getting them today. That reminds me. When’s Monica coming over to pick up her pair?”

  Sucker punch to the gut. “Not sure, Gran,” I told her, and looked the other way. But not before I saw the look on her face that said It’s over, isn’t it? Poor you.

  Gran was smiling as I said goodbye. It was cool to see her getting out of the house and being so happy these days. Mom and Brent had already headed for Rocky’s Roadhouse, where they were helping set up for a Halloween shindig that evening. They went as an undead bride and groom. Brent had brought the costumes and professional makeup from a rental place in the city. They looked amazing when they left the apartment, holding hands. Like that crazy scene from Beetlejuice.

  I headed for the park on my bike, backpack over my shoulders and the camera, script and props stashed inside. It was almost time for the Big Reveal. Everyone seemed to be outside, raking leaves, riding bikes, playing with their kids. And perfecting their scarecrow displays for the judging tour the next day.

  It sounded like one huge shriek coming from all the excited kids running around in costumes, having sword fights, parading glittery dresses or unleashing inner monsters. All hyped for Halloween. It kind of made me miss those days. I used to love running in big rubber boots as a cape flapped behind me, being my favorite superhero of the week.

  Cory was waiting for me, sitting on a picnic table and grinning as I rode up.

  “I am so pumped for this,” he said.

  “You got your camera, right?”

  “Well duh,” he said. “I hope you’re good at cutting this flick. If I try and edit, I’m sure I’ll mess it up big-time.”

  “No worries,” I said. “I love editing. It’s almost better than shooting, I think. I picked a great soundtrack called Danse Macabre, by some dead composer. You should check it out.”

  “God, you’re such a freakin’ geek,” he said, then rolled his eyes and snorted.

  Before five, the cast started turning up. And their zombie makeup was so perfect, it was hard to tell who anyone was. That is, until Human One came up and punched me on the arm.

  “Hey, Dillweed! Thanks for letting me be a main human, man. Hah! Human man,” Garrett said. “I know my lines and I will totally rock this role. Rock ’n’ roll! Hah! Get it?”

  There was no way I was going to try and explain the different spellings.

  By five o’clock, most of the kids were sprawled on park benches and picnic tables and going over their lines. Cory dumped out the bags of straw, and the zombie scarecrows stuffed their necks and tattered sleeves. They were excited like crazy and already in character. They stumbled around, moaning and slathering and crashing into each other. They dripped gore as they chased down the human characters, jerking in that strange spastic way that’s so creepy in all the movies. Some were even chewing on bloody severed arms and legs. It was spectacular.