By the time he got there, the transformation was complete, and he instantly infected his whole family.
They, in turn, infected their entire neighborhood.
Before you were even back from the camp, West Monroe was mostly gone.
And that’s how it starts.
Once you realize that you’re alone in this town and everyone else has turned into allibeavers, you take up the defense, loading John Luke’s Jeep with guns, ammunition, and food.
You start hearing reports on the radio. People all over the state are beginning to realize that something weird is happening. Something is on the attack, but no one yet understands what it is. Strange, conflicting reports communicate only partial truths.
You try over and over to call the family members who are still human, as far as you know. Finally you get a message on your answering machine from Alan.
“They’re gone, Dad! Something’s happening! I don’t know—I’m the last one who hasn’t changed. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a beard. I’m not sure. But they’re trying to break into the house. They’re coming—you guys gotta get out of there fast! They’re—”
The line goes dead.
You know what that means.
You’ve seen zombie movies and end-of-the-world movies.
But you’ve also seen Jason Bourne movies.
In this case, you’re Jason Bourne, and the rest of the world is full of zombies. Or . . . well, allibeavers.
There’s no time to grieve. You have to act.
You have to take care of yourself.
You have to stay clear of trouble.
It’s time to head for the safest place you can think of in the event of an allibeaver outbreak.
You make a phone call and get his voice mail.
“Mac, this is Phil. I’m driving to your place. Keep an eye on the news. Be careful. Stay away from anything that resembles an alligator. Or a beaver. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
You start driving to the Owens’ house.
Divide, Colorado, is a long ways away from Louisiana. And hopefully from the allibeavers.
But you know you’ll be secure there.
Mac’s one of the original Duck Commanders.
You all gotta stick together when the end of the world comes.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S THE DUCKS
JOHN LUKE IS STILL GROGGY as you both stand at the doorway, preparing to exit the cabin. You told him about the ducks, but he doesn’t understand the magnitude of what awaits you two outside. You give him a nod.
“Okay. Here we go.”
The door opens. You put an arm around John Luke and guide him outside.
There are more ducks now than there were only minutes ago. And it’s not just mallards, either. There are all kinds. Even some that you’ve never seen around here.
Some that don’t belong here at all.
There’s a white-cheeked pintail. A king eider. A blue-winged teal. A surf scoter.
The ducks are covering the camp. They’re on the ground and in the trees.
In the trees?
They’re on the benches outside and all over the cabins. They’re banging into each other because there are literally thousands. Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?
As you lead John Luke out, he starts shaking his head and resisting.
“No,” he says. Then, louder, “No, no!”
“It’s okay,” you say, your arm still around him. “We’ll be fine.”
“I know. But why are you acting like I can’t walk?” he asks.
“Oh. Sorry. Just helpin’.”
Side by side, you move slowly through the sea of ducks, careful not to enrage them. You don’t want them suddenly attacking. This many of anything would take you down. They might just all try to land on you at once and suffocate the life out of you.
John Luke accidentally kicks a duck in the head.
“Easy,” you whisper. “We have to make it to the Jeep.”
There are ducks all over the vehicle too. It’s like a snowstorm with ducks instead of snowflakes. You have to shoo away ducks from the windshield and the roof.
Once inside the Jeep, you’re both too stunned to talk. John Luke starts the engine.
“How’d this happen?” he finally asks.
You shake your head. No idea.
You don’t know if this duck infestation is only affecting the camp or if it’s happening in other places too.
What about the rest of West Monroe? What about all of Louisiana?
You turn on the radio but don’t hear anything out of the ordinary.
“Let’s go to your house,” you suggest.
“Think Dad will know what’s happening?”
“No, of course not. But Willie will have a plan. He’s always got a plan.”
John Luke slowly begins driving, letting the ducks move out of the way. They cover the drive all the way to the main road you take to exit the camp.
The ducks have revolted.
Not only that . . .
They’ve multiplied.
And you’re sneaking away in the night. This time the ducks are winning.
Yeah. Some Duck Commander you’ve turned out to be.
The worst part is, you haven’t even solved the mystery. Could the ducks be responsible for the strange happenings around here? It’s possible. But it’s not like they’re planning to confess anytime soon.
Wait . . . ducks can’t confess! They can’t even talk. I must be starting to quack up.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
THE SCENT OF MYSTERY
YOU IMMEDIATELY APPROACH THE POLICE, but the officer in charge asks you to take a seat and wait until they can sort things out.
An hour later, with the fire extinguished after the firemen tried to salvage whatever they could of the burning cabin, a cop walks toward you. You’re sitting at a picnic table with John Luke and Willie, who arrived about thirty minutes ago.
“You guys know anything about this?”
He hands you a glass bottle that’s shaped like a duck. You look at it and notice it’s filled with liquid and has a spray top.
“I know what that is,” Willie says, taking the bottle from you. “It’s a cologne some guy was trying to brand with Duck Commander. He was callin’ it ‘Duck Scent.’ Where’d you find this?”
“It was in the field—a few bottles of it,” the cop says.
“That guy was carrying a backpack full of something,” you say.
“I wonder if it’s the nut job who tried to sell this to us,” Willie says.
“What was wrong with it?” you ask.
Willie sprays it a few times so you can get a nice good sniff.
It smells rancid, like someone died.
Then you remember smelling something like that before.
When John Luke and I picked up the hitchhiker.
Could it be he wasn’t covered in body odor, but rather was wearing the never-to-be-released Duck Commander Duck Scent cologne?
“How can somethin’ smell so bad?” you ask.
“That’s awful,” John Luke says, coughing.
“We’re gonna want to get the name of the guy trying to sell you this stuff,” the cop informs Willie.
“Absolutely,” Willie says. “That guy always seemed suspicious.”
“No,” the policeman says. “Not because of that. I wanna know how I can buy my own bottle of Duck Scent cologne!”
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
STAYING HOME
WHATEVER’S GOING ON AT THAT CAMP can surely wait till you’ve had a good night’s rest. John Luke decides to spend the night at your house so the two of you can drive over first thing tomorrow mornin
g. The Egyptian Ratscrew game finally ends, but everybody takes their time leaving. You wind up going to bed at a later hour than usual and fall asleep in about ten seconds.
A high-pitched scream wakes you.
“What was that?” you mutter to Miss Kay, who is already awake and looking out the window.
“Sounds like some kind of animal.”
It’s unlike any animal you’ve ever heard. It reminds you a bit of the nasally, braying noise of a mule, but it’s much higher. And it lasts much longer.
“Maybe it’ll stop in a minute,” Miss Kay says, climbing back into bed.
“It better be stoppin’ in a minute.”
If there’s one thing in this world you don’t like, it’s being woken up. The kids and the grandkids have always known that. It takes a lot to wake you, and if something or someone does, they better watch out.
After about five minutes, you realize you’re going to have to get out there and deal with this. Being woken up is one thing, but being forced from your bed is another.
This is gonna be the last sound that animal ever makes.
You put on some clothes and shoes, then head toward the front door.
The room where John Luke is sleeping is quiet, so you leave him alone. He’s a heavy sleeper like you and the rest of the Robertson boys. And you’re sure you can handle this creature yourself.
You grab a rifle and a flashlight and silently open the door. The outdoor lights are on, illuminating the yard. As you shut the door behind you, the sound stops. You step in the direction the noise came from, but everything is quiet.
As you venture down a trail into the woods, you keep waiting for the sound to start up again. For a second, you stop and listen.
Nothing.
The worst part is you’re wide-awake now. This is why you don’t like to be woken up. Once it happens, it’s almost impossible to go back to sleep.
The bushes ahead of you rustle, and then you hear the sound again. It’s louder out here. You aim the high-powered flashlight toward it but don’t see anything. You walk closer, the annoying clamor louder than ever. But nothing appears unusual.
After searching for about twenty minutes, with the strange noise coming and going, you see bushes shake and hear branches snap as if something large is moving around. But you still can’t see whatever it is.
Just like that, all the noises stop. The animal that was making this eerie sound—no trace of it.
Well, that’s weird.
You know it’s gotta be close—maybe only a few feet from you, using the cloak of darkness as its camo.
You’re not sure whether to stay outside until you find it or to go back inside and try getting some sleep.
Do you stay outside? Go here.
Do you go inside? Go here.
SLASHER
YOU FEEL SOMETHING WARM against your cheek. You’re deep in sleep, but this sensation—it’s strange. It’s almost like someone’s standing over you, watching you, breathing on you. A person with hot breath and a cold heart.
Something scrapes along your bed.
You open your eyes with a jolt and scan the room.
No hot breath or cold heart to be seen. Surely you were just dreaming.
Then you hear mumbling from the bed next to you.
“I didn’t . . . No, it moved—I didn’t hit it. . . . The tree hit the Jeep.”
It’s only John Luke talking in his sleep.
“A hundred trees—mean trees—flipped the Jeep. . . . Bad tree.”
You decide to leave your talking grandson and head to the bathroom. There are many good things about getting older, but these nightly trips are not one of them.
As you’re washing your hands, you hear something outside. A branch cracking. You don’t think it’s anything to worry about, but then you hear a few more cracks.
May as well open the door and peer outside. For a moment you don’t see anything but darkness. But then something white and oval-shaped approaches you.
More branches snap. The sound of footsteps can be heard. Running footsteps.
The white thing gets closer and closer until you can finally tell what it is.
It’s a white mask. With black eyes and a tiny nose and mouth.
Someone’s wearing the white mask and running toward you.
Close the door. Get back inside.
When the masked stranger is five feet from the cabin, you slam the door and hear a loud bang. You crack the door open, revealing the figure sprawled on the ground.
“Are you crazy?” you shout, stepping on the guy’s chest so he can’t move.
You assume it’s a guy because the person is big and tall. He’s also wearing camo.
Wait a minute.
You loom over him, hoping you appear intimidating and not scared at all. Not at all.
“Take off the mask,” you command. You let him stand, but he doesn’t remove the disguise. “I said take it off. Who are you?”
He pulls off his creepy white Halloween mask to reveal . . . a dark, thick beard and long hair. He looks just like the guy you passed on the road earlier this evening.
“Were you hitchhiking out there?”
His eyes don’t move. He simply nods.
“What do you think you’re doing? What’s going on with the creepy mask?”
He just laughs.
“You think this is funny? I got a kid inside here. The police wouldn’t think it’s too funny.”
He keeps laughing. Then his smile turns grim.
“They’re coming,” he whispers.
“They’re coming? Who’s coming?”
He turns, and suddenly you see them. Several—no, make that a dozen figures emerging from the dark.
Wait a minute. Where’d this fog come from?
They’re all wearing masks like his.
“Is this some kind of joke?” you ask.
The man keeps laughing. And you decide enough’s enough. You shut the door and lock it behind you.
You wake up John Luke and tell him to call Willie or the cops—or anybody—but he doesn’t have cell service.
And you keep thinking, This is a joke. This is a joke. But it’s no joke at all.
The hitchhiker’s voice reaches you from outside. “You should have picked me up.”
Go here.
FAMILY RESEMBLANCE
YOU CRAWL BACK INTO BED and pull the covers over your head. Wait till I tell John Luke about this nightmare in the morning.
A crashing sound wakes you up. You open your eyes but see only darkness.
Somebody’s gonna pay for that noise.
You crawl out of bed, thinking again about your crazy nightmare. Alligators and beavers and John Luke and . . .
There’s the crashing sound again.
“It’s the middle of the night, and whoever’s making all that ruckus better zip it!” you shout out the window. Then you open the door, deciding a face-to-face confrontation might work best.
There in your cabin entryway stands a terrifying creature—a creature you thought existed only in your wildest dreams.
You pinch yourself to make sure you’re not still sleeping. Ouch.
The thing has a beaver tail and a long alligator snout with sharp teeth. It appears to be grinning.
Yes. It’s an allibeaver.
You notice that this particular allibeaver is wearing a bandanna.
A stars-and-stripes bandanna.
Willie’s bandanna.
Oh no. John Luke must have gone home and infected his family. Now Willie’s here to get you. You wish you had an ax handy to cut off his tail and stop the madness.
As he charges you, you think about how much Willie’s always resembled an allibeaver in some ways.
THE END OF THE “TAIL”
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
TIME AFTER TIME
“WE WERE ALREADY HERE ONCE,” John Luke says as you join him in the Jeep, the walls
of the cabin crashing down amid the fire.
“John Luke, what are you talking about?”
“This place . . . this cabin. It will be the site of a crime in the future. And because of that, it must be destroyed.”
“Son—did you eat too many fried pickles tonight?”
He gets out of the Jeep, his forehead dotted with sweat. You follow him.
“I had to make it right,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
John Luke is out of breath as if he’s been running laps for the last hour.
“I went into the bathroom, and then I saw it. Some kind of . . . outhouse. Right inside the cabin. It seemed really familiar—I’m not sure why. I got inside the outhouse, and then . . . something happened. I was transported to the future. And I saw a kid being bullied in this cabin.”
“So you did this?” You can’t believe it.
“It’s the only way. This kid I saw getting bullied—it only happens here, in cabin one. It won’t happen if the cabin’s not here. I mean, it won’t be the same in cabin two. Right?”
You shake your head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know—exactly. It’s mind-boggling, right?”
“No, John Luke. It’s just plain dumb.”
He looks at you. “Your mind’s not boggled?”
“No. Not at all. But yours, I’m thinking, might possibly be. We need to get you to a doctor, and fast.”
You’re about to drive John Luke to the hospital in West Monroe when you see it blocking your way. A wooden rectangular shape standing in the driveway leading out of the camp.
It’s an outhouse.
A strange-looking outhouse.
You look at John Luke, and then you head toward it.
You’re gonna go back in time and undo what he just did.
Why not?
Even if you can’t change John Luke’s actions, you bet time travel will be pretty fun. Fun enough to write a whole book about it, maybe.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca Page 7