size lake that's still well frozen; one with a public launch."
Sig got in and started the truck. "What happens when someone finds them?" He received a snore in reply. Grampa's chin rested on his chest. How can he sleep?
Twenty minutes later Sig eased the truck down a snow covered launch ramp at the biggest lake in the area. After Sig shook him awake, Grampa took the samurai sword and walked ahead of the truck onto the frozen lake. Sig followed for one hundred and fifty yards across the glistening white before Grampa signaled him to stop and turn the truck around. No lake cabins were visible through the leafless trees.
After he turned the truck, Sig got out to watch. With the sword, Grampa etched a ten–foot circle in the ice. Then he scratched strange figures inside the circle. When finished with the ice drawings, he leaned on the sword like a cane and gestured with the other hand.
Sig heard him muttering foreign sounding words while gesturing.
Before Grampa finished the incantation, haze, like steam, rose from the etched area. The fog intensified.
Sig watched intently, trying to see into the thickening clouds. After a few moments, it thinned and drifted away in the light wind. As it dissipated, Sig saw dark water where the circle had been. Grampa groaned and dropped to his knees, clutching his chest.
Sig rushed to his side. Grampa shook his head and pushed him away. "Dump the zombies in before it freezes. I'll be OK. Look, it's already starting to freeze. Hurry."
Sig backed the truck close, lifted the dump bed, and got out of the cab. Parts slid, splashed, and disappeared into the dark water. Those that missed the hole, he flipped into the water with a pitchfork. Through the pitchfork, he felt some parts still quivering. Crackling noises replaced splashes for the last few pieces when they broke through the rime forming in the opening.
Grampa was snoring when Sig got back into the truck. His skin looked grayer and he slept all the way home. At least snoring indicated life.
When they got back to the farm, Grampa yawned and stretched before getting out. He looked around the yard. "That's the good thing about zombies; no blood to clean up."
Sig grimaced. "That was disgusting. I need a shower."
"Good idea. Go up and shower and I'll talk to Meredith. I'm sure she has questions, probably more than I can answer. I'll join you upstairs when you're done."
†††
Sig finished dressing before Grampa knocked on his door. "Can I come in?"
"Sure, come on."
Grampa scanned the room. Sig's latest karate gi hung from a hook on the closet door; a black belt draped over the hanger. Grampa started Sig on martial arts at five years old, arranging to pay for all his karate lessons. Sig outgrew quite a few gi in the twelve years since he started. He excelled and was the youngest to attain each belt rank.
On a later visit, he started Sig on kendo classes. Sig's shinai practice swords rested in a rack above his dresser along with his fencing swords.
Inside his bedroom door hung a poster with the top fifty Chuck Norris facts (such as "Chuck Norris counted to infinity—twice" and "Chuck Norris likes his ice like he likes his skulls … crushed.") An Einstein poster, the one with his tongue out, hung on the wall.
Sig started to take the chair at the desk and motioned for Grampa to take the bed, but Grampa shooed him out of the chair and sat down. "I've been driving all night. If I lay down, I'll fall asleep."
Sig sat on the bed, elbows on knees, his forehead in his hands, dark brown hair hanging forward over his face. He massaged his temples then looked up. "Wow, I don't know where to start. Zombies attacking … your magic … you say I have magic."
"I'm not surprised you're feeling overwhelmed. I talked to your Mom about the zombies. She said they've been around since the farm across the road sold. She noticed that their numbers had been growing, but had no idea that is was that many."
"She noticed too?" Sig asked and
Sig got in and started the truck. "What happens when someone finds them?" He received a snore in reply. Grampa's chin rested on his chest. How can he sleep?
Twenty minutes later Sig eased the truck down a snow covered launch ramp at the biggest lake in the area. After Sig shook him awake, Grampa took the samurai sword and walked ahead of the truck onto the frozen lake. Sig followed for one hundred and fifty yards across the glistening white before Grampa signaled him to stop and turn the truck around. No lake cabins were visible through the leafless trees.
After he turned the truck, Sig got out to watch. With the sword, Grampa etched a ten–foot circle in the ice. Then he scratched strange figures inside the circle. When finished with the ice drawings, he leaned on the sword like a cane and gestured with the other hand.
Sig heard him muttering foreign sounding words while gesturing.
Before Grampa finished the incantation, haze, like steam, rose from the etched area. The fog intensified.
Sig watched intently, trying to see into the thickening clouds. After a few moments, it thinned and drifted away in the light wind. As it dissipated, Sig saw dark water where the circle had been. Grampa groaned and dropped to his knees, clutching his chest.
Sig rushed to his side. Grampa shook his head and pushed him away. "Dump the zombies in before it freezes. I'll be OK. Look, it's already starting to freeze. Hurry."
Sig backed the truck close, lifted the dump bed, and got out of the cab. Parts slid, splashed, and disappeared into the dark water. Those that missed the hole, he flipped into the water with a pitchfork. Through the pitchfork, he felt some parts still quivering. Crackling noises replaced splashes for the last few pieces when they broke through the rime forming in the opening.
Grampa was snoring when Sig got back into the truck. His skin looked grayer and he slept all the way home. At least snoring indicated life.
When they got back to the farm, Grampa yawned and stretched before getting out. He looked around the yard. "That's the good thing about zombies; no blood to clean up."
Sig grimaced. "That was disgusting. I need a shower."
"Good idea. Go up and shower and I'll talk to Meredith. I'm sure she has questions, probably more than I can answer. I'll join you upstairs when you're done."
†††
Sig finished dressing before Grampa knocked on his door. "Can I come in?"
"Sure, come on."
Grampa scanned the room. Sig's latest karate gi hung from a hook on the closet door; a black belt draped over the hanger. Grampa started Sig on martial arts at five years old, arranging to pay for all his karate lessons. Sig outgrew quite a few gi in the twelve years since he started. He excelled and was the youngest to attain each belt rank.
On a later visit, he started Sig on kendo classes. Sig's shinai practice swords rested in a rack above his dresser along with his fencing swords.
Inside his bedroom door hung a poster with the top fifty Chuck Norris facts (such as "Chuck Norris counted to infinity—twice" and "Chuck Norris likes his ice like he likes his skulls … crushed.") An Einstein poster, the one with his tongue out, hung on the wall.
Sig started to take the chair at the desk and motioned for Grampa to take the bed, but Grampa shooed him out of the chair and sat down. "I've been driving all night. If I lay down, I'll fall asleep."
Sig sat on the bed, elbows on knees, his forehead in his hands, dark brown hair hanging forward over his face. He massaged his temples then looked up. "Wow, I don't know where to start. Zombies attacking … your magic … you say I have magic."
"I'm not surprised you're feeling overwhelmed. I talked to your Mom about the zombies. She said they've been around since the farm across the road sold. She noticed that their numbers had been growing, but had no idea that is was that many."
"She noticed too?" Sig asked and
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