Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(48)

I start to waddle like mad toward the van. The sliding back door flies open, the dark cabin ready to take me in and whisk me to indoor plumbing.

And then, all of a sudden, three humongous hairy things spill out of the van all at once and begin stampeding toward me. It’s like something out of a nightmare. And I wonder, did I hit my head on the sidewalk? Am I in a coma? Am I dreaming this? Or did the mascot thugs go costume up and hijack Uncle Doug’s van so they could come back and attack me again?

The beasts growl and howl as they charge. My heart thuds in my chest as I shamble backward as fast as my leg-constricting carpet suit will let me.

That’s when I catch sight of the video-camera lens furtively poking out from the van’s open back door.

And suddenly it all makes sense.

These are our humanzees and I am meant to be one of their unwitting victims. I barely have time to wonder how we’re going to work a human-size rug into our script before the first creature is upon me. I get a glimpse of the fangs and the blood dripping from the corners of the flying vampanzee’s mouth — a pretty realistic effect, I must say — just as I turn to run. But it’s too late. The monster slams into me, ramming my lower back like I’m a football-tackling dummy. The creature’s hairy arms squeeze my midsection and I lose my balance once again.

We both hit the ground hard and the wind — together with a sizable gush of pee — is knocked right out of me. An odd mix of pain, relief, and humiliation swirls through my body as the wet warmth spreads over my thighs. I bear down, attempting to close off the tap, but there’s no way the flow is gonna stop before the tank’s been emptied.

I’m lying there on my stomach, clinging to the desperate hope that my carpet costume will soak up the embarrassing leak like a sponge, when I suddenly realize that me and the monkey-man have begun to slide down the snow-slicked slope.

And fast.

He is kneeling on top of me, riding me like a toboggan. I hear howls of laughter coming from the hilltop and console myself with the fact that at least the zombie-monkey costumes look pretty dope.

We finally come to a thumping halt against a mound of snow that’s been cleared from the lumberyard parking lot.

“Are you okay, there, buddy?” the monkey-man asks as he climbs off of me. His voice is familiar but since it’s muffled through the monkey mask, I can’t exactly place it.

“Yeah.” I sit up, coughing. “I think so.”

He turns his chimp-head and looks back at the hill we just sledded down. “What the —?” He starts to laugh. “Jeez, kid, did we actually scare the piss out of you?”

My body tingles with horror as I brush the snow and tomato guts out of my spandex-covered eyes and see what it is that he — and everyone on top of the hill — sees: a long, wide, Berry-Beast-bright-yellow swath cut through the snow.

He busts up, grabbing his hairy stomach. “Oh, buddy. Guy. I’m sorry. That’s . . . That’s . . . Wow.” But he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He reaches around his neck and starts to pull off the mask. I cringe, wondering which of our acquaintances just rode me down a hill while I pissed my tights.

The mask comes off and Nick smiles a huge psycho smile at me, his large teeth still stained red from the blood dye. “Now you know how I’ll be coming after you if you ever break my sister’s heart.” He cracks up like this is the funniest thing in the world.

To add insult to injury, Nick has to practically drag me back up the hill, as it’s impossible for me to do any climbing in my soggy restrictive rug suit. Everyone — Coop, Matt, Valerie, Helen, Evelyn, Uncle Doug, and the other two vampanzees — gathers around us once we reach the top.

“Oh, my God,” Evelyn shrieks, squeezing through the crowd to stand beside me. “Are you okay, sweetie pie? We didn’t know you were going to slip down the hill. I wouldn’t have let them do it if I’d known. I swear.”

“It’s okay,” I lie. “I’m fine.” Just clammy, achy, and pee scented.

“That was epic!” Coop hoots. “The kind of happy accident filmmakers dream about.”

“Were you scared?” Evelyn asks.

Nick chuckles. “Oh, he was scared all right.” He looks back at the yellow path I’ve left in the snow.

“What is that, anyway?” Helen asks, snapping a million photos of the scene.

“Nothing,” I say, my cheeks burning up behind the spandex.

“Probably just some dye from the cheap-ass rug costume.” Coop winks at me. “Don’t sweat it. We’ll make it work for us. We can recolor it in post. Make it red so it looks like blood. Your unc wanted product placement, and, boy, we got it! Zombie-vampire-chimps attack Rug Boy! I can’t wait to see the footage. I bet it looks spectac!”





“ANOTHER ROUND OF JALEPE?O poppers,” Uncle Doug calls out over the loud mariachi music from our long table at Los Muchachos. A sombrero-clad waiter hustles over with his order pad in hand. “And some more of these tasty fried Mexi-cchini sticks.” Uncle Doug pops one in his mouth. “Mmm-mmm. Who knew veggies could ever taste so good?”

Uncle Doug felt so bad about my traumatic time as his rug mascot that he offered to take the whole cast and crew out to lunch — me, Matt, Coop, Valerie, Helen, Evelyn, Nick, and the two other primates: Matt’s older brother, Pete, and Tony “the Gorilla” Grillo.