ATOMIC ANTS

Camp Mead closed down for good after the summer of 1992. There had been a lot of rumors floating around the camp that year, and far too many unanswered questions—most of which had to do with the disappearance of Eddie Lansing. How was it that a teenager had simply vanished off the face of the earth in the middle of the night? And most unusual of all: Why did his cabin mates insist on such an unbelievable story about what had befallen the missing Eddie Lansing?

Twenty years later, an urban legend about what really happened to Eddie endures.

Many believe the legend is true, in part because the facts add up. But also because the story has been told around campfires for two decades. A story that stays around that long has to be true, doesn’t it?

The tale begins with a commonly agreed-upon fact: Eddie was not well liked. He was a boy who so annoyed the other eighth graders at the camp that they wouldn’t have anything to do with him. He was big for his age, overbearing, clumsy, and mean. And he happened to like picking on smaller, younger kids at Camp Mead. Most of his energy, in fact, was spent tripping, pushing, and otherwise tormenting the fifth graders. It was they who were new to the camp, they who were the smallest and weakest. And of the many fifth graders, a select and terribly unlucky group of four were placed in a cabin overseen by Eddie Lansing himself.

Cabin number two.

That’s where these poor souls were sent. And Eddie Lansing took to his job like a hog to slop.

“Canteen!” he yelled on the very first afternoon of camp.

He was lying on his bunk in cabin number two, his arms folded behind his head, while the four helpless fifth graders obeyed his every whim.

“You, what’s your name again? Rippy?”

“Rudy, sir,” said a sunburned little kid with bright blue eyes. “My name is Rudy.”

“Right, Rupy, whatever. You and that Pete kid go get me a licorice whip and an orange soda. Pronto.”

Rudy, having had his name butchered twice, turned to the group of three boys standing beside him. Pete, a lanky towheaded geek, was already turning toward the door, only too happy for a chance to get away from the cabin.

“I’ll go, too!” yelled both of the other boys—Jeff and Anthony — and like a nerd herd, the four boys ran for the door, while Eddie Lansing called for them to come back and fill out a cabin report he had no intention of doing himself. The boys ignored him, none of them brave enough to break from the pack and return alone.

“Bad decision, cabin mates,” Eddie said as he closed his eyes and settled in for a nap. “Very bad decision.”

The tormenting didn’t stop when Pete, Rudy, Jeff, and Anthony returned with the red rope and the orange soda. He made them unpack his suitcase and get his dinner so he wouldn’t have to wait in line in the mess hall. During the first two days, they found their beds short-sheeted, and shaving cream in their tennis shoes. And it was horrible at night, when Eddie snored and his feet stank so bad they had to plug their noses.

But there was one activity Eddie liked more than anything else, and it made all the other ways he mistreated the boys seem tame in comparison. He loved to scare people. He would hide behind the door and leap out at the young campers as they came into the cabin. He would put bugs and plastic snakes in their beds. And, worst of all, he would tell them stories.

“You know,” he said on the third night, as the boys were plugging their noses while Eddie wiggled his stinky toes. “There’s a red-faced maniac lives in these woods. He always shows up on the third night looking for one kid. Just one.”

“Why does he need a kid?” asked Jeff, his voice trembling.

“No one knows for sure. Rumor says he drags that one kid out into the woods and leaves him for dead.”

“Did you lock the cabin door?” asked Anthony.

Eddie got up and pulled the cabin door wide open. “Better leave it open or it’ll get hot in here. Plus, someone’s feet stink. You guys are gross.”

An hour later, when the fifth graders had finally managed to fall asleep, Eddie grabbed Rudy by the foot and dragged him screaming out of the cabin. He laughed and laughed as kids came flooding out of every door, wondering what all the commotion was about. Eddie thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever done.

After that, the four boys gave up any hope of defying Eddie. None of them wanted the Red-Faced Maniac treatment, that was for sure. They barely slept, did constant errands and chores, and worried endlessly about what might appear in their shoes, their dinner, or their hair.

On the fifth day of camp, Eddie decided to institute a forced march into the woods. He had a diabolical plan in mind, one he kept to himself as they hiked a mile down an overgrown trail that wound into the mountains. Eventually, they came to a locked gate in a long barbed-wire fence. On the gate was a sign that read: KEEP OUT. PRIVATE PROPERTY.

“Come on,” he said, parting the cords of barbed wire so the boys could fit through. “Got something I want to show you. It’s cool. You’ll dig it.”

Rudy and the rest were wary of Eddie, but they kind of wanted to know what lay beyond the fence line, too. So far, camp hadn’t been half the adventure they’d hoped for. They pushed aside their misgivings and stepped forward. Anthony went first, then Jeff and Pete, and finally Rudy.

“Follow me,” Eddie said, after clambering through the fence and getting his T-shirt stuck, ripping a hole down the side.

“Maybe we should just go back,” Rudy said, feeling less comfortable than he’d thought he might, now that they were on the other side of the fence.

Eddie laughed. “I always knew you were a chicken, Rupy.”

“I’m Rudy, not Rupy.”

“Whatever,” Eddie said, leading the boys farther still.

They came to a small clearing bordered by five large trees.

“If you look to the sky, it’s a star.” The boys looked up, and sure enough, the canopy of trees above outlined the shape of a five-sided star.

“Cool,” said Pete. “Can we go back to camp now? I’m hungry.”

“Hold your horses. That’s not even the best part,” said Eddie. “Do you guys know what this place used to be?”

Anthony raised his hand.

“This ain’t school,” Eddie said, laughing. “You guys are such dweebs. You’ll never guess, so I’ll just tell you. This whole area used to be a nuclear waste dump.”

“No way,” said Rudy, staring at his arms like he thought they might start glowing green.

“Yeah, way,” Eddie said in a serious voice.

He took a few steps to his right, knelt down, and started brushing away the pine needles and dirt. Soon he had revealed a round, flat concrete block that sat on the forest floor.

“What is it?” asked Jeff, creeping a little closer.

“It’s a lid.”

“What’s inside?” asked Anthony.

All the boys were standing around the edge of the concrete circle.

“Way down there, like a thousand feet down, that’s where they put all the metal drums of radioactive waste.”

“You’re so lying,” said Rudy, but he was uneasy just the same.

“And you want to know what else is down there?” asked Eddie.

“Not really,” said Pete.

The other boys shook their heads in agreement.

“Ants. But not normal ones. Huge ants, like six feet long. The Atomic Ants.”

None of the boys spoke. It couldn’t be true—but somehow, there under the canopy of trees that made the shape of a star over their heads, it seemed like it was possible. Something moved behind them, a bird or some other small animal in the underbrush, and all four young boys jumped. Eddie shook his head, thinking: Dweebs. This is gonna be great.

“Last year, one of them got out and came into camp,” Eddie said. “Tried to drag some kid away. They say it was huge, with wicked sharp pincers.”

Eddie was in full swing now, really going for it. “They had to beat it back with a shovel. Took seven guys to kill it.”

“How did it get out? I mean, they’re trapped down there, right?”

“Someone removed the lid,” Eddie said, and then he leaned down low and placed his hands on the edge of the round concrete slab. He pushed, putting his whole back into it, sliding the lid away with a horrible grinding noise.

“What are you doing?” yelled Rudy. “Put it back! Are you crazy?!”

But Eddie kept pushing until the slab was three- quarters of the way off, leaving a hole big enough to fall through. He leaned down, putting his head in the hole, and called to whatever was down there.

“Helllloooooooooo! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” And then he laughed and laughed and started walking back in the direction from which they’d come.

All four boys tried desperately to push the concrete lid back on, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t do it. All four of them put together weren’t as strong as Eddie Lansing. They chased after their cabin leader and begged him to put the lid back in place, but Eddie told them he couldn’t do it.

“You better stay up all night, I guess, just in case,” he said. “Chances are, whatever comes out of that hole, it’ll be looking for one of you.”

The rest of the hike was long and quiet as the young campers whispered among themselves about finding a shovel and taking shifts staying awake. Eddie was beaming with satisfaction at the trick he’d played.

If only he had known that he was right about the radioactive waste site. If only Eddie Lansing hadn’t pushed the lid off the containment unit. Maybe Camp Mead would still be open today.

But it’s not.

Because late that very night, in the quiet of a moonlit summer camp, whatever had been down in that hole crept silently closer.

And whatever crawled outside the window of cabin number two was hungry.