Johnny didn’t even apologize. He just got up, brushed off his jacket, and started whispering and laughing with his axe-wielding friends. And guess who got in trouble?

  Yup. ME. I, Gerald Creeper Jr., got chewed out by a Vindicator counselor who said that blowing up was “against the rules.” Well, what about hiding on top of a giant mushroom, waiting for a helpless creeper to creep by? What about ATTACKING that creep and tackling him to the ground? Where in the rules does it say THAT’s okay?

  I gotta say, Mr. Ender really went to bat for me. He got all up in the Vindicator counselor’s face.

  Sure, he called me “Harold” a few times, but I appreciated the effort.

  I guess it didn’t work, though, because the Vindicators just went on their merry way like nothing had happened. But our search party turned around. Why? Because Mr. Ender had lost his mojo. So we followed those wolf tracks all the way BACK to our cabin.

  I heard this morning that the Evokers were the first ones to track the wolf prints to water. Rumors are swirling that they even spotted a wolf along the way. But who knows? Maybe they just cast a spell and conjured up a few fangs to make it look good.

  Anyway, Mr. Ender has gone weird on us. It’s dawn—time to hit the sheets—but strange sounds are coming out of Mr. Ender’s bedroom. Sam and I pressed our ears to the knotholes in the door, and we heard the tinkling of glass. Well, I’d know that sound anywhere—those are POTION bottles that Mr. Ender is messing with. OUR potion bottles! So he must be planning on using them to strike back at the Illagers.

  I really think he should give me back my fireworks while he’s at it. But when he opened the door and Sam and I got busted for snooping, I didn’t have the guts to ask.

  Now I can’t decide if I’m EXCITED about what’s going to happen next, or if I’m downright terrified. Either way, things are about to get interesting around here . . .

  DAY 7: SATURDAY

  So I guess Friday nights are all about “down time” here at Woodland Survival Camp. No shelter building. No mushroom gathering. No wolf tracking. Which meant I had plenty of time to stew over the letters that I did NOT get from my mom today.

  Instead, I got a stack of postcards. Like Mom thought she could send me four at a time to make up for the four days that she didn’t think about me AT ALL.

  I spread those postcards out on my bed—and fought the urge to rip them to shreds. There was a photo of Dad with a snorkel mask on, snoozing on a beach towel. Then Dad with a fishing pole, snoozing on the pier. Then Dad buried in the sand, snoozing . . . well, you get the idea. Apparently vacation is REALLY exhausting for the old guy.

  The fourth postcard showed Cammy riding a turtle. So I guess my parents didn’t ditch her after all—at least not yet. But I’m sure the little creep’s days are numbered.

  Anyway, while I was trying not to blow the postcards to smithereens, Sam was on the top bunk opening up a box marked “Perishable.” That could only mean one thing: more COOKIES.

  I climbed up to take a look, because the one thing that can make an unloved, unwanted creeper kid feel better about himself is a Cocoa Bean Cookie. But do you know what Sam unwrapped instead?

  A CAKE. With white swirly frosting. And pink sprinkles. And a few black and white cat hairs stuck in the frosting.

  Well, seeing those cat hairs made me want to hurl. But Sam? He started to cry. I guess he really misses his cat, Moo.

  I told my green buddy that we should probably eat that cake right away—that it would make him feel better. He wiped his nose and nodded, and next thing you know, we’d polished off that WHOLE cake before any mob could steal it away from us. (I might have accidentally eaten a cat hair or two, but I don’t even care.)

  We weren’t exactly starving when dinner rolled around, but I was pretty excited about the campfire. I mean, before I knew what would HAPPEN at that campfire.

  See, the Vindicator counselors decided we should tell a few ghost stories. I really only know one—the story about Herobrine, the phantom miner, who haunts the Overworld. EVERY mob knows that story, so when I told it, everyone kept interrupting me to point out the details I was getting wrong. SHEESH. That’ll teach me to open my mouth at a camp full of Illagers.

  Anyway, Harold had a pretty good story to share. It was about these mobs called the Drowned. They’re these undead mobs that spawn when zombies drown in water. They start to shake, and their eyes turn blue and get all glowy. They live deep down at the bottom of lakes or oceans, but at night, they swim to the surface. And if you’re ANYWHERE near the water, those Drowned will ATTACK you!

  Well, we all jumped when Harold got to the end of his story. I mean, no wonder the poor husk is terrified of water!

  When Johnny started telling a ghost story, I decided not to listen. I didn’t want that jerk to think I cared about ANYTHING he had to say. But when I saw all the other Illagers pulling their logs closer to Johnny, I might have heard a FEW words.

  He was talking about these mobs called Illusioners. I guess they cast spells that can BLIND you! And when you try to fight back, they turn invisible—and a bunch of FAKE Illusioners show up so you don’t know if you’re fighting the real ones or the fake ones. Johnny said they’ve been spotted here in the Dark Forest. Was he telling the truth?

  Probably not, but I’m not gonna lie. The hairs stood up on my creeper legs when I heard about those Illusioners. And after Johnny’s story, no one talked for a REALLY long time.

  So when the Evokers cast a spell, we didn’t see it coming. My buddies and I weren’t prepared. I mean, how COULD we be???

  The GHOSTS came from out of NOWHERE. I heard this horn, and then those pale, winged mobs started swirling around the fire. When one SWOOPED at me, I fell right off my log. Did I shriek like a ghast? You bet I did.

  Sam was so freaked out, he melted. Duke dropped a few bones. And Harold staggered so close to the fire, he lit up and had to drop and roll!

  But the rest of the Illagers? They just LAUGHED and laughed and laughed. Because they all knew that those weren’t ghosts dive-bombing us. They were VEXES, a spell the Evokers had cast.

  When the spooky vexes finally disappeared, my buddies and I were ready to take our drops and go home. But that’s when two purple eyes appeared in the darkness—staring RIGHT AT ME.

  Mr. Ender.

  He teleported over and sat on my log. He turned to face me with those creepy glowing eyes. And then he said two words.

  He led us back to our cabin, and then he dumped out our bag of potions and pointed at me. “Harold,” he said, “it’s time for you to tell us about these potions.”

  Well, crud. If I’ve ever wanted Willow Witch to magically appear somewhere, it was right there and then. Sam and I really had to put our heads together to remember which bottle was witch—I mean, which.

  I pointed out the potion of leaping, which I used back in June to “fly” with my parrot. Oh, and as soon as we unscrewed the caps on the bottles, I knew the potion of invisibility. That one stinks to the Nether and back because it’s brewed with fermented spider eyes. BLECH.

  “This one is potion of fire resistance,” said Sam. “I remember because it’s orange like fire.” He seemed pretty proud of himself.

  Harold stared at that bottle as if it were the only bottle of water left in the whole desert. I guess he was wishing he’d had potion of fire resistance about half an hour ago, when some of his husks caught on fire.

  But Mr. Ender? He stared at that bottle with a different look in his eyes. He quickly screwed the cap back on and tucked the bottle in his pocket.

  “Boys,” he said, “tomorrow we’re competing in Fire Building. And those Illagers are going up in SMOKE.”

  Well, alright, Mr. Ender. After getting jumped by Johnny Vindicator in the woods—and having the gunpowder scared out of me by those nasty Evokers and their Vexes—all I can say is . . .

  GAME ON.

  DAY 8: SUNDAY

  I didn’t know what Mr. Ender had in store for those Illagers until we woke up for dinner last night. Honest, I didn’t!

  See, I was looking forward to hitting up the Dining Hall for some chops and potatoes. I gotta say, the food here is WAY better than the crummy camp food you read about in books. Me and my stomach were practically sprinting to be first in line.

  But Mr. Ender stopped me the way he always does: by teleporting straight into my path. “Harold,” he said, “I’m going to need your help.”

  Turns out, he needed my FIREWORKS too. (I was wondering when my long-lost rockets were going to turn up.) Mr. Ender pulled them out of a bag and said that my cabin buddies and I were supposed to creep over to the Illager cabins and load up their fire pits with rockets. “Cover them up good with twigs and leaves,” he said.

  Well, I wasn’t crazy about that plan. I’d finally been reunited with my rockets, and now I was supposed to practically GIVE them to the Illagers? But then I caught the gleam in Mr. Ender’s eyes, and I played out his plan in my mind. I saw those Illagers building their fires during tonight’s contest, and then I saw those firework rockets EXPLODING into the sky, and THEN I saw the fear on the Illagers’ faces.

  And I said, “Mr. Ender, sign me right up.”

  Sam didn’t want to do it. I could tell by the way he got all wiggly. “Gerald,” he whispered, “remember what happened at Mob Mall?”

  Well, now, why did he have to bring THAT up? I mean, sure, I did practically burn down the Mob Mall back in June because of a “firework incident.” But I learned a lot from that experience—like, don’t set off rockets from a stand made of wood.

  I think Sam has just gone soft on those Evokers and doesn’t want to make them mad. But that minecart has already left the station, you know? So I told Sam that this was just payback for what they and their Vindicator buddies did to us. Besides, how do you say no to an Enderman?

  I never did get to eat those chops down at the Dining Hall. But I DID get to take a big, gross-tasting gulp of potion of fire resistance. Mr. Ender made us all take a swig.

  Then when it was time to see which cabin could start a fire the quickest, he set me to work with the flint and steel. I gotta say, rubbing a little steel handle against a piece of flint is a DUMB way to make a fire. Didn’t anyone have a bucket of lava around here?

  Nope. I rubbed that flint and steel as HARD as I could, but I could barely make a spark. Sam took over and made things worse, because he started sweating slime all over our kindling. And everyone KNOWS it’s impossible to start a fire with wet wood.

  Harold was too freaked out to take a turn after—you know—catching on fire last night. So it was up to Duke to take this thing home.

  I’m not even sure he was using the steel. He might have been rubbing his own bony finger against the flint. But, whatever . . . the thing sparked, and when he held a piece of wool toward the spark, it started to smoke.

  I would have been REALLY excited about that, except I could see smoke rising from the Evokers’ fire pit, too. And then from the Vindicators’ fire pit. And that meant that ANY moment now . . . Yep, you guessed it.

  FIREWORKS!!!

  We didn’t even get our fire going before rockets were screeching right and left across that night sky. Except we forgot one thing: the Dark Forest is so thick, you can’t even SEE the sky. Which means the rockets weren’t flying through the air. They were flying into TREES. I’m pretty sure one of them flew through a cabin window, too, because I heard glass break.

  A bunch of the Illagers started cheering, which was NOT the reaction I expected. But they all shut right up when we heard an explosion in one of the cabins. And then? Something else . . . the crackle of a fire. A really BIG fire. A FOREST FIRE.

  I guess Mr. Ender had forgotten that those trees were filled with dead leaves and dry branches. And that’s how our fire-building contest turned into a fire-EXTINGUISHING contest.

  It took all night to put out those fires! And a LOT of water, which we had to lug in buckets from the Dining Hall. We managed to save the Evokers’ cabin, but they’ll be sleeping in some REALLY wet bunk beds for a while.

  As for the Vindicators? Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing they know how to build shelters.

  The whole camp is a wet, smoky, stinky mess. We didn’t win the fire-building contest, because our cabin didn’t even get our fire GOING. But we do have the only dry cabin left standing at camp, so . . . that makes us winners, right?

  Except I wasn’t really feeling like a winner this morning when a Vindicator threatened my life. Yep, you heard me right. It went down like this:

  I was in the bathroom, trying to wipe the ashes off my face. This Vindicator walked by and whispered something in my ear. He uncrossed his arms JUST enough for me to get a glimpse of his shiny axe, and then he said:

  “Creep, you and your firework-crafting SLIME friend are going DOWN.”

  I almost ran after him to correct him. I mean, SAM didn’t make those fireworks. And he didn’t even want to use them! So, you know, threaten me all you want, but leave Sam out of it.

  I would have said all that, except my feet were glued to the bathroom floor. Something about those shiny axes TOTALLY freaks me out.

  So instead, I high-tailed it back to the cabin to tell Sam that he had to watch his back—because after our little fire-building contest, there’s a big red TARGET on it.

  DAY 10: TUESDAY

  I was almost GLAD to head out into the woods Sunday night for the map-reading contest. At least we could finally get away from those Vindicators, who were holding a grudge just because we’d burned down their cabin. SHEESH.

  Everything started out okay. Mr. Ender gave us a map and a compass. But when I looked at the map, I thought it was all a big joke. I could see the red X, which was supposed to be some sort of fake “treasure.” And I could see the little white dots that were supposed to be US on the other side of the map. But there was nothing in between!

  “So, like, where is the trail we’re supposed to take?” I finally worked up the nerve to ask.

  “Start walking, Harold,” said Mr. Ender, as if it were obvious. “If you’re going in the right direction, the map will fill in.”

  I wanted to know why he couldn’t just get us a filled-in map in the first place, but Mr. Ender isn’t really big on lots of questions. Besides, he was already going on about how to figure out which direction you’re moving in. “The sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” he said. “And the clouds move from east to west. And the blah, biddy, blah, blah, blah . . .”

  I tuned that part out because, you know, we HAD a compass that told us which way to go.

  Sam held that and I held the map. Duke hummed a little tune to entertain us, and Harold . . . well, who knows where Harold was. He’d probably climbed the nearest mushroom and decided to stay put till we got back.

  Just as we started covering some serious ground, Mr. Ender stopped us and said we should probably mark our trail so we could find our way back.

  HUH? We had a map for crying out loud! But I kept my creeper mouth shut this time as Mr. Ender pulled these tufts of blue wool out of his pocket—the same ones we’d tried to light on fire yesterday. He said we should stick them on bushes and trees along the trail. “Just in case we lose the map,” he said.

  Boy, talk about a downer. Did he think I didn’t know how to hang on to a lousy sheet of paper? Yep, that’s what he thought alright. And knowing what I know now, I probably should have handed that map over to Duke—the dude with ten fingers who could really get a grip.

  Anyway, I held the map, and Duke took the wool and started marking the trail. I kept my eyes on the map, and sure enough, as we walked toward that red X, our white dots got bigger, and the map started filling in. I could see the woods ahead, and a few giant mushrooms, and then . . . water! We were getting close to a lake or something. So it turns out Harold made a good call skipping out on this hike.

  We wound around the lake, and that red X was getting closer and closer. And I started getting excited about the treasure. Why? I dunno. I mean, it wasn’t the REAL treasure. We’d be finding that on Survival Night. So this was more like the prize you’d win at a carnival or something—like that stuffed Mooshroom that I just HAD to have, until I finally won it (after spending a gazillion emeralds). Now I don’t even know where that Mooshroom is. I probably gave it to Cammy, who used it as a chew toy and ended up blowing off a couple of its legs during a temper tantrum.

  Sure enough, when we finally saw the red flag marking the treasure, I could see that it was going to be a ginormous disappointment. Sam bounced toward the flag, and Duke rattled-walked right over. But by the time I got there, they both had these plastic water bottles that said “I survived Camp Woodland!” on them. WOO-HOO.

  Sam wanted to fill his right away. (It sure doesn’t take much to get that slime excited.) We walked back toward the lake, and he tossed me my water bottle. I lunged for it, and . . . well, that’s when everything took a turn for the worse. Did I mention it was kind of a breezy night?

  Yep, the wind caught the map I was carrying. And blew it toward the lake. And the water practically reached up and grabbed the map. (Maybe it was Harold’s Drowneds or something, just messing with me.)

  Sam was like, “No worries, Gerald! We marked the trail home, remember?”

  So we started looking for those blue tufts of wool. But guess what? THERE WEREN’T ANY. We saw a RED tuft, but Mr. Ender said someone else left that—and it could lead ANYWHERE.

  So we circled that lake three times looking for blue wool. By then, the sun was starting to come up, and Duke started getting jangly. Mr. Ender said that the trees grew so thick out there, that Duke PROBABLY wouldn’t get burned. But Duke didn’t seem very reassured—and I can’t say that I really blame the guy.

 

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