He overheard the director talking to one of the cameramen. The cameraman was explaining that he couldnt get a good long shot on the exterior because someone had set up a fake graveyard right in the plaza.Kids just playing around, I guess, but its morbid; well have to get rid of it, maybe bring in some sod toNo, Albert said.Were almost ready for you, the director assured him.Thats not a fake graveyard. Those arent fake graves. No one was playing around.Youre saying those . . . those are actually . . .What do you think happened here? Albert asked in a soft voice. What do you think this was? Absurdly, embarrassingly, he had started to cry. Those are kids buried there. Some of them were torn apart, you know. By coyotes. By . . . by bad people. Shot. Crushed. Like that. Some of those kids in the ground there couldnt take it, the hunger and the fear . . . some of those kids out there had to be cut down from the ropes they used to hang themselves. Early on, when we still had any animals? I had a crew go out and hunt down cats. Cats and dogs and rats. Kill them. Other kids to skin them . . . cook them up.There were a dozen crew people in the McDonalds. None spoke or moved.Albert brushed away tears and sighed. Yeah. So dont mess with the graves. Okay? Other than that, were good to go.
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About Michael Grant, Light
Michael Grant, Light.