It was crazy. The dark was coming on -- and what's twilight where we were beyond the trees would be midnight there under the branches. That ATV belonged to someone, who more than likely expected to come back and find it pretty much exactly where they'd left it. And, of course, none of us had ever driven one of the things before.

Another scream. Well, OK. It now sounded more like someone cursing up a storm. But I had screaming on the brain at that point, and so I didn’t notice.

“The ATV!" I hollered.

"No way!" Ben hollered.

Louis stopped in his tracks. Looked at the ATV. Looked at me. Grinned like a maniac.

Louis might be a little bit of a klepto.

I peeled off from the trail, Ben still doggedly coming up behind me. Louis kept on running for a few seconds. Battle of wills -- he liked to think he made choices, something I sometimes encouraged by letting him decide things -- harmless things, the kind that wouldn't land him or the rest of us in trouble.

When I heard him cursing behind me, I knew he'd changed course. By the time I came up on the ATV, I had both of them right there with me.

"This is insane in so many ways. You know that don't you, Hamza?" Ben’s voice always gets a little bit squeaky when he's excited. I've gotten pretty good at not laughing.

First, before I go any further, let me point out that while “Hamza” was the name my hippy mother and Indian father had given me, I go by Amir Hamza. Or I would, if I could get people to call me that. There’s a story there. I’ll tell you sometime.

Not now. Ben was speaking.

"Do you even know how to drive one of these things?"

"Of course he doesn't." Louis was right. Sort of. Sure -- I'd never driven one of the things before. Now, I’m pretty good with speed out on the lake — speedboat, skidoo, jetski. With a responsible adult present, of course.

But there are trees on land. Buildings. Rocks. Who in their right mind would throw themselves at high speed through a minefield like that?

But Louis had allowed himself to forget a key fact known by all gamers, everywhere.

You can learn to do anything if you play the right games. And I've played them all. Do you doubt me? Well, hang on.

The ATV wasn't exactly the mount I'd have chosen to come charging to the rescue of a damsel in distress. Whoever had taken it out that day hadn't bothered to give it a wash -- it looked like it was made up of panels of mud supported by tubes of mud held together by little rings, nuts and bolts of mud. I tell you -- I couldn't and still can't figure out exactly where in Lake Delton they'd found that much mud -- though it looked like they hadn't left much behind.

Luckily the key was in the ignition. I'm pretty sure I could have jumped it if I'd had to -- Auto Thief I, II and III, you know. But that would have taken time -- time we didn't have. The thing rumbled to life under me -- and Louis was there in the seat to my right. Now that he'd made his mandatory attempt to keep us out of trouble, he could settle in and enjoy himself. Ben clambered into the backseat. And we were off.

The first of the branches whipped by just over our heads -- luckily Mad Sam (the guy who owned the resort -- and no, that's not how he introduces himself) kept those branches trimmed back so as not to behead any of the paying customers. Still, when you feel the wind of a branch on your face in the dark at 60 miles an hour, it makes you sweat a little bit.

"The headlights, Louis?" Leave it to Ben to think of that. Practical. Chickenshit. Take your pick.

"Louis, can you find them? I'm kind of busy."

As Louis fumbled around the dash for the lights, I tried to keep us on the trail by feel alone. Sounds impossible? Not so hard, actually, as long as the trail runs straight -- as this one did, I know, for nearly a hundred yards. Just a matter of paying attention to the sound of the wheels on the dirt, and the vibration they sent up through the ATV -- once you veer of just a little bit, you get kind of a grumble and a shudder, then you bring it back straight. I won't say it wasn't tricky -- especially at the speeds we were running. I won't say I wasn't sweating the heck out of my t-shirt. But doable.

Problem was, we were running out of that hundred yards -- and the scream came again. Loud enough we heard it even over the engine -- which meant we were getting close.

"Louis. Could use those headlights now."

"Here!"

The Boss started wailing “Born in the U.S.A.” out of the ATV’s sound system, but the wind kept snatching away like every other word. “I…born..the…S…I…born…the…S…I….”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m good with the Boss. But there’s a right time for everything, and this was the time for

“Headlights! Louis! Headlights! Headlights! Headlights!”

I could imagine -- and, unfortunately in those circumstances, I have a vivid imagination -- the trees coming up in front of us, where the trail veered right. Unfortunately, I knew imagination wouldn't be enough to guide me down the trail as it wound up into the hills.

"Louis! Now! Head-"

Light sprayed from the front of the ATV -- splashed across the black boles of trees, no more than ten feet in front of us.

"Lean left!"

Now, here's why the home gaming system, however sophisticated, however well-engineered, however expensive, can never really match the arcade experience. Yes, there are ATV games out there for the home console. Which is why I knew how to start thing thing up in the first place. But nothing matches actually pumping tokens into a simulator -- many of which use technology as advanced or more advanced than the military uses to train grunts in the latest battlefield gear. Which is why arcade owners undergo massive background checks before being allowed to order one -- and why they're only allowed to license, never to own, many of the top end games. I scheit you nein.

Now, all those hours on Off-road Apocalypse paid off in a big way. I knew the ATV would flip if I just turned the wheel -- especially given how hard I was going to have to turn it to make that turn. Little known fact -- the centrifugal force generated by an ATV on a sharp turn was very nearly the same as the g-force generated in the first five seconds of a space shuttle launch. That's a lot of force -- and with only the three of us to off-set it -- well, I wasn't feeling so confident.

"Now! Lean!"

Good thing those guys had learned to trust me in moments like that. I turned. We leaned. Dirt flew, rubber squealed and burned, blue smoke came up from the wheels.

Then the trees were buzzing by on our right. Ahead the trail turned again. And then again. I turned, we leaned, rubber burned -- and we made it.

The screams kept coming, but something had changed in the tone -- I wasn't sure what. Less bloodcurdling. More angry. Really angry.

We topped the hill, where the trail opened out into a good-sized clearing. I saw shapes in the headlights that weren't trees -- and slammed on the brakes, trying desperately to remember everything I'd ever learned on Animal Planet (my Mom's obsessed) about grizzly bears. They rear up before they attack. Their noses are the most sensitive parts of their bodies. There's a cluster of nerves just behind their ears that -- if hit hard enough -- will incapacitate them for nearly a minute.

The ATV stopped, and I could get a clear look at what was in the clearing. I was double-shocked.

First, the damsel in distress wasn't so much a damsel, and not so much in distress, at least not any more. We knew her. She went to our school. Red hair spiked up from her head, though we all remembered that it had been mousy brown up through the sixth grade. Horn-rimmed glasses, though I'm pretty sure her vision was 20/20. Dressed head-to-toe in black. Funeral-ready.

Ingrid Halverman. We didn't so much like her.

Right then, though, I kind of had to admire her. She'd gotten her hands on a branch that looked darn close to being as big as the trunk of a fallen redwood. And crouched down in front of her, cowed but not defeated, ducking and weaving and looking for a way past her defenses -- well, it wasn't a grizzly bear. That I saw right away.

Here's where you've got to trust me. If you need to, do a little Googling -- look up "Dogman of Wisconsin." Do it. If you don’t trust me.

Because there in the headlights, hunkered down with its forelimbs just off the ground like it couldn't make up its mind whether to stand up and reach for her or settle down on all fours to spring at her. Covered all over with coarse black fur, flecked with white, but the curve of its back, it's chest, the shape of its forelimbs -- heck, I'll say it -- arms -- all very, very human.

The head, not so much. That was a dog’s head, or a wolf's -- the snout a little shorter, the forehead curved around what I'd bet was a considerably bigger brain -- but oh-so dog-like.

The eyes when it looked at us reflected the headlights back red. Blood-red.

I mierde you no. Ask anyone who was there. Well, if you can find them.

If you do, let me know. They've got some explaining to do. Subsequent events -- forget about it for now.