This idea actually belongs to my 7 year old sister...

A dull grey shrouded the land cast by the tightly knitted clouds that paraded the sky. It rained on the already disheartened townsfolk making their day go from worse to miserable, it drooled over the tiny houses, cobbled streets and surrounding hill area, leaving no where safe. The small cemetery was surrounded by a tall black, wrought iron fence that would with-stand almost anything, when the gates were locked there was no getting in or out. No-one had a clue why it was needed; surely no-one would rob a cemetery and they were even more sure that no-one would be daring an escape attempt.
Sam sat down in the wet grass feeling it soak through his trousers causing mild discomfort but he didn't notice nor did he care. He stared ahead at the grave in front of him, letting his memory cast back to times when they'd been together, him and Carrie before the accident flashed in his head and once again consumed his every thought. They were both so young, they were both so careless, it had been the cause of stupidity.
Sam's emotions finally over rid his will and he sobbed quietly before his lamentations were interrupted by an awful, loud crack. The noise rung in his ears and sounded vaguely reminiscent of Gun Shot. He was about to dismiss it as maybe backfire from a car, when he heard it again this time much closer and he hid behind a nearby tree for cover.
From his hiding place Sam had a clear view of the strange business; there was the care taker, a withered old man of 65 with silvering hair bulging from the sides of his green farmer's hat, to match he wore a long bottle green raincoat that reached to his knees. The man was stumbling in a drunken fashion wielding a shotgun, his feet tripped and skipped over one another and he brandished the firearm in a way that was more than dangerous. Sam tried to see what he was shooting at but there no-one there except the two of them and deciding that the man would hurt himself or someone else he quickly dialed the police and explained that Old Man Withers had either gone insane, or was drunk (but he didn't know the old man to drink often) and was carrying a loaded firearm posing a threat to civilian life. When he'd finished his phone call he made to leave the cemetery drawing as little attention to himself as possible when he finally caught sight of what Mr Withers was shooting at.

The Old Man had definitely gone insane. Sam watched in bewilderment as the man traveled from grave to grave shooting down into the ground, two shots each for good measure it seemed. He was muttering something too, but Sam was too far away to make it out, cautiously he made his way back towards the Old Man, but stayed behind the nearby tree just in case the stupid stunt he was about to try to pull went horribly ary.
"Mr Withers?" Sam's voice came out in strained, shaky tones and he fought to keep it even.
"Mr Withers...?" He repeated the man's name until he evoked a response, the Old Man spun round, his grip tightening on his gun, Sam ducked behind the tree.
"Whose there! Show yourself!" Sam could hear the fright embedded in the man's cry.
"It's alright, it's me Sam, Sam Jones" He peeked out slightly from the tree, his hands outstretched as sort of sign of peace.
"Sam, that you?"
Sam was about to reply when he noticed the man's Old Man had a huge wound starting from looked like just under his jaw and reaching all the way down to where the neck met the shoulder, it looked ripped and jagged not a clean-cut which suggested to Sam he was attacked. It spurted blood down his bottle green coat in a pulsating regular fashion that sickened Sam to his very core.
"Yes Mr Withers, it's me, look you've been hurt and I need to get you to a hospital right away if you'll just give me the gun.." He out stretched his hand again, reaching for the gun, Mr Withers seemed dazed and confused for a second before drawing the gun closer to himself with one quick motion.
"NO!" He cried almost desperately "No they're not..they're...still" his words drifted off but the look of panic was still present in the man's eyes
"It's alright Mr Withers, im not gonna take the gun but you need to calm down, you've been seriously injured" Sam hadn't a clue how the man could still be walking with a wound that big or deep especially on a vital point of the body but he decided to blame adrenaline. He once again moved closer to the man, he flinched back but Sam put a gentle hand on his shoulder
"It's going to be alright" He soothed placing his other hand on the gun pulling away gently, fearing another outburst from the already shaken man. The Old Man gripped it slightly but allowed it to be taken from him and he began to sob profusely, Sam put the gun on the ground and kicked it away. Mr Withers then began to sink slowly to the ground and Sam had to support him till they were both touching the soil, one man in the other's arms. With a dying breath Mr Withers reached up and whispered in Sam's ear.
"They're not dead"