Generation Dead by Daniel Waters
"I'll drive," he said, looking surprised at his own offer. "That is, if the kids don't mind."
Phoebe, taken aback by his sudden generosity, shook her head. He smiled back at her.
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"We're being rude," he said. "Can we get you a drink? Mrs. Williams? Some coffee?"
"Coffee would be great," she said, smiling and extending her hand, first to Phoebe's dad and then to her mother. "I'm Faith. I don't think you've met my son, Tommy."
"I haven't," her father said. "Watched him play a little football, though."
Tommy stepped forward and shook his hand. "Mr. Kendall," he said, and Phoebe watched their exchange with growing fascination. She realized that her father had most likely never touched a differently biotic person prior to this moment. Even her mother allowed him to take her hand.
"Tommy," her dad said. "Faith, why don't you come in for a while?"
The obligatory photo shoot was awkward, and Phoebe could see her mom's hands trembling as she snapped a few digital pictures. Very few pictures, Phoebe noted. But Faith snapped away with her camera until Tommy finally suggested that it was time for them to be going.
Her dad invited Faith along for the ride, but she remained behind to talk with Phoebe's mother over coffee and some of those biscotti that Phoebe couldn't stand but Margi loved. Rather, the biscotti that Margi loved to feed Gargoyle, who orbited the kitchen table with a greedy look on his furry face. Phoebe kissed her mother and hugged Faith. Faith winked at her when Phoebe turned and waved from the door.
Phoebe and Tommy slid into the expansive backseat of her
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father's car, and laughed politely at his lame chauffeur jokes. Phoebe wondered if maybe in some ways she'd lucked out by going with a differently biotic boy instead of a living one, because she knew that if it was a living boy, her dad would have grilled him relentlessly, developing a sudden interest in the boy's lineage, his address, his father's place of employment, what he liked to do in his spare time. With Tommy, there was a wall of mystery that her dad was too polite to breach.
"Phoebe tells me that you quit the football team," he said. "That is a shame. It looked like you knew what you were doing out there."
"Thank you, sir."
"Mr. Kendall is fine."
"Thank you, Mr. Kendall," Tommy said, and aimed a slow wink at Phoebe, making her smile.
"It couldn't have been easy for you, putting that uniform on. Knowing that you were going to have ...some resistance."
"I wanted ... to play. That made it a lot easier."
"You did well," Mr. Kendall said. "Very well."
Phoebe wished that he would drive a little faster so that they could get to the dance before he said something stupid.
"Why did you quit, then?" her dad said.
Too late, Phoebe thought.
"The world ...wasn't ready for one of ... us ... to play a school sport. At least I showed ...that it could be done."
"I think it is damn shame, and a miscarriage of justice. It must be very frustrating for you."
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"Being a ...zombie ...can often be frustrating," Tommy told him.
"Is that what you call yourselves? Zombies?"
"Oh, look," Phoebe said. "Is that a deer up ahead in the Palmers' field?"
Her father ignored her. "It just seems a pretty, I don't know, negative thing to call yourself. Zombie. Zombies were never the good guys in the movies, from what I remember, so I doubt the term will win you any points politically, you know what I mean?"
Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut. Drive faster, she thought, trying to send a telepathetic message to her dad. But as usual, he appeared to be immune.
"No burning crosses," Mr. Kendall said, "and I don't see any rotten fruit. I guess that's a good thing."
"Thanks for the ride, Dad," Phoebe said, scrambling to get out. There were rows of cars in the loop where the buses picked up and deposited the Oakvale High students every weekday. There were small clusters of students chatting, boys in new sport jackets and ties, their shoes buffed and polished to a high reflective glow. She stepped onto the curb.
"Have fun, kids," her dad said, accepting a quick peck on the cheek from Phoebe. "I almost forgot, how are you going to get to the party later?"
Phoebe felt her heart sink, and hoped that the feeling didn't show on her face. She'd forgotten all about the party, and with the limousine service unwilling to transport zombie cargo,
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they were left without a ride. One detail she'd failed to mention when discussing the party with her parents was that it was a differently biotic party.
Phoebe opened her mouth to answer when Tommy interrupted her.
"I called Adam Layman, Mr. Kendall," he said. "He'll give us a lift to and from the party. I hope that is okay."
"Adam, huh?" her dad said. "Be sort of cramped in that truck of his."
"We'll manage, Mr. Kendall. I can always go in the back." "Don't wreck your suit," her dad said. "Okay then, kids. Have fun."
"Bye, Dad," Phoebe replied, hoping he couldn't see how relieved she was. Adam was perhaps the only boy on earth that her father entrusted her with, probably because he would do random acts of pure goodness like shovel their driveway when Mr. Kendall was away on business, and he'd accept no payment for his deeds other than a movie with Phoebe and maybe a bowl of Mrs. Kendall's French onion soup. Adam was her father's favorite for son-in-law--despite the obviously platonic nature of his and Phoebe's relationship--an idea only sidelined by the fact that the STD would one day become the other grandfather to their children.
"Be home by midnight, okay?" he said. "I don't want you turning into a pumpkin."
"Yes, Dad,"
"Good night, Mr. Kendall," Tommy said. "I'm glad I finally met you."
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Her father shook his hand again, and Phoebe noticed that the move was a natural one, free from the hitch of trepidation he'd had the first time they touched. Progress was progress.
"Me too, Tommy. Have fun."
They watched him drive away, and Tommy, smiling, offered his arm.
"Mom was right," he said. "You're beautiful."
She took his arm. "You look nice too, Tommy," she said. They walked toward the school. "Are we really getting a ride from Adam?"
"Yes," he said. "Is that okay?"
"It's fine," she said. "But it might be a little chilly in the cab. Adam and I aren't speaking right now."
"Adam mentioned that," he said. "Actually, he said ... that you weren't speaking to him."
She looked away. Just the thought of Adam made her sad, and she didn't want to be sad, not tonight. She wished that she could have showed him her dress before Tommy had come over. He would have said something nice, and he would have just stood there, looking at her. She could always count on Adam to be uncomplicated in the way he appreciated her.
Stop, she thought. She squeezed Tommy's arm; it was like stone beneath her fingertips.
The clusters of students loitering around outside the dance turned toward them, but with no more scrutiny than they had for any of the other arriving couples. Phoebe told herself that they were more interested in finding fault with her dress than they were in criticizing her date. They walked into the school
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unmolested, Tommy's stride less tentative and awkward than many of the flustered boys ambling around in their starched shirts, pulling at their constricting ties.
Tommy handed their tickets to a chaperone at the gym door. The darkened gymnasium was done up in paper streamers and balloons, and there were a number of multicolored spotlights casting a glow over the students as they danced on a low platform that had been brought in for the occasion. Freckles of light appeared on Phoebe's arms, reflected by the large mirror ball above the dance floor. Warm, cologne-scented air washed over them.
Phoebe had never attended a school dance before. She thought it all looked beautiful.
They saw Mrs. Rodriguez talking with Principal Kim
"Karen and Kevin are already here, Tommy," Principal Kim said. "Are you expecting any of your other friends tonight?"
"I expect Adam ...and Thorny ... to be here," he replied. "If they were able to raise ...the money ... to rent dates."
Her smile was wry and reserved. "I'm sorry," she said, "I meant--"
"You meant any of my dead friends," he said. Phoebe gripped his arm.
Principal Kim nodded. "Tommy, we discussed this. You know I do not mind any of the students coming to the dance.
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You know I am only trying my best to ensure your safety and the safety of everyone at Oakvale High."
"I know. I saw all of the ...police cars ... in the lot."
"We always have the police present at a dance."
"State Troopers?"
The principal's smile didn't waver. Phoebe had the sense that Tommy was being petulant, a sense that was confirmed when he looked away from her.
"None of the ...others ... are coming."
"Thank you, Tommy," Principal Kim said. "And just to remind you of some of the finer points of our discussion, seeing as you seem to have forgotten them: if the media or any protestors arrive, we will promptly escort you, your date, and the other differently biotic children out of the gymnasium and then out of the school."
Tommy nodded.
Principal Kim smiled at them with genuine warmth. "Good. Now go have some fun."
"What was that all about?" Phoebe asked as the principal drifted away from earshot. Tommy untangled his arm from her, his hand brushing hers as it fell.
"When they ... counseled us ... after Evan was murdered," he said, referring to the mandatory sessions that each participant in the Undead Studies class had had with the principal, the school psychiatrist, and a pair of lawyers, "she asked what we ...what I would do. I told her I would live ...my life and continue my work. I told her you and I were going to homecoming. I told her you and I...would dance."
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Phoebe let his words sink in for a moment. "But she was afraid there would be a protest?"
"Or worse. I agreed ...that we would leave at the first sign ... of trouble."
Phoebe sighed. "So I guess I could turn into a pumpkin after all."
"What?"
"Never mind."
Phoebe caught sight of Karen over his shoulder. She was at the perimeter of the dance floor, dancing with a fluid grace that most of the living students would envy. She was wearing a clingy blue dress that had a wide yellow belt cinched at her waist and a hemline that ended just above her knees. When she spun, which she did often, the hem rose to an almost indecent level and showed off her stunning smooth legs. Kevin was standing in front of her in a sacklike black suit with a horrible brown knit tie, his arms lifting and falling with every seventh or eighth beat. His left arm seemed more motile than the right.
"Oh, look," Phoebe said. "How cute!" But Tommy was already moving toward them.
"Hi, kids," Karen said, a swarm of silver lights crossing her face as a strobe glanced off the mirror ball above. "Phoebe, you are absolutely stunning. And what a handsome date you have." Her eyes seemed more crystalline, and they glittered like stars in the flashing dance hall lights.
"Thanks, Karen," Phoebe said. "You might actually be the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
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Karen laughed, caressing Phoebe's arm with a hand that glided in time with the music. "You're sweet. I'm just trying to bring my date, Kevin here, back to life." Her hand left Phoebe's skin, which tingled where the dead girl had touched her. Karen did a lazy wave that took in the rest of the dancers.
"And the rest of these boys," she said. "I'm trying to knock dead."
"Well," Tommy said, "you are drop dead ...gorgeous." "Funny," Karen said, batting her eyelashes, "You aren't so bad yourself."
Phoebe's experience in such matters was rather limited, but it felt as though they were flirting right in front of her.
"Killer," Kevin said. They all laughed.
Karen grabbed Phoebe's hand. "Dance with me." And Phoebe did.
Margi arrived twenty minutes or so later, her dress mostly pink with black accents--black ribbons in the front and back, a wide black belt, and black shoes. She had a puffy black flower pinned in the pinkish nest of her hair.
The dress was snug in an attractive way, and if Phoebe's dad had found her neckline risqué, he would never have let Margi leave his house with what she was wearing. Phoebe thought she looked great. So did Norm, judging by the way he stood wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his bony hand.
"Norm's car wouldn't start in my driveway," she said. "Dad had to jump-start it." Norm Lathrop looked gawky and
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nervous lurking behind her; he was swimming in his suit. His eyes were wide behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
Phoebe opened her mouth to reply, but Margi was quick and sharp.
"No jokes, please!" she said. "I have the rest of my life to look forward to those!"
Phoebe laughed and hugged her.
"Norm," Margi said, "these are some of my friends I was telling you about. You know Phoebe. Tommy, Karen, and Kevin. They're all dead."
Phoebe was shocked, but Kevin waved and Karen blew a quick kiss, unfazed by Margi's bluntness. Neither had stopped dancing.
Norm waved back, and was drawn out in the front only by Tommy's offered hand, which he shook like it was a snake he was trying to kill.
"Careful, Norm," Tommy said. "We break ...easily."
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Norm said, dropping Tommy's hand like it had bitten him. Margi patted him on the shoulder.
"They're kidders, Norm," she said. "Take it easy."
A popular club hit came on, and Margi began to sway, her hips brushing against Phoebe and then poor Norm, who looked like he was about to melt into a puddle at her feet.
"Remember what I told you, Normie. When you are with me, you have to be prepared to dance."
Norm tried his best, and managed to work himself through their loose circle to practice his moves next to Kevin, probably because he figured he couldn't possibly look inept next to
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him. Phoebe smiled at the thought, because he was wrong.
A half hour later, Phoebe was breathless and sweaty while her zombie companions looked about as unruffled and energetic as they ever did. Which wasn't very, in Kevin's case, but Karen and Tommy were doing just fine.
She excused herself and went over to find a chair with the wallflowers. The DJ cued up a popular rap tune with an aggressive BPM count, one that made Phoebe glad she'd taken the moment to sit a spell. She found a seat and watched Tommy and Karen share a joke, their bodies moving almost but not quite in time with the rhythm--just like most of the living students. Kevin, a huge smile on his round face, was trying his best, even though he was occasionally jostled by Norm, whose dancing was becoming more and more daring, or more and more spastic, depending on how one chose to look at it. Margi waved at Phoebe and then laughed at something Karen said as Karen executed a sinuous move that Phoebe thought really might be able to bring the dead to life.
Phoebe wasn't sure if she was happy or sad in that moment, so she decided she felt a bit of both. At least they'd been there nearly an hour and no one had poured pig's blood on them.
She looked around the room for Adam, surprised that she hadn't yet spotted his massive form looming over the rest of the puny student bodies. No sign of Whatsername, either. Adam was too good a guy to waste his time with a gum-snapping bimbo like her.
Speaking of wasted time, she wished she hadn't blown up at him. It wasn't fair. Besides, it had been barely a week since her
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snit fit, and she already missed him. It didn't seem right to be here at a dance and not at least see him and share a joke together.
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"Hey," he repeated.
"Leave me alone," she said. She tried to rise, but he stepped in front of her chair, meaning she'd have to brush against him if she wanted to stand up. The chair was flush against the wall, so she wasn't going anywhere.
"It isn't like that," he said.
"What's it like, then?" If she called for Tommy, would he hear her over the sound of Karen's laughter? Maybe he'd be too caught up in the bass beat that seemed to give him and his friends a quicker step. Or maybe he'd be watching Karen too intently, intoxicated by the subtle scent of lavender that Phoebe smelled wafting from Karen's hair when she spun.
"I'm just trying to talk to you," he said, "to warn you."
"Go away."
"I think Pete and TC are up to something," he said.
"Really? Are they rolling freshman for soda money in the little boys' room?" Her tone was belittling, but she was certain that Martinsburg--and probably this jerk in front of her--had been responsible for the retermination of Evan Talbot.
She decided she wouldn't call for Tommy, no matter what happened. If Harris tried anything, she'd stand up and shove him as hard as she could.
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Morgan shook his head and held up his hands. "No. No, I think they're planning something serious. Something that is going to hurt people. You and your friends."
"What do you care?" She rose, brushing him back with her body. She'd dropped him once, she'd do it again, pretty dress or not. And then she'd leave and let all the zombies and living zombies have all the fun they wanted.
Morgan shook his head. "I'm just telling you, is all." He turned away.
"Hey," she said, and he stopped. "Is he here? Pete and the big one? Are they here at the dance?" "They're coming," he said.
They stared at each other a moment longer, until Harris looked away and drifted back into the stream of students milling around the edges of the dance floor.
Phoebe remained standing, and she didn't really notice that the flashing lights had been lowered and turned to blue as the first slow song was spun by the DJ.