Generation Dead by Daniel Waters Page B
Authors: Daniel Waters
Tags: Fiction, Humorous stories, Death, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Zombies, Love & Romance, Monsters, Horror & Ghost Stories, Social Issues - Friendship, Prejudices, Social Issues - Dating & Sex
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zombie, had hit the media a few weeks after his dad broke the news of Julie's death to him. At first, Pete had secretly clung to the hope that Julie might come back, but when she didn't, that hadn't surprised him either. People hung around the edges of his life, but they never really "came back."
His hand was blue from the base of his little finger all the way down to his wrist. People had begun to leave the auditorium, but not Morticia Scarypants; she was still hanging
110
around where the hot blonde stood trying to pass out sign-up sheets. There was something about Phoebe that reminded him of Julie.
Why Scarypants gave him this feeling, he wasn't sure. Julie had been the furthest thing from a goth and she hadn't been the dress-and-boots-wearing type, either. But there was something-- an expression, a smile. Something.
He watched Phoebe for a little while, and then he left to go wash his hands in the big lavatory outside the auditorium. He ran the water as hot as he could stand it and squirted six shots of the thin pink hand soap into his palms and worked up a lather. The restroom door swung open, and he heard someone shuffle in. Frowning, he looked up and saw the blue-gray face of Tommy Williams in the spotted mirror.
"Didn't think you'd have much use for this room," Pete said, smiling and shaking his hands over the sink. "Seeing as how the parts don't really work anymore. They don't, do they?"
He watched Williams clench and unclench his hands.
"Leave ...me alone," the dead boy said, his strange voice echoing over plumbing and tile. "Leave ...Phoebe ...alone."
Pete thought about walking over and drying his hands on the dead boy's shirt, but the idea of coming that close to his body without the benefit of football pads and tape was nauseating to him.
"You should be the one leaving her alone," he said. "Freak."
Tommy took another step toward Pete, and Pete had a moment of panic because he really didn't know what he would do if the zombie reached for him or took a swing at him. There
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wasn't anyone in the school he was afraid to fight with, from Adam on down--anyone living, that is. He'd tried a half-dozen different ways to hurt him in practice, but the zombie had shaken him off like droplets of sweat off his skin.
"I know ...what you are ...thinking," Tommy said, the left side of his mouth lifting in a sick approximation of a smile. "You are thinking ...what do I ... do ... if he ... hits me? What do I ... do ... if he puts his ...hands ... on me?"
"You can't get inside my head," Pete said, but he saw Tommy raise his hand and cover the light switch with it. Pete looked over his shoulder at the door. He didn't want to be in the dark with the zombie; not in this bathroom, not anywhere, ever.
"I'm already in your ...head," Tommy said, his voice a dry whisper. Pete felt the exhalation of air touch his cheek, and he shuddered. "Do your worst at practice. It...only makes me ...stronger. But do not...threaten ...my friends."
Pete was about to reply, but he couldn't find the words, and then the lights went out. He threw a punch in the dark, hit nothing but air, and threw another one with the same result, then covered up, expecting a rain of blows that never came. A moment later the lavatory door swung open and the room was illuminated with light from the noisy hallway outside.
Pete felt along the wall and got the lights on a moment before Norm Lathrop entered. Norm hesitated upon seeing Pete, probably debating whether or not he should just run out the door before Pete had a chance to terrorize him.
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"You're in my way," Pete said. He took a paper towel out of the dispenser and wiped his forehead.
"I'm sorry," Norm said, almost jumping on the way to the urinals.
I've got to do something about the freakin' zombies, Pete thought, and punched open the bathroom door.
113
***
CHAPTER TEN
S O," PHOEBE SAID, SQUEEZING over next to the dirty bus window. There weren't all that many students taking the bus home,
His hand was blue from the base of his little finger all the way down to his wrist. People had begun to leave the auditorium, but not Morticia Scarypants; she was still hanging
110
around where the hot blonde stood trying to pass out sign-up sheets. There was something about Phoebe that reminded him of Julie.
Why Scarypants gave him this feeling, he wasn't sure. Julie had been the furthest thing from a goth and she hadn't been the dress-and-boots-wearing type, either. But there was something-- an expression, a smile. Something.
He watched Phoebe for a little while, and then he left to go wash his hands in the big lavatory outside the auditorium. He ran the water as hot as he could stand it and squirted six shots of the thin pink hand soap into his palms and worked up a lather. The restroom door swung open, and he heard someone shuffle in. Frowning, he looked up and saw the blue-gray face of Tommy Williams in the spotted mirror.
"Didn't think you'd have much use for this room," Pete said, smiling and shaking his hands over the sink. "Seeing as how the parts don't really work anymore. They don't, do they?"
He watched Williams clench and unclench his hands.
"Leave ...me alone," the dead boy said, his strange voice echoing over plumbing and tile. "Leave ...Phoebe ...alone."
Pete thought about walking over and drying his hands on the dead boy's shirt, but the idea of coming that close to his body without the benefit of football pads and tape was nauseating to him.
"You should be the one leaving her alone," he said. "Freak."
Tommy took another step toward Pete, and Pete had a moment of panic because he really didn't know what he would do if the zombie reached for him or took a swing at him. There
111
wasn't anyone in the school he was afraid to fight with, from Adam on down--anyone living, that is. He'd tried a half-dozen different ways to hurt him in practice, but the zombie had shaken him off like droplets of sweat off his skin.
"I know ...what you are ...thinking," Tommy said, the left side of his mouth lifting in a sick approximation of a smile. "You are thinking ...what do I ... do ... if he ... hits me? What do I ... do ... if he puts his ...hands ... on me?"
"You can't get inside my head," Pete said, but he saw Tommy raise his hand and cover the light switch with it. Pete looked over his shoulder at the door. He didn't want to be in the dark with the zombie; not in this bathroom, not anywhere, ever.
"I'm already in your ...head," Tommy said, his voice a dry whisper. Pete felt the exhalation of air touch his cheek, and he shuddered. "Do your worst at practice. It...only makes me ...stronger. But do not...threaten ...my friends."
Pete was about to reply, but he couldn't find the words, and then the lights went out. He threw a punch in the dark, hit nothing but air, and threw another one with the same result, then covered up, expecting a rain of blows that never came. A moment later the lavatory door swung open and the room was illuminated with light from the noisy hallway outside.
Pete felt along the wall and got the lights on a moment before Norm Lathrop entered. Norm hesitated upon seeing Pete, probably debating whether or not he should just run out the door before Pete had a chance to terrorize him.
112
"You're in my way," Pete said. He took a paper towel out of the dispenser and wiped his forehead.
"I'm sorry," Norm said, almost jumping on the way to the urinals.
I've got to do something about the freakin' zombies, Pete thought, and punched open the bathroom door.
113
***
CHAPTER TEN
S O," PHOEBE SAID, SQUEEZING over next to the dirty bus window. There weren't all that many students taking the bus home,
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