Generation Dead by Daniel Waters Page A
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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have been any happier if he'd thrown a hundred dollar bill at him.
With great power, he thought. The Spiderman clause. Grandmaster Griffin had spent the whole summer drilling that into him, teaching him that being a foot taller and twice as strong as everyone else were not rights, they carried certain responsibilities. He taught Adam that he possessed gifts that could be of great benefit to society or, if abused, could cause great harm to all, including himself.
He was still thinking about that when TC, Pete, and Harris Morgan stopped him in the parking lot.
"Hey, Lurch," Pete said, "where's your zombie friend?"
"I'm not in the mood," he said, waiting for Pete to get out of his way.
"Whose team are you on, big guy?" Pete said, stepping closer instead of aside. "The living or the dead?"
"I play for the Badgers, Martinsburg, same as you. Get out of my way." He looked over his shoulder where his truck was parked but he didn't see Phoebe, which was good. He didn't want her to see this.
And deep down, he knew he didn't want them to see her, either.
"That zombie is coming off the team, one way or another, Layman," Pete said.
Adam was trying to decide if he could take all three of them. TC was the biggest, but Harris and Pete weren't small, and Harris at least was faster than he was. He figured if it came to a head, he should probably try and drop Pete as
63
quickly as he could, because then the other two might lose the heart for it. In fact, Morgan didn't look much like he had the heart for it anyway. Adam was willing his body to stay loose when Pete, either sensing where the situation was heading or having made his point, moved out of his way.
Adam moved past him, his eyes not leaving the senior's sneering face as he walked by. He threw his duffel into the bed of the truck from ten feet away.
"Pick a team!" Martinsburg called after him.
Adam got into the cab of the truck and slammed the door. The engine came alive on the third cough of the ignition, and he turned the radio up. He hoped his three teammates would be gone by the time Phoebe showed up.
Phoebe gasped as the dead boy's hand reached out to touch her hair and let the black strands run through his fingers. She was motionless when he brought his hand away and held it in front of her face. He held it close enough so that she could see the leaf he had removed.
Now the only sound was of her breathing. Tommy dropped the leaf, and she watched it hover momentarily before it disappeared in the dark.
"I ... I was following you," she said, instantly regretting speaking. Her whisper reached her ears like a fire alarm in the silent woods. He was living impaired, not a moron. Of course she was following him, why else would he pull the stealth act and sneak up on her? She wondered if his eyes--eyes the color of rain clouds in the dull fluorescent glow of the classroom, but
64
reflective, like those of a cat--could register the heat she felt radiating from her cheeks.
"I wanted to talk to you," she told him. "I wanted to tell you that I thought you were brave for doing this. For playing football, I mean."
Tommy didn't say anything, which heightened her embarrassment. He was tall, his shoulders broad. He held his helmet at his side by its face mask. What kind of idiot was she to chase after a living impaired kid anyhow?
Maybe all her common sense had flown away along with her breathing. She was aware, as if from a great distance, of reaching into her pocket and withdrawing the square of notebook paper.
"I also wanted to give you this."
She held the square out to him and watched him regard it with his glowing eyes, his face without expression. There was a moment of agony as he looked at the square without moving, and all Phoebe could think about was the time in seventh grade when Kevin Allieri refused her invitation to a couples' skate at a party in the Winford Rec Center.
But then Tommy reached out and took her poem. She inhaled him when they touched; the smell was
With great power, he thought. The Spiderman clause. Grandmaster Griffin had spent the whole summer drilling that into him, teaching him that being a foot taller and twice as strong as everyone else were not rights, they carried certain responsibilities. He taught Adam that he possessed gifts that could be of great benefit to society or, if abused, could cause great harm to all, including himself.
He was still thinking about that when TC, Pete, and Harris Morgan stopped him in the parking lot.
"Hey, Lurch," Pete said, "where's your zombie friend?"
"I'm not in the mood," he said, waiting for Pete to get out of his way.
"Whose team are you on, big guy?" Pete said, stepping closer instead of aside. "The living or the dead?"
"I play for the Badgers, Martinsburg, same as you. Get out of my way." He looked over his shoulder where his truck was parked but he didn't see Phoebe, which was good. He didn't want her to see this.
And deep down, he knew he didn't want them to see her, either.
"That zombie is coming off the team, one way or another, Layman," Pete said.
Adam was trying to decide if he could take all three of them. TC was the biggest, but Harris and Pete weren't small, and Harris at least was faster than he was. He figured if it came to a head, he should probably try and drop Pete as
63
quickly as he could, because then the other two might lose the heart for it. In fact, Morgan didn't look much like he had the heart for it anyway. Adam was willing his body to stay loose when Pete, either sensing where the situation was heading or having made his point, moved out of his way.
Adam moved past him, his eyes not leaving the senior's sneering face as he walked by. He threw his duffel into the bed of the truck from ten feet away.
"Pick a team!" Martinsburg called after him.
Adam got into the cab of the truck and slammed the door. The engine came alive on the third cough of the ignition, and he turned the radio up. He hoped his three teammates would be gone by the time Phoebe showed up.
Phoebe gasped as the dead boy's hand reached out to touch her hair and let the black strands run through his fingers. She was motionless when he brought his hand away and held it in front of her face. He held it close enough so that she could see the leaf he had removed.
Now the only sound was of her breathing. Tommy dropped the leaf, and she watched it hover momentarily before it disappeared in the dark.
"I ... I was following you," she said, instantly regretting speaking. Her whisper reached her ears like a fire alarm in the silent woods. He was living impaired, not a moron. Of course she was following him, why else would he pull the stealth act and sneak up on her? She wondered if his eyes--eyes the color of rain clouds in the dull fluorescent glow of the classroom, but
64
reflective, like those of a cat--could register the heat she felt radiating from her cheeks.
"I wanted to talk to you," she told him. "I wanted to tell you that I thought you were brave for doing this. For playing football, I mean."
Tommy didn't say anything, which heightened her embarrassment. He was tall, his shoulders broad. He held his helmet at his side by its face mask. What kind of idiot was she to chase after a living impaired kid anyhow?
Maybe all her common sense had flown away along with her breathing. She was aware, as if from a great distance, of reaching into her pocket and withdrawing the square of notebook paper.
"I also wanted to give you this."
She held the square out to him and watched him regard it with his glowing eyes, his face without expression. There was a moment of agony as he looked at the square without moving, and all Phoebe could think about was the time in seventh grade when Kevin Allieri refused her invitation to a couples' skate at a party in the Winford Rec Center.
But then Tommy reached out and took her poem. She inhaled him when they touched; the smell was
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