Generation Dead (32 page)

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Takayuki glided into the house like a shadow. Adam could hear leather---or his skin--creak as he folded his arms across his chest. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw that Tak was missing a patch of skin on the back of his hand.

"Evan was ...murdered," Tommy said. "There is no other way ... to say it. I do not know if it was a ...random ...act, like so many acts of violence against us ...are, or if it was ...part of a ...larger plan."

Adam saw Phoebe looking at him, and he cleared his throat.

"I know who killed Evan," he said, a cold shiver passing through him as the eyes of the dead turned his way. "It was Pete Martinsburg."

"You know ...this?" Tommy asked. "You have proof?"

"I know it in my heart."

"He told me he did it," Phoebe said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Takayuki laughed. "You trust these ...breathers, your great ...friends, and they kept this from you?"

"I didn't keep it from him--" Phoebe began, but Tommy lifted his hand, cutting her off.

"What will we do about this," Tak said, "fearless ...leader?"

Tommy turned toward him.

"We will... tell... the police," he said, and Adam thought that some of the quiet confidence had bled out of his voice. "We will ...post..."

Smiley made a spitting gesture, although he produced no

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spit. "The police will do nothing. Words ...will do nothing. How long must we wait...for breathers ...like him ..." He pointed at Adam, who noticed Tak's long, black nails, which Adam assumed were painted, because none of the other dead kids had nails like that.... "to come and ...exterminate ...us?"

Tommy shook his head. "Your way ...will get ...us ...exterminated ...much faster."

Takayuki favored Tommy with his hideous smile. "Certain types of... death ... are preferable to others. Write your words. Maybe someone is ...paying attention. For those who prefer ...action ...come with me."

Tayshawn was one of those who preferred action, Adam noticed. About five of the zombies shuffled toward Takayuki.

Karen was walking toward him as well. Adam watched her place her hand on Tak's arm. He looked at it as though it had the ability to cause him physical pain.

"Tak," she said.

"No, Karen," he said. "Enjoy your ...prom committee. Keep ...pretending."

Adam watched her recoil as though she'd been slapped. He thought she would have started crying, if she could. Tak led his band out of the Haunted House.

They were silent for some moments, and Adam looked out the window to the backyard as the zombies trudged around the corner of the house toward the Oxoboxo woods. Adam noticed that Karen was watching them through the window as well.

"I ...apologize ...for Tak," Tommy said to the room,

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although his words were directed mainly at Phoebe. "We react to ...the mixed blessing ... of our return ...differently."

"Sure," Adam said, seeing how uncomfortable Phoebe felt. "No matter how it goes down, it has to be a traumatic experience for you. For each of you."

Dead heads nodded in agreement.

"Yes. Yes," Tommy said. "My point earlier ...was that there are those ... who do not want us here. And now that there are ...many ...of us ...there may be more ...Evan Talbots. We must be very ...careful ... in coming and going ...from this house, and from any of the other ...places ... we gather. I have seen ... a white van ... in Oakvale. I do not wish to ...panic ...you, but the events that the media ...does not want the world to know about... are very real. We must take care."

He waited for the message to sink in before continuing.

"We have talked about the ...homecoming dance ... at Oakvale High. We will be having an after party ...here ...for all of you. Karen has a few ...words ... to say."

Karen turned away from the window. "Yes. Thanks, Tommy. I've spoken to ...the people at St. Jude's Mission, and they have dresses ...and suits for any of you who do not have ...the means ... of getting them."

So that was what the crack about the prom committee was all about, Adam thought, noticing how off-kilter Karen's speech was. Most people wouldn't be able to tell that Karen was differently biotic at all from the way she spoke, but Smiley's actions clearly had had an effect on her.

"We are going to decorate," she continued. "Our DJ just left

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with the other Lost Boys, but I'm sure we can ...convince them ... to attend. If not, we'll... make due. And despite some votes to the ...contrary ...we are going to invite some trad friends."

Trad, for traditionally biotic. Adam winked at her, and he thought it reignited the glint in her sparkling eyes.

"I'll bring the soda and potato chips," he said. Karen and Tommy smiled, but the joke fell flat with the rest of the group, including Phoebe, who looked mortified.

Adam felt a stab of regret, and realized that he really would miss Evan and his crazy sense of humor.

"I'm going to go home ...through the woods," Tommy said. "Karen and I ...have some things to do."

Adam turned away from the instant disappointment he saw on Phoebe's face.

"Really, Tommy?" she said. "It's such a long walk, and it's getting late. Why don't you come back with us?"

"Thank you, no," he said. "Late means nothing to us. We don't...tire. We don't sleep."

"Useful for cramming," Adam said. "Pain-free all-nighters."

"Yes."

"Is Smiley going to be trouble?" Adam asked. Phoebe hit him hard on the arm.

Tommy blinked. "Eventually," he said.

Adam figured as much. "Well, thanks for the invite. See you tomorrow."

"Good night."

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Adam turned away so he wouldn't have to see them kiss, if that's what they were going to do. He heard Phoebe say good night, and then she was beside him walking out to the truck. He could feel her irritation with him radiating like heat from the sun.

"What?" he said once they were inside the cab, noticing as she pulled her door shut with extra vigor. "Do you have to be so rude?"

"Was I rude?" he said, spinning the truck around before heading down the long winding path.

"Potato chips and soda?
Smiley?
God, Adam, did you have to say that? How do you think that makes them feel?"

"Hopefully it makes them laugh. I think they have a sense of humor just like any other teenage kids."

"Smiley? Why don't you just call the girl with one arm--"

"Don't say it," he said. "Don't even say it, because that is totally different and you know it."

"How is it different?"

He knew he should just shut up, because with each word he said he could feel her slipping away from him. No more Frisbee, no more riding around town and going to Honeybee Dairy, no more Emily Brontä jokes, and no more hanging out and talking about anything and everything.

No more Phoebe.

He knew he should shut up, but he couldn't. "Well, she wasn't insulting you and scaring you, for starters." "Oh, so you were protecting me?"

"Sticking up for you," he said. "And for trad people and

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breathers everywhere. I should have beat the hell out of him, is what I should have done."

She snorted. "Yeah, that's a great idea. Just beat the hell out of everyone who's a little different than you."

"Since when did this become about differences? This is about one kid acting like an ass."

"Just one?" she fired back. "Don't think you need to protect me, Adam Layman. Tommy was doing just fine talking to him and sticking up for me."

"Whatever," Adam said. "Just like he did such a great job protecting you out in the woods."

"Hah!" she said. "Like you did any better!"

Well, there it was. Only her presence and maybe some restraint molded by Master Griffin kept him from pounding his fist bloody on the dashboard.

He pulled into his driveway ten silent, fuming minutes later, and Phoebe's slam of the truck door was like the lid of a coffin slamming into place, trapping him.

Maybe then she'd pay more attention, he thought.

She didn't wish him good night. He watched her storm across the thin stretch of lawn separating their yards. They'd known each other all these years and never had a fight--not even an argument. Some teasing, some debates, an insult here or there, but never a fight.

That was then. Everything was different now.

Everything.

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***

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

M
ARGI LOOKED AT PHOEBE uncertainly, as if maybe Phoebe wouldn't want Margi sitting next to her on the bus. She sort of shuffled and stood there like a kid in time-out.

Not another one, Phoebe thought. She made a face and pulled Margi into the seat with her.

"Hey, watch it," Margi said. "I bruise easily." "Well, toughen up," Phoebe said. She sniffed. "Ohmigod, you're crying! Look at you! You look terrible!" Margi began rummaging in her enormous black purse for tissues that were no doubt wadded up into tight balls and smelled faintly of patchouli. Phoebe laughed and felt two big tears roll down her cheeks.

Margi leaned in close to her. "What happened?" she said. "Did that dead kid try something? I knew something was up there, I just--"

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Phoebe hugged Margi and told her to shut up. She felt Margi kiss her on the top of her head and hug her back. Then Margi actually shut up.

Phoebe knew her eyes were all red, and she hadn't bothered to put any eyeliner or makeup on this morning, even though she needed it after crying for what seemed like half the night. She'd even cried on her algebra homework, for God's sake.

"Will you come back to the DB studies class, please, Margi?" she said.

"You should drop out, Pheebs. After what he tried, you shouldn't have to sit in class with him."

"It wasn't him," Phoebe said. "It was Adam."

"Adam? Adam got fresh with you?" Margi said, leaning back. "My God, I was right! I knew he had a thing for you! He ..."

Margi handed her a tissue, and Phoebe gently untangled herself from her friend's embrace and rubbed at her eyes. "No, you goof. Adam didn't try anything. We had a fight, that's all."

"Oh," Margi said, looking disappointed. She gave Phoebe a sly smile. "Well, that makes more sense. You wouldn't be crying if Adam tried something."

"Margi!"

"Adam's hot, Pheebs! Admit it, girl. That body is like some kind of happy experiment. It's like he was manufactured in a nympho scientist's secret laboratory."

"A nympho scientist?"

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"Lots more of us girls are going into the hard sciences," Margi said. "I saw it on the news."

Her delivery cracked them both up.

"You're just trying to cheer me up," Phoebe said after getting herself together.

"True," Margi said, brushing Phoebe's hair back from her tear-stained face. "Did it work?"

"Always," Phoebe said. "Please come back to the class."

Margi patted her arm. "My parents are going to ask Principal Kim if I can get back in. I tricked my therapist into thinking it was good for me, which just shows how much a waste of money those headshrinkers are, because two weeks ago I had him convinced the class was making me suicidal."

"You're too much, Margi."

"I know," she said, sitting up straight. "So why the hell don't I have a date to homecoming?" "Maybe because you're too much?" "Could be. Norm Lathrop asked me, actually." "Norm's nice."

"Norm's a dork," she said. "But he's a nice kid. He made a mix CD for me." "Uh-oh."

"I know. It's a sure sign of infatuation. He actually picked some songs I'd like, some Switchblade Symphony and some ..."

She stopped as the bus rolled to a halt to pick up another passenger. Colette. She swayed from side to side as she made her way down the row of seats, as if the floor of the bus were pitching on an unsteady sea. Phoebe waved. Colette stopped at

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the seat before theirs and looked at them, her dark eyes like a starless night.

"Hi ...Phoebe," she said. There was a long pause as she tried to form her next words. "Hi...Margi."

Margi took a deep breath, which made Phoebe wonder if she were about to hyperventilate.

"Hi, Colette," Margi said. Her grip bit Phoebe's arm like a bear trap. "I'm really, really sorry I've been such a bitch to you," she said. "I promise I'll try to stop."

The old, living Colette seemed to rise up like a ghost through the dead flesh of her face for a brief moment, and a shadow of the pretty, happy girl they'd spent countless hours with looked at them and smiled.

"It's ...okay," Colette said. She sat down heavily on the seat in front of them.

Phoebe felt like crying all over again, but from happiness. Margi turned to her and shrugged as if what she'd done was not the monumental event it was.

"Shut up, Phoebe," she said, releasing the death grip on her friend's arm.

"Margi, I ... I don't know what to say. Thank you." Margi squeezed her hand.

They were quiet a few moments, and then Colette's head rose like a balloon over the bus seat, and Phoebe winced as Margi latched on to her arm again. It was a bit disconcerting: Colette's staring, emotionless face.

"Hey ...Margi," Colette said, "would ...you ...like ...to ... go ... to ... a ... party?"