Generation Dead (14 page)

129

dry, raspy, and soft. He smiled, but there was none of his daughter's restorative power there.

"Yes," he said, and Phoebe thought she could hear an extra "s" in the word, as though the word had been hissed. "Thank you all for choosing to work with my foundation. I am Alish Hunter. I fully expect that the work you do here will change your lives, if not the lives of all persons, differently biotic or not. I know it will change mine."

More smiles from the Hunters.

"I have your files, but I would like to hear from you. I gather some of you are friends, but it will be in the interest of the foundation if we could all become friends. So please, let us all introduce ourselves. And when we do so, let us each give a little of ourselves by saying our names and also something that we like to spend time doing. I'll start. My name is Alish Hunter, and I enjoy wearing a lab coat and conducting experiments like a mad scientist."

There was some polite laughter, mostly from Thornton and Angela, who went next. Contrary to what Phoebe expected, Angela's hobby was running, and not lounging around on Misquamicut Beach in a string bikini.

Thornton liked football. The dead girl with streaky white-blond hair was named Karen DeSonne (de-sewn, Phoebe noted), and she liked to paint. There was almost no pause at all between her words. Adam liked karate. Colette took a full minute and a half to let the group know that her name was Colette Beauvoir and that she liked walking in the woods. Margi liked music. Kevin Zumbrowski was nearly as slow as

130

Colette, and he liked chess, which Phoebe figured probably worked out just fine for him. Phoebe said that she liked to write, as did Tommy Williams.

"Wonderful," Alish Hunter said. "See that? We've already found some things in common."

Evan Talbot, who could not have been much older than fourteen when he died, confessed to being a science fiction fan, especially
Star Wars
. He was wearing a Darth Vader T-shirt and had a shock of wiry orange hair that stood up from his head like a wick. He was pretty quick, too, much quicker than Sylvia Stelman, who agonized in telling the group that she liked her two cats, Ariel and Flounder. Tayshawn Wade told everyone that he liked to watch movies.

"What sort of movies?" Angela asked brightly.

"Action," Tayshawn replied, giving the word an extra syllable, "and ...horror."

Alish laughed like it was the funniest thing he ever heard. Phoebe expected clouds of dust to billow out of his mouth from somewhere deep in his lungs.

"Well," he said after a moment, "we are about out of time. Angel has a folder for each of you with more information. There is homework inside, as well as another permission slip that says your parents will allow you to be transported from the school to the foundation and back again. There is also a confidentiality agreement for each of you to sign with your parents. There are some other forms that you should be familiar with. Please read everything and have your parents read everything. Provided that Principal Kim receives all of the necessary

131

documents by the end of this week, we will see all of you next Tuesday at the foundation. You will be leaving after lunch, so please remember to schedule time for yourselves to make up any assignments you might miss. Thank you, and see you next week."

Principal Kim stood and walked the pair to the door after telling the students they were dismissed.

Margi sighed beside Phoebe.

"What a lizard," she said.

"Aw," Thornton said, flipping through his sheaf of paperwork, "we've got to write an essay on why we wanted to do the work study."

A thin pink sheet escaped from his folder. Phoebe watched Adam pluck it out of the air with liquid grace and hand it back to Thornton just as Thornton dropped his pen.

"Be interesting to hear what some people write on that one," Adam said, looking at Phoebe.

Karen was the first to rise. She lifted a slate-gray backpack that had a small pink stuffed dog hanging from the zipper. The dog's tongue, equally pink, drooped from the line of stitching that was its mouth. The eyes were closed, making the dog look as if it were sleeping or hanging from a rope. One corner of Karen's mouth twitched up.

"Don't worry," she said. "Only one ...page. I think you'll survive."

Phoebe watched Karen walk away. Her blond hair looked almost soft under the bright library lights, and she moved without the hitch that was present in the gait of most of the differently biotic.

132

There might have even been a calculated sway in her khaki-clad hips.

"She's the one who wears short skirts," Margi whispered.

Phoebe nodded. She saw Tayshawn helping Colette off the futon. "We should talk to Colette."

Margi grabbed her forearm, her hands freezing cold. "We should. And we will. But not now. I really want to get out of here," she said, tugging her toward the door.

Phoebe turned long enough to wave at Tommy. Tommy waved back.

133

***

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
HE FIRST GAME OF THE season was against the Norwich Fisher Cats, which was one of the major rivalries for the Oakvale Badgers. Phoebe had read that this was the first year in many that the game was being played in Oakvale. For a long time the game had been played in Norwich as their homecoming game in accordance with the long-standing tradition of giving the Fisher Cats a team they could demolish for that spirit-building event. But now, with Adam on the team, the Badger's were actually competitive.

Phoebe's dad had agreed to drive her and Margi to the game, and Phoebe noticed as he pulled on his threadbare Fordham sweatshirt and an old ball cap, that he might have been a little too eager to volunteer. She knew how much he liked to spend time with her, and he liked spending time with her and Margi even more--mainly because he loved to try and

134

embarrass them. "Bring some color to those pale, pale cheeks" was how he liked to describe it.

"So Margi," he said, "are you as excited as Phoebe is about this Undead Studies thing?"

"Dad!" Phoebe said. "Study for the Advancement of Differently Biotic Persons. Didn't you read the paperwork?"

He looked back at her in the rearview. "I feel like all I've been reading lately is paperwork."

"I'm with you, Mr. Kendall," Margi said. "Too much paper."

"The newspaper called it the Undead Studies Program," he said. Phoebe wished that he would just watch the road.

"Don't believe everything you read," she said.

Her father laughed, and despite the lines around his eyes, he looked younger than his forty years.

He managed to look away from her just in time to notice the stop sign up ahead. "Good advice for everyone, I think."

Margi giggled, and Phoebe hit her with an elbow and a dirty look. "I think it will be interesting, Mr. Kendall. One of the de ...differently biotic boys likes horror movies."

"Really?" he said. "Nice to have something in common."

"Sure." Phoebe wondered why everyone thought that commonality was the lynchpin to the whole "why can't we all just get along" deal.

She could sense the next question on his lips. She knew he was about to ask about Colette, but then they turned the corner and there was the school. There was a crowd of maybe twenty people near the front steps, some with poster board signs. A few

135

police cars were parked in the loop where the buses would wait on school days.

"Those don't look like football fans," her dad said.

Phoebe read some of the signs: SPORTS ARE FOR THE LIVING; DEAD = DAMNED; LIFE, LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPYNESS; and in bold red letters, BURY YOUR DEAD.

"Nice," Margi said. "Look, they spelled happiness wrong."

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea, kids."

"No, Dad," Phoebe said, "we can't let people like this win."

"Win what?"

"Could you please just drop us off in the student lot? We'll walk up."

"I don't know."

"Dad, we'll be fine. It's just a couple of nuts with signs." She knew what was going on in her dad's head. Visions of bombs under bleachers, handguns in belts, vials of acid tucked away in overstuffed purses.

"Phoebe--"

"Dad," she repeated, "we'll be fine."

"Maybe I'll see the game with you after all," he said. "I've always wanted to hear Armstrong speak."

"Right." At least she'd get to see the game.

There were protestors inside the game as well. Many of them wore latex monster masks, even though Halloween was still a few weeks away.

"Are they actually chanting 'Out of life, out of the game'?" Margi asked.

136

"I'm afraid so," Phoebe said, selecting seats in the heart of the Oakvale boosters section. She and Margi would normally be huddled together in a corner, away from everyone, each wearing earbuds jacked into the same iPod; but the people who normally seemed insane to them now seemed safe and comforting compared to people who actually
were
insane.

"I could think of some better cheers," her dad said.

"Please don't."

Phoebe had seen only one game last year just so that she could tell Adam she'd seen him play. Adam's role seemed to be to keep the opposing team from tackling Denny Mackenzie, the quarterback, and from what Phoebe could tell, he was very good at it. Denny had gone untackled for the game she'd watched, except for a few plays where he'd run downfield from his blockers. With a routine nonchalance, Adam had blocked or knocked down the one or two people who had run into him.

A young girl in a star-spangled dress, her hair done up in a loose mound of blond curls, skipped out to sing the national anthem, the crowd joining in with a sort of restrained mania. Some of the voices were belting out the words, as they held special significance for the day's events.

The announcer asked everyone to please welcome the Honorable Steven Armstrong, state representative. A trim-looking man in khaki pants and a navy blue windbreaker walked to the microphone where little Kayla Archambault had just finished singing about the land of the free and the home of the brave. The applause became listless and interspersed with booing as soon as the little girl was out of sight.

137

"A man of the people," her father said. "Excellent."

"Look at all the guys in shades," Margi said, pointing to a row of stern-looking characters on the edge of the field. "Are they part of Armstrong's staff?"

"The Men in Black. I guess they're ready for trouble. Maybe they think the undead belong at Roswell."

"Dad," Phoebe said. Her father was a longtime conspiracy buff who liked to make people think he believed in flying saucers but didn't believe that man ever walked on the moon.

"Thank you," Armstrong said, flashing a wide smile. "And thank you to the students and faculty of Oakvale High for inviting me on what is sure to be a historic event. One cannot help but think of the American athletes of the past who overcame obstacles of injustice and hate to go on to greatness. I am thinking of people like Jesse Owens. Greg Louganis. Billie Jean King. These people were willing to suffer through adversity and discrimination to participate in the sports that they loved, and in doing so, left a legacy that is an inspiration to all who would walk--or run--in their footsteps."

Phoebe was marveling at how quickly Armstrong had silenced the crowd, and then someone shouted "necrophiliac" over the silence. Armstrong continued speaking as though he hadn't heard.

"So I ask you, when you watch Thomas Williams take the field today, I ask you not to think of him as a living impaired young man, because clearly he does not consider himself to be impaired in any way. I ask those of you who would shame our country by singing our national anthem with a mask covering

138

your face not to think of him as a zombie or a freak or any of the other hate-filled terms you would seek to tag this brave young man with. I ask that you forget also, for the moment, that he is differently biotic--I ask only that you consider him an athlete, and in that, he is no different than the other young men set to play today. Thank you."

"He's good," Mr. Kendall said, joining the girls in clapping.

Despite the fine oratory, Tommy didn't play the entire first half. Adam did his job well and gave Denny time to pass on most plays, although Denny was sacked for a loss on a play where Adam blocked right and Denny ran left. Pete Martinsburg had one interception and seemed to take a special delight in shoving opposing players into the sidelines. Thornton Harrowwood was allowed to carry the ball on a play and was crushed after a three-yard gain.

"Ow," Margi said. "I hope he gets up."

He did, and strutted as though he'd just carried the ball seventy yards for a touchdown.

"You have to admire his pluck," Phoebe said.

"Yes. He is a plucky young man."

Her dad looked at them, squinting. "What are you two talking about?"

At halftime the score was ten all. Harris Morgan scored on a thirteen-yard pass in the corner of the end zone, and the Badgers tied it up with a field goal just as time expired.

Armstrong came back onto the field after a short but loud performance by the Badger Band. "Wow, what a game," he said. "Let's hear it for these athletes." Most people, even the