Generation Dead (20 page)

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

G
OOD AFTERNOON, EVERY one," Angela said, her brisk

stride carrying her into the middle of the room. As she passed Phoebe, she put a soft, warm hand on her shoulder.

She was followed by Alish and a trim young man who Phoebe recognized instantly as Skip Slydell, the author of many books and articles on the whole undead movement. "Today we have a special guest who you will recognize from having watched the CNN video last week. Please welcome Skip Slydell."

Skip waved. "Thank you, Angela and Mr. Hunter, for letting me come here today. And thanks especially to your students for putting up with me for the next hour or so."

Margi looked at Phoebe and rolled her eyes heavenward, pointing out that every time Principal Kim or Angela introduced a guest speaker to the class they did it with a sort of

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over-the-top elated gravitas, as though the coming of the guest speaker were both a joyous and serious occasion.

The first thing Slydell did was hand out business cards to all the kids. Phoebe watched Tayshawn grip his in two hands and bring it within inches of his nose, his eyes crossing.

SKIP SLYDELL ENTERPRISES, the card read, and featured a studio head-and-shoulders shot of Skip beaming over a pile of books and products. IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE HUNTER FOUNDATION. There was an 800 number on the bottom of the card.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" he said. "Ms. Hunter has told me that one of the main goals of this foundation that you are all working for and learning in is something I call the successful acclimation of differently biotic persons into society, as well as to acclimate society to a point where it is more fully accepting of differently biotic persons within it. Does that make sense? Any questions?"

He did not wait for either question to be answered. He walked as he talked, with his large, soft-looking hands waving and pointing to accentuate his statements. He took great care to make eye contact with every person, and would hold the contact a few beats longer when he focused on one of the differently biotic people. He spoke so quickly that Phoebe thought it was unlikely that most of the dead kids could follow. She might have had trouble following had she not made herself a coffee when she came in.

"Could you all turn your chairs over here? Would that be okay?" There were two long tables at the back of the room, each

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covered with a white cloth that hid whatever was stacked from view. He stood in front of them.

"The question then becomes, How
can
we make that acclimation happen? How can we make that acclimation happen? It isn't easy to do, what we are planning. Change the culture. Changing the culture is very, very difficult, even in this country. You and I"--and here he held Sylvia's blank gaze for a pause of nearly twenty seconds--"you and I have not chosen easy work for ourselves. Not at all. It isn't easy to transform culture."

He leaned back against the table, staggering a bit, as though the enormity of their shared task had overtaken him and left him breathless. Margi was making a low humming sound that brought a smile to Phoebe's lips, because it meant Margi had turned on her bullshit detector.

"What we are going to do is not easy. But it can be done. Even here in America. Elvis Presley did it. Martin Luther King did it. Jimi Hendrix. John F. Kennedy. Bill Gates. Michael Jordan. The two guys that created
South Park
."

The American community of saints, Phoebe thought.

"And we can do it, too. Do you follow me? The fact of the matter is that the heavy lifting, the really hard work, has already been done. You know why?" He smiled. "Because the undead are a fact of life. That's a funny phrase, isn't it? Almost an oxymoron. Say it with me:
the undead are a fact of life."

No one joined him in the chorus, but a few of the kids looked a little uncomfortable--undead wasn't a word typically

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used in polite society, especially not in a room full of undead kids.

"How did what I just said make you feel? Think about that for a minute. The undead are a fact of life. How do you feel? Karen, isn't it? Could you share your feelings on what I just said?"

Karen blinked. "It's true," she said, and blinked again. "You've presented a reality that not everyone has chosen ... to accept."

"Wow," he said, grinning at her. "Wow. A reality that not everyone has chosen to accept. Wow. I'm writing that down."

He withdrew a notepad from a leather case and began to write. "Exceptional. Thank you for that. What about the terminology I used?" he asked. "How do you feel about that?"

"I'm ...neutral. But it bothers me when certain people use that word," she said, "about me."

"But it didn't bother you when I said it?" he asked, tossing his notebook on the table.

She shook her head, her hair swinging like curtains of platinum caught in a breeze.

"Thank you. That means a lot, really."

"Not yet, anyhow," she said, returning his stare calmly. Evan gave his one-note bleat of a laugh.

"Fair enough," he said, laughing himself. He peeled back one of the tablecloths like a magician about to reveal a trick. "Angela told me that you kids ...you undead kids ...like to call yourselves zombies, too. Is that right? Anybody can answer."

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"Yes," Evan said.

"Do the same rules apply? You guys can say zombie, but you might get mad if somebody--somebody living says it?" "Depends," Tommy said.

"On what?" Skip asked, nodding at him with encouragement.

"Depends on how they say it."

"Okay," he said, turning to the other half of the room, where the living kids sat. "What about you all? Don't just sit there like zombies, especially when the zombies are giving me all the answers! What do you think?"

"About what?" Adam said, the irritation evident in his voice.

"About the word
zombie
! Do you ever call Thomas Williams a zombie?" "No."

"Well, why the hell not?" he said, throwing his hands in the air. He'd really worked himself into a lather now.

"Because I respect Tommy. I wouldn't say or do something that possibly could hurt him."

Slydell nodded. "What about you, Williams? You care what Mr. Layman calls you? Would you get all pissed off if he called you a dead head or a zombie?"

Tommy shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because Adam ... is my friend."

"Hallelujah!" Slydell yelled, staring up through the ceiling. "You see that? Do you see that, everyone? Layman here won't

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call his pal Tommy a zombie because he respects him. And ole Tom wouldn't care if Adam did because he considers him a friend. You see that? Do you understand where I'm going here?"

He walked in front of Zumbrowski with his hands on his hips. "Do you know what those two are doing, Kevin? Sylvia? Margi? Those two are transforming the culture, and that is what it is all about."

He picked up his mystery gear on the table and began unfolding what looked like a black T-shirt.

"How'd you get to be friends, guys? Was it the football?" "Yes."

"Pretty much."

"So it took a radical act--that of a zombie putting on the pads and helmet--for that to happen, didn't it?" "I guess so," Adam said.

"You guess so? You
guess
? You'd better know, son, because you and Tommy are on the bleeding edge of a new society. You guys are it.
Transformation always requires radical action
. Do you follow? Transformation always requires radical action. If Elvis Presley had not taken the radical action of singing a style of music traditionally sung by black people, we may never have had the transformation that rock and roll enacted on modern society. If Martin Luther King had not taken the radical action of organizing and speaking around the cause of civil rights, we may have never undergone the transformation from an oppressive state to one of freedom and equal opportunity for all. And that transformation is not yet

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complete. You kids are living--or unliving, as the case may be--proof of that."

"What radical action did Michael Jordan take?" Thornton asked.

Slydell smiled at him. "Wise guy, huh? No radical action. He was just radically better than everyone else. That alone transformed the game. And that's what we're all about. Transforming the game."

Phoebe wondered how he could just talk and talk like this without ever pausing for breath. She thought that it would be fun--and exhausting--to watch him and Margi have a conversation, if only Margi was in a better mood.

"Okay. A little more philosophy. Then I'm going to get into how you can help me. And when I say how you can help me, I'm really saying how you can help society. How you can help yourselves. Help me do that. Okay? Now--you two, Adam and Tommy. You're friends. Did you have any dead friends before Tommy, Adam?"

"Not really, no."

"How about you, Tomás? Any blood bags you would call friends?"

Tommy's gaze drifted toward Phoebe. "A few."

"A few. Well, okay. But in this case it took a radical action on your part to
transform
Adam. Without the radical action, the transformation would not have occurred. Adam would have no undead friends."

"Hold up," Adam said. "You can't assume--"

"Stay with me, Adam. We'll get to your thoughts in a

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moment. Without the radical action, transformation would not have occurred. Was everyone as thrilled with this action as Adam was? Did everyone embrace Tommy Williams onto the football team and everything was just hunky-dory? No? No! As I recall, it was protest in the streets! If the newspapers were accurate, as we all know they so often are, there were signs, placards, chants! Thrown fruit!"

Phoebe looked over at Adam, sitting slightly apart from the group as he always was. His hands were folded and his elbows on the tops of his knees. He was staring at the floor.

"That's the second necessary ingredient of culture change, people. The second key to transformation. Conflict. Radical action coupled with radical response. Only then can we get true change. There was a reason that I used strong words with you, impolite words like 'zombie' and 'undead' and 'blood bag,' and the reason was not because I wanted to be offensive. I used those words because
right now
they are radical words, and I wanted to provoke a radical reaction in you. Some of you are cool with using 'zombie' to refer to yourselves. Some of you are not cool with using the term at all. All apologies to Angela, but I need your help in figuring out a term we can
all
be cool with, because 'differently biotic' is not going to cut it. Too cold, too many syllables. No panache. Frankly, it just ain't sexy enough. Now,
zombie
... I personally think that makes a statement. The first step toward transforming a culture is to give names and definitions to the transformative aspects of that culture. You are
zombies
, kids. And you need to use that term with pride,
regardless
of the reaction that it provokes."

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Phoebe wondered if any of the other kids realized that Skip had given them about three "first steps" in his talk. But he was like a train racing to get back to the station before sunset; Colette had raised her hand at some point during the unifying-effects-of-team-sports speech, and Slydell had still not allowed her to speak.

He unfurled the T-shirt he was holding. It was basic black with the words DEAD ...AND LOVING IT! in greenish lettering that probably glowed in the dark. The word
dead
was written in a creepy movie-poster font, and the rest was in emphatic capital letters.

"What do you think of this shirt?" Skip asked. "How does it make you feel?"

"I...think it is cool," Evan said, his mouth twitching.

"Good. It's yours," he said, throwing it in Evan's face. "What about this one?"

The shirt was gray with a white fist and the words zombie power! in the same creepy font as the first. The skin stretched tightly on the cartoon fist so that the knuckles were clearly visible. "I've got a few of those." He tossed one to Tayshawn, one to Sylvia, and one to Thornton.

"This one is a little risky," he said, "a little more radical. Let me know what you think."

The shirt was black with white no-nonsense lettering. It said OPEN GRAVES, OPEN MINDS above a stylized image of an open grave in a cemetery.

"I like that one," Phoebe said at the same time as Karen.

"Really?" Slydell said. "Cool. I've got two."

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There were a few other items. Hats, wristbands. Temporary tattoos that would work even on the rubbery skin of the dead.

"Okay, kids," Skip said, "here's my point. Don't be afraid to be who you are. And don't be afraid to tell people who you are, either. Understand that these things I've given you have been designed to provoke a reaction in people, and that the reaction will not always be pleasant. You have to be brave. But being brave is the first step toward transforming the culture."

There it was again, Phoebe thought, another first step. She ran the soft cotton of her new shirt through her hands. It
was
a cool shirt....

"Last thing," Slydell said, "and then I'm going to get out of your hair. As you know, when I started talking to you today, I said I was going to need your help to make a change, and I do. Like it or not, one of the quickest ways to evoke a culture change is to get the message into the hands of the young and the hip. I need a street team, in other words, to help me get this message out. Many of these products are going to be carried in Wild Thingz! stores and at select music outlets. We're putting together a music compilation as well, one that will have the Creeps and The Restless Souls and other bands that you are probably familiar with. I'm leaving you with some homework. What I want you to think on, and write some ideas down to discuss, is what other products--be they fashion, entertainment, whatever--you think we could put out that would help us get our message of radical transformation out there, and really start changing the world. So think on that, and we'll have