Zombie Blondes (6 page)

“Just so you know, this isn’t a date,” I yell out before disappearing into my room. More of a joke than anything else. I just don’t want him getting too comfortable, that’s all.

Who are all
those people?” I ask. I didn’t expect to see so many people in attendance, not nearly as many as I see when we trample across the grass separating the sidewalk from the football field. The crowd fills both sets of bleachers and spills over onto the lawn. On the grass, people are lined up two and three deep, clinging to the fence that circles the field. Surging forward to get the best view. Politely
shoving and pushing their way to the front.

“It’s all of Maplecrest,” Lukas says without any sort of expression. Says it’s not an exaggeration, either. That the whole town turns out for home games.

“Why?” I ask. Holding on to his sleeve as we make our way through the crowd, knowing that if I let go I’ll be swallowed by the sea of strangers and never find him again. “I mean, I know there’s not much to do here . . . but still?”

“I told you why,” Lukas says. Fighting forward by swinging his elbows and no one really seems to mind getting nudged or even notices that much. “It’s like they’re all brainwashed,” he tells me. Points with his thumb at no one in particular. Pointing at the crowd in general.

I notice the glazed look in everyone’s eyes. The way pupils are all large enough for me to see the clouds change with the wind. The anticipation of violence making hands tremble. Speaking to each other only in hushed phrases and never taking eyes away from the action that has yet to start.

I wouldn’t go so far as to call it brainwashed, but I have to admit it weirds me out a little the way we’re invisible as we shuffle through.

“Come on! We’ll go all the way to the top. No one ever sits that far back,” he says, leading me up to the bleachers as I see the opposing team take the field. I listen for any sign of applause for them as we climb the steps but they’re only greeted with silence and a scattering of boos. I pause to look around, wondering why no one from their town is here. Not even parents. Not any who are willing to show support, anyway.

I ask Lukas about it as we reach the top row and sit down.
My words escaping between the rise and fall of my chest as I try to catch my breath. He tells me they never come. Says it’s too long of a drive because all the schools we play are from far away. That none of the schools nearby will play us anymore. Too many kids getting hurt. “That’s how they came up with the stupid Death Squad stuff,” he says.

I roll my eyes. I find the whole thing nauseating.

I’m beginning to wonder why I came in the first place just as the whispers from the crowd die down. Fade out. And a silence takes over like every breath of air has been stolen from each set of lungs in attendance as everyone watches a parade of paper-thin blondes dressed in black uniforms strut onto the field.

A deafening roar erupts once the cheerleaders have assembled in the middle of the grass. The noise fills the valley and makes the last of the leaves cling for life on the branches of nearby trees. A faint glow shows in the faces of the people sitting around us when they get a glimpse of the girls in their short skirts. Pale like angels and eyes the color of heaven. Casting a spell on the town and even the clouds break apart. The afternoon sun breaks through and shines like a halo above their golden heads.

The calls from the crowd stop as suddenly as they started. Trailing off to a whisper again before falling silent as Maggie raises one fist in the air. Demanding the full attention of every pair of glassy eyes and each obeys. Focusing solely on the bend of her elbow and angle of her wrist.

“See what I mean?” Lukas whispers in my ear. “This place is like a cult, and she’s their leader,” he says, pointing at Maggie. He keeps whispering as they begin their routine. Mumbling
more of his conspiracy theories as the other girls move in close to Maggie and lift her up. Tells me how Maggie makes them all change their names so that they start with the same letter. Says once a girl gets on the squad, she has to dye her hair. Has to become a clone like Morgan. Like Meredith. Like all the rest of them who are helping toss Maggie into the air. “And the rest of the town goes along with it,” he says. Making sure I know that he means the rest of the town minus him.

And as much as I want to agree with him, as much as I want to hate all of them for Morgan’s nasty looks and name-calling, I can’t help but be as fascinated as everyone else when Maggie soars higher and higher. Tucking her legs into her chest and tumbling three or four times before twisting around and landing perfectly on the ground.

“How does she do that?” I ask in amazement. It doesn’t seem possible. She seems too frail with her bones showing through under her skin. Too thin to have the strength or energy.

“She’s undead, that’s how,” Lukas says, deadly serious.

I ignore him and keep watching the routine as the girls form a tight circle so that from any angle, it looks like there’s only one of them. When they can’t get any closer together, the marching band begins to play. With each beat, they move farther apart. The girl in the center multiplying. Identical twins sprouting on each side. And I finally understand why they need to look alike. Makes it more theatrical. More mesmerizing. It actually looks cool in a spooky sort of way.

A wave of quiet sweeps over the bleachers when Maggie raises her hand into the air once more. A tingling feeling
rushes along my skin like someone scratching on glass or steel scraping across blacktop.

The clean smiles on their faces disappear. Their eyes open wide and fearful and the crowd mirrors them. Follows them with their eyes as they march stiffly to the sound of the drums. Forming letters on the field as the people shout them in rhythm.

“D-

“E-

“A-

“T-

“H-

“DEATH!

“DEATH!

“DEATH!”

The chant shouted at the top of their lungs. Stomping their feet to the cadence. The bleachers trembling from the volume and vibration. Everyone’s face as pale and blank as those on the field. Mouths moving mechanically. Threateningly. The chant raining down onto the field like a violent storm that makes the opposing team cringe.

“Still think I’m crazy?” Lukas whispers.

The people around us wake up from their trance. Blink their eyes and start to strike up conversations. Slowly returning to normal as the cheerleaders break formation.

“Okay, it’s pretty strange,” I admit.

“Pretty strange?” Lukas says in disbelief. “It’s a freak show!”

The girl next to him stares with suspicious eyes when he yells. Whispers something to the girl she’s with. Lukas turns
to her with the face of a snarling animal and she slides away a few inches.

“What’s your problem?” I whisper. Grab his sleeve and pull him closer like calling off an attack dog.

“My problem’s that we’re about to watch those kids get torn apart by vicious flesh-eating creatures and this whole town can’t wait to see it,” he says. He’s careful to be quiet enough so no one else hears. Keeps glancing around just to make sure.

“Now the football team is part of it, too?” I tease.

“Of course they’re part of it!” he says. “Haven’t you noticed they’re all just as pale? Their eyes just as blue? Just as dead?”

I guess I hadn’t paid too much attention to them. All jocks look the same to me, anyway. And most of the ones I’ve met are vicious and brutal, so since the ones in Maplecrest are especially violent, it only means they’re good at what they’ve been trained to do. “Seriously, Lukas, you need to cut down on the comic books,” I tell him. At first I thought he was just making it up. Trying to get me to pretend along with him so it would be like me and him against all of them. I thought it was kind of cute. Sort of sweet and everything, but now I’m starting to think he actually believes it.

“Whatever,” he says and stops talking to me. Leans back against the railing behind us. Tilts his head up to the sky as the game begins. Fine with me. This town is bad enough without him trying to convince me that it’s home to an army of beautiful walking-dead elitists.

He keeps sulking behind me. Blowing his breath out and
sighing.

I do my best to ignore him. Refuse to look over my shoulder and get his attention or listen to any more of his horror stories.

I watch the teams on the field instead and have no idea what’s going on.

I’ve never understood football. It’s always just seemed like a bunch of guys jumping on one another and grunting. My dad tried to explain it to me once. He said it was simple. Then he went on and on about different rules and exceptions, and after about five minutes it didn’t sound so simple anymore so I told him to stop. If it was that complicated, I didn’t want to waste space in my brain learning about it.

But I don’t have to understand it to know our team is winning.

I can tell by the way our players swarm at whoever has the ball. Twisting his body to the sound of cracking bones. The agony in the screams as the other players lie mangled on the field. The chilling shouts from the crowd as they cheer and I realize the Death chant wasn’t just for show. The players from our side are really trying their best to kill the opposition.

But that’s how the game is played, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean they’re zombies or anything like that. Doesn’t mean they really want to tear off their helmets and rip through their flesh with hungry teeth. Just means they want to win worse than anything else. It just means they’re jocks, that’s all. Still, though, there is something eerie about the whole thing. About the whole town in general. Not just the game or that it’s like the last fifty years have missed this place completely.
It’s also the way no one can take their eyes off the cheerleaders whenever they step onto the field. Vacant and hypnotized because the violence around them has a way of making them look even more beautiful. Even more like angels. Like snowflakes falling over a battlefield.

“Seen enough?” Lukas asks when the game reaches halftime.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Let’s go.”

And as we head down the steps, I find that I can’t take my eyes off them, either. Wondering what it must be like to have people look at you that way. Wondering what it would be like to have that much control over total strangers.

“Wait,” I say softly, holding on to Lukas. Pausing at the bottom of the bleachers as Maggie leads the girls onto the field again. The cold breeze washing over all of us. Stealing the color from their cheeks and bringing it to me. “I just want to see this before we leave.”

Whenever my dad and I take one of our long drives to a new
life, I like to stare out the window and watch normal people doing normal things in each town we pass. I always see kids doing things that I know are pretty common, but that seem so distant to me. Bake sales and car-wash fund-raisers. Signs in front of schools for class plays. Even large groups of friends just walking together down the sidewalk seems like something I could never be a part of.

I’m always the one left out.

If high school were like little kids on the playground, I’d be the little kid sitting on the swings all by herself. That’s who I am. Always the girl who doesn’t quite fit in. It’s not because I’m weird or because I want to be an outsider. It’s just that being the kid who moves to town, I’ve always missed the start of the game and by the time I get there, they don’t
need anyone else to play.

I guess that’s why I haven’t been able to get the cheerleading routine out of my head. Since the football game yesterday, it’s all I can think about. Something about it is so amazing. So perfect. Just like those scenes of normal people that pass by the car window.

And I keep thinking about Meredith asking me if I’ve ever thought about joining. And I think maybe I might. I know it’s sort of dumb. But just once I’d like to see what it would be like to be one of the group instead of being the kid alone on the swings.

“What are you thinking about, Squirt?”

My dad’s voice pulls me out of my daytime-television fog long enough to wrinkle my forehead at him. “Dad, I stopped being Squirt years ago,” I tell him. “Can’t you find a nickname that’s not so dumb?”

He smiles as he sits down next to me on the sofa. Tells me no matter how big I get, I’ll always be his
Squirt
and I roll my eyes.

“Perfect,” I say. “At least now I know that I’ll be uncool forever.”

He ignores my comeback as usual and takes the remote from my knee. The television doesn’t respond to the buttons his fingers push, though. He adjusts the tape that wraps around the remote to hold in the batteries. Taps it gently against the palm of his hand before aiming again. Still no response and his tapping turns into a more violent banging.

“This thing’s busted,” he mumbles.

“No, it just doesn’t like your shows,” I say. I reach over
and take it back from him. Press the same buttons he did and the channel changes as easily as that. “See, it just needs a girl’s touch.”

“Thanks,” he says. Then he puts his arm around me and I know he’s thanking me for more than just fixing the remote. I know he’s thanking me for just being there. For being me.

It’s the little things like this that he was talking about when he called us a team. The same things that can almost make me forget about trying to be popular or fitting in. I can forget that we’re not normal. I can almost convince myself that we’re better than those people who live in big houses and have three cars and buy whatever they want. When we sit on a torn-up sofa that was left in the house and watch bad television, I can almost convince myself that everything is perfect.

Almost.

Because then something always happens that reminds me our life kind of sucks.

“Oh,” my dad says, acting like he just remembered something but doing a bad job of it. “If the phone rings, don’t answer it.”

I sit up straight. Putting my hands on my knees and staring at him.

“Why?” I demand.

My dad shrugs it off. “It’s nothing.” His standard answer.

I shake my head and stand up. He asks me where I’m going. Asks why I’m leaving. “Because,” I tell him and that’s all I tell him. Because he knows why. Because he knows what
because
means. It means I know why we’re not answering the phone. I know it means someone found us. Someone he owes money to. They always find us because running away never works.