Francine explained it to me while we cut through old Mrs. Jackson’s yard and out to a side street.
“I snuck out while my mom and dad were arguing about what to do with me. I mean, after what happened in church.”
“Huh,” I replied. “My folks are acting like nothing happened in church.”
“Yeah, well mine were fighting over whether I just brained a longtime church member or saved us from some sort of horrible death!”
Well, at least the Brabanskys talked about what had happened. My parents acted like everything was just normal.
“Come on!” said Francine. “We gotta get over to Oak Street. Jermaine’s meeting us there with his BB gun.”
“Jermaine Holden? You know Jermaine?”
“Not really—I mean, he goes to our school and everything. But I heard he saved you from that zombie boy at the baseball game, and who else am I gonna ask? So I looked up his number in the phone book and wrote it down. I called him right before I got you.”
Jermaine was waiting at the corner of Oak and Third. He had his BB gun wrapped up inside a coat, so nobody would give him trouble. You know how adults are. You could take somebody’s eye out with that thing!
Francine’s phone rang. “Uh-huh. Right. No, we’re on our way. No, you can kick her in the head as much as you like. It doesn’t matter if she’s head cheerleader. She’s a zombie now. What’s she gonna do, cut you from the squad? Five minutes, okay?”
She looked up at us. Maybe we had weird expressions on our faces.
“Cheerleading squad sleepover last night. Everyone’s gone zombie except me and Celeste Laroche. She says she’s up in a tree house fighting off the other cheerleaders. I took off in the other direction and made it home. I didn’t know Celeste was still, uh, still with us until she texted me during Sunday School.
You aren’t supposed to text in Sunday School, but I guessed that wasn’t so important at a time like this.
“Where are we going?” asked Jermaine, rattling his box of BB ammo.
“Lisa Phalen’s house,” said Francine. “It was her dad who … you know.”
Right. Her dad, who drives an ambulance.
Drove an ambulance.
“Yeah, he came home last night with that kid who chased you. We were all baking cookies. They had blood all over themselves and were moaning and groaning—well, you know how. Lisa’s not real bright, so she asked if they wanted cookies.”
“And did they?” asked Jermaine. He’s always interested in what zombies get up to. It’s research for him.
“Nah, they were already munching on some guy’s leg when they came in.”
“The other ambulance man,” muttered Jermaine.
“Yeah, I guess. But then they started munching on cheerleaders, instead,” said Francine.
“Ew,” I said. I felt sick.
“Oh, quit whining,” she told me. “In fact, shut up and get your bat ready. It’s over this next fence.”