The Cheerleaders New Chant

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Zom… zom… zom… The voices of the cheerleaders droned as sweet as always, but dead. Of course they were dead, but their voices were flat. Without life, there can be no song. But the slow rhythm of zom… zom… zom… continued unabated as the cheerleaders chanted to the hum of their computer AI brains.

With the cheerleaders stomping down Marylou’s street and Marylou planted firmly on my lap, Brighton Adams ran through the front door.

“They’re coming!” Brighton invited himself to flop on the couch next to us.

“All of them?” Marylou asked.

“I don’t know.” Brighton grabbed his face. “How many cheerleaders are there?”

The chorus of stamping cheerleader feet approached Marylou’s front door. There was no escape unless we wanted to use the backdoor, but we weren’t the backdoor type. Well, I wasn’t. Marylou and Brighton perambulated briskly in that direction.

“Wait,” I shouted. “Let’s find a way to stop them.”

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