Zombots Run on Batteries and Human Flesh

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Marylou Brambach screamed, as did Brighton Adams. I, Jude Nerdworthy, who never, ever screamed, squawked a rip snorter, as my Uncle Rantly would say. Marylou’s mom, who had just popped out from under the pickup in the Brambach garage with a hammer in her hand, stood up and removed the hardhat from her head.

“Thank God.” Marylou hugged her mother. Brighton tried to hug me, but I pushed him aside.

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Brambach asked.

“The cheerleader zombots are headed this way,” Marylou said.

“What’s a zombot?” Mrs. Brambach asked.

“No time,” I said. "They used to be cheerleaders, now they’re zombies with an AI attachment."

The door at the back of the garage bashed onto the garage floor to the tune of "zom… zom… zom."

“What’s the meaning of this?” Marylou’s mom asked. She marched up to the cheerleader zombots and planted her hands on her hips while glaring at Betsey Olson, the prettiest zombot in school. Betsey reached up and grabbed Marylou’s mom about the neck. Marylou’s mom, who takes no guff from teenagers, bashed Betsey up the side of the AI helmet with her hammer.

Betsey said one final “zom…” before dropping her head and coming to a full stop shut off.

“The battery is located behind the left ear,” Marylou’s mom announced. She bashed each of the darling cheerleaders on the noggin in the designated spot as they marched into the garage. Before long we had nine cheerleader zombots in shutdown mode in our garage.

“What happens if we remove their helmets?” Brighton asked.

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