Free Johnny and the Dead by Terry Pratchett Page B

away.”
    Johnny turned.
    One of the dead was still in the cemetery. He was standing right up against the railings, clasping them like a prisoner might hold the bars of his cell. He didn’t look a lot different from Mr. Vicenti, except that he had a pair of glasses. It was amazing that they weren’t melting; he had the strongest stare Johnny had ever seen. He seemed to be glaring at Johnny’s left ear.
    “Who’s that?” he said.
    “Mr. Grimm,” said Mr. Vicenti without looking around.
    “Oh, yes. I couldn’t find anything about him in the paper.”
    “I’m not surprised,” said Mr. Vicenti in a low and level voice. “In those days, there were things they didn’t put in.”
    “You go away, boy. You’re meddling with things you don’t understand,” said Mr. Grimm. “You’re imperiling your immortal soul. And theirs. You go away, you bad boy.”
    Johnny stared. Then he looked back at the street, at the dancers and the scientists around the telephone booth. A bit farther along there was Stanley Roundway, in shorts that came down to his knees, showing a group of somewhat older dead how to play football. He had “L” and “R” stenciled on his football boots.
    Mr. Vicenti was staring straight ahead.
    “Um—” said Johnny.
    “I can’t help you there,” said Mr. Vicenti. “That sort of thing is up to you.”
    He must have walked home. He didn’t really remember. But he woke up in bed.
     
     
     
    Johnny wondered what the dead did on Sundays. Blackbury on Sundays went through some sort of boredom barrier and out the other side.
    Most people did what people traditionally do onSundays, which was dress up neatly and get in the car and go for family worship at the MegasuperSaver Garden Center, just outside the town. There was a kind of tide of potted plants that were brought back to get killed off by the central heating in time for next week’s visit.
    And the mall was locked up. There wasn’t even anywhere to hang around.
    “The point about being dead in this town,” said Wobbler, as they mooched along the towpath, “is that it’s probably hard to tell the difference.”
    “Did anyone hear the radio last night?” said Johnny.
    No one had. He felt a bit relieved.
    “When I grow up,” said Wobbler, “I’m going to be out of here like a shot. Just you watch. That’s what this place is. It’s a place to come from. It’s not a place to stay.”
    “Where’re you going to go, then?” said Johnny.
    “There’s a huge big world out there!” said Wobbler. “Mountains! America! Australia! Tons of places!”
    “You told me the other day you’d probably get a job working at your uncle’s place,” said Bigmac.
    “Yes…well…I mean, all those places’ll be there, won’t they, for when I get time to go,” said Wobbler.
    “ I thought you were going to be a big man in computers,” said Yo-less.
    “I could be. I could be. If I wanted .”
    “If there’s a miracle and you pass math and English, you mean,” said Bigmac.
    “I’m just more practically gifted,” said Wobbler.
    “You mean you just press keys until something happens.”
    “Well? Often things do happen.”
    “ I’m going to join the army,” said Bigmac. “The Marines.”
    “Huh. The flat feet and the asthma will be a big help there, then,” said Wobbler. “I can just see they’ll want you to limp out and wheeze on terrorists.”
    “I’m pretty certain I want to get a law degree and a medical degree,” said Yo-less, to keep the peace.
    “That’s good. That way they won’t be able to sue you if you chop the wrong bits off,” said Bigmac.
    No one really lost their temper. This was all part of hanging around.
    “What about you?” said Wobbler. “What do you want to be?”
    “Dunno,” said Johnny.
    “Didn’t you go to the careers evening last week?”
    Johnny nodded. It had been full of Great Futures. There was a Great Future in retail marketing. There was a Great Future in wholesale distribution. There was