White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (14 page)

I snorted. “Well, try and act like you're having fun, 'kay? After all, you're
Andrew Saber!
” I fluttered my lashes again.

Andrew drained the last dregs from the bottle, then casually flipped me off. “To keep up appearances,” he said with a tight smile. “You understand.”

“Ditto,” I said brightly and returned the gesture, then sauntered off as if I didn't have a care in the world. But as soon as I was well away from him, I texted Brian.

Queen Bitch is flying to that place you went yesterday
.
Her puppy says there's funny business.
If the FBI was monitoring my texts I didn't want to make it easy for them.

Nicole. Portland. Got it. Tell the rest to the doc.

I rolled my eyes. Jerk. See if I ever tried to be cautious again.
And you're an asshole.

10-4. No argument there.

Smiling, I sauntered around the tent until I found a quiet corner where I was sure no one could overhear me, then called Dr. Nikas and filled him in. He asked a few questions, clarified a few points, thanked me and hung up.

Cool. Phase one of my Fest mission complete. Now for phase two: get more free food.

The crawfish things were gone, but in their place were cream cheese and salmon rolls. I scarfed several down, not only because they were seriously delish, but also because I hoped real food would help keep the other hunger at bay, at least for a little while.

My next stop was the makeup table where I got a shockingly realistic protruding skull fragment attached to my forehead by a woman who kept up a cheerful stream of chatter about the various movies she'd worked on. Damn, Nick would've loved this shit. And he must have paid a rotting arm and leg for the VIP passes. It
sucked
that he couldn't be here.

By the time my forehead was nicely uglified, the line to get a picture taken with Justine Chu had dwindled to nothing. Probably because she was finishing up for the day, I realized as I noticed her security guard helping the two crew members carry plastic crates full of promotional materials out the back of the tent.

My watch said I still had five minutes before the picture-taking ended, and so I trotted my scrawny ass over. I missed being first by a matter of seconds, beaten out by a tall blond guy in his mid-twenties in red skinny trousers and a dark blue polo shirt. He was tanned and fairly good-looking, and I might have been attracted to him except for his smirk that told me he was used to getting his way. Plus, it was clear he'd already paid several visits to the open bar.

Justine Chu was only a few inches taller than me, which I hadn't expected. I'd always figured that being crazy tall was a requirement to be a movie star. She gave the blond guy a bright smile as he stepped up, but I didn't miss the quick flash of dislike.

“Back again!” he announced with a self-satisfied grin. “I know you missed me. I thought of another pose to do with you. You'll
love
this one.”

Her smile turned brittle. “Sounds great, Sergei,” she said, making zero effort to sound convincing.

Sergei?
I bit back a snigger. He didn't look like a Sergei to me. Bradford or Ambrose maybe—something more Ivy-League-preppy-I'm-so-entitled.

I waited at the front of the line, marked by a square of red carpet to the right of the photographer. The photo area consisted of three backdrops showing different scenes from the movie. Justine moved to stand in front of the one for the science classroom, but stiffened when Sergei slung an arm around her waist and leered at the camera. Okay, it was official: I never ever wanted to be a movie star. Not if I had to put up with that kind of shit. My opinion of Justine's acting skills climbed higher as she maintained the smile despite having been through this crap a few hundred times today.

But Justine sucked in a shocked breath when Sergei shifted his hand to cup the side of her boob. I whirled in search of help, but the poor camera girl stood frozen in horror, and everyone else in the tent seemed to be distracted by a door prize drawing. What the hell was taking Justine's security so long?

To her credit, Justine didn't stay shocked. “Get
off
me!” Eyes blazing in fury, she dug an elbow into Sergei's ribs to push him off, but he shifted his hand to grab even more tit.

“C'mon, one more pic!” He laughed and wrestled her closer. “Let's make it a good one!”

Screw this
. “Oh my god!” I shrieked. “It's Val Kilmer!” I didn't have zombie speed at the moment, but I had fuck-this-asshole speed. I bounded forward, and before he had a chance to register the skinny form hurtling toward him, I leaped, and threw my arms around his neck in a death-grip.

“What the—” His words cut off with a croak as I tightened my bicep against his windpipe. He staggered a step then—as I'd hoped—let go of Justine to deal with the crazy chick latched on like a face-hugger. The instant Justine backed off, I released my super-affectionate hold and dropped to the ground, then stepped between Justine and the sleazeball.

“The hell?” I said in outrage I didn't have to fake. “You're not Val Kilmer! How dare you pretend to be him!”

Sergei coughed. “Wait, what?”

I planted my hands on my hips. “You're not Val Kilmer, asshole, which means it's my turn with Justine.”

His face darkened. “Get out of my way, you crazy bitch. I—”

“
No
,” Justine said with seething force. “You're finished. Move along before I have you arrested.”

I clapped my hands like a manic pixie. “Run along now, you big faker!”

“Bullshit.” He leveled a haughty sneer over my head at Justine. “My father invested heavily in this movie. I'll make sure you never work—”

He stopped as a throbbing growl built in my throat. Teeth bared, I met his eyes steadily, watched his ego war with the overworked survival instinct that told him not to tangle with the scary trashy chick.

“Screw this,” he muttered and managed a pathetic glare before slinking off.

“Oh god,” Justine said, voice quavering. I whirled, dismayed at the sight of tears rolling down her cheeks. “Val Kilmer,” she gasped. “Oh Jesus, Val Kilmer.”

Those were tears of
laughter.
I grinned, relieved. “It was the first thing that popped into my head. Sorry. I didn't see any security, and you didn't look real happy.”

She flicked the tears away without smudging her makeup then gave me a brilliant smile. “You're right, I wasn't happy at all. Since no one was in line, I asked my security guard if he'd help Mandy and Chad carry the crates to the van. I'm sure that's what Sergei was waiting for. I was about to do something violent and no doubt bad for my career when you stepped in.”

“He's a douche-nozzle,” I said. “Who's his daddy? I'll go beat him up next.”

Justine sighed. “His father passed away a few months ago—Pietro Ivanov, who seemed like a nice man when I met him last year. But his son is nothing like—”

I snapped my hand up. “Hang on. That asstard told you
Pietro
was his dad?”

Her eyes slitted at the edge in my voice. “That's what he told me the first time he came through the line.” Her mouth tightened. “And I believed him. I'm an idiot.”

“Nah, he's just an ass who figured he could get away with it since Pietro isn't around to say otherwise.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You knew Pietro?”

Still do
, I thought, hiding a smile. “I used to date his nephew,” I said with a shrug.

Her security guard jogged up, consternation on his face. Justine filled him in on what happened, managing to make the part where I jumped on “Sergei” sound way more heroic than it actually was. The guard summoned the deputies, the camera girl showed them the boob-grab pics, and Justine and I watched in delight as the asshole—a.k.a. Boswell Carlton—was arrested and carted off.
Ha! I knew he wasn't a Sergei!

“Oh, crap.” Justine grimaced. “You never got your picture. I have to go introduce the
Zombies Are Among Us!!
trailer, then I have a gig right after. Are you going to be around tomorrow?”

“Probably not,” I said, “but I don't need the pic anymore. Jumping the guy was a lot more fun.”

She chuckled. “Well, stop by tomorrow if you decide to come. And skip the line!” With that she hurried off toward a harried studio-type who didn't seem pleased that so much time had been wasted with Boswell's shenanigans.

I snagged a bottle of sparkling guava juice then found a spot not far from the stage where short little me could see. Andrew and Justine stepped onto the stage to a wave of mild applause, both smiling as if they were having the absolute best time EVER. Andrew gave a mercifully short and sweet speech about how excited he was for the movie release and how much it benefited the area, blah blah. He turned the microphone over to Justine who enthused about how terrific all the locals were and how she was the luckiest actress ever to have such a great role. Yeah, this lady was one hell of an actress to say all that with a straight face. Of course, everyone applauded.

Justine lifted a hand. The “moon” that lit the tent dimmed. “And now,” she intoned, deep and dramatic, “a few scenes to whet your appetite for Infamous Vision Studio's latest short film release, premiering tomorrow at two p.m. here in the Fifth Annual Deep South Zombie Fest VIP Graveyard. It's the documentary
they
don't want you to see. You've been warned:
Zombies Are Among Us!!
”

Applause swelled again as Justine leaped nimbly off the stage. The moon went black, leaving only the stars above. Ominous music swelled, and the clapping died away.

The trailer began with a dark screen and narration in a James-Earl-Jones-deep voice.

“The Shocking Truth of monsters living
Right Next Door
.”

I rolled my eyes at the “B-movie meets documentary” style, but I had to give props to the studio. The production quality was even better than
High School Zombie Apocalypse!!
, which did a lot to reduce the cheese-factor.

Subtitles flashed up, echoed by the narrator.

The Hidden Zombie
. Faux-news footage showed a smiling woman working as a barista.

The Truth.
A night scene with the same woman crouched beside a mangled corpse, gore on her face and hands, and a savage look in her eyes.

Several more scenes of people in ordinary jobs with quick scene cuts to show them killing and eating customers or patients or neighbors. I snorted. Please. I'd never once killed and eaten a customer or neighbor. And the bodies at the morgue could hardly be counted as patients.

“You've seen what zombies are like in movies.” The narrator's voice resonated through the tent.

Another subtitle flashed. Zombie Frenzy!

The football field melée scene from
High School Zombie Apocalypse!!
filled the screen, except this clip was from a different camera angle than the ones used in the movie. It showed plenty of general movie zombie madness, but there I was at the back of the crowd, leaping on Philip and biting his neck to calm him down. I gulped, mouth dry. At least it didn't show either of our faces.

“Are you prepared for the reality?” the narrator asked, dark and serious. “The truth will
shock you
.”

Dramatic music punctuated each word as it filled the screen—

ZOMBIES

ARE

AMONG

US

—followed by a rapid-fire series of gory images, too fast to register individually.

Short credits rolled, accompanied by eerie snarls. I spotted my murder victim's name, Grayson Seeger, listed as a producer. The final line told viewers to visit zombiesare amongus.com for more information.

Well, shit.

I managed to clap along with everyone else, forced a grin onto my face as the moonlight returned. People jabbered in excited voices about the film as they milled toward the food, and the tent suddenly seemed way too hot and crowded. It shouldn't have surprised me that the studio used footage from that melée on the football field, but never in a million years did I expect them to make a “mockumentary” about it. Those fake documentaries were great and funny and all that, except for the pesky fact that there were always a few people who either didn't get that the shit was fake or wanted to believe it and started looking for mermaids and monster sharks. Despite the presumed absurdity of the subject matter, this little film did a damn good job of portraying the issue as legit and serious. The last thing any of us needed was for a moron viewer to get worked up and believe that zombies were real and needed to be hunted down. Especially with the angle of zombies living like ordinary people.

I made my escape through the graveyard and stepped out into the daylight. The abrupt shift helped drive away the creepiness of the video. Why the hell was I letting it get to me? It was just a silly piece of studio promotion. Besides, one of the reasons I'd come to the Fest was to get a read on the Three Dumbass Amigos about the murder. I needed to stop fiddlefucking around and get moving on that.

But my mind kept going back to the
Zombie Frenzy!
subtitle that had accompanied the melée scene. I'd seen it before, handwritten on the paper I found in Seeger's pocket, with an arrow to the filename
zombie_frenzy
. I ducked into a porta-potty and took care of my insistent bladder, then pulled the paper from my bra.
Zombie_frenzy
had one asterisk, which meant “approved by DR for ZAAU,” according to the notation. As I'd suspected, ZAAU was short for
Zombies Are Among Us!!
I scanned the other files marked with single asterisks:
zombie_heal_1, zombie_amputation, zombie_feeding_3, zombie_speed.
My uneasiness increased. Would there be healing and speed segments in the documentary too?

No question—I was definitely coming back tomorrow afternoon to see all of
Zombies Are Among Us!!
Maybe I'd get that picture taken with Justine after all.

•   •   •

Clear skies and brilliant sunlight lorded over a Fest in full, raucous swing. Merchants hawked everything from munchies to zombie puppets, and kids squealed in fearful delight on the carnival rides. On the big stage, a zydeco band played to a lively crowd, with at least a dozen couples twirling in a high-energy Cajun two-step. And through it all wound the mouth-watering aromas of crab boil and jambalaya, café au lait and beignets.

My Deep South brethren were doing what they did best: enjoying the hell out of a party.

A packet of “ProteinGel” quieted my brain hunger and sharpened my senses a bit. Smiling, I wove through the rotting rabble toward the Hunting Grounds. Laughter and applause broke out from the crowd gathered in a hay bale amphitheater, and an announcer's voice cut through the clamor. “You can't fool the Marquise de Saber, folks! She'll root out zombies every time.”

The Marquise de what? A sharp bark issued from the direction of the stage. Curious, I wormed my way through clusters of people until I had a decent view. On the stage stood a man dressed in a military-style zombie hunting outfit with a sheathed machete slung across his back. A German Shepherd sat beside him. I narrowed my eyes. That was Tactical Pants Man and his goddamn cadaver dog.