White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (23 page)

“I really gotta run! We'll chat later. Promise you'll call me if you need anything?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He paused and met my eyes. “I'm going to do it. Tomorrow, I'll have it out with Bear.”

“I'm behind you all the way. We'll celebrate after Mardi Gras.” I gave him a sly look. “I'll even let you help me study for midterms.”

Nick smiled, genuine and relaxed, then swept in and hugged me.

I hugged him right back then rested my head on his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Thank god the V12 pre-rot didn't come with Eau de Decay. “You're my best friend. You know that, right?”

“I'm not so sure,” he said, voice light with humor. “Remember the Nick the Prick doodle you did last month?”

“Which one? I mean, god, there've been so many.”

He laughed and released me, then caught my hands in his. “That does it. I'm truly offended.”

I grinned and squeezed his hands. The next thing I knew, I had him backed against the desk with my lips firmly planted on his. I hadn't even thought before moving.
Oh god, what the hell did I just do?!

Nick seemed damn near frozen in surprise—not exactly kissing me back, but not resisting, either. A small and crazy part of me hoped he'd return the kiss, but the rest wanted to run.

Majority rules
. I scrambled back and gave a shaky laugh. “That'll teach you to be offended.” I knew my statement didn't make any sense, but neither did me kissing him.

His eyes were wide with bewildered shock, but he recovered enough to give me a mischievous smile. “I think I should be offended more often.”

A snicker escaped me. I needed to leave before I did something stupid. Stupider. “Gotta go. Call me if you need support with your dad. I got your back.”

I didn't wait for a response, and hit the stairwell at a run.

What the hell, Angel?

Outside, I waited for my pulse to return to a normal rhythm and struggled to make sense of what just happened. The obvious suspect was the V12. With it, the slightest emotion or impulse could turn into action. Annoyance could become rage. A craving might result in me trying to pry someone's skull open. But
what
would prompt me to kiss Nick?

Glancing back at the building, I spied him in the window—for the split second before he jerked back as though he hadn't been watching me. Despite everything, I grinned. I'd have done the exact same thing.

On the street, a car blared twangy country music from open windows as it cruised past. A dog barked in complaint then settled as the ballad about the singer's guitar faded into the distance. Farther away, sirens and the uneven strains of a marching band heralded the start of the parade. Crap. Time to get my ass moving. The Tucker Point PD was great about waiting until the first float was within spitting distance before barricading cross streets, but if I missed the window I'd have to wait over an hour for the parade to pass or backtrack halfway across town.

As I hurried to my car, a man wearing a plastic half-mask and a green satin Krewe of Chiron shirt wandered unsteadily into the parking lot.
Drunk as a skunk
, I decided. Dude must've missed getting on his float in time, and now he was trying to cut across the block to intercept the parade. Too bad the idiot was going the wrong way to catch it.

My this-ain't-right senses tingled, and though the man was still a good twenty feet from me, I angled to give him an even wider berth. Why did he have his mask on when he wasn't on a float?

Alarm bells sounded in my head.
The barking dog
. I shot a quick look toward the street, saw a silver Ford Explorer parked so that the corner of the building shielded it from the view of anyone exiting the morgue. In the back seat, Marla glared at me through the open window.

And it was Dante Rosario behind the mask, a Taser in his hand.

My heart slammed against my ribs. He wanted to capture me for Saberton and would likely succeed unless I came up with a brilliant plan real damn fast. No way could I beat him to my car or the morgue door. If I tried to flee in any other direction, Marla would be out that window and after me in a heartbeat. I was hungry enough that my parasite probably wouldn't be much help against his Taser. At least he didn't have a zombie-tranq gun. I'd have no chance against—

Tranq.

I sprinted toward Nick's car, leaped up onto the hood and over to the passenger side. The tranq gun still rested on the seat, behind a locked door. A quick glance told me I only had seconds before Rosario reached me.

Don't think, just do!
With the help of my almost-one-hundred pounds of mass, I smashed my elbow through the window. Pain shot up my arm, fierce and hot, but I pushed through it and grabbed the gun. Rosario rounded the front of the car. Glass grated against bone in my arm as I jerked the gun up and at him.

He skidded to an awkward stop barely five feet away, hands spread. “Whoa whoa whoa. No need to shoot that thing.”

My finger hooked onto the trigger. “Yeah, well you don't need that joy buzzer of yours. Drop it and back the fuck off.”

Rosario went still for several seconds, no doubt wondering if the tranqs in my gun were zombie-grade—lethal to humans. I could survive a Taser jolt, but if he guessed wrong and I got a shot off, he'd be dead.

To my relief, he apparently came to the same conclusion and slowly placed the Taser on the ground.

“Kick it away,” I ordered. Jaw tight, he grudgingly complied, even as a soft thud reached me from the street. Still covering him, I shifted position to see the dog out of the vehicle and loping toward us. “Keep her back, or I drop you both!”

“Easy, Angel,” he said in the same tone he used with Marla and made a small motion with one hand. The dog stopped and sat, but her eyes stayed glued on me. “No harm, no foul. We can both back off.”

“I don't think so,” I snapped, mind racing. I'd wanted Tribe security to grab Rosario, and here I literally had the asshole in my sights. But how could I possibly take him prisoner—and keep him that way—all by my lonesome? Especially with Marla poised to have herself a juicy Angel-snack.

Frustrated and on edge, I punched the tranq gun toward Rosario, pleased to get a tiny flinch out of him. “How about you tell me why a Saberton security fuckwad helped Kristi Charish escape the Dallas lab, and then went on to leak sensitive company videos.”

His split-second jaw drop confirmed that my suspicion was dead-on. Damn it, I needed answers, and this was a lousy place for an interrogation. Maybe I could force him into the trunk of my car and . . .

The thought trailed off as a breeze wrapped his brain-scent around me. My stress woke the hunger.
If I tranq the dog first, I can tackle Rosario and crack his skull open on the asphalt, then
—

No. Oh god, I couldn't lose control. I didn't want to kill Rosario, even if he was an asshole. My body count was already way too high. Teeth clenched, I took a step back and tried not to breathe in the tantalizing aroma. “Get out of here,” I choked out. “Now!” Didn't want Nick to see me kill and eat a human being.

Rosario must have seen his death in my eyes. He snatched up the Taser and dashed to his vehicle with Marla right beside him. I crushed the urge to chase him down like a psycho cat after a mouse and instead sprinted to my car.

“Angel!” Nick burst from the morgue, phone in hand as Rosario sped off. “The cops are on their way. Are you all right? Who was that?”

“I'm fine. I'm really sorry about your window and the hood. I swear I'll pay for the damages. But I gotta go before the streets close.” I scrambled into my car and slammed the door on any further questions. Nick waved his arms and yelled, but I made it out of the lot before he could get close enough to try and stop me.

I headed in the opposite direction Rosario had taken, then tried to figure out my next step. Rosario's kidnap attempt had been sloppy and rushed which made me think he'd received a “Grab Angel ASAP” order. I'd beaten the asshole this time, but he'd be back and better prepared. Son of a pissing hell bitch. This was a mess wrapped in a shitstorm and stuffed into a clusterfuck.

My elbow flared in pain as I took a sharp left turn to avoid parade traffic. Glass shifted beneath the skin when I probed. I scowled. Hungry or not, the parasite would have normally dulled the pain by now. Great. Yet another way I'd fucked myself with the V12.

Before I could grab brains from the cooler, my phone rang. Nick. I put it on speaker. “Hey, Nick.” I filled my voice with as much casual cheer as I could squeeze in. “I'm fine, I promise. Sorry I had to run off, but I forgot I had to meet someone, and now I'm running late.”

“Who the hell was that? What did he want?”

“Dunno who he was. Some asshole who'd been drinking since morning.” I clung to the hope that Nick had raced downstairs the instant he saw me in trouble and therefore only witnessed the initial part of the attack when Rosario was acting drunk. No way did I need the cops involved in this. “Lucky for me, the dude ran like a little bitch when I grabbed your tranq gun,” I continued. “And I really am sorry about the broken window. I guess I panicked and went into Angel-Smash mode, but at least it scared the guy off.” I tried for a laugh. “If it wasn't for the broken window, the whole thing might be kinda funny.”

Nick laughed with me, and I melted in relief. He'd bought it. “Windows can be replaced,” he said. “What matters is that you're okay. Do you have a description for the cops?”

I rattled off a description vague enough to fit a quarter of the parade-goers in town since I didn't want the cops involved At All, reassured Nick yet again that I was fine, then finally disconnected.

Hunger grumbled, and I reached for my cooler to grab a brain smoothie.

No cooler. Not on the front seat or the floorboard.

Dread rising, I checked my mirrors for any sign of Rosario, then pulled over and looked for the cooler in the back seat. “No no no no no no,” I breathed then ran to the trunk on the slim chance I'd had a brain fart and stuck my cooler in there.

Nope. Just the usual junk. I held back a shriek of rage with effort. The asswipe had broken into my car and swiped my entire stash of brains while I was in the building. Hands shaking with fury, I slammed the trunk and got back in the car. No doubt he was also the prick who'd stolen my gun at the Fest. Maybe his plan wasn't so sloppy after all.

Didn't change the fact that I wanted to kick his brain-stealing ass more than ever.

But first, I needed to find my next meal.

Dante Rosario wanted to kidnap me, but this wasn't my first let's-get-stalked rodeo. A little over a year ago, Dr. Kristi Charish had ordered William Rook—a mercenary-operative-hitman, a.k.a. Walter McKinney—to bring me in. After several failed attempts, Rook succeeded, but I'd learned a few things from that experience. First, I hated Kristi Charish with the fiery heat of a thousand burning suns. Second, I hated Nicole Saber with the fiery heat of a million burning suns. Third, if I was going to be hunted again, I needed to be ready and well supplied with brains. And fourth, but most importantly, I needed to make sure my dad was safe in case Rosario decided to take a page from Rook's playbook and grab my dad to get to me.

“I'm okay, I promise,” I said the instant my dad answered his phone. “But I need you to go hide.”

“Jesus, Angel, I just put a damn pizza in the oven and I got
The Godfather
in the Blu-ray.”

“Jesus, Dad,” I mimicked. “Turn the oven off, and you've already watched that thing a billion times. Get out of the house and go someplace no one would expect.”

“Shit. Fine. You ain't lying to me about being okay, are you?”

“I'm not lying. But I need to know you're safe.”

I heard the beep as he turned the oven off. “I think I liked it better when you was just a druggie car thief,” he grumbled.

I laughed. “I love you. I'll call as soon as I can.”

“Love you too, Angelkins, and you damn well better.”

That took care of a big chunk of my worry. But my nerves ratcheted back up when I called the lab and it continued to ring and ring. After at least ten rings the line clicked, and a woman's voice answered. “Delancey.”

Uggghhhhh. Rachel Delancey. “It's Angel. I have a problem and need to speak to Dr. Nikas.” I grimaced then added, “Please.”

“Dr. Nikas isn't available,” she replied coolly. “Perhaps you can try in a few hours—”

“Dante Rosario just tried to kidnap me behind the morgue,” I said in a rush. “Pretty sure Dr. Nikas would like to know that.”

“I see. I'll relay the info to Dr. Nikas. But, as acting chief of Security, I'm ordering you to stay clear of the lab as long as there's the slightest chance you're being followed.”

My hackles went up at her patronizing tone. “Right. Because it's not as if Saberton already knows
exactly
where the lab is. Oh, wait, you weren't there when they infiltrated and almost got Jacques and Reg and the heads.”

Her calm demeanor shattered. “They got in because of
you.
” Pent up anger vibrated through her voice. “Chris Peterson's death was
your
fault. You're a security risk and a liability to the Tribe, and I'm not the only one who feels that way!”

I held back the words that leaped into my mouth. Instead I took a slow, deep breath then pulled onto the shoulder and came to a stop. Not so long ago, I'd have crumpled and accepted that I really was dead weight and a fuckup, whether it was true or not. But in this moment it was as if her venom threw everything into sharp focus, burned away the bullshit and allowed me to step back and clearly see my accomplishments and failures. Sure, I still fucked up here and there, but so did everyone else. I'd done lots of good stuff, too. I knew damn well she wanted me to believe that Marcus agreed with her assessment of me. Maybe he did. But I'd risked my ass to go back into Saberton to rescue him and Kyle. I knew without the slightest whiff of doubt that I'd proven myself to be an asset.

And, in a supernova-bright burst of clarity, I realized it didn't matter who agreed with Rachel. Not Marcus, or Reg, or Jacques, or Pierce, or even the guy who cleaned the toilets. Whoever that was. I knew my own worth, and no one could take that away from me.

When I spoke, my voice remained steady and calm. “I was attacked, and a listening device was placed in my arm without my consent or knowledge. There's considerable evidence to support this, including the testimony of Philip, Brian, Dr. Nikas, and Pierce. You chose to ignore every shred of evidence that clears me of fault and instead decided that, because you don't
like
me, I'm obviously a murdering traitor.”

“Don't you dare—”

“You're also a judgmental bitch, so fuck you.” I disconnected, satisfied, then texted Dr. Nikas—since I didn't trust Rachel to relay my message. I boiled the kidnapping attempt down to
Rosario tried and failed to grab me at the morgue
, and received an
Oh dear. Do you need to come in for protection?
in response. Fuck Rachel.
Thanks. I'm good for now,
I replied. Sure, I could go hide out and twiddle my thumbs, but then Rosario would be free to do whatever the hell he wanted. I then let Dr. Nikas know that the pre-rot had progressed but seemed stable now, and that I'd confirmed Rosario's involvement in Kristi's escape from Dallas and the leaked videos. After several seconds I received a
Well done
that warmed me to the tips of my toes, followed by
I'll pass it on.

Duty complete, I continued toward my next goal: the Tribe training ground and the emergency brain stash. As soon as I stocked up and topped off, I intended to turn the tables on Rosario.

•   •   •

Hunger came and went in relentless waves, as if it kept lifting its head to see if food had arrived. By the time I finally made the turn onto Salt Perch Road, the hunger breathed down my neck, prodding me with growing impatience. After two miles of steadily deteriorating road the asphalt finally gave way to a thirty-foot-wide stretch of packed dirt and gravel surrounded by waist-high grass and scattered pines. Farther out, firm land fought a losing battle with stagnant pools and brackish marsh until even that gave way to wide stretches of water between sparse patches of slightly higher ground.

This area had been a nature preserve at one time, with a long boardwalk that threaded through the marsh and nifty signs that identified the plants and wildlife. I had vague memories of coming out here with my parents when I was five or six, shrieking in delight as I ran down the boardwalk, sneakers pounding the wooden planks like a giant drum and sending every resident of the marsh scattering. After Hurricane Katrina destroyed the man-made additions, money for rebuilding was nonexistent, and the land was put up for sale. Pietro Ivanov bought it soon after to use as a training ground, cordoned it off, banned all hunting, and deliberately allowed the wetlands to remain wild, unimproved, and undamaged. Except for the occasional stampede of zombies, of course.

Small noises entwined into an earthy harmony—the shriek of birds and croak of frogs and buzz of insects. A damp and chilly breeze flowed over the grass and set it waving. Fifty yards to my right, a rusted flagpole speared drunkenly up from scraggly bushes on a small circle of dry land. There was no sign of the barbecue pit where the brains were stashed, but Dr. Nikas had said near the flagpole, not beside it. I tugged my jacket on, locked my car out of pure habit, then set off toward the flagpole. The footing ranged from firm and dry to knee-deep muck. I paused long enough to grab a sturdy tree branch for stability and forged onward. There was probably an easier path if I bothered to take the time, but at this point, I didn't care if I got wet. I just wanted to get there as fast as possible.

Not that it made a difference. There wasn't a damn thing at the base of the flagpole but dead grass and a nest of rats. I did a slow turn and scanned the area. No barbecue pit in sight.

Maybe I'd dreamed the part about the barbecue pit? Heart sinking, I clawed through the bushes even though they couldn't possibly hide a shoebox, much less the one I wanted.
No, this can't be happening. How can it not be here?
A sob of panic rose, and I choked it back with effort. This was a problem, but problems had solutions. I just had to work through it. A military-grade hard plastic case full of eight-ounce packets would be too heavy for a swamp animal to drag off, and the only footprints around the flagpole were mine. But now that I was looking more carefully, I also couldn't find any box-shaped depressions in the grass.

Frustrated, I jabbed my stick into the soft dirt. Either someone took the box a while ago, or I'd misheard Dr. Nikas about the location. My phone was in my car, but it wouldn't take long to trek back and send a text. If all else failed and the brains really were supposed to be at this flagpole, maybe Dr. Nikas could direct me to a different emergency stash.

God, I hoped so. At least mosquitos didn't care for zombie blood, so I had that going for me.

The crack of a rifle smacked the air, and bone and blood flew as pain exploded in my right hand. I screamed and dropped the stick, fell back as I clutched my ruined hand.
Rosario.
Goddammit. There was no way he could have followed me here without me seeing him, which meant the asswipe had probably stuck a GPS tracker on my car during one of the break-ins.
And now I'm a sitting duck.

“C'mon out, Angel. I got you in my sights, and I can drop you before you can get up to run.”

I froze. Not Rosario.
Judd
. How the hell had I underestimated the redneck gun nut so thoroughly? And how had he found me out here? No way was he in league with Rosario. Even a Saberton goon had standards. I shivered as I looked down at my mangled hand. To my unending relief the pain was starting to ebb
It's okay, you beautiful parasite. I know you're trying.

And on the other end of that rifle was an oh-so-savory brain, perfect to give my parasite a boost.

“Get the fuck up, you goddamn zombie freak,” Judd shouted, “or I'll put the next one through your head. And you know I'm good enough to do it.”

Yeah, I did know. He'd aimed for my hand to get my attention, and was skilled enough to tear me apart, piece by piece. “Why should I make it easy for you to kill me?”

“Makes no difference to me whether you're alive or dead. Either way, you're my ticket outta this whole goddamn mess. Bear's gonna pull the strings I need to get me a new identity once I bring him a real honest-to-god zombie. Now get your ass up before I have to shoot you a few more times to motivate you.”

Bear. That fucking son of a bitch. He'd even given Nick a tranq gun for zombies. Fury sharpened my focus to a scalpel's edge. “No, don't shoot me anymore,” I said, adding a pained gasp for effect. Judd probably didn't know the parasite dulled pain—when it was working, at least. He might think I was in too much agony to fight back. It was a flimsy advantage, but it was all I had.

Hugging my hand to my chest, I staggered out of the bushes. Judd stood a dozen yards away at a right angle from the watery path I'd slogged to the flagpole. To my annoyance, I saw that the ground between us was damn near bone dry. Great. If I'd taken a minute to look for a dry path, I'd have made it to the flagpole in a quarter of the time and wouldn't be soaked.

Judd kept his rifle aimed at me as I moved toward him. “That's far enough,” he said when I'd closed half the distance.

I stopped and kept my face contorted in pretend pain, but a gauze bandage on his right forearm drew my attention. That was my bite under there.

“You fucked everything up, you know-it-all bitch.” Anger swept over Judd's face. “You just had to poke your fucking nose where it didn't belong.” He steadied the rifle, and my pulse jumped.

“You'll turn zombie a lot faster if you kill me!” I blurted.

“The fuck you talking about?” he demanded, but his tongue darted out to lick dry lips. The seed was already there. I just needed to give it plenty of manure.

“The bite. The zombie virus creates a psychic connection with the one who turned you.” I couldn't bring myself to call him my zombie baby. Ugh. I tried to ease forward but the twitch of his rifle stopped me. “Even now, you're probably able to pick up some of my thoughts, such as the number I'm thinking of right now.”

His eyes narrowed. “Seventeen?”

“On the nose,” I said, adding a sprinkle of awe.

A tremble went through him. “I'm not that stupid, you freak. It's been twenty-four hours, and I'm not sick or turned into a zombie.” His throat worked, and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

“Exactly. It's not too late to stop the virus and keep you human.” I tried to give him a motherly smile. “I can get you the antidote. But, if you kill me, our connection will snap back like a rubber band, and POW, you're as full a zombie as I am right now.”

“Shut up!” he screamed, spittle flying. “I'm not a zombie, you fucking monster freak whore bitch!”

Shit. Pushed too far. Fucking motherly smile. “Okay, you're right, Judd. Look, I'll go with you. Take me to Bear. You don't have to kill me.”

Judd sighted in on my head. “Don't tell me what—” His face went slack. The rifle tumbled out of his hands, and a second later he collapsed face down beside it in the dirt.

A tranq dart protruded from his back. A
zombie
tranq.

He's dead
, I thought wildly.
But who—?

I snapped out of my daze and sprinted toward Judd's body. I didn't have zombie super speed, but I covered the distance in record time. With the sweetest tuck and roll I'd ever managed in my life, I snatched up the rifle, took cover behind a thick slash pine, and fired three quick shots at the stand of trees where I'd seen a flicker of movement.

A choked cry of pain rewarded my efforts. “Goddammit, Angel!” Rosario's voice. “Shit! It isn't what you think.”

“Go fuck yourself!” I yelled back. I slammed the butt of the rifle down onto Judd's skull to crack it then once more to smash it open. Moving quickly, I ripped skull pieces away and tossed them aside, then grabbed a double handful of brain and tore it free. Most of it, anyway. The cerebellum and medulla oblongata were still in there along with a mangled chunk of occipital lobe, but digging them out would take time I didn't have. I lifted a handful of brain to my mouth then paused as a horrible thought occurred to me. Judd had been zombie-tranqed. Could I even eat his brain without knocking myself out? My hand trembled as I thought it through. Tranqs were formulated to be injected—not only for speed of delivery, but because ingestion drastically reduced the amount that got absorbed into the blood stream. Since Judd wouldn't have anywhere near a full dose in his brain tissue, I'd be taking in a micro-dose, at most.