White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (26 page)

“Fuck no! Not
my
dream, Dad. You never bothered to listen to what
I
wanted.” Nick cut a nearly imperceptible glance my way. “And to think I almost went through with it, because I
did
listen to you and didn't want to disappoint you.”

I clapped my hands together. “Good. It's settled. Nick will do what he wants, Bear will become a surgeon, and I'll do something brilliant to turn the tables on Dante Rosario.”

Bear snorted. “Two out of three isn't bad. I'm a bit old for med school.”

“You'll be just as old if you don't go,” I pointed out. “Hell, Nick can even tutor you.”

Bear said nothing as he moved to sit behind his desk. He had the strangest look on his face, as if he'd tasted a new food and had no idea whether to love or hate it. Or
 . . .
as if I'd told him that yes, he could go follow his dream. I masked a smile. Had Bear ever consciously known that being a surgeon was where
his
heart lay? No wonder he'd ridden Nick so hard. Not that it excused everything that had happened between father and son. I watched the emotions crawl over Bear's face as it began to hit home what he'd done—to Nick, to himself, and to their relationship. I didn't expect him to run off to med school, since it was obvious he loved his current work, but I couldn't help but take a grim pleasure in his current unsettled state. Not to mention, I highly doubted the med school thing was the only sticking point between the two. But, hey, it was a start.

Bear nodded to himself then leaned back in his chair and regarded me. He knew exactly who helped Nick come to his senses. And he knew I was right about med school, which meant it was possible I was right about other things, too. “Angel, you're a little bitty thing, but you're full of fire and managed to throw me around like a feather.”

“A really big heavy feather,” I said with a laugh.

One side of his mouth twitched up. “Thing is, you and your people would be one hell of an asset.”

My humor vanished like a pricked soap bubble. “I don't want to be anyone's
asset
,” I said sharply. “That's the whole reason my kind are being experimented on, so that other people can use us.”

Bear lifted his hands in surrender. “Today seems to be my day for saying the wrong thing.” At a rude noise from Nick, his mouth twisted. “Okay,
decade
. Let me try again.” He took a deep breath. “Angel, you'd make one hell of an ally.”

“I have my moments,” I said, eyeing him with caution. “Is that an observation or an offer?”

“Offer.”

Huh. Ally, until the Tribe yanked up its roots and relocated. Sweet zombie Jesus, Pierce was going to shit himself when he found out how many people knew about us. To hell with the flash drives. All the enemy needed was an Angel Crawford to scatter chaos and secrets like beads from a Mardi Gras float.

“Allies could be cool,” I went on, “but I need to think about it and consult with the others.”

“Fair enough. How about a truce for now.”

“Truce works.” For now. Though I didn't fully trust him when it came to his son, I had faith that he wouldn't stab me in the back. “On that note, do you have a gadget or gizmo that can find a GPS tracker on a car?”

“Yes, I can scan for trackers.” His brows drew down. “Your car?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure that's how Rosario found me.” Judd, too, I suspected, but they didn't need to know about any of that.

“Bring your car into the alley. I'll meet you out there.”

•   •   •

Fifteen minutes later, I stared at the
four
GPS trackers lined up on the hood of my car. Ranging from small and sleek to big and clunky, they'd been hidden in various locations throughout my car, tattling its location to whoever monitored the signals.

“You're a popular girl,” Bear said, jaw tight.

“I'm the goddamn homecoming queen,” I grumbled. How could so many people care this much about where I went? Rosario was one of them, for sure. Judd was probably a second. But I only had wild guesses about who might have placed the other two trackers. The Tribe tracked me, but that was an internal modification to my car that I'd agreed to. Special Agent Aberdeen? Yet another Saberton operative?

Bear scooped up all four trackers and stalked back inside with me right behind and Nick trailing. He dumped the trackers onto a table, then sat behind the desk, expression grim and thoughtful. Nick fidgeted near the door, but I flopped into a chair in front of the desk.

“You knew about zombies
before
Judd gave you those videos,” I said, eying Bear. “And I'm betting your source was Rosario.”

He muttered a curse. “I'd met him a time or two in the past few years during disaster relief efforts. Always struck me as a straight arrow.” He leaned forward and steepled his fingers on the desk, grimaced. “Few weeks ago he comes into the shop, we end up grabbing a beer together. He starts talking about being prepared for the zombie apocalypse—but not crazy. More like how the concept can be used as a model for disaster preparedness.”

“Even the Center for Disease Control has a page about how to survive the zombie apocalypse,” Nick offered. “It started out as a joke but ended up being an entertaining way to encourage preparedness for all kinds of hazards.”

“Exactly,” Bear said. “Rosario never once tried to convince me zombies were real, though he liked to go on about how zombies were all people—humans—before they were changed.” His eyebrows pulled down. “I can't explain it, but it was as if he didn't feel he needed to convince me because he
knew
. Like, I don't feel a need to convince you this desk is real.” He tapped it for emphasis.

I gave him a doubtful look. “And that didn't make you think he was crazy?”

He spread his hands. “I've been around enough of the whackjobs that I can spot them a mile away, but I never got the tingle with Rosario.”

“Because he
isn't
crazy,” Nick put in.

Bear gave Nick a slow nod. “Right. That's it exactly.” His gaze lingered on his son's bruised eye for a few seconds, then he took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, a week or so ago Rosario started getting more specific, sharing links to articles that focused on unusual deaths that happened in patterns all around the country. A series of freak accidents in Colorado where heads were smashed. A firepit in the New Mexico desert containing the burned bodies of a dozen homeless people—all with holes in their skulls. And even the serial murders we had here where the victims' heads went missing.” He exhaled. “By that time I was pretty sure Rosario knew way more than he was letting on, and started paying closer attention. When he made a ‘hypothetical' comment on Friday about how it'd be tough to kill a zombie, but tranquilizing them would likely work a lot better, I figured it couldn't hurt to stick a tranq gun in my kit.”

“That's
 . . .
interesting,” I said then fell silent to mull over his words. Bear had a wide reach on a bunch of social networks—blogs, videos, podcasts, and who knew what else. Rosario must have realized that Bear would be a seriously valuable resource, a fast and effective way to spread info or rumors or outright lies. But what was the deal with Rosario's “
zombies are people too”
feel-good bullshit? A smokescreen? It had to be. He'd supplied the horrific videos for the
Zombies Are Among Us!!
film, which was proof enough that part of his goal was to stir up suspicion and fear about zombies.

“The serial killer wasn't a zombie,” I finally said, “but his victims were.” In my peripheral vision I saw Nick straighten in surprise. “Also,” I continued, “you should probably know that animal tranqs don't do shit to zombies. You have to use specially formulated tranqs, which are so powerful they can kill a human in seconds.”
And Rosario killed Judd with a zombie tranq to keep him from killing me
. Didn't want Judd to damage the merchandise.

“Good to know,” Bear said, but then his mouth twisted into a scowl. “That son of a bitch was going to use me and my people.”

“Yeah, that's my guess,” I said. “For what it's worth, I don't think he's calling the shots.” I gave Bear and Nick a quick and dirty briefing on Dr. Kristi Charish and the oh-so-warm and fuzzy feelings she held for me. When I finished, Bear's expression was grave, and Nick had a haunted look as if he was in a waking nightmare.

Bear opened the laptop and regarded me, long and hard. “You're right. You can't sit back and wait for them to make another play for you.”

“Exactly. Can you find out if Rosario is at the Fest today? I'm pretty sure I winged him last night, but dunno how badly.”

“I'm checking now,” Bear said. “I know he's scheduled for demos at ten and noon.” A few clicks later, he turned the laptop to show me the Zombie Fest website and inset live feeds. “FesterCam three shows him on stage now.”

The pistol and rifle-shaped hands of the wall clock read ten-twenty. Damn. Not enough time to go home and de-stinkify before the noon show. “I need to buy a change of clothes from you and do a quick cleanup in the bathroom sink.”

“Or you could take a shower.” Bear hooked his thumb toward a half-open door off the office. “Comes in handy after being out in the field. What are you planning?”

I pushed to my feet. “There's no sense in me waiting for Rosario to make a move. I'm going to get the upper hand and deal with that sonofabitch on
my
terms.”

“All on your lonesome?” His mouth pursed in doubt. “That didn't work out so well last night.”

“Yeah, well, my people are tied up with the Saberton and Kristi Charish crap,” I said. “I don't have much choice.”

“But I do.” Nick spoke for the first time in ages. “You aren't planning on
killing
him, right?”

“Not unless he tries to kill me first.” I grimaced. “That didn't come out right. I mean, all I need to do is catch him, then my people can, um . . .”

Bear picked up for me. “Take care of matters in whatever way is needed.”

“Kidnapping,” Nick said. He moved to stand by his dad.

I rubbed my forehead. Kidnapping could damn well turn to something uglier. I had a feeling Bear got it, but Nick—“Look, the less y'all know, the better. I don't want either of you in trouble over my shit.”

Nick bristled. “We already did the less-you-know thing, remember? For chrissake, I took in your dad when you were off doing god-knows-what a few months back. You're telling me there was no risk in doing that?” He slammed his hand on the desk before I could respond. “You can't pull this off alone, and I can damn well decide for myself if I want to help.”

Shit. A big part of me wanted to walk out and leave him pissed but safe. Yet I knew exactly how infuriating it was to have someone else decide what was best for me without my input. Nick didn't deserve that. “Fine. But let me lay it all out for you before you jump in with both feet.”

Serious and sober, Nick doodled patterns on a notepad as he listened to me spell out what kidnapping meant in this case and the possible complications. Not once did he look me in the face. When I finished, he gave a single nod. “All right. I'm going to see you through this.”

“I'm in,” Bear said. “That prick was going to use me.” He pulled a flash drive out of a drawer and set it on the desk in front of me. “And don't worry, I'll wipe the videos off my hard drive.”

“Thanks,” I said and stuffed the flash drive into my pocket. Bear could have the videos backed up half a dozen ways and I'd never know it. All I could do was trust him. I also had a feeling he was “in” as much to keep an eye on Nick as to protect his own interests, but I wasn't about to argue. I flicked a piece of gunk off my shirt. “Guess it's time for me to shop and shower.”

Bear stood. “I'll help you find what you need. That'll save time.”

“No,” Nick said with a lift of his chin and challenge in his eyes. “
I'll
help her in the store, while you run down the street to BigShopMart and buy her new underwear since that's the one thing you don't carry here.”

Bear's ears turned bright pink. “Oh, well, um, you see—”

“Going commando would be an awfully big distraction,” I said with a painfully straight face and a shrug of agreement for Nick's position. “And Nick probably has a better idea of my sizes for the stuff here.”

Bear exhaled in defeat. “Guess I deserved that,” he muttered. “Fine. I'll go buy undies. And once I'm back and you're cleaned up, we'll make a plan and get equipped.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and I like the boy brief style with the lace on the bottom.”

“Don't push it, Angel.”

“It's what I do best, Bear.”

“God help us all.”

Bear had all sorts of gizmos, including high-power binoculars strong enough for me to see every pore in Rosario's face from my hiding place behind the Bear's Den booth. I watched as Rosario paced the length of the amphitheater stage with Marla at his side. No limp, no clutching at his side, no lines of agony in his face. Nothing but a barely noticeable hitch in his step. Damn. So much for winging him.

Sighing, I handed the binoculars to Nick. “The only way that gunshot wound will slow him down is if the Band-Aid falls off and he trips over it.”

“Best to proceed as if he's at a hundred percent anyway,” Nick said. He checked his watch and turned to Bear. “His show ends in five minutes. You ready?”

“I can read a goddamn watch,” Bear snapped. “I'm ready. But I'm still not convinced he'll bite on the I-have-something-cool-to-show-you story.” He frowned. “I could say there's a kid in a wheelchair who wants to meet him.”

“Dear god, no,” I said as Nick groaned. “First off, Rosario would bring Marla along, because a kid in a wheelchair would want to see the dog. Second off, I'm already going to hell, and I'd rather not grease the slide.”

“Fine,” Bear said. “Luck better be on my side.”

“Luck? You're so full of shit, we're counting on you bullshitting him into submission with your bearshit.”

A fit of coughing seized Nick. Bear grinned and slapped me on the shoulder. “Oh, I am, and I will!”

Bear left the booth, and Nick and I slipped on my fancy zombie Mardi Gras masks and headed to the VIP tent, sticking to the least crowded walkways and ducking behind booths when possible. Our plan was simple, which I hoped would reduce the chances for things to go wrong. Bear would find Rosario as soon as his show ended, talk him up and feed him a hopefully convincing lie. Rosario's routine after a demo was to crate Marla in his vehicle with the windows open to help her wind down. With Marla out of the picture, Bear would then lead him to the VIP tent where Nick and I would be waiting to spring the trap. Bear would stay outside to be our lookout and backup, then signal us once the parade of four-wheeler all-terrain vehicles had passed and the road was clear enough for us to drive on out.

There were only two possible hitches in our plan, that we knew of. The first was Marla and what to do if Rosario didn't crate her. But after much thought and discussion we agreed to abort the plan in that event. Standard animal tranqs took way too long to take effect, and we had no other way to neutralize Marla that didn't risk injuring or killing her. Most importantly, we didn't want to deal with eighty pounds of pissed German Shepherd.

The second possible hitch was that we had a very specific window of opportunity to grab Rosario. Unfortunately, that was also when the parade started: Fifty or so four-wheeler ATVs, all decorated up to be redneck zombie Mardi Gras floats, blocking the road leading out of the Fest. It sucked, but we were going to have to capture Rosario then sit on him and wait. Patience wasn't one of my better traits, but for this I'd do my best.

A cluster of ATVs rumbled by, complete with plastic beads, brains, and body parts. After they passed, Nick and I continued to the VIP tent and slipped around to where my car was parked at the very back, thanks to a Bear's Den vehicle pass. I glanced at my watch. Almost go-time. I pulled my mask off and turned to Nick.

“Don't say it,” he said before I even opened my mouth. “It's settled. I'm staying.” He hadn't smiled or met my eyes for longer than a second since that video, and the frowning zombie mask perfectly matched the edge of steel in his voice.

“Okay,” I said instead of the really awesome and compelling argument I'd prepped during the trek over. “Thanks.”

He gave me a stiff nod then slipped into the tent. I exhaled and followed him.

The fake moon was gone, and ordinary bulbs revealed stacks of chairs and tables, and white tablecloths heaped in a laundry bin. The graveyard had been broken down, and fence pieces, headstones, and other décor lay in neat piles not far from the main entrance. Bear had assured me that no one would be around until the following morning when everything, including the tent, would get carted off. I crossed my fingers that he was right. This was the only spot at the Fest with any degree of privacy.

Neither of us spoke. I took up a position by a pile of fake headstones, while Nick peered through a crack in the tent wall near the entrance, mask pushed up onto his forehead. He was being a stubborn shit about helping me, but he'd agreed to keep the mask on once things got rolling since neither of us wanted him identified. He checked his gun once then slipped it into the holster on his belt and tugged his jacket over it.
That
was the weirdest part so far—watching Nick handle a gun with the ease of breathing, even though it was perfectly logical considering he had Bear as a dad.

Minutes ticked by. The show was over, but it would take time for Rosario to get Marla off the stage and into her crate. More time passed. In the distance, ATVs roared, and music blared. Nick remained silent and still, but I fought the urge to pace. Maybe people wanted Rosario's autograph or photo. Or the parade slowed them down. Or, more likely, Bear was taking his time and playing it cool since Rosario would get suspicious if Bear seemed in a hurry.

Around the fiftieth time I checked my watch, Nick pointed toward the entrance flap, pulled the mask over his face, and crouched behind a stack of bins. He drew his weapon, but I left my Bear-loaned gun in its holster at the small of my back. Our plan hinged on Rosario's desire to kidnap me. He'd likely cut and run if he saw me armed, and even though Bear would be right there to stop him, we didn't need the risk of a tussle.

My pulse quickened as my enhanced hearing picked up approaching footsteps.

Rosario pushed the tent flap aside and stepped in, eyes narrowing at the sight of me. I faked a startle and stumbled back a few steps, while I silently urged him to continue forward. I had faith that Bear would hear if things went to shit and come back us up, but none of us wanted it to come to that.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, trying to sound just the right amount of panicked. A few more feet and Nick would have the drop on him.

Rosario swept a quick look around the tent then, apparently satisfied we were alone, pulled the Taser from his jacket and advanced on me. “Looks like I'm taking you in—”

“Drop the weapon
now,
” Nick ordered as he stepped from behind the bins. Rosario pivoted, but went still at the sight of the gun in Nick's hands. Nick wasn't a big guy, but Rosario obviously had enough experience to see beyond size and note the calm expertise and the rock-steady aim.

Jaw tight, Rosario placed the Taser on the ground. I drew my gun and held it on him as Nick retrieved the Taser and did a quick patdown, then pulled a set of handcuffs from his jacket and secured Rosario's hands behind him.

“He's clear,” Nick said tersely then retreated to cover Rosario from a safe distance.

“Don't bother trying to run,” I said. “You wouldn't make it two steps. But I'll be nice as long as you cooperate.”

“I don't intend to run,” Rosario said, drawing himself up. “All I care about is the safety of everyone at this festival.” He spoke with calm authority. “Angel, you need to unlock the cuffs and come with me for your own good.”

I made a show of cleaning my ear out with a pinky. “Say what?”

“You're destabilizing. Kristi—” He caught himself. “Dr. Charish has evidence that you're suffering long-term effects from Saberton experiments.” He lifted his chin toward me. “The grey. The rot. It's obviously progressing. If you destabilize completely you could kill dozens before you're stopped.”

Nick darted his gaze my way, but his gun didn't waver.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. “You actually
believe
that manipulative psychopath?”

“She's not a psychopath,” Rosario replied with heat, then visibly controlled himself. “She only wants to help you.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “She only wants to cut me into little pieces!”

“What? No!” He shook his head. “She would never do that.”

“Only because I won't let her get close enough.” I cocked my head. It sure as hell looked as if the dude was in love with her. I had no doubt whatsoever that Kristi had played him like a cheap fiddle and was still doing so. “After you helped her escape the Dallas lab, she gave you those videos—the ones you then passed on to Grayson Seeger. But what I can't figure out is
why
.”

He stiffened. “Dr. Charish and I intend to shine a spotlight on Saberton's cruelty to zombies. The videos were meant to increase public sympathy for zombies—for you—before it hits the news.”

“Generate sympathy with that awful
Zombie Are Among Us!!
mockumentary?” I asked, incredulous.

“It wasn't supposed to be like that!” Rosario insisted. “It was supposed to be an exposé, disguised as entertainment, of cruelty to zombies. An icebreaker to get people thinking about zombies in a different light—before we unmask Saberton. Grayson Seeger and I had a deal. I gave that son of a bitch the footage and paid him to make a short film that showed zombies as victims.” Impotent fury washed over his face. “But the studio decided to go bigger, hit harder, and changed it to that hate-promoting garbage. Seeger didn't see fit to inform me.”

“And Seeger was a paranoid mess the night of the premiere because he thought you'd take it out of his hide.”

Rosario's expression darkened. “He was a cokehead who thought everyone was out to get him. Though if I'd seen the film Friday, his paranoia might have been justified for once.” He exhaled. “Enough. Angel, we're running out of time. Unlock the handcuffs. You need to come with me.”

I lifted my hand in a
hold on
gesture. The roar of ATVs had been a steady background noise for the last few minutes, but my extra-sharp hearing picked up what sounded like a half-dozen four-wheelers as they peeled away from the parade route and headed through the maze of booths and tents in our direction. I held my breath as the throaty engine noise grew closer and loud enough to rattle the tent wall. The roar abruptly died, only to be replaced by laughter and boisterous conversation. Wonderful. A bunch of rednecks decided to park not fifty feet from the tent entrance.
C'mon, Bear. Run these assholes off.

Rosario was listening as well. I twitched my gun up. “Don't do it,” I warned him, voice low. “If we get discovered, your dirt—industrial espionage, attempted kidnapping of yours truly, and let's not forget the murder of Judd Siler—sees the light of day right along with mine.”

His jaw worked, but he gave a tight nod. He knew I was right. To my relief, the voices moved off a few seconds later.
That's a good Bear.
Looked like we still had a bit of a wait before us. Then again, it gave me time to poke a few holes in Rosario's dream-girl vision of Kristi Charish.

I tapped my finger against my chin as I regarded Rosario. “If your dearest love Kristi is so pristine and kind, why didn't she give you the rest of those videos?”

“What are you talking about?” He gave a derisive snort, as if I was grasping at straws. “She selected clips. So what.”

I lowered my gun. He wasn't going anywhere. “Why not let you help choose what to pass to Seeger? Did you even stop to wonder why she included clips that portrayed us as monsters when your goal was supposedly the opposite?”

“It was to show the cruelty,” he said, but the first hint of doubt shimmered over his face. “It's what was available. She was in a rush. She—”

“But not so much of a rush that she couldn't edit the clips.” I lowered my head. “Kristi left out some great stuff, like in the video where I'm mauling the big blond guy. You missed the bit right before it where McKinney shot him twice in the chest then gave me a choice: let him die or try to turn him into a zombie.” In my periphery I saw Nick waver. “Or how about the video where I smashed McKinney's head and ate his brain. A minute or so before that, he shot me four times.” I held back a smile as tension hummed through Rosario. “You really should watch that one again. Not only can you see the bullet holes in my shirt, but if you look
real
close you can see Kristi Charish behind that glass right before she runs the hell away.”

“You're lying,” he gritted out.

“You're in denial,” I shot back. “She's brilliant, so why would Saberton have her locked down unless they wanted to keep her psychopathic ass under control?”

Rosario summoned a haughty sneer. “She wouldn't willingly participate in their vicious agenda.”

“Yet somehow she did all the cruel and nasty shit they wanted. Even came up with new ones of her own. Isn't that weird?”

“They brainwashed her,” he said, but his voice wasn't as steady. “That's why I . . . she needed to get away from that place. To recover—”

“How long did it take for her to recover?” I pressed. “A week? Two?”

“It's not like that. She's still recovering! That's why we haven't begun to move forward on the plans to expose Saberton.”

“Uh huh, yet she's okay enough to go through videos of tortured zombies and pick out juicy clips for you.”

His eyes darted around as if seeking the words to convince me.
As if.
I advanced on him and went in for the kill.

“She told you I was about to go nuclear as a result of Saberton testing and that I had to be kidnapped. For my own good. Funny thing, though. It's been over a year since I was a subject in a Saberton lab. Yet suddenly
now
I'm about to go mega-monster?” I graced him with my best expression of withering scorn. “And let's not forget that she was
brainwashed
all this time and is still amazingly functional. A lesser mortal would be drooling in a padded corner.”