White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

by Diana Rowland

  Hungry Zombie: instant movie extra with a Really Bad Attitude.

  “I missed breakfast and now I’ve lost my appetite for lunch.”

  I looked over at the speaker to see Detective Ben Roth sweep a gaze over the faux-zombie action, a grimace of distaste twisting his features. He’d shaved off his scraggly mustache a couple of weeks ago, and I still wasn’t used to it, though I definitely thought it had been the right decision. Ben was a homicide detective with the St. Edwards Parish Sheriff’s office, and even though Mr. Brent Stewart’s death was most likely the accident it appeared to be, procedure stated that a detective still had to investigate.

  I liked working with Ben on scenes—he was friendly, easy-going, and took his job seriously without being uptight. Working with his partner, Mike Abadie, wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. Abadie and I had pretty much agreed to disagree on, well, just about everything.

  “What, rotting flesh doesn’t get your appetite going?” I teased.

  Ben gave a mock shudder. “I can’t get into the zombie thing. Freaks me out.”

  That surprised me. Tall and stocky, he didn’t look like someone who’d be easy to freak out. “But I’ve seen you on gory and disgusting crime scenes, and you never even bat an eyelash.”

  “I never said it made sense,” he replied with a laugh. “It’s like those horrible lifelike dolls. I know they’re fake, but they still give me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Well, lifelike dolls are creepy as hell,” I agreed.

  “My niece has one of those,” he said, shuddering again. “I’ll take a fake zombie over that plastic monstrosity.” Then he shook his head. “Hell, I’ll take a real zombie over that thing.”

  I laughed, though I knew he had no idea why I found it so funny. He opened his mouth to speak then frowned as a breeze brought a scattering of rain drops.

  “I think that was a warning shot from the coming weather,” he said. “Or maybe a sign I need to get started on my paperwork.” With a parting smile, he turned and headed back to his unmarked car.

  The drizzle stopped as quickly as it had begun, but I knew Ben was right. The black clouds to the west rolled steadily closer. Heading back across the street, I pulled out my phone and started texting, Did you know a zombie movie was being filmed here? to my cop not-quite boyfriend and fellow zombie, Marcus.

  At least that’s what I tried to do. I barely had “Did you know” thumbed in when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye—a helluva lot of very fast movement headed straight for me in the form of a dark silver pickup. The useless thought flashed through my head that nobody should be driving over five miles an hour beyond the barricade, and a glimpse of the driver’s pissed, distracted face told me he didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t tanked up enough with brains to have zombie super speed, and spent a precious split second coming to that conclusion.

  This is really gonna hurt, I thought as my body finally shifted into get-the-hell-out-of-the-way mode far too late.

  I reflexively braced for the impact of the truck, but something else slammed into me from the side, tackling me out of the path of the oncoming vehicle and to the pavement. My right shoulder popped with a sharp pain as I landed hard with about two hundred pounds of someone on top of me. Distantly, I heard a screech of tires and the crunch of metal as Mr. Scowly’s joyride abruptly ended.

  For an instant, I assumed Derrel had been the one to save my butt from becoming a temporary speed bump, except that he was closer to three hundred pounds and would have squished little old me like a bug on a windshield.

  I shifted to see who my savior was and froze. Blue eyes set in a rugged face framed with short blond hair. I’d never forget those eyes, that face. Ever.

  It was Philip, the soldier I’d been forced to turn into a zombie six months ago when creepy Dr. Kristi Charish held me captive in her secret lab. Part of her super-zombie-soldier “Zoldiers” project. The last time I’d seen him was when I attempted to escape through duct work, the day after I turned him. He’d hauled me out and thrown me about a dozen feet. He’d been strong even for a zombie. And he had looked like a movie zombie then, one eye clouded over, his ear hanging off, and lips cracked away from his teeth, coupled with the unmistakable rotting zombie stench. That had been really Bad News since he’d eaten plenty of brains the day before and shouldn’t have rotted that quickly. I’d spent the last half year wondering what the hell had gone wrong with him. More of Dr. Charish’s messed up experiments, no doubt.

  I took in the sight of him in a flash. He looked a lot better now, almost normal except for a faint grey cast to his skin.

  “Philip,” I managed to gasp out, right before he scrambled up and off me. I clutched at him, but my fingers closed on air as he turned and sprinted away. Before I could do more than sit up, he ducked between two trailers and was gone.

  What. The. Hell.

  Chapter 2

  “Angel!”

  That was Derrel. I struggled to my feet, biting back the hiss of pain as I moved my shoulder. Something was seriously messed up with it, but the pain faded, replaced by a dull stab of hunger—and not for regular food. Yep, definitely broken or torn up somehow.

  Derrel’s face was a mask of shock and concern as he helped steady me, thankfully on my good side. “Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, with a wince. I hated to do the cliché thing and ask what the hell happened, but…“What the hell happened?” My gaze swept the area, taking in the activity around the out-of-control-pickup-meets-parked-car mess down the street, but I was more interested in seeing if I could catch a glimpse of Philip anywhere. No sign of him, but I did see a tall blond woman on the other side of the street pointing a nice-looking camera at me and obviously taking pictures. I guess it had been a pretty spectacular moment.

  I looked back to Derrel. “Did you see who knocked me out of the way?”

  “I only saw the back of his head,” Derrel said with a frown. “Dunno why he took off like that. Dude saved your life.” His brows drew together in a dark glower. “I’d have been seriously pissed if that stupid driver had creamed you.”

  “Aw, I almost think you like me,” I teased, managing a shaky smile.

  Derrel snorted. “Paperwork. Oh my god, the paperwork,” he replied, but his eyes shone with relief that I was all right.

  I looked around for my phone, saw it about a dozen feet away, apparently still in one piece. And still working, I found to my relief. The screen had a bit of fuzz to it, but a hard shake took care of that.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Derrel asked, hovering over me like a mother hen. A very large and intimidating mother hen.

  I nodded and did my best not to do anything that would require me to move my right arm. That shoulder was trashed. “I’m good. Promise.” I gave him a quick tight smile. “Lemme get something out of the van real quick.”

  I managed to extricate myself from his hovering long enough to get back to the van and snag my cooler out of the front seat. Hunger gnawed at me. I needed brains and I needed them now. The parasite dulled the pain, but that meant resources were being depleted for healing. Fortunately, as long as brains were available, my zombie parasite did a speedy job of making repairs to physical damage. Without them, the damage would remain, and rot and brain-seeking desperation would soon follow.

  I pulled a water bottle containing a thick sludgy drink from the cooler. Though I always told people it was a protein drink, in reality it was a delicious-to-me smoothie of chocolate milk and pureed brains. I chugged it like a frat boy at a kegger, then sighed in relief as my shoulder pulled itself back together with a familiar sensation of shifting and tingling. My senses remained muted and dull—another way the parasite conserved resources when I was low on brains—which told me I could have used another bottle. Fortunately, the one I had was enough to get me by until I could obtain more. I wasn’t starving and nowhere near losing it to the point of cracking open heads.

  Of course, I then had to deal with the crazy driver a
ftermath. First I had to give a statement to the cop who’d been manning the barricade—who’d also narrowly avoided being run over. Then I had to reassure both Ben and Derrel that I was fine and no, I did not need to go to the hospital to get checked out. After that, a bit of shameless gawking on my part as I watched the belligerent driver get handcuffed and stuffed into the back of a police car.

  Finally, with all the bullshit out of the way, and Ben and Derrel reassured for the billionth time that I didn’t need to go to the ER, I escaped to my van and headed toward the morgue.

  First thing I did once I got on the road was call Marcus since, as my not-quite-boyfriend, I knew he’d want to know what had happened. “Hey,” I said as soon as he answered. “Did you know there’s a zombie movie being filmed in town?”

  “Sure did. High School Zombie Apocalypse!! Two exclamation points. Bunch of our guys are working security details there.”

  I chuckled at the “two exclamation points” business. If it ever came out in 3-D would it get a third? “Yeah, I got called out for a death on the set this morning, and then almost got my own body bag when some idjit who wasn’t paying attention to the whole ‘road closed’ thing tried to run me over.”

  “Wait, what?” he asked, alarm in his voice. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, but only because Philip tackled me out of the way.”

  “Who?”

  “Philip. My zombie-baby. Remember?” I’d filled him in on everything that had happened to me in that goddamn lab, but months down the road there was no reason for him to remember the guy’s name.

  I heard his intake of breath. “Shit. But…wait. I don’t understand. Was he attacking you?”

  “No!” I said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t. It sure as hell seemed like he was trying to keep me from being plowed by that car. And then he jumped up and ran the hell off.”

  “That is seriously weird.”

  “No kidding!”

  “How are you doing? Hungry? You have anything with you?” I knew he meant brains, not burgers.

  “I just sucked down a smoothie to fix up my shoulder, so I’m okay for now.”

  “I’ll bring more for you when I pick you up this afternoon.” We had a casual date set for when I got off work today, though he had yet to tell me what he had planned. “Can’t have you falling to pieces on me, now can I?”

  “That would suck,” I said with a laugh.

  “Yeah, I kinda like your bits right where they are, y’know?”

  I grinned. “You like my bits?”

  “Pretty much, yep.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Bring me something to eat and maybe later I’ll let you touch my bits.”

  “Now there’s an incentive not to be late,” he said.

  “You’d better not be!” I said with a laugh. “My bits and I will see you at four.” I hung up without giving him a chance to reply. It served him right for not telling me where he was taking me this afternoon.

  The rain began in earnest as I pulled up to the rear entrance of the Coroner’s Office building, but I managed to get myself and the body inside without getting too wet, thanks to the recently installed new awning.

  No one else decided to die for the rest of my shift, which was damn nice since I really didn’t want to pick up a body in the rain. When Jerry came in at five minutes ’til four to relieve me on bodysnatcher duty, I gladly turned the van keys over to him, grabbed my stuff, and headed outside to wait for Marcus.

  Rain drummed on the awning in a heavy staccato, and barely a minute later Marcus pulled up in his bright blue Ford F-150 pickup.

  I gave him a broad smile as I climbed in. “Right on time.”

  “You know it,” he said with a grin as he passed me a bottle. “Now let’s get those bits stable.”

  I took a long drink, then watched him as he drove. Ruggedly handsome with dark hair and eyes, and a great smile, he was a damned good guy who happened to be the one who’d saved my life by turning me into a zombie. He’d also anonymously secured me a job at the Coroner’s Office, so I’d have a supply of brains, and helped me establish myself in my new life as a zombie. Later, we had a few hot and heavy weeks as a couple before I backed off to get perspective and space.

  It was the whole business about zombifying me and extorting me into taking the morgue job that I’d needed the most perspective about. Pair that with some over-the-top protective bullshit and general treating me like a child, and I’d been damn close to washing my hands of him completely. But the truth was, Marcus had some really great qualities, and I did enjoy him. Therefore, after a number of Very Serious Talks, I’d decided to mentally wipe the slate clean and start over. No point in holding a grudge for shit in the past, especially when his actions had totally saved my life and forced me to get my act together. Marcus had promised to try harder and actually get my input on things from now on, and I tried not to overthink anything and simply have fun.

  I finished off the bottle, exhaling in relief as the last tugs of hunger faded and the world came back into proper focus. “Yeah, that’s the good stuff.”

  Marcus pulled a baggie of what looked like ugly grey banana chips out of the console and passed it to me. “Now try these.”

  I replaced the top on the bottle and stuck it in the drink holder, then gave the contents of the baggie a dubious sniff. I liked what I smelled, but they sure looked nasty.

  “What are these?” I asked, taking a cautious nibble.

  “Brain chips,” he said. “I got a dehydrator and thought I’d give it a try. Slice thin and let ’em dry.” He shrugged. “Only about half of the brainpower they’d have if they were fresh or frozen, but no cooler needed and they satisfy that crunch craving.”

  I took a bigger bite. “I like.”

  Marcus smiled, obviously pleased. “Keep those. I have more at home.”

  “Cool!” I ate another brain chip and then stuffed the bag down into my purse. “Man, I feel sorry for those fake zombies who have to wear that makeup all day. Wonder how much it costs to pay all those people and stuff?”

  “Dunno,” Marcus replied, “but I heard that these extras are making a hundred to a hundred and fifty bucks a day, and that they gave first hiring priority to people who were laid off after Saberton Corp bought the farm machinery factory last fall.”

  “Oh, wow,” I said. “That’s pretty cool of them.” The bigwigs at Saberton had sworn up, down, and sideways that the layoffs were temporary, and that everyone would be rehired as soon as the company nailed down a major defense contract. But the contract had yet to come through, and several hundred people were either still out of a job or making do with whatever work they could scrounge.

  Marcus glanced my way. “Well, Uncle Pietro said that State Senator Jane Pennington really pushed for that.”

  “Even cooler.” Then I grinned. “Is it wrong that I want to go hungry for a bit and then sneak in as an extra?”

  “Probably, but who cares?” he replied with a laugh.

  He turned down the street that ran alongside the high school, not far from where I’d picked up the body, then pulled into the deserted back lot of the football stadium. I used to think my high school took their football seriously, but Tucker Point High supporters took it to a whole new level of absurd. After a ridiculously successful, high-profile fund-raising campaign a few years back, the alumni had built a sleek monstrosity that had to be the biggest, glitziest high school stadium in the southeast.

  “We’re here,” he announced as he parked close to the entrance and shut off the engine.

  The look I gave him was plenty dubious. “Um. Why are we here?”

  He grabbed a thick blanket from behind the seat. “Come on, I’ll show you,” he said. And with no further hint, he climbed out and headed toward the darkened entrance.

  Okkaaaay. I hurried to follow. Behind me, the truck horn beeped as Marcus hit the remote lock.

  “Dude, this is kinda creepy,” I said with a laugh.

  He reached back an
d took my hand. “In a few minutes you won’t be thinking about creepy.”

  “Well that can be taken a bunch of different ways,” I replied.

  Marcus broke into a run as the light rain abruptly increased in intensity, then pulled me close as soon as we were under shelter. “So can you,” he murmured.

  A thrill shot through me. Marcus and I had our ups and downs, but we had some serious chemistry in the bedroom. “Oh wow,” I said with an unsteady grin.

  His mouth nuzzled my neck. “You’re in trouble now. I’m primed.”

  “So that’s why you wanted me to eat the chips!” I rolled my eyes but I couldn’t help but laugh. Back at his house he had a brain-pudding that he’d nicknamed “foreplay.” Never a good idea to risk falling apart during zombie-sex. Ew.

  Marcus chuckled as he took my hand again and headed down a passageway. “I’m no fool.”

  I peered around as we walked. “Are we allowed to be here?”

  “Uh, sure,” he said in a very unconvincing tone of voice. “Didn’t have to climb any fences did we?”

  We wound our way through a dim passageway beneath the seating, then up a set of concrete stairs and onto a covered walkway that ran around the perimeter of the stadium. “This sure is, um, romantic,” I said, casting him a dubious look.

  “Didn’t know you were looking for romance,” he said, still grinning as we stepped out onto the bleachers. “Come on,” he urged as he began to climb.

  “You’re so weird,” I said, but I went with him.

  “You mean besides being a zombie?” he said, shooting me an amused glance over his shoulder.

  “Well, yeah,” I said, grinning. “That zombie shit’s old hat now.”

  We reached the top of the stairs, and I allowed Marcus to lead me behind the scoreboard and then up a narrow ladder to a hidden alcove above the walkway. He let go of my hand and spread out the thick blanket. I looked out over the empty stadium from our lofty vantage. State of the art, no doubt about that. From the swanky all-glass press box to the perfect grass on the field with Tucker Point emblazoned in the end zones it screamed, We obsess way too hard over high school football, and don’t you forget it!