White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

by Diana Rowland

  “What’s going on?” I demanded, hearing the quaver in my voice. I shook my head and blinked to get the damn water out of my eyes. “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t speak or meet my eyes, simply shifted to try and get the tourniquet on my upper arm. I struggled to twist my arm away, but the Saberton man grabbed my hand and pushed it down to the ground, then planted his foot directly on my upturned palm.

  I let out a strangled cry of pain, and he leveled a smirk at me. Obviously he didn’t mind using unnecessary force.

  “Hold still, or he’ll step harder,” Philip warned me, twitching erratically.

  I glared up at Philip. I despised his sorry ass, but the severity of his condition tweaked something inside me. It was like hearing a puppy crying for its mama—that sound that makes you want to pick it up and cuddle it and make it better. Except that Philip wasn’t any sweet puppy, and the ludicrous concern for him that nagged at me made no sense.

  “She really messed you up, didn’t she?” I said, knowing damn well he’d know that “she” was Dr. Charish.

  He looked down at me, pain evident behind his eyes and in the lines of his face, and I had a feeling he had no idea how much it showed. Tremors, the extreme twitching, and what sure as hell looked like terrible pain—and that was only what I’d seen in our short encounters. Asshole or not, that was a crap thing to do to anyone. Fuck Charish. Fuck. That. Bitch.

  But Philip merely snorted. “Nothing that’s not manageable.”

  I felt the woman’s hands on me as she swiftly tied the tourniquet and palpated for a vein. I bit back a yelp as she shoved something that felt the size of a ball point pen into my arm.

  Philip convulsed hard, his weight grinding the gravel into my back. I snapped my eyes back to his, focused, connected with his pain, with the wrongness in him. A shuddering moan escaped him, though he clamped his lips tight to try to stop it. With a soft exhalation, I bent my free arm, laid my hand on his hip, desperately seeking a way to comfort him, ease the pain.

  Beside me I felt the woman drawing multiple vials of blood. A tiny, distant part of me knew I should be worried about what would happen to me once they got what they wanted—the same part that wondered if I was going batshit insane.

  I locked my attention onto Philip. “Let me help you,” I murmured, softly enough that he was the only one who could hear me. And I meant it.

  Batshit insane! the small part screamed.

  Philip leaned down so that his face was about an inch from mine, eyes intense and deadly serious. Rain dripped from his hair onto my cheek. “I’m only going to say this once,” he said just as softly, “so listen carefully.”

  I held his gaze, trembling very slightly in anticipation of…something.

  His lips pulled back from his teeth. “Fuck…you,” he rasped, then straightened, a sardonic smile playing on his mouth.

  I clenched my teeth as my hatred for him flared white hot, totally burning away the irrational compassionate bullshit. I began to struggle again. It still didn’t do any good, and I couldn’t sustain it for long, but it felt a helluva lot more sane than the crazy urge to soothe my hateful, asshole zombie-kid.

  The woman removed the pipeline from my vein, and I shifted my I-hate-you gaze from Philip to her. She flicked a quick glance at me as she packed the vials of blood into the tackle box, but hurriedly looked away when she saw me glaring at her, then stood and moved back.

  In a total dick move, the Saberton dude ground my hand hard into the gravel before stepping off. I felt something break as he did, but managed to choke back any noise of pain. It hurt like a bitch, but with all the energy I’d expended in my useless struggles, the brain-starvation dulled my senses enough to take the worst edge off. I’d already memorized every line of his goddamn face. Let me find you in a dark alley, you worthless asstard. We’ll see who’s smirking then.

  He lifted the tranq gun and pointed it at my thigh. I tensed, but Philip whipped his head around. “No,” he ordered, rasp in his voice deepening. “Give me a goddamn dart so I can make sure it gets in her properly and doesn’t leave as much trace.”

  Saberton dude only hesitated a second before passing a dart to him. I dared to allow a tiny bit of hope to flare. If he was worried about trace residue, then maybe I wasn’t being kidnapped. Or maybe they’re simply going to kill me outright.

  Philip made an adjustment to the dart, then pulled the back end of it off so that he was holding the vial part only. He looked down at me, slight sneer still curving his mouth.

  “Night night, Angel,” he said, then poked me in the shoulder with the point. Within three seconds my vision began to narrow and his face blurred above me.

  “Worst…kid…ever,” I slurred, right before everything went black.

  Chapter 11

  I woke with a headache, which was weird since I hadn’t had a true headache since becoming a zombie. But this was every inch of the real thing. Felt like I had a hangover—and I sure as hell never got those anymore either.

  I was sitting in the front seat of my car—driver’s side window shattered, rain sheeting in on me. Memory trickled back, and I rubbed at my face, then gasped at the dull flare of pain from my left hand. Swallowing hard, I stared at abrasions and swelling, the odd lump that was most definitely a broken bone. Shakily, I pushed my sleeve up and peered at the crook of my elbow. Bruising there as well, and a large needle mark. Yeah, definitely time to get freaked out.

  I shook my head to clear the lingering fog, regretting it instantly as the headache gave an answering throb. I should be hungry as hell right now, I thought. After fighting as hard as I did and being injured, I should be starving. I had been starving—but now registered only the faintest hint of brain-hunger. Weird. A glance at the dashboard clock told me it had only been about twenty minutes since Philip shattered my window.

  After hurriedly scanning the parking lot to make sure I was alone, I started the car and peeled out in a spray of gravel. I knew I needed to call someone, but I wanted to get the hell away from this place first.

  The lingering dizziness faded a little as I drove, and I managed to reach the relative safety and civilization of the Walmart parking lot without running into anyone or breaking any major laws. I parked halfway out on the lot where I had a clear line of sight all around me. Even though the Saberton bastards were likely through with me for the moment, I figured a little dose of healthy paranoia couldn’t hurt. But right now I needed to do something about the damn broken window. Plastic and duct tape would do the trick for now, which I knew Walmart had within. Then I could call Marcus and let him have the freakout I didn’t have the energy for.

  However, when I climbed out of the car a heavy wave of dizziness and fatigue nearly dropped me to the asphalt, forcing me to cling to the open door for support. Okay, maybe shopping isn’t such a good idea since, y’know, the whole swaying-drenched-chick-with-a-broken-hand thing might freak some people out.

  Reluctantly giving up the shopping notion, I collapsed back into the seat with a squoosh of water and grating crunch of glass. Too much effort to get out again and move around to the dry, clear passenger side, and too much effort to try to drive anymore. What was the deal with the limp noodle feeling? That hadn’t happened when I was tranqed before.

  Well, I sure as hell didn’t want to sit here until I felt better. I fished my phone out of my purse and dialed Marcus.

  “Hey, babe,” he answered in the lazy drawl that usually made me melt.

  “Marcus, I was attacked,” I said, trying to keep my voice nice and calm. Trying hard. Yeah, I’d been in a goddamn firefight just last night and handled myself like a boss, but that was a far cry from being dragged out of my car and held down. I wasn’t a zombie superwoman. Not yet at least.

  “Where are you?” he asked, all trace of the drawl gone, and I could almost see him snapping upright, freaking out in a manly way. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I feel kinda weird and shaky, but I’m okay.” I said with as much ste
adiness as I could muster. “I’m in the Walmart parking lot right now.”

  “Okay. Okay, good,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “What happened?”

  “I had a bad day at work and went out to the boat launch to think,” I said. “I was only there a couple of minutes when Philip smashed my car window and dragged me out, then—”

  “Wait, what? Philip?” he asked. In the background I heard the sharp jingle of keys and scuffling noises that were likely him shoving shoes on.

  “Yes, Philip” I snapped, muscles tensing as the anger seeped in again. “The asshole zombie I made.” And he was hurting, bad. And I wanted to kiss his goddamn booboos and make him better. What the hell was that all about?

  “Right. Sorry. Then what?”

  I clenched my unbroken hand. “Oh, then the fun shit happened. He and another zombie held me down for a chick to take my blood. There was another guy there too, human. Motherfucker broke my hand. After they were done, Philip used a tranq dart to knock me out, and I woke up a little bit ago back in my car.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Okay. I’m coming. Just stay put.”

  “Not going anywhere,” I said with a scowl I could feel down to my core. “Whatever he did made me real weak and shaky. Not safe to drive.” I glanced down at my broken hand. “And I need brains. Sorry. I was on my way home and didn’t put any in the car.”

  “No worries, babe,” he said, though there was no mistaking the worry in his voice. “Already have some for you.” His truck engine roared to life in the background. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Thanks. See you then,” I said, managing a tired smile as I dropped the phone back into my purse. Damned good guy. Yet my smile faded as I remembered my reaction to Philip. Kiss his booboos and make them better? I remembered it, but didn’t feel it anymore. Weird. In the moment I’d sure felt it.

  Then it hit me. Kiss his booboos and make them better. Like a mother and child. I’d turned him into a zombie, chewed brains and fed them to him like a mother bird, protected him from Charish in his first hours. What the shit? Was the bizarre compassion some sort of parasite-influenced zombie-mama instinct? It sure as hell made more sense than anything else.

  An unnatural cold settled in my bones, accompanied by another wave of weakness, and I gave up pondering the weirdness surrounding my horrible zombie-baby. Probably an after effect of the damn tranq, I figured. However, when Marcus’s truck screeched to a stop beside my car, I managed to gather enough energy to fling the door open and stagger out. Marcus reached me in a brains-fueled instant, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close.

  “God, you’re soaking wet,” he murmured. “C’mon, let’s get you warmed up.” Supporting me, he steered me to his truck, got me in and then tucked a blanket around me. My lips twitched in mild amusement as I saw that it was the blanket we’d had sex on at the stadium. God, that seemed like an eternity ago.

  He gave my thigh a comforting squeeze, reached to crank up the heat, then pressed a bottle into my hand. “Drink up,” he urged. “You need it.” Then he surprised me by pulling a towel, plastic sheeting, and duct tape from behind the seat. “I’ll get your window covered.”

  “You’re the best,” I told him, totally meaning it.

  “You bring it out in me, Angel,” he said with a smile and eyes full of a warmth that did more to chase away my chill than the blanket. His gaze dropped to the bottle. “Drink,” he repeated, then closed the door and turned away to attend to my car.

  I wasn’t all that hungry, but I knew my unhealed injuries needed brains. I opened the bottle and lifted it to drink, but my stomach gave an odd lurch at a revolting smell. Frowning, I lowered it without taking a sip. Had to be something wrong with it.

  A few minutes later Marcus climbed into the driver’s seat, placed my phone and purse on the seat between us. He glanced at the full bottle in my hand and worry darkened his eyes.

  “Babe, you need to drink all of that,” he said gently with a light touch to the back of my injured hand.

  “Can’t.” I made a face and shook my head. “They don’t smell right,” I said. “I think they’re spoiled.”

  He frowned and took the bottle from me, sniffed and then sipped. “No, they’re good. Your taste must be a little off.” He handed the bottle back to me. “Angel, you need to make yourself drink.”

  I held my breath and forced myself to take a few swallows, then shuddered. “Oh, god, that’s really awful.”

  His gaze dropped to the abrasions on the back of my hand. “Well, you’re healing…but damn, a lot more slowly than normal.”

  Frowning, I peered at my hand. “Maybe it’s because of whatever knocked me out.” My frown deepened as I looked over at him. “I mean, it really knocked me out—totally unconscious, even though it wasn’t for very long.” It was only now hitting me how very odd that was. “When I got tranqed before it didn’t do that.” McKinney, Dr. Charish’s muscle, had tranqed me from a distance when I’d exchanged myself for my dad. “McKinney’s tranq dropped me, and I couldn’t move,” I continued, “but I was awake the whole time.” Not necessarily coherent since I was crazed with brain-hunger, but certainly awake. “And it didn’t make me feel weak afterward like I do now.”

  Marcus exhaled. “Let’s get you back to the house, then I’ll call Uncle Pietro.” He glanced my way. “Keep trying to finish that bottle, if you can. It’s doing some good, even if slowly.”

  I took slow grimace-laden sips as we drove, but to my relief the yuck-level began to decrease, and by the time we reached his house I’d sucked down the last of the bottle and wanted more. My hand wasn’t completely healed up, but it was well on the way, and the overwhelming weakness had faded to a much more normal tiredness. What was up with that, along with the brains being near revolting at first and damn tasty now? It had to be something to do with the tranquilizer and its effects wearing off.

  Marcus got me inside his house and found some vastly oversized sweats for me to change into since my own clothes were still wet. After that he shepherded me to the couch, wrapped a blanket around me, then snuggled up next to me.

  “Thanks, hon’,” I said as I nestled close. This was the protective side of Marcus I adored.

  “We need to tell my uncle,” Marcus said.

  “Yeah.” I sighed and leaned my head on his shoulder. “You do it. I’m too tired to deal with him.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Not a problem.”

  I closed my eyes while he dialed, listened with half an ear while he told Pietro about the attack, the blood draw, the tranq, my weakness, slow healing and temporary distaste for brains. After that Marcus fell silent, broken only by the occasional “Right” and “Okay” and “I will.”

  When he finally hung up and set the phone aside, I opened my eyes, gave him a smile. “I’m feeling a lot better,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “You look a lot better,” he said, with less of the worry that had tightened his voice before.

  “Is it okay if I spend the night here tonight?” I asked.

  A smile spread across his face. “You’d have had to wrestle me to get out the door.”

  I let out a tired laugh. “There’s also the fact that my car is still in the Walmart parking lot.” I kissed him. “But mostly I’d really like you to hold me for a long time.”

  He let out a breath of relief, kissed me back. “I can totally do that.” He paused. “There’s pudding in the fridge, but, ah, only if you’re interested.”

  I smiled. “I think I’m hungry again.”

  Chapter 12

  “Babe.”

  I mumbled and rolled over.

  “Hey, babe,” the voice insisted on continuing to speak. Marcus. Waking me up. Damn him. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave in ten minutes,” he went on. “I work day shift, and I have roll call at six a.m.”

  Cracking an eye open, I peered at the clock. Five fifteen. “You’re kicking me out?” I mumbled.

  Marcus chuckled soft
ly. “Hell, no,” he said. “You can stay here all day. But if you want me to give you a ride back to your car, you need to get up.”

  Crap. Yeah, my car was still in the Walmart parking lot. I briefly debated staying in bed and then finding another way to retrieve the damn thing, but I couldn’t think of anyone else I wanted to bug for a ride—or tell what had happened. And I sure as hell didn’t want to cough up cash for a taxi.

  Reluctantly, I opened both eyes. Marcus was dressed and ready to go in his sheriff’s office uniform. It was a somewhat ordinary grey shirt and dark blue pants, but Marcus had his shirts tailored to better fit the v-taper of his lats, and the polyester pants hugged his firm butt quite nicely. Add the whole duty belt and air of authority, and the man frickin’ oozed sexy.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. I forced myself to roll out of bed, took the clothing that Marcus held out for me. Same clothing I’d had on the day before, but clean and dry now, I noted. Marcus could be pretty damn awesome. Well, except for waking me up at oh-fuck in the morning.

  I managed to dress without too many complaints, and then Marcus drove me in his police car to Walmart. To my surprise he got out when I did, opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a hand-held vacuum.

  “Don’t want you sitting on glass,” he said with a smile, and I proceeded to watch in bemused delight as he vacuumed up all the broken glass that littered the interior of my car.

  “You just earned yourself some sexual favors,” I told him after he finished.

  He laughed. “Do you work today?”

  “Nope. I think it’s gonna be a clean-the-kitchen and study-my-ass off day.” I wrinkled my nose. “I know how to party.”