“Thank you, Angel.” She stood. “After I finish the interview, I need to make some public appearances. I’m going to talk to Marcus right now. I have Victor for protection, and I’m sure he and Mr. Gentry and I can come to a satisfactory arrangement.”
“Sure,” I said with a snort. “After Gentry tells you all the reasons you can’t leave.”
Jane smiled sweetly. “I’ve spent enough time in Congress to be quite adept at dealing with bullshit.”
“You go, girl!” I said with a grin. Pierce didn’t stand a chance against her.
She and Victor headed out. Portia stepped aside to let them pass then entered, carrying an elegant dark leather briefcase. “Ready when you are.”
“Let’s ditch this place.” I led her through the lab and garage then out the back of the building, where a helicopter crouched on a bare patch of ground. Kyle, Rachel, and Brian waited nearby.
Brian stepped toward us. “Dr. Antilles, may I help you in?”
“I would be most grateful,” she replied, pure class and elegance. I took mental notes on how she carried herself.
Kyle and Brian both helped Portia get settled and buckled up, then Brian plugged in her headset and showed her which channels were for public or private conversation.
Brian gestured for me to climb in. “We’ll be relieving Dan, Raul, and Pierce.”
At the mention of Pierce’s name, Rachel gave Brian a measuring look. Rachel wasn’t one of the people “allowed” to know Pierce was Pietro, but now I wondered if she’d figured it out on her own. More power to her.
I took the seat facing Portia’s, glad that I’d paid attention during the headset instructions. Brian took the front seat by the pilot—a no-nonsense middle-aged woman.
This was only my second time riding in a helicopter, and the first had been a vastly different experience. It had been a military-style chopper, manned by Tribe people who knew how to handle the brain-starved injured zombie they’d plucked from raging floodwaters. There’d been no plush seats, or passenger headsets to block out the loud rotor noise.
Not that I cared. The chopper had saved my dad’s life and that was all that mattered.
Kyle sat beside me, and Rachel across from him. The pilot secured the doors then settled in the cockpit and started the rotors. I put my headset on as the noise level rose, then gawked out the window as the ground dropped away. Portia’s face shone with delight as she took in the early morning sky and the view. Ahead of us, the sunrise was a slash of fire along the horizon.
I pulled the punch card out of my pocket and frowned down at it, hoping that the answer would miraculously come to me in a fit of brilliance. TPR1064638. TPR . . . Tupperware? Hell, maybe Reno wanted to upgrade his food storage containers.
Kyle tapped me on the wrist then held up three fingers. When I looked at him stupidly, he pointed to the headphones.
Oh. Right. I switched to channel three.
He nodded toward the card. “Why do you have an EMR number?”
“It’s the only clue I salvaged from the Big Bubba mission. What’s an EMR number?”
“Electronic medical records. TPR plus seven digits is Tucker Point Regional Hospital.”
Excitement raced through me in a tingly wave. “So this is a person’s medical file?”
“I suspect so,” Kyle said. “Normally only an admin or a doctor assigned to the patient can access the records, in which case all that’s needed is the patient’s name and date of birth. They would rarely, if ever, use the patient number to pull up the records, though it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“What could one of Kristi’s people—namely Reno Larson—do with the number?”
“If he located or created a back door to the EMR database, he’d be able to access the file with the patient number, possibly without leaving a trace.”
I thrust the card at him. “Can you find out whose record that is?”
He waved the card away. “I have it memorized. I’ll make a call after we land.”
I did a little jiggy dance in my seat then joined Portia in watching the scenery go by. Whose medical record would Kristi want, and more importantly, why? She sure hadn’t gone about getting it in a legitimate way. But Reno’s high-speed flight from the cops had happened before Douglas Horton became the first shambler case, which meant it was probably something completely unrelated to our current crisis.
The pilot began a gradual descent a few miles from NuQuesCor, low enough for me to see people below tip their faces up to watch us fly past. The cars seemed to crawl along the highways compared to us.
One of the cars made a turn onto the road that led to NuQuesCor. No big deal except that it was a dark green Chevy Impala.
“Kyle, that might be the FBI agent—Sorsha Aberdeen . . .” He didn’t respond, which meant he’d returned to the main channel. I waved at him and pointed to my headset. Portia didn’t need to hear any of this.
Kyle switched back to three, and I repeated what I’d said. He nodded then tapped Brian on the shoulder and held up four fingers.
I was tempted to switch over and listen in, but decided Kyle would simply pass along my observation. There wasn’t much we could do about Sorsha except be on our toes.
The helicopter dropped lower and circled the ugly white lump that was NuQuesCor. A limo was parked out front, with a black sedan behind it. Reno exited the sedan as Billy gave Kristi a hand out of the limo’s backseat. She shaded her eyes and looked up, then gave us a cheerful wave.
I flipped her off. She wouldn’t be able to see it, but it made me feel better.
The pilot touched down gently on the roof then let the rotors wind down. I hopped out once the doors were open and helped Portia out. “Have you flown in a helicopter before?” I asked her.
“No. Never. That was delightful!”
I returned her smile and tried not to think about bucket lists and whether “helicopter ride” was on hers.
Brian escorted us to the stairwell and downstairs to the LZ-1 research suite. Portia’s eyes were bright with interest as she took everything in.
We had a few minutes before Kristi made her way up here, more if she stopped at the coffee stand downstairs for a chai latte. And maybe that car hadn’t been Sorsha’s. After all, surely there were plenty of dark green Impalas. On a somewhat remote back road. Headed toward NuQuesCor. Plenty. Really.
Raul and Dan greeted us as we entered the main lab. Though they looked alert, it was clear they were bored out of their minds. Not too much excitement on the night shift. Fritz leaned against a counter, coffee in hand, and murmured a polite “Good morning.”
Reg sat in one of the work bays, poring over data. Beside him was a large whiteboard filled with Dr. Nikas’s unique shorthand. He glanced up with a distracted “yo” then returned to his work. In the next bay, Beardzilla had his head down on the table, fast asleep, and Hairy Tech sat and stared, eyes bloodshot. Had Kristi given them any down time?
Nearby, Pierce and Dr. Nikas stood with their heads together in discussion. Whatever the topic, Dr. Nikas looked stressed.
Yet at the sight of Portia, he brightened like a kid who got a pony on Christmas. He left Pierce scowling at the interruption and strode toward us. “Dr. Antilles. Portia. I am so very delighted by your offer of assistance.”
“I truly hope I can be of use, Ari,” she said with a warm smile.
Dr. Nikas seemed to remember there were other people in the room. “Ah, Pierce Gentry, may I introduce Dr. Portia Antilles.”
Pietro had known Portia via Jane, but Pierce was meeting her for the first time. “Dr. Antilles. It’s a pleasure to have you here.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Portia replied, shaking his hand.
Pierce’s expression flickered for the barest instant, then he gestured to a nearby chair. “Would you care for water or coffee?”
“Coffee with a little sugar would be lovely. Thank you.”
Like Dr. Nikas, he could smell her cancer, I realized, and he was being extra-nice because of it. I’d never ever seen him offer to fetch coffee for anyone before.
“Coffee, one sugar, coming up.” Pierce smiled and glanced at Brian who nodded and strode off. Okay, still the Pierce I knew and loved.
I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to sense illness in other people, whether you wanted to or not. Horrifying, most likely. Sure, there’d be times when you could catch a disease early and get the person timely treatment. But there would also be situations like this, where the person was dying and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it, apart from a horribly slim chance of successfully making them a zombie. And turning wouldn’t be an option for most people since we had to be selective about who we zombified. Too many zombies, and bad shit would happen. It was like not letting more people into a lifeboat because it would sink. What a terrible burden that must be.
I stepped close to Pierce and murmured softly. “I think Agent Sorsha Aberdeen might be on her way here.”
Pierce gave a micro-nod. “Brian notified me before you landed. The best thing we can do is not arouse any suspicion.”
“Does that mean you’re leaving?” I asked. “After all, she might have questions for a man who used to work in New York for Saberton then abandoned it all to live in the Deep South.”
Pierce glowered. “Yes, I’ve already considered that. And yes, the most prudent course of action is for me to leave with Raul and Dan. Just be polite, and don’t give her any info she doesn’t need.”
Holy shit. Pierce was actually removing himself from a potentially sticky situation. “I’m so proud of you,” I said and pretended to wipe away a tear.
“Fuck off, Angel,” he said amiably and headed off to where Raul and Dan waited by the door.
The scent of fresh brains wafted over me. Rachel with a container full of chunks. She locked eyes with Fritz, lifted a piece, and made a show of slowly slurping it down, tongue darting out to lick her lips clean of dripping brain juices.
Fritz made a “yuck” face but surprised me by offering her an ever-so-slight wry smile. Giving her props for successfully squicking him out.
Brian returned with Portia’s coffee which she accepted gratefully.
As Raul, Dan, and Pierce left, the elevator down the hall dinged. A second later, I heard the thap-thap of Kristi’s shoes. Wedges rather than heels today, perhaps.
“Good morning, Pierce!” Kristi caroled in a way too cheerful voice.
Pierce’s reply wasn’t loud enough for me to hear, but Kristi laughed. “Oh, you’re always such a grump in the mornings!”
The door to the stairs banged shut behind Pierce and the other two men.
Kristi entered the lab, giving a little poke to the sleeping Beardzilla on her way past. No sign of Reno.
“Nice to see you here bright and early, Angel,” she said sweetly. She swept a measuring look over Portia. “And who is this, Ari? A new lab assistant?”
Portia set aside her coffee and stood, elegant and classy as fuck. “I’m Dr. Antilles.” Her tone was cultured and smooth with a hint of polite indulgence. “And you are?”
Kristi hesitated, clearly expecting somebody to jump in and introduce her. When no one did, Kristi stuck her hand out. “Dr. Kristi Charish. A pleasure to meet you.”
Portia shook her hand then released it and turned away to study a sheaf of printouts on the counter.
Kristi’s expression tightened, but she pivoted away and dropped her briefcase heavily on a table, then became very interested in data on the computer. If she was trying to make Portia feel bad by ignoring her, she was failing miserably. It was clear Portia didn’t give a genteel fuck, and outclassed Kristi in the snubbing department.
I masked a grin then busied myself with loading prepped samples into the centrifuge and restocking supplies. After a few minutes, Kristi shut the computer off and grabbed her briefcase. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the cell culture room,” she announced then sailed out of the room with Fritz in her wake.
Portia glanced after Kristi and sighed. “I was terribly rude to her.”
“You didn’t see me stopping you,” I said with a wink.
She chuckled. “Yes, everyone tensed when she entered. I suppose I assumed she’s a . . . difficult person to work with.”
“Difficult is a nice way to describe her,” I said. “Also, bitchy, heartless, snide, arrogant—”
“Angel.” Dr. Nikas gave me a Look. “Dr. Charish is, perhaps, all of those things, but she and I have already made a number of advances together.”
Rachel lowered her hand from her ear. “Kyle says Agent Aberdeen has entered the building.”
I glanced around, only now realizing that Kyle had slipped out. “I think I’m going to go check on the gators.” Avoiding Sorsha at all costs was the best tactic for me. She’d asked around about my dad and me then knocked on my door before dawn, and it wasn’t because she wanted to play patty cake. I sure as hell didn’t need to get arrested or detained. Not with Nick—and everyone else—needing a cure.
Not to mention, I had no idea how much she knew about zombies, or whether she believed we were monsters who needed to be exterminated. But I had an ugly feeling she knew I was a zombie. If so, my presence might make her suspect that others here were zombies, too. Hopefully, if I stayed out of sight, it wouldn’t even occur to her to wonder.
Except I also really needed to know why the hell she was here. She was one big horking unknown. Did she already know I was in the building? Did she suspect the Tribe of evildoing? Or Kristi? We’d all done our share of illegal shit. Hell, I’d killed people.
No matter what her reason for being here, I needed to snoop and stay out of sight. Easy. Sure.
I sprinted to the gator room and closed the door behind me then sent a quick text to Kang.
The larger of the two big gators lifted his head, cloudy eyes flicking open.
“Hello, sweeties,” I murmured as I crouched by the fence. Biggie plodded close and pressed his snout against the chain-link. I stuck my fingers through the gap and stroked his nubby hide then glared, anger rising, at the sight of a four-inch square of scaly skin missing from the base of his tail. Below it was a ragged strip, as if the square had been cut then ripped free, taking more hide with it. The wound seeped blood, though the edges showed signs of healing—not as much as in a regular zombie but more like keeping the status quo.
Scowling, I rubbed Biggie’s snout. “Who did that to you, big guy?”
He snorted and growled low.
The other big gator bellowed and turned its head my way.
I beckoned it over. “If your buddy is Biggie, then you must be Tupac, right?”
Tupac snorted then splashed out of the pool and toward me, followed by the smaller gators. The entire group lined up side by side along the fence, snouts pressed against the chain link. All but the smallest two bore wounds like Biggie’s. Grrrr. “Are y’all okay?”
They opened their mouths in unison and joined their gatory voices in a growly warble, eerie yet strangely familiar. I peered into their gaping jaws. Not a single one had a missing or broken tooth in the front. The snaggle-tooth gator that bit Douglas Horton was still out there somewhere.
I moved down the line, petting each for a moment, only to have them fall silent at my touch, one by one.
“All right,” I said and withdrew my hand from the littlest one at the end. “Y’all need to back away from the fence now. We don’t want Kristi to see this and wonder what’s going on.” I waggled my hand, and the gators turned and lumbered away. I should have been shocked, but I wasn’t. Of course they listened t
o me. In a convoluted way that made irrational sense. After all, I was their mama. Grandma? Revered Ancestor?
Without thinking, I tipped my head back and growl-sang a long warbly note. The gators answered with a soft moan-song of their own.
As their weird crooning died away, another sound intruded from down the hall. Coming this way. Thap-thap. Kristi. And another set of steps. No-nonsense.
Sorsha Aberdeen? Shit. If I left the way I came in, I’d run right into them. There was no place to hide unless I wanted to brave the razor wire defense around the pen and trust that my babies would hide me.
Which left a hard sprint to the door on the far wall.
I reached it even as my zombie hearing told me the two women had paused to talk right outside the door. The only word I caught was alligators, but the second voice definitely belonged to Sorsha. Craaaap. I shoved my fob against the lock and prayed it would work on this door.
The lock clicked. I yanked the door open and darted into what seemed to be a small library with a computer work station—thankfully unoccupied—then pulled the door closed behind me, just as the Kristi-Sorsha door swung open. Pulse racing, I listened to make sure there was no alarmed cry of, “Aha! Someone fled through that door over there!” or the equivalent.
Nope. Just murmured conversation. Crap. Now I wanted to know what they were saying. I pressed my ear to the crack between door and jamb and willed my darling little parasite to give my hearing a boost.
“I don’t understand,” Sorsha said. “How are these alligators connected to the outbreak?”
“It’s quite straightforward, really,” Kristi said, managing to sound only a little pompous. “The first case to present was Beckett Connor, who suffered a minor alligator bite the day before he died. When I heard that, I sent my people into the swamp to bring back any infected alligators they could find. These specimens weren’t hard to spot. Look at the color, the eyes. Obviously they were infected with LZ-1 or a related strain.”
White Trash Zombie Unchained Page 32