A mild grimace passed over her face. “I’m trying to make a substitute, but it’s proving difficult to isolate exactly what the parasite utilizes.”
“But she’s close,” Marcus said. “And when she gets there, it’s going to change everything for those of us with the zombie parasite.”
I opened my mouth to say that I could see a lot of problems as well, but then closed it. Marcus obviously adored his uncle, and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to me pointing out that Pietro was unlikely to simply give these artificial brains away. Plus, if it suddenly became easy to feed zombies, why not make everyone a zombie? That was a weird and rather horrifying thought. The parasite seemed relatively harmless as long as it was fed, but how did we know it wasn’t controlling us in some other way that we couldn’t sense?
“Sounds cool,” I said instead. “But now that I’ve had the biology lesson of a lifetime, can you explain how the hell Zeke—whose head was chopped off, by the way—showed up at y’all’s lab and looking about twenty years older than he did before?”
Fear returned to Sofia’s face. “I don’t know,” she said as she sank to sit on the love seat.
“Then maybe you can tell me about these ‘zombie factions’ that you mentioned earlier,” I said, looking back and forth between the two of them.
Marcus scowled. “There are other zombies out there who don’t agree with the way Pietro wants us to stay organized. Sofia’s research isn’t complete, but it still represents years of work. If the others get their hands on it, they could conceivably find another neurobiologist to finish it, and then basically corner the market and control the distribution.”
“Well, are you going to try to tell me that your uncle won’t control the distribution?” I said in thinly veiled exasperation. Sofia looked abruptly stricken. Anger flashed across Marcus’s face, but I bulled on. “Tell me the truth—do you think he intends to give these fake brains away—to everyone? Even the ones who aren’t in his ‘circle’?” I made air quotes with my fingers.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “No, of course not, but he wouldn’t be exorbitant about it. He’s invested a lot of money in this, you know. And he’s not going to take advantage of the others of our kind.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “But you’re convinced that any other group of zombies would?”
His scowl deepened. “It’s certainly possible. I believe that Pietro is best positioned to organize an effective and fair distribution.”
Your uncle is a goddamn mobster, I wanted to shriek, but I kept it in. Marcus was clearly in no mood to see any other point of view. Just how deeply did his loyalties to his uncle run? How far would he go to make Pietro happy? And why? Was it simply gratitude for saving his life?
“Okay, that’s cool,” I said as lightly as I could, adding a smile to go along with it. His expression cleared somewhat, which told me that he was apparently buying my abrupt capitulation. He’s underestimating me, I realized with a strange sadness.
“Anyway,” I continued, “the guy was dressed as a security guard.” I shifted my attention to Sofia. “If he really was working for some other zombie faction,” and good grief but I felt stupid saying that, “how could he have known about your research?”
She swallowed nervously, flicked a glance to Marcus. “That’s a damn good question,” he said, his mouth curving downward into a dark scowl. “Hardly anyone knows that Sofia’s working on this, which means that there’s a leak or mole somewhere.”
“Erm, okay,” I said. Did he know how ridiculous this all sounded? Then again, the simple fact that we’re zombies is pretty damn ridiculous, I reminded myself. Why not have some sort of spy vs. spy intrigue between the various zombie mafias? “This stuff sounds so interesting,” I said, trying another tack. “I’d love to come see how this all works with you making fake brains.”
She looked briefly panicked and shook her head in a sharp motion. “No, that’s really not possible,” she insisted. “So many of the areas are strictly controlled that it’s not as if I can bring someone in, even for a tour. And I’m not about to make any sort of waves that could draw attention to myself. The lab director, Dr. Charish, has already been wondering why I’ve been pulling so many late nights.” She visibly gulped. “I’m not supposed to be working on fake brains for zombies, for reasons I’m sure you can understand. If anyone ever took a hard look at what I was doing, I could get in a lot of trouble for misuse of resources, even if they didn’t know exactly what the goal of my research was.”
I frowned, pondering. “What if Zeke wasn’t after your research? What if someone else there is doing something similar? Don’t you think it would be worthwhile to look around and see if that’s the case?”
“Don’t even think about it, Angel,” Marcus said, a warning tone in his voice.
“What?”
“Sneaking in,” he said, giving me a dark glower. “If you were to get caught trespassing it would violate your probation.”
Shit. He knew the right buttons to push on me. Going back to jail would suck enough as a regular human, but going in as a zombie would suck a lot harder—especially for anyone in my vicinity when I got really hungry.
“I won’t sneak in,” I promised.
“Besides,” Sofia said, “the security has been tightened up considerably.” She frowned and bit her lip. “But Angel has a good point. It’s possible that this whole thing had nothing to do with my projects. Under normal circumstances I couldn’t imagine that anyone would believe my lab was a target for industrial espionage, but there are plenty of other projects going on that would be worth a great deal of money to any of our competitors.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I would love to believe that this man was after the work on lipid supplementation or some such thing.”
“And you’re sure no one else at this lab is doing any sort of zombie research?” I asked her.
She gave a dry laugh. “I suppose anything is possible,” she said. “But I think it’s highly improbable that there could be two people at this one lab who are separately working on zombie-related research, especially when almost no one knows about zombies in the first place.”
“Right,” I replied. “Makes sense.” Yet there was still a lot about this whole thing that didn’t make sense. Something was bugging the hell out of me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it just yet.
Sofia let out a sigh and stood. “I should be going. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Marcus moved to her and gave her a hug. “Call me if you need anything or if you see anything suspicious.”
She replied with a weak smile and a nod. “Absolutely.” Sofia looked to me. “It was lovely seeing you again, Angel.”
Lovely? Um, okay. “Likewise,” I said.
After she left I flopped back onto the couch. Marcus settled in beside me and let out a low sigh. “The drama never seems to end, does it?”
“Something weird is going on, Marcus,” I said. “That dude’s head was chopped off. Can a zombie survive that?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I never would have thought so, but…” He grimaced, shook his head. “I don’t know. And I’m too tired to think about it right now.” He leaned over and nuzzled my neck. “But not too tired for other things.”
I grinned despite my stress. “I guess that means you have a fresh batch of pudding?”
He laughed. “You know me so well.” He stood and headed to the kitchen. I turned and watched him go. He was damn good-looking for a zombie. Hell, for a normal human, too. His jeans hugged his ass without being tight, and his shirts were tailored to show the nice v-taper of his lats…
I blinked. “His uniform didn’t fit,” I murmured.
Marcus turned and gave me a questioning look. “Did you say something?”
I stood up. “Marcus, if you were going to go to the trouble of infiltrating a research lab that had fairly decent security, wouldn’t you at least make sure you had a uniform that fit properly?”
He returned and set the bowl of pu
dding on the coffee table. “I suppose, but—”
“Don’t you see?” I said, suddenly excited. “He wasn’t trying to break in. He was trying to escape! They’re doing something at that lab with zombies! Maybe that’s how he grew a new body!”
Of all the possible reactions I expected—interest, doubt, delight—I sure as hell didn’t expect annoyance.
“Angel, this is getting ridiculous,” he said, scowling. I stared at him in surprise as he continued, “You’ve got it into your head that this lab is the center of some great zombie conspiracy, and it just doesn’t make any sense! Is this about Sofia? Are you jealous of her?”
I actually spluttered for several seconds. “Wait. What? Is that what you think this is? Why the hell would I be jealous of her?” Then I narrowed my eyes. “No, really, tell me why I should be jealous of her. Is something going on?”
“No, damn it! Nothing’s going on. But you seem really intent on painting her as some sort of bad guy or evil genius.”
“That’s not what I said!” I stared at him, hurt. “I said something weird was going on at the lab. I never said it was her. And why the hell won’t you believe me? Why the hell won’t you trust me or believe me about anything?” I may have been shouting by that last word.
“I believe you about stuff that’s believable, Angel! Stop being such a child!”
“A…a child?” I stared at him. “You didn’t believe me about the dead guy being a zombie. You didn’t believe me about the holdup—and I think maybe you still don’t.” I stood and grabbed my bag. “Fuck you, Marcus,” I said as I headed toward the door. “I hope you and your mobster uncle live happily ever after together. After all, you believe everything he tells you, and you sure as hell do everything he tells you to do!”
I slammed the door behind me. I had no idea if he was trying to follow me, but I didn’t look back to see. I climbed into my car and sped away, surprised to find that even though I was upset I didn’t feel any desire to cry. Is that my parasite protecting me? I wondered. Or am I simply becoming less and less human?
Chapter 12
I might not have felt like crying, but I sure wasn’t a happy, cheerful camper either. Plus I wanted chocolate, which told me that at least one part of my human side was still working perfectly fine.
Back before my zombification I’d have most likely headed to any one of the many bars that I frequented, downed a painkiller or three, and chased it with some sort of alcohol with maybe a joint as dessert. But apparently my little parasite got unhappy when I did shit like that and made it use up prions or whatever to clean all that junk out of my system. Even though I was only just now learning the why of it, it hadn’t taken me long after becoming a zombie to figure out that when I did stuff that was bad for me, I rotted a lot faster.
So instead I headed to Double D’s Diner, where I ordered a bacon cheeseburger, fries, a chocolate milkshake, and a chocolate mousse pie for dessert.
The waitress grinned as she jotted down the order. “Now that’s an I don’t give a crap meal if I’ve ever seen one!”
I managed a smile. “Yeah, that pretty much nails it.”
The woman cocked her head and gave me an appraising look. “Lemme guess, you just dumped your boyfriend?”
I let out a short laugh of astonishment. “How on earth…?”
She winked. “Easy. You looked too bummed to be celebrating something. So this is a comfort food thing. Best guess was a boyfriend.”
I smiled. “And how’d you know that I did the dumping?”
She gathered up my menu. “Because usually, when the guy does the dumping, I see the girls eating tiny salads—either because they hope to get him back, or hope to snag another guy to make the first one jealous.” She rolled her eyes. “Screw that. Life’s too short to be with someone for the wrong reasons.”
After she headed off to get my drink, I considered what she’d said. Life was too short for most people, but for me it was potentially too long.
I pulled my GED study guide out of my bag but then just stared at the cover. I’d never ever considered going to college. That was so far out of the realm of possibility that for pretty much my entire life even the thought of it had been laughable. But now…why the hell not? In fact, if I was likely going to be living an absurdly long time, it seemed even more important that I should find a way to make my life a lot more comfortable. I sure as hell didn’t want to be delivering pizzas when I was seventy.
Screw it. Even if it took me twelve tries to pass the damn GED, I was going to do it. Not because I needed it for a decent job—okay, yeah, that was a big reason. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to put up with intellectual snobs looking down on me forever.
My food came, and I worked my way through a practice test while I plowed my way through my comfort-food extravaganza.
“Well, goddamn,” I heard a too-familiar voice say. “Look who’s trying to brush some of the loser off her.”
Gritting my teeth, I glanced up to see Clive standing by my booth. Clive was my ex-boyfriend Randy’s “best bud.” Randy was a total package piece of shit, i.e., a cheating, drugged out asshole who’d convinced me that buying a stolen car from another of his “best buds” was a great idea. But Clive was on a whole ’nother level. He and I were about the same height, but he was probably double my weight, and it wasn’t fat, either. It was all muscle—and far too much muscle for his size. Clive was also the friendly neighborhood dealer when it came to pills and steroids. And yes, much to my regret, I used to get most of my pills from him, even knowing how much of a skeevy jackass he was. Then, after the zombieism took care of that addiction, he and Randy had tried to get me to steal the pills the coroner’s office confiscated so that he could turn around and sell them. Considering that my answer had been “fuck off,” I probably wasn’t his favorite person right now.
A quick glance around confirmed that Randy wasn’t with him, which was a damn good thing because Clive was more than enough asshole for me to be willing to tolerate right now.
“Hi, Clive. Now go away.” I bent my head back to my book, then cursed as he snatched it off the table and started paging through it.
“Oh yeah,” he said with a sneer. “I forgot that you’re a dropout.” He dropped the book back on the table, narrowly missing my plate. “Oh wait, no, I read about you in the paper this morning. Talked a lot about you—you being an ignorant felon and all. You lost a body, right?” He laughed. “How the fuck do you lose a body?”
I knew people were staring, but I suddenly realized what was happening. He was baiting me, most likely because I’d dumped his best buddy, and also because I’d refused to steal drugs from the coroner’s office for him to sell.
Thankfully the manager chose that moment to walk up to my table. A burly man who’d supposedly worked as a pro wrestler for a while, he clearly wasn’t cowed one bit by Clive’s steroid driven bulk. “’Scuse me, ma’am,” he said to me in a soft rumble while his eyes never left Clive. “This gentleman bothering you?”
I exhaled in relief. “Yeah. Actually he is.”
A thin smile creased the manager’s mouth. “Sir, I think it’s time for you to get the fuck out of this establishment and never come back.”
Clive’s sneer deepened, but his eyes flicked over the manager’s bulk as he clearly came to the realization that this was a battle he’d be hard pressed to come out of unbloodied. “This place fucking sucks anyway.” He snorted, then turned to me. “We’re not finished. You fucking owe me.”
“Get over yourself, Clive,” I said. “I don’t owe you shit.”
He probably would have said something else but the manager took a step toward him. Clive turned and stalked out, and as soon as the door closed behind him I was surprised by a scattering of applause from the rest of the diners.
The manager grinned and gave a slight bow, then turned to me, expression more serious. “That guy’s trouble,” he said in a quiet and surprisingly gentle voice. “I’ll walk you out to your car when you fi
nish eating.” It wasn’t a request.
“Thanks,” I said fervently. I might be a badass zombie, but having an ex-wrestler bodyguard, even for a few minutes, was even better.
He smiled and gave me a rough pat on the shoulder before walking off. I dug into my pie and discovered that I didn’t really need comforting anymore at all.
My dad was asleep in the recliner when I got back home. Head tipped back and snoring softly, cigarette ash dotted the front of his shirt and a butt smoldered in the ashtray on the end table. I sighed and stubbed it out. I thought about getting a blanket and covering him up, but I knew that his back would be killing him if he slept all night in the chair.
“Dad.” I gave his shoulder a mild shake. “Hey, Dad, you should go on to bed.”
He blinked his eyes open, focused on me with an uncertain frown. “Angelkins…what you doin’ here?”
“I live here, last I checked.”
He snorted with a touch of derision, and I couldn’t blame him. Last week I’d spent four nights over at Marcus’s place, and the only reason it hadn’t been seven was because he worked the other three nights, and I didn’t feel right staying there by myself.
“C’mon,” I said. “You should go on to bed or your back will hurt you in the morning.” I took his hand and started to help him out, but he pulled it away.
“I’m not an old man,” he said with a scowl. “I don’t need help getting out of a damn chair.”
“Fine, whatever. I just don’t want you to hurt ’cause you’ll be a cranky asshole in the morning.”
He levered himself up out of the chair. “Bullshit. I’m a cranky asshole all the time. Don’t make no difference if I hurt.”
“You won’t hear me arguing,” I shot back.
He snorted, then gave a grimace as he stretched his back out. “Fuck this getting old shit. Don’t ever do it.”
An odd wave of sadness swept through me. There was a very good chance I wouldn’t grow old—at least not the way he was. As far as I knew, I would never have to deal with the usual shit like arthritis and wrinkles. Look at Kang. He’d been in his seventies and looked like he was in his early twenties. “You’re not old, Dad. You’re just beat up. You got a couple of decades to annoy me still.”
Angel Crawford #2: Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues Page 12