My Life as a White Trash Zombie

by Diana Rowland

  Wow. That was romantic. I didn’t have to look around. I knew what the trailer held. Was this really the best I could do?

  “Um, I need to think about it,” I mumbled.

  He gave me a squeeze. “Okay. Offer stands.” He slipped his hands lower and pulled me close to him. “I’ll even let you work off the rent,” he said with a laugh.

  I knew he wasn’t trying to sound like a sleaze, so I didn’t call him on it. “I can pay,” I said.

  He lifted his head. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t like fucking me anymore?”

  Shit, that really hadn’t come out like I’d meant. “Sorry. I mean, I have a job now and can split costs with you. I’m not a leech.” I fought back the grimace as the words came out of my mouth. Shit, was I agreeing to live here with him? It’s temporary, I told myself. It’s better than living with my dad.

  “Um, okay,” he said, then dipped his head to nuzzle my neck. “If that makes you feel better.”

  “Yeah, look, babe, I’m super tired,” I said, putting my hands on his chest. Fucking him would use up my brains like crazy. And I didn’t have any to spare. But if I moved in with him I’d need to stay tanked up on brains. Where the hell would I store brains here, anyway? Maybe get a storage unit and a freezer. Shit, there was no way this would work.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” I said, realizing it was a lie as the words left my mouth. I had no desire to screw him anymore. I didn’t want to move in with him. I was using him for the night. Yeah, classy.

  Luckily he didn’t seem to be offended, simply dropped his hands with a soft sigh. “Okay, I won’t be a dick. You do look pretty worn out.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said, managing a smile. He gave me a lopsided one in return, but his expression was guarded, as if he was debating whether or not to say more. I didn’t feel like prying it out of him, whatever it was. “Okay, um, I’m gonna go grab a shower, okay?”

  He gave me a slow nod, then plopped back down on the couch and picked up the remote. I turned away and headed down to the bathroom, feeling like there was something hanging in the air between us, with neither of us giving enough of a fuck to care.

  The morning light seemed dull and filtered as it speared through the streaked window. Dust moved sluggishly along the track of light as if reluctantly being sucked up to some higher dust heaven. I could feel Randy pressed up against me, his face tucked into the nape of my neck. His breath was warm against me, but even that felt muted. I closed my eyes and sighed. My last full meal of brains had been two days ago. By later today I’d start to smell. In another day or so I’d begin to fall apart.

  I eased away from him and checked the time on my phone. Maybe I could go on in to the morgue with the excuse that I left something there. Check and see if any bodies came in.

  I’m still a junkie looking for a fix, I thought with a scowl. Only now my life depends on that fix.

  Randy was pretty well dead to the world, and I was able to pull clothes on and slip out before he woke up. A weird sense of relief washed over me as I drove away. Once again, I checked my rear view mirror to see if anyone was watching me go. Once again, real life failed to pay attention to how things were depicted in the movies.

  It was barely eight A.M. when I pulled up to the back door of the morgue. I did my best to not act like I was slinking, but I sure felt as if I was pulling some sort of heist. My mouth was dry, and my hands shook as I swiped my card in the reader. I had no reason to be so nervous, though, right? I mean, all I had to say was that I was looking for something I’d lost. My watch. That would work. I hurriedly yanked mine off and stuffed it deep into a pocket.

  I closed the door behind me and listened hard. There was only the low hum of the cooler and the scent of Pine-Sol and formalin. I headed down the hallway, cringing at the absurdly loud echo of my footsteps on the linoleum.

  Pulling open the door of the cooler, I quickly slipped inside, relief swimming through me at the sight of a bag on a stretcher. I paused. Took a deep breath.

  Shit.

  Even before opening the bag, I knew what I would find. Still, I pulled the zipper open, confirming with my eyes what my nose had already told me. The woman had probably been pretty in life, and even through the bloat I could see that she’d maintained herself well. Toned and slender body with some fake boobs that had probably set her back quite a few grand. Carefully waxed eyebrows. I could even see the remnants of makeup. I had no idea how she’d died, but whatever the circumstance no one had found her for several days. She wasn’t crawling with maggots or anything like that, but the first few layers of her skin were already beginning to slip off and I knew that there wouldn’t be any brains worth salvaging.

  “Angel? What the hell are you doing?”

  I jerked in shock and whirled to see Nick standing in the doorway of the cooler. Shit! I’d been so absorbed in my pity party I hadn’t heard the cooler door.

  “Jesus, dude, you scared the crap out of me!” I yanked the zipper closed, then moved to exit the cooler. I thought for a second that Nick was going to block my way, but at the last instant he stepped aside, giving me a baffled look.

  “What were you doing, Angel?” Suspicion and worry darkened his voice.

  I paused, took a deep breath and turned back to him. “I was looking for my watch.” I twisted my face into a grimace. “I remember having it on the last time I was here, and I’ve looked everywhere. Stupid me was thinking that maybe I dropped it in a bag. . . .” I trailed off. God, this was the dumbest thing I’d ever come up with. There was no way he was going to buy this.

  But, shockingly, the suspicion in his face cleared. “Oh,” he said, brows drawing together in a slight frown.

  “That must be one special watch if you were willing to wear it again after it was in the bag with a decomp.”

  I mustered a weak smile. “I didn’t know that was a decomp. I guess the last one I worked on has already been picked up. I mean, it’s not a really nice watch or anything, but I hate the thought of springing for a new one, y’know?” The lie came to me with the ease of too much practice.

  He shrugged. “I guess,” he said in a tone that told me he’d never really had to worry about money. “You seriously came in on your day off to look for a watch?”

  I gave him what I hoped looked like a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Hey, I have no life, y’know?” And if I didn’t find brains soon, I wouldn’t have any life.

  He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

  I mumbled something and then made my escape.

  Chapter 28

  I sat in my car and bit my lower lip as I considered my situation. I was scheduled to work the following morning, so there was no reason for me to start panicking yet about my next brain-meal. It had only been two days since my last—longer than I usually liked to go, but I was only barely beginning to smell, and I was getting weirdly used to the gradual dulling of my senses. As long as I didn’t go crazy with activity it should be at least another full day before I started actively rotting.

  Somebody would surely die in time for me to get a meal. I was going to be fine. Really.

  I groaned and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. I suck as a motivational speaker.

  Screw it. I had nothing to do and nowhere to go, so maybe this was a sign that it was time for me to take the first step and see how much it would really cost to find a new place to live. Time to be a grown-up, right?

  I drove to an apartment complex about five minutes from work—a nice place that looked clean and safe. It didn’t have super-fancy landscaping or a guarded gate or anything like that, so hopefully it wouldn’t be too expensive. I parked in front of the leasing office and tried to control the nervous flutters in my stomach, shamed by how clueless I was about the process. Normal people would learn this stuff from their parents. Or maybe even in school. There’d been a class called Life Skills when I was in high school—the sort of class that had once been called Home Ec, but wasn’t called that anymore because that would be p
olitically incorrect or some crap like that. I’d even taken that class and made it through the part about how to boil eggs. But the section on how to do stuff like balance a checkbook and make a budget had been at the end of the semester. After I dropped out.

  Sick anger swam dully through me. Where were the people who were supposed to make sure I grew up right and not a complete fuckup? My parents? Yeah, that was a joke. Mom couldn’t stand to be around me. Dad had actually been all right at basic dad stuff until he had to do it all himself. Then it was like he gave up doing anything at all. By that time I’d been self-sufficient enough to make sure I got fed and had clothes to wear. But there was more to growing up than that.

  This is stupid, I chided myself. Taking a deep breath, I held it until spots swam before my eyes then let it out. “Yeah, well I’m a goddamned grown-up now,” I muttered. I picked up dead bodies for a living. I could handle this. Okay, so I got screwed in the parenting department. But there was no getting that time back. I could whine and bitch about it all I wanted, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. Everything that happened from here on out was my own doing.

  With that attitude firmly in hand, I got out of my car and headed up to the leasing office.

  By mid-afternoon my positive attitude had taken a hard beating. The rent on the first place was half a month’s salary. Plus the security deposit. And fees for getting the power turned on. And if I wanted cable there was a deposit for that. I knew I could live without the TV but not without power. On top of that there was a form to fill out for the background check. . . .

  I slunk out of there without filling out any applications or paperwork. I looked at three other apartment complexes, and the only one that I thought I might be able to afford had cars on blocks in the parking lot and groups of shifty-eyed young men who watched me in ominous silence as I walked up to the office. Simply visiting the place left me freaked out and scared. I couldn’t imagine living there.

  Anything that isn’t total scuz is going to be too expensive , I realized with tired resignation. But I sure as hell wasn’t giving up yet. I still had options before settling for being homeless, right? I could go back and live with my dad, or I could take Randy up on his offer

  Not Randy. The speed of the thought surprised me. My dad had a million issues, but if I stayed with Randy, I’d go nowhere. I’d be in that trailer, stagnating. And that was without factoring in the whole I’m-a-zombie thing.

  And then there was my dad. If I rented a storage unit and bought a fridge, maybe I could store brains there. I wouldn’t have to worry about him messing with my stash again.

  But I’d have to worry about him messing with me. I still wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet.

  I could do what Zeke did and live out in the woods or sleep in my car. Get a gym membership so that I had a place to clean up. And be scared all the time that someone would screw with me while I was asleep. No, I needed some place with a door that locked.

  Hunger coiled in my stomach, a constant background growl, reminding me of my more pressing need. Compared to needing brains, worrying about where to stay seemed almost pointless. One more day, I told myself. I can tough this out. A humorless laugh bubbled up. It wasn’t as if I really had a choice.

  Or rather, I didn’t have a choice that I was willing to take.

  Yet.

  I ended up blowing about eighty bucks at a hotel in Tucker Point which got me a room with clean sheets and a toilet with no stains. I didn’t need anything fancy or exotic. I only needed a safe, quiet place where I could spend the next twelve hours or so doing as little as possible. No need to burn up any more brains than absolutely necessary. With that in mind I indulged in a long, hot bath, watched TV for a few hours, and then fell asleep.

  When I woke up it took me nearly a minute to figure out where I was. It didn’t help that I could feel my movements becoming more sluggish and uncoordinated. The smell was starting to kick in too. Great, so I couldn’t smell anything else, but I sure as hell could smell myself.

  I clenched my teeth against the coiling of hunger and headed down to the free continental breakfast that the hotel offered. Maybe if I could really fill up on regular food it would slow the rotting a bit.

  There were a few other people in the lobby, but I did my best to keep my distance from them—not only to keep anyone from noticing my smell, but also because I was becoming more and more aware of the scent of brains in living people.

  And it was beginning to seriously freak me the hell out.

  Scarfing down a bagel managed to still one hunger, but did nothing for the one that snarled for something I didn’t have. How bad would it be if I had to go several more days like this? My gut tightened into a knot at the thought. I didn’t even want to consider that possibility. Already I craved sensation. I wanted to feel and taste properly again. I wanted music to have a tune. I wanted—desperately—to feel alive again.

  I can see how someone could go rogue, the thought whispered to me, and the sudden understanding left me cold.

  Chapter 29

  I headed in to the morgue early, hoping to god that another body had been brought in while I was off. I checked the log as soon as I got in and nearly wilted in relief at the sight of an autopsy scheduled for the day. Sixty-three-year-old white female. This would get me through the weekend. All I needed was one brain. Next week I could start building my stash up again, once I figured out where the hell I was going to live.

  Turning away from the log, I paused at the sight of a small paper bag with a sticky note with my name on it. What the hell? Picking up the note, I quickly read the overly neat script.

  Hey, Angel—found this watch when I was cleaning up. Figured it was yours. If it’s not, you might as well keep it since it probably belonged to a corpse, and they won’t need it anymore. Ha Ha. Nick.

  I tipped the watch out into my hand and turned it over. Oh, Nick . . . you are so busted. This was a brand new watch. It wasn’t anything super fancy or expensive, but I figured he’d probably spent about thirty dollars on it. He’d taken it out of the package and removed the price tag, but forgotten to pull the little tab to start the battery.

  Guilt flashed through me at the fact that I hadn’t really lost my watch at all . . . but. Wow. This completely floored me. Of course I couldn’t possibly tell him now that I’d “found” my watch or anything like that. He’d done this cool thing and gone out of his way to keep me from thinking he’d bought a watch for me. But why? Was the whole “prick” thing simply a front? Well, no matter the reason, I wasn’t going to ruin the moment for him.

  I must have stood there looking down at the watch in my hand for a solid minute, with a goofy smile on my face and a warm fuzzy purring in my middle. How the hell was I supposed to think of him as Nick the Prick any more?

  I quickly pulled the little tab and set it, then slipped my old watch off and the new one on.

  Despite my ravenous hunger I hummed to myself as I readied the cutting room. Had all the instruments out and placed all nice and pretty, the floor and table cleaned as much as they could be cleaned. By the time Dr. Leblanc came into the morgue, I even had the body of a Miss Twyla Faciane laid out on the table, ready to go. Moreover, the scent of the morgue covered up my own less-than-fresh scent. Or so I hoped.

  The doc gave me a bemused smile as he pulled on his smock and saw me at the ready. “I think I may start to worry about you, Angel,” he said with a dry chuckle. At my baffled expression he gave me a kind smile. “Not many are as eager to dig into a dead body.”

  I flushed. Shit, what if he thought I was some kinda weirdo? I mean, I was, but not in the way he was probably thinking.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I mean, I’m just trying to do a good job. . . .” I trailed off into a mumble and winced. Now I sounded like a suckup.

  “Relax, Angel,” he said with a wink. “I can see that you want to do well. It’s nice to see a strong work ethic.”

  I could feel my face heating again and made myself busy with straig
htening the instruments while he made notes on his clipboard. Now I felt like a heel since my eagerness had more to do with the hunger clawing at me than any desire to be a super-employee. Not that I didn’t want to do a good job, ’cause actually I really did kinda like it when the doc gave me one of those approving smiles. Yeah, I was like an eager puppy. Give me a smile and a pat on the head, and I was good to go.

  I went through the motions of the autopsy, moving as quickly as I could while concentrating hard on not dropping anything. The sooner this autopsy was over, the sooner the bag would be in the cooler, and the sooner I could stop feeling like my stomach was about to leap out of my body and go on a rampage through the town.

  As soon as Dr. Leblanc gave me the nod, I propped Miz Faciane’s head up on the block and separated her hair. I made the cut quickly, doing my best to not cut too much of the lady’s hair. It was impossible to not cut through some of it, but I didn’t want her to be half bald in the casket. I managed to nick my own finger in my haste, though. The blood that slowly welled up was thick and dark, and I quickly grabbed another glove and jammed it on over the first before Dr. Leblanc could notice.

  On the upside, I was getting better at peeling the scalp back and was able to do it without taking half the damn day. And the bone saw didn’t feel like it was going to shake my arm off. Look at me, actually getting the hang of this silly job.

  I pulled the top of the skull off and couldn’t resist taking a deep breath as the aroma of the brain filled the air. Not too much longer. . . .

  A chill washed over me as I looked at the brain. No. No. This can’t be happening.

  I took a steadying breath. “Hey, Dr. Leblanc,” I said, using every ounce of control I had to keep my voice sounding normal and casual, and not at all terrified and sick. Because this brain didn’t look right, and I had a bad feeling that it wasn’t good news for me. “I think there’s something wrong with this brain.”