White Trash Zombie Apocalypse wtz-3

by Diana Rowland

  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 steadiness 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 softly. “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.”

  “Sounds like fun,” he said with a mild shudder. “I’ll call you when I get off work.”

  “You’d better!”

  He kissed me, then watched as I started my car and drove off. I glanced back in the rearview mirror as he climbed back into his cruiser. Yeah, maybe it was time for us to officially become boyfriend-girlfriend. Hell, everyone assumed we were already. And he’d sure as hell come through for me last night.

  I made it home to a dark house, with only my dad’s snoring to break the silence. I’d texted him before going to bed last night to let him know I wouldn’t be in and to not worry. He never responded, so he was either annoyed that I spent the night with Marcus or too busy drinking or whatever the hell else he was doing. Screw it. I had a feeling I’d be spending a lot more nights away from home.

  For a brief moment I considered going right back to bed, but by this point I was pretty damn awake. Exerting a bit of maturity, I spread my books out on the kitchen table and settled down to work through a practice GED test. That killed a couple of hours, but I managed to pass it by the skin of my teeth and rewarded myself with a mental high-five.

  Yet my euphoria faded as the memory of the previous night’s fun and games rose again. Hell, this whole week had been weird, with the attack at the boat launch being the shit-flavored ice cream on top of the crazy pie. Though it had been less than thirty-six hours, it seemed like forever since I was out on that rain-soaked highway with Heather and facing down the company men. Was she recovering all right? Was the Saberton Corporation still looking for her?

  Jeez, it’s corporate espionage on steroids. And brains.

  I sat back and considered the various connections, then abruptly remembered that I’d planned to call Pietro about Kang’s head. The clock over the stove read nine-oh-five. A more than reasonable hour to call.

  Before I could lose my nerve, I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed Pietro’s number.

  To my surprise he picked up on the first ring. “Hello, Angel. How are you doing this morning? I was just thinking about you.”

  “Uh, hi, Pietro,” I said, trying to recover from the mild shock that he had my number in his contacts. “Better. All the weird weakness is gone, and I feel pretty much my normal self.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.” He said, sounding like he actually meant it. “How can I help you?”

  Crap, I probably should’ve rehearsed what I was going to say before c
alling and sounding like a moron. “Um, I was calling to find out if there’s been any progress with the heads.” It had been six months since his people recovered the zombies’ heads from Dr. Charish’s lab at NuQuesCor—heads of zombies Ed had killed.

  “You mean with regrowth?” he asked, again surprising me by actually knowing what the hell I was talking about. I could be talking about heads of cauliflower for all he knew.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “Is anything happening? I haven’t heard any news, and, well, Kang was sort of a friend of mine, and I’d really like to be kept in the loop.”

  “The regrowth itself hasn’t been attempted yet,” Pietro informed me. “It will be as soon as the right medium is developed.”

  “Right medium?” I asked, puzzled. “You mean what to grow them back in? Why can’t you just put them in a big vat of brains?”

  “According to one who knows far more about this than I do,” he said, “a big vat of brains wouldn’t be sufficient. Coming back from a head alone isn’t exactly natural. Kristi Charish was on the right track when using the pseudobrains mix to regrow Zeke Lyons, but she hadn’t tested it thoroughly and, as you know, the results were tragic. Finding the right formula is proving challenging, but we’re getting closer.”

  “Oh. All right.” Disappointment curled through me, but I also understood. Zeke Lyons was one of Ed’s decapitation/murder victims, but when he was regrown he came back all screwed up—appearing at least twenty years older, and with a parasite that couldn’t heal the damage from the closed-head injury he sustained after a fall down a flight of stairs.

  I resisted the urge to sigh. So much for getting answers from Kang, at least any time soon. “Will you please let me know once you have any news?”

  “I will,” Pietro said, “but perhaps you’d like to get some direct answers? Maybe even see the heads yourself?”