White Trash Zombie Apocalypse wtz-3

by Diana Rowland

  I returned to the Durango, gave Derrel a big smile. “It was there!” I lied.

  “Awesome!” he said with a wide grin. Grief of loss swept through me again. Goddammit, but the next time I got some memorabilia I was going to make sure it was stored someplace safe.

  “Can you spare me a few more minutes?” I asked as I unplugged the phone from the car charger. “I need to make a phone call now that I have a bit of charge.”

  “Take your time,” Derrel said in his easygoing manner. I gave him a smile and walked a few steps away from the Durango.

  I dialed Pietro’s number, once again glad that it was so close to my ex-boyfriend’s number and therefore easy to remember.

  He picked up on the second ring. “Angel. I’ve been waiting to hear from you. How are you? I’ve been very concerned. I only recently found out that Marcus didn’t pick you up from the shelter yesterday.”

  “Hey, Pietro,” I said. “I’ve sure as hell been better. It’s cool about Marcus. I saw the paper this morning.” I shifted the phone to the other ear. “I can’t thank you enough for sending the helicopter. I don’t think my dad woulda made it if not for that.”

  “I was more than happy to help,” he replied. “But I’m so very sorry you lost so much.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then blew out my breath. “About Marcus. Brian told me not to say anything to anyone about the highway fight because of security. Does that include Marcus? We have enough crap between us without keeping something like that from him.”

  After only a second of hesitation, Pietro replied, “That situation is settling. Use your discretion and share what you feel you need to.”

  “Okay. Great,” I said, more relief than I expected washing through me. “Look, I also called to tell you I saw Philip last night. Twice.”

  He fell quiet for a few seconds. I heard a click, and I had the strongest impression that he’d done something to record the call. “What happened?” he finally asked.

  I told him about following Philip and what I found in the box under the steps, and about seeing him with Dr. Charish and how she gave him the paper bag with the packets of brains. Then I told him about how Philip came to find me and how I gave him my last bottle of brains.

  “I don’t know why I helped him,” I confessed to Pietro. I wasn’t quite ready to share my zombie-parent-compassion theory. “I mean, he’s been nothing but a complete tool to me, but…god, he was so obviously hurting.”

  “Angel, you have no idea how thankful I am that you helped him,” he said.

  I blinked. “Um. You are?” I asked, baffled. “I don’t understand. Isn’t he working for Saberton?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But as an operative for me.”

  “Whoa,” I breathed. I fell silent for a few seconds while I wrapped my head around that. “Wait,” I said, anger flaring. “He was working for you this whole time? Even when he attacked me? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  I heard him exhale. “Angel, I understand how you feel,” he replied. “There was so much at stake. Is so much at stake. Everything has been on a need-to-know basis in order to protect Philip and his assignment. If the Saberton men with him ever witnessed anything from you other than your genuine reaction to him as one of them, he would be compromised…and so would you. However, as he is due to be extracted tomorrow, there’s little harm in you knowing now.”

  “Oh.” I scowled. I hated the answer, but I also understood it. Damn it. “Well, he’s in really bad shape,” I told him, then narrowed my eyes as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and I didn’t like the picture that was forming. “Hang on,” I said. “That drop he made…” Son of a bitch. If Philip was an operative for Pietro, that had to mean the stuff he left in the box under the steps was meant for Pietro’s people. There wouldn’t have been any reason for him to be skulking around to pass something to Saberton since he was openly working with them. And good ole Dr. Charish had been there waiting for the stuff…

  A brand new anger flared. “Is Charish still working for you?” I walked a little farther away from the Durango. I had a feeling I was going to be raising my voice real soon.

  He drew a deep breath and released it, and when he spoke his voice sounded heavy and tired. “I reacquired her a few days after she fled the factory lab incident with you,” he told me. “She is contained and works under Ariston’s supervision.” He paused. “He needs her.”

  “Contained?” I spat the word. “Well no one contained her when she was a vicious cold bitch to Philip. He begged for brains, and she jumped his ass for not rationing properly. Then she only gave him two packets when he obviously needed a lot more.” The plastic of my phone creaked, and I forced myself to relax my grip before I broke it.

  “She and Dr. Nikas were temporarily at the Tucker Point lab location to monitor the data and samples from Saberton’s zombie research that Philip left at the drop site,” Pietro told me. “However, Ariston had to return to the main lab the night of your fight with the Saberton men out on Highway 1790. Heather needed medical attention, and he wanted to preserve the brain remnants for future use from the zombie she killed.” His voice was a bit too calm and even, and I had a strong feeling he was more than a little pissed off himself. But whether it was because Philip had been wronged, or because the oh-so-secret mission had been jeopardized, I couldn’t tell.

  “Great, so he needs help from y’all and gets treated like dirt,” I said, scowling.

  “Philip has other means of signaling that he needs assistance,” Pietro told me. “The lab itself was never a contact point, and he wouldn’t have gone there if he’d been thinking clearly.” He sounded oddly weary. “Ariston failed to foresee an interaction between Philip and Charish and so hadn’t left any instructions. Charish knew him only as a Saberton informant working on the movie set.”

  My scowl deepened. “Well, y’all need to do something for him now. He’s hurting bad and twitchy.”

  “Considering the current circumstances, I’ll get word to him that we’re going to move his extraction up for later today. You said he did get stabilizer?”

  “Oh, the stuff that keeps him from shaking?”

  “Right. That’s Ariston’s formulation to ease the pain somewhat and keep Philip functional.”

  “Yeah. He had two vials. One kinda yellow and the other a milky blue. He drank half of one when he was with me.” I wanted to get pissed off again at the reminder of how Charish had fucked Philip up, but it was getting a bit tiring being so mad all the time.

  I thought I heard a low intake of breath. “Angel, are you certain one was a milky blue?”

  “Totally.”

  “And which one did he drink from last night?” The tension in his voice was palpable.

  “The yellow.” I frowned. “Why?”

  “All right. There still might be time,” he said, almost as if to himself.

  “Pietro? What’s going on?”

  “The yellow vial is most likely stabilizer,” he said. “The color varies with the batch as the formulation is improved. It’s the milky blue one that concerns me since that’s the color of the parasite stimulant that Ariston sometimes uses for testing. I’m no doctor, but I don’t think it would react well with Philip’s already unstable parasite.”

  Fucking hell. Had Charish given him the wrong thing on purpose? I knew in my bones that Dr. Nikas hadn’t messed up the vials.

  “It could simply be a coincidence, but I’m giving orders for his immediate extraction,” he continued. “Thank you for calling me, Angel. This has been very helpful.”

  And with that he hung up. I stared down at the phone while I muttered a few nasty words, then headed back to the Durango.

  “Where to now?” Derrel asked. “Back to the high school?”

  I nodded. “My dad’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

  It was a few miles. Longer than I would’ve wanted to walk, but only a couple of minutes to drive. “You can let me out by the gym door,” I sa
id as we got close.

  “Sure thing.” He glanced my way as he pulled to a stop. “Look, you guys are welcome to come stay at my place tonight if you want. It’s not big but may be better than here.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I dunno. Do you have roving bands of roaches patrolling the halls? I’m kinda used to those now.”

  His face twisted into a mock grimace. “Unfortunately, I can’t offer roach guards. But I do have a disdainful cat. Will that work?”

  “Thanks, partner. I’ll ask my dad what he wants to do,” I said with a grateful smile. “I have your number if we decide to take you up on it.”

  “You’re welcome, Angel,” he said. “Give me a call later, or you’ll get more texts than you know what to do with.”

  “I will!” I promised, laughing. I leaned over and gave him a hug, then slipped out of the car and headed inside.

  There was no sign of my dad in the gym, and the plastic bag with his clothes and jacket was gone. My heart hammered as I jumped to the worst conclusion: Kidnapped by Saberton. Alarm rose as I swept my gaze around the room again, as if doing so would magically reveal that he’d been hiding. I took a breath and tried to convince myself that, with my dad, it could just as easily be that he left on his own through sheer bullheadedness.

  The tool-stealing teenage refugee was flaked out on the floor in front of the TV.

  “Hey, do you know where my dad is?” I asked.

  His eyes flicked to me and then right back to the screen. “He left with someone.”

  My scowl deepened at the lack of useful information, and I moved between him and the TV. “What kind of someone?” I snarled.

  He jerked his gaze up to mine, an outraged response on his lips, but it died when his eyes met mine. I was fairly well tanked up and oh-so-very-much not in the mood for bullshit, especially when it came to my dad.

  His throat bobbed as he gulped. “A man. About thirty, I think. Short dark hair, on crutches. Your dad knew him.”

  Marcus. I bet he loved faking an injury. The tension drained out of me. “Oh, cool. Thanks!” Okay, so the thought of my dad and Marcus having guy-time together wasn’t exactly comforting but it was better than the other theories I’d concocted. I yanked my phone from my pocket to call Marcus then scowled at the flashing battery symbol. Crap. Obviously five minutes on the car charger wasn’t worth a whole lot.

  “Angel!”

  I spun to see the woman who’d given me the ride to the Coroner’s Office striding toward me. “Your boyfriend was just here,” she announced with a smile, and I had to bite down on the automatic denial that Marcus was my boyfriend. “I told him I didn’t know when you’d be back,” she continued, “but he wanted to go ahead and get your dad settled. He left a note for you.” She thrust a folded piece of paper at me.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it. She gave me another bright smile and then hurried off. I unfolded the paper and read.

  Angel—

  Your dad’s safe with me. Please call when you get this note. You can both stay at my place as long as you want.

  Marcus

  I peered at a stray mark before his name. It looked as if he’d started to write an “L” and thought better of it. Love? Exhaling, I refolded the paper and stuffed it into a pocket. Stay with Marcus. It wasn’t an ideal solution, especially considering our last conversation, but it was a lot better than remaining in the shelter. And I liked Derrel too much to inflict my dad’s permanent company upon him. My mouth twitched in wry amusement. At least Marcus was already used to the ornery bastard.

  As concern for my dad evaporated, worry for Philip flooded in. Now that I had a clue as to his real situation, I wanted to see for myself that Pietro’s people got him out okay, and if they hadn’t yet, to get some brains to him. I could call Marcus as soon as I did so. Pietro had said Philip was working on the movie, so now I just needed to figure out how to sneak into where they were filming.

  Hurrying to the door, I almost ran smack into Jane Pennington as she came in, and it was only a quick maneuver by one of her staffers that kept us from all falling in a heap.

  “Angel!” Her eyes widened in surprise as she recovered her balance and steadied herself on her cane. “I didn’t know you were here,” she said, genuine concern in her voice. “Pietro told me he got you out, so I thought you’d be somewhere besides in the shelter.” Brow furrowed, she swept her gaze around the gym with its cots and motley inhabitants.

  I winced. “Yeah, it’s been pretty crazy,” I said. “We spent last night here, but I think we’re gonna be staying with Marcus. For a couple of days, at least.” I could unpack my feelings about all of that later.

  “I hope everything works out,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your losses.” She looked like she was going to say more, but one of her aides, a middle-aged man with sharp features and a serious expression touched her arm.

  “I’m sorry, Jane,” he said, “but they’re about to start filming the crowd scene. We can come back here to speak to the refugees afterward.”

  Indecision swept over her face. It was clear she cared deeply about my situation, but it was also obvious that she really wanted to see the movie zombies. It was such a totally human and awesome and non-congresswomanly display that I had to choke back a laugh, and I sure as hell liked her even more for it.

  “Hey, is it okay if I tag along?” I said, making the decision moot for her. Besides, this would get me behind the barricades so I could make sure Philip was being taken care of. And if Pietro’s people hadn’t yet reached him, I had two chunks of frostbite on my thighs—or rather, two pockets full of thawing brains—that might be of use.

  Jane grinned. “Absolutely!”

  We left the gym and headed toward the barricades across the gaps in the chain-link fence surrounding the football field. Beyond them, the movie crew positioned lighting and numerous cameras while a whole horde of zombies chilled out, waiting for the start of the filming. As I’d hoped, I had no trouble getting onto the set by following in Jane’s wake. No questions asked.

  The extras clustered around Jane in a strange meet-and-greet zombie fest. At first I wondered why they were so enthusiastic, then I remembered she’d been instrumental in assuring that laid off factory workers were given the jobs. The unaffected grin on her face told me she was in utter heaven as she peered at makeup and laughed at outrageous shambling. I sure as hell hoped Pietro was dating her because he actually liked her and not for some ulterior purpose.

  The pace of activity increased as the crew members readied for filming. Makeup people touched up zombie rot and prosthetic gore, and other crew circulated through the crowd with water bottles and some of the white-wrapped bars. Apparently shambling was hard work, I thought with amusement.

  A sudden shiver of unease ran through me for no reason that I could name, even as an odd noise like soft moaning rippled through the crowd of extras. Mildly weirded out, I surreptitiously palmed a handful of brains from a baggie in my side pocket and got it into my mouth without anyone seeing. At least I hoped not.

  The something’s-wrong feeling increased as I scanned the area. Though filming hadn’t started, extras began to stagger or flail their arms or sway in place. Definitely not normal. I downed another handful of brains as I slipped through the crowd, again glad that I was skinny enough to do so with ease.

  However, I was less than thrilled by my lack of height since I couldn’t see a damn thing. I went still and lifted my head, scenting the air and not caring how strange it looked. Hell, I was surrounded by a bunch of people pretending to be undead. I was the normal one in this crowd.

  Yet my sniffing only confused me more. I caught hints of the distinctive zombie-rot odor, but it came from multiple sources. Not good.

  Another weird ripple of unease passed through me, once again accompanied by a bizarre shift in behavior of the extras. Unnerving groans came from all around me, and a fake zombie nearby staggered and sank to the ground, hands clawing at her face and throat. My frown deepened
as the latex peeled away, revealing a square stick-on patch on the side of her neck surrounded by faintly grey skin that didn’t look made up. Baffled, I swung my gaze around, caught a glimpse of one of the makeup people holding a cardboard box in her hand with what looked like more of the strange patches in it along with some of the snack bars that had been handed out earlier.

  I steadied my gaze on the makeup artist, and my heart skipped a beat. It was the petite black woman who’d stolen my blood at the boat launch. A makeup artist who draws blood?

  Realization slammed in.

  The subjects. Philip was undercover with Saberton, and he’d said he needed to stay close to the subjects. I stared around in shock and no small amount of horror as bits and pieces began to fall into place. The extras were being used as test subjects by the Saberton Corporation.

  And now bits of the conversation with Dr. Nikas lit up.

  Fake brains are the holy grail.

  Dangerous to test them on zombies since it risks changing the parasite—like what ruined Philip.

  A way to make temporary zombies…

  Oh my god. The stick-on patches. The too-real looking grey skin. The snack bars. Some sort of research patch on a temporary zombie being fed fake brains? It made a horrible and sick sense. Saberton was temporarily zombifying the extras in order to test fake brains on them. No one would blink twice at zombie extras actually looking a little like zombies for a while.

  Righteous anger flared—not only at the Saberton associates but at Pietro’s team as well. Instead of putting a stop to it and trying to protect these people, they’d had Philip remain undercover so that he could steal whatever findings Saberton came up with and pass them over to Dr. Nikas to use in his own research. People didn’t matter.

  My gut tightened. Brenda Barnes, the cardiomyopathy victim, most likely died from this testing. The adhesive on her neck. It fit.

  An extra staggered in circles nearby, confusion in his eyes turning sharp and feral. Something was going wrong with the temporary zombies, causing bizarre actions and actual zombie-like behavior. Then I felt it. With no obvious cause, a weird, twitchy unease touched with hunger permeated me. Philip. Call it a zombie-mama’s intuition, but I had a bad feeling Philip was the source of the problem with the extras. He was somewhere in this crowd, going nuts and throwing off some sort of weird feeding frenzy pheromone. Damn.