Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues

Chapter 13

My heart slammed at the sight of the gun leveled at me. I’d learned a bit about guns in the past couple of months and a few dozen crime scenes. This one was an automatic, possibly a Glock. No idea what the caliber was, except that it wasn’t something tiny like a .22. Either way it was going to suck ass when he shot me. I’m screwed, I thought in near panic. I didn’t have a stash of brains on me like the last time. As soon as he slowed me down, he’d be able to take my head off at his leisure. And I wasn’t tanked up. There was no way I’d be able to reach him before he could pull the trigger.

I clamped down on the urge to shriek or yell for help. The last thing I wanted was for my dad to come out here and be in danger as well. But, oh god, was Ed going to shoot me right here? Would my dad come out at the sound of gunshots? Or come out to find my body?

Except…Ed didn’t shoot me. I swallowed hard, still braced for the feel of lead tearing through me, but he remained frozen, gun on me. I managed to pull my eyes away from the gun and actually look at his face. I was expecting him to look angry, or crazy or maybe even agonized. But instead he looked…puzzled?

And goth, I suddenly realized. Or maybe it was emo. I never could keep those straight. He’d died his hair black and spiked it except for one longer lock that hung down over his forehead. He had on black jeans that were about a size too big for him, a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and a dark grey hoodie patterned with black skulls and lightning bolts. He also had several piercings—eyebrow, lip, and ears—and I had no idea if they were real or not. I had to admit, as a change of appearance, it certainly worked.

I licked my lips uncertainly. “Hey, Ed. Long time no see.” What the hell. If he was going to kill me, I might as well be a smart ass about it.

“Hey, Angel,” he said, his voice so close to normal it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Angel…” I could see his throat bob as he swallowed. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

I blinked, then frowned. “Huh? Why? Did you want me to?”

He scowled. “No. Of course not.” Then he grimaced, swiped at his forehead with his free hand. “Fuck. These past few weeks have been…I dunno. Everything’s so fucked up.” He shifted and leaned against the cab of the truck, but the gun never wavered from pointing at me. I glanced toward the house. Ed was angled so that if my dad were to look outside he wouldn’t see Ed and certainly wouldn’t see that I was being held at gunpoint. “Why didn’t you kill me?” he repeated. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you kidding me?” I replied with a flare of annoyance. “How does it not make sense? You’ve seen me and Marcus walking around all the time and not beating people over the head and killing them. I mean, how can you seriously think that?” I had to fight to keep my voice down. The last thing I wanted was for my dad to hear and come outside. “How the fuck did you get it into your head that we were monsters? Ed, I didn’t kill you because I’ve never killed anyone in my entire life, and I’m sure as hell not going to start with someone who I thought was my friend, even if he did shoot me and his best friend!”

“You said you’d kill me if you ever saw me again. You said—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Ed. I say a lot of things.” I scowled. “Now would you please stop pointing that damn gun at me? It’s kinda freaking me out.”

He slowly lowered it and held it alongside his thigh. Technically, it wasn’t still pointed at me, but it would only take a twitch of his hands to do so. “Nothing makes sense, Angel,” he said, looking off at nothing. “Everything’s so messed up. I didn’t kill Marianne. I swear to god. But the others…I thought I was doing a great thing. I mean, my parents…but then you two…” He shuddered and passed a hand over his face. “I screwed up bad.”

“What do you want from me, Ed?” I said, probably a lot more bluntly than I should have. Okay, I could probably cross “hostage negotiator” off my career plans.

“Answers…?” he said with a sigh.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “From me? Ed, I’m a clueless moron.”

He shook his head and began to speak, but then we both heard the creak of the front door. A frisson of terror shot through me as Ed lifted the gun again. Maybe he truly was completely off the deep end, and this brief semi-normal was just a lull in his psychosis.

“Don’t hurt my dad,” I blurted. “And…and if you’re going to kill me please don’t do it where he’ll find my body. Please.”

Ed gave me a confused look, then his eyes dropped down to the gun in his hand. He swallowed hard.

“I’ll find you later,” he said, voice hoarse, and then he took off at a run down the road. Within a few seconds I lost sight of him in the gloom. Find me later? To talk to me? Or kill me?

“Angel?” my dad said as he came down the steps. “Who was that?” He had a jacket in his hand. My jacket. He was worried I’d be cold. Or maybe it was an excuse to come after me. Either way it damn near made me cry from the fierce joy of it.

“Neighbor from up the road,” I told him as I walked back up to the house. “Looking for his dog. Nothing to worry about.”