How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back

Chapter 35

After a few hours of sleep, two mugs of coffee, and another nice long shower, I once again found myself summoned to Pierce’s room.

Brian was there as well, and I barely had time for a quick nod to him before Pierce asked, “How would you like to be the voice of the Tribe?” without any sort of intro like, Hello, Angel, I hope you’re doing well or Are you ready for me to lay some more weird shit on you?

I gave him a blank look. “Voice of the Tribe? What, like a radio show?”

Amusement flashed across his face, but to his credit he didn’t laugh out loud. “No,” he said, allowing himself a slight smile. “As in speaking with authority, for us to Andrew.”

My mouth dropped open. “Me?” I spluttered. Dream. Had to be. Obviously I was still drooling on the couch. Best to play along, though, just in case. “Why not Brian?”

Pierce glanced over at the implacable head of security. “Despite all of his qualities above and beyond his official role, Saber will only see him as muscle, with no real authority. Same for Philip but with even less respect.”

“And how do you expect him to see me?” I retorted. “I’m a high school dropout, and a former felon and drug addict.”

“You have street savvy, Angel, and you’re clever under pressure. It has nothing to do with what you were, it’s about who you are.” Pierce lifted his chin toward Brian. “You already established yourself during the info gathering session, and we’ll help with general effect. Brian will be at your shoulder just as he would be with me—if I was still who I was.” A faint grimace crossed his face. “Angel, I need you to do this.”

The voice of the Tribe. I sucked in a soft breath. All those years of being forced to watch The Godfather because, according to my dad, it was the Best Movie Ever, were about to pay off. “You want me to be your consigliere!”

Pierce looked down, and this time I knew he was holding back a laugh. After a moment, he cleared his throat and lifted his head again. “In a manner of speaking, yes. At least for this.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” I gave a cheeky grin. “Hell, I’m his zombie mama now, so that should hold some weight.”

Now he did laugh, but it was with and not at me. “Very well, let’s review what needs to be said.”

Once again, thanks to Naomi, I looked nothing at all like me. Black tailored jacket with matching slim skirt, white silk blouse, shoes with red soles which were apparently some sort of Big Deal, makeup that made me look mature and professional instead of the “slutty” I’d’ve managed on my own, and hair pinned up in an impossibly sleek style. I looked totally badass in an entirely different way.

Brian stood back and raked an assessing gaze over me, then stepped forward to adjust the drape of the fine gold chain at my throat. “Nervous?” he asked with a smile as he brushed a speck of invisible lint off the shoulder of my jacket.

“Should I be?” I asked nervously.

He chuckled. “I’m going to be right behind you, looking like this.” He stood straight in his perfect dark suit, folded his arms over his chest, and put on his best Terminator face.

I burst out laughing. “Uh, yes,” I cleared my throat, “quite terrifying.”

He dropped his arms, lips twitching. “It is to everyone but you.”

“Oh, all right, I guess I can see it.”

Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of cherry ChapStick. “Do I need to use this?”

Laughing, I held up my hands in surrender. Many months ago I’d made a silly challenge that had ended up with Brian planting a ChapStick-laden smooch on me. “Anything but that! Fine, let’s get this over with.”

With a dramatic sigh of regret, Brian replaced the lip balm in his pocket. “Do you want to ambush him in his room or call him in somewhere?” he asked. “There are merits to both.”

“Call him to us,” I replied without hesitation. “We’ll be set and ready, and that gives us the power position. It’ll be like calling him onto the carpet.” I paused. “Not that I know what that feels like.”

“Of course not,” he agreed with a totally straight face. “The parlor will work.”

“There’s a parlor?”

“That would be the room with the sofa you drooled on,” he explained. “I’ll get you settled, then go get him.”

Awake and coherent, I saw it really was a parlor. Or a living room. Either way, it was perfect for what we had in mind. Simply furnished: Sofa, coffee table, wingback chair.

First order of business was a bit of rearranging for best effect and to make sure there’d be no available seat for Andrew. The sofa was already against the back wall, so we moved the wingback chair directly in front of it, and the table to my right. With the sofa effectively blocked, I plopped into the chair then had to experiment with how best to sit. Legs crossed or uncrossed? If crossed, at the ankle or the knee? Hands on the chair or folded in my lap? What looked the toughest? And why the hell wasn’t there a mirror handy so I could practice my Power Zombie Consigliere expressions?

Fidgeting, I adjusted my jacket and finally settled on legs crossed at the knee, hands on the armrests. While waiting, I mentally ran over the main points I needed to touch on and reminded myself that if I fucked up Brian was there to bail me out.

How ’bout we not fuck up, ’kay?

At the sound of footsteps in the hall I quickly composed my face into what I hoped was a serene expression and prayed that I didn’t simply look half-asleep.

Andrew stepped into the room, mild scowl on his face. He’d cleaned up and been given new clothing, but his t-shirt and sweats didn’t carry anywhere near the oomph of my kickass suit. I love you, Naomi! I silently crowed.

Brian entered right behind him and closed the door, then took up the promised position behind me and to my left. Andrew clearly wasn’t happy about the demand for his presence, and the ever-so-faint whiff of rot coming from him told me he was probably a bit hungry as well. He took in the sight of me all dressed up like a real person, and a whisper of a sneer began to form. I saw the moment it registered that the furniture arrangement left him nowhere to sit, and I hid my amusement as his expression settled into a solid glare.

“Andrew, it’s so nice to see you again.” I gave him a very pleasant smile. “Brian, do we have any brain chips left? I think those might help put Andrew in a slightly better mood.” Damn, but this shit was fun.

“Yes, ma’am,” Brian said without hesitation, once again forcing me to control my expression. “I’ll get them.”

Andrew looked even more off-balance after the “ma’am” thing, which of course was part of the reason for it. Yet even if he thought it was all a show, I knew he still had to be wondering why.

“Thank you for coming,” I said as Brian strode to the door. “We need to hash out a few details before you go your own way.”

Andrew watched Brian leave then returned his attention to me. This time the look he gave me was careful and assessing, no doubt trying to figure out what the hell my role was. “What sort of details?”

“It’s hard when you’re first turned,” I said, sort of ignoring his question. “The hunger, I mean. You’ll find that you burn through the brains more quickly if you exert yourself a lot, but otherwise you’ll likely need somewhere around one brain every week and a half.” Hot damn, I got through that without stumbling!

Denial and disgust swept over his face. “I don’t want to eat a brain every week and a half. This is—” He stopped, and I had an overpowering feeling he’d almost finished with not happening. “This is not my life.”

“I know this is a really hard adjustment,” I said, keeping my voice deliberately gentle. “But you’re not alone, and you’re not without resources.” I made a vague gesture to take in the house and its occupants. Brian returned as I did, carrying a bowl of chips and a plate with what looked and smelled like marinated and grilled brain slices. He placed them on the table beside me, then resumed his position at my back.

“Thank you, Brian,” I said with a smile, then returned my attention to Andrew. “Please, help yourself. The grilled ones are really awesome.”

Andrew locked his gaze on the plate like a dog staring at a bone behind a window. He licked his lips then came back to himself with a start as he realized what he was doing. Quickly swallowing, he shook his head firmly. “No, thank you.”

I picked up one of the grilled pieces and took a small bite. “Pro tip: If you run too low on brains it’s harder to think straight.” I licked my fingers and tried to be dainty about it. “Probably smart to have a snack before any sort of negotiation.” I waved toward the plate again in a help-yourself move, then finished off the piece in my hand.

Unable to resist the smell any longer, he moved forward and took a slice, then one more before stepping back. His hands shook slightly as he stuffed a piece into his mouth, relief and despair shining in his eyes.

Taking a napkin and wiping my fingers, I waited for him to finish the two slices before I spoke again. “I usually budget a brain a week for basic maintenance and to keep from smelling like a corpse.” I laughed softly. “I’m thinking you don’t want bits falling off in the board room.”

He looked appropriately horrified. “A brain . . . a week.” He dipped his head in a reluctant nod.

“You’ll want to have a stash of more on hand, though,” I continued, “in the event of injury or unexpected exertion. Or sex.” I grinned. “Trust me, you definitely want to have a bit of a snack before sex.”

Andrew made a gasp-choke sound in the back of his throat and turned sixteen shades of red.

“Allrighty then, we’re looking at a brain a week,” I plunged on, mostly because I was afraid if I didn’t keep talking I’d bust out laughing at the shock on his face. “And probably, hmm, three or four brains up front as well for a stash. Does that sound right to you?”

His mouth worked soundlessly.

“That’s a good start, ma’am,” Brian put in helpfully.

I turned my head to give him a bright smile. “Thank you, Brian.” He really did look intimidating as all hell standing there behind me. I could get used to this. Returning my attention to Andrew, I put on a slight wince. “I’m sorry, I’m sitting here blathering on and assuming that you want to get your brains from us. You got someplace else you can get ’em?”

He was trapped and he knew it. No way could he get brains from whatever source the lab used since there was too much chance he could be found out. Perhaps he could locate an alternate supplier at some point, but for now—and probably the next few months—he was well and truly stuck.

He cleared his throat, resignation settling on him like a lead blanket. “No, I don’t.”

Though I did a mental fist pump and happy dance, I kept my face as serene as possible. “Very well.” I paused and kept my eyes on him for several seconds while I let the silence hang in the air. “What do you offer in exchange?”

Even though he had to have known it would come down to this, he was still off-balance enough from everything else that he couldn’t hold back the small shoulder slump of defeat.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice hollow.

“Information. Influence. You’ll be in a very good position to provide both upon your, ah, triumphant and heroic return to Saberton.”

Now Andrew found his footing. He lifted his chin and set his jaw in determination. “No. I refuse to do anything that will be detrimental to my company.”

Crap. Wrong tack. Let’s try that again. “I didn’t ask you to,” I said as smoothly as possible. Setting both feet on the floor, I leaned forward. “Andrew, I’m not asking you to betray your family or your,” I mentally scrambled for the word, “your legacy.” Don’t blow it, Angel. You’re in the home stretch! “But you’re in a pretty unique position now, and I kind of hope it’ll give you a better idea of what it’s like to live as a zombie and the challenges we face.” I rested my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands lightly together. “Hell, I dunno. Maybe you could suggest policy and—” Shit, what was another word for influence? That was a hot-button word for him. “—guide decisions in a way that can help us out. Or at least not harm us.”

He frowned, but at the moment it seemed more like a thoughtful frown than an I will fuck these assholes over first chance frown.

“And if you’re not able to do any of that,” I continued, “a simple heads up that shit’s coming down would sure be pretty damn cool and likely make you some friends on this end.” I shrugged. “Personally, I’m betting that you can rebuild Saberton to where it doesn’t need to rely on atrocities to compete.”

Andrew’s gaze returned to the plate of brains. “That is not unreasonable.”

“I think we’d make better allies than enemies,” I said.

He gave a noncommittal chin lift that told me he didn’t particularly agree with me. Then again, I knew before we started that he wasn’t going to fall into our arms and be our Best Friend and Awesome Ally overnight, if ever. Baby steps, and all that.

I took a dehydrated brain chip and used it to gesture to the plate and bowl. “Have some more,” I said. “No charge, no strings. I promise. You’ll feel better, trust me.” I watched as he moved forward to scoop up two more grillers and a handful of chips. “Do you have any questions? I know how confusing it was for me when I was a new zombie.”

He shook his head as he gulped down another slice. “No. I have access to . . . information,” he said, though he had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable.

“Right. That zombie research y’all have been doing.” I gave a knowing nod. “You’ll probably find out it’s not all accurate. I mean, lab conditions aren’t anything like the real world, y’know.” My voice hardened. “You get your shit together and dump the Dallas lab bastards and Kristi Charish, and maybe we can look at that longevity research as a joint project.” I paused as he nearly choked on a chip. “Yeah. We know about that.”

He shifted his feet, clearly not liking the direction of the conversation, though I caught a flicker of interest in his eyes. “This has been fascinating,” he said sourly, “but there’s a board meeting tomorrow I need to prepare for.”

Brian leaned forward to adjust the items on the plate and murmured names to me.

“I understand,” I told Andrew. “We’ll be in touch to arrange secure and discreet delivery of the brains.” I stood and smoothed my skirt. “That said, it would be a really great show of faith on your part if you could give as much information as you can about the two drivers and the security guard who were taken along with Pietro and Dr. Charish: Simon Sirtis, Felicia Godwin, and Lawrence Hawkins. They’re in Dallas, right?”

Andrew’s lips pressed thin, and he gave a curt nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome.” I lifted my chin. “Since you’re almost in charge of Saberton, I’m sure you’re aware that the movie extras your people experimented on are dying. We’re taking steps to prevent more stupidly pointless deaths. I’m sure Saberton is as well, hmm?”

His eyes widened, and the color dropped from his face. “I didn’t know.”

“Seems to happen a lot,” I said with a low snort. “That shit would piss me right the fuck off if I was in your position.” I shrugged. “Who knows, maybe your mother will fill you in. She has such a great track record with that.” I gestured to the door. “There’s a car waiting out front to take you back home, and a briefcase by the door with a week’s supply of brain smoothies. We’ll be in touch about more.”

Expression troubled, he turned to go, but before he exited I remembered one more thing. “Hey, Andy?”

He stopped, faced me again. I made a point of adjusting my sleeves before speaking. “We expect to have Chris Peterson’s bomber jacket delivered to Pietro’s Louisiana office no later than day after tomorrow.” I kept my tone uncompromising. “And make sure it doesn’t have any of Edwards’s stink on it.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Chris was murdered. He left a sister behind. I can’t bring back her brother, but I’ll fucking get the jacket he adored for the sister he loved.”

Brief, stark guilt flashed in his eyes, but an instant later he recovered and stalked out.

I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall, and the front door slammed, then I let out a little squeal and did a happy dance. “That fucking rocked!”