White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

Chapter 2

“Angel!”

That was Derrel. I struggled to my feet, biting back the hiss of pain as I moved my shoulder. Something was seriously messed up with it, but the pain faded, replaced by a dull stab of hunger—and not for regular food. Yep, definitely broken or torn up somehow.

Derrel’s face was a mask of shock and concern as he helped steady me, thankfully on my good side. “Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, with a wince. I hated to do the cliché thing and ask what the hell happened, but…“What the hell happened?” My gaze swept the area, taking in the activity around the out-of-control-pickup-meets-parked-car mess down the street, but I was more interested in seeing if I could catch a glimpse of Philip anywhere. No sign of him, but I did see a tall blond woman on the other side of the street pointing a nice-looking camera at me and obviously taking pictures. I guess it had been a pretty spectacular moment.

I looked back to Derrel. “Did you see who knocked me out of the way?”

“I only saw the back of his head,” Derrel said with a frown. “Dunno why he took off like that. Dude saved your life.” His brows drew together in a dark glower. “I’d have been seriously pissed if that stupid driver had creamed you.”

“Aw, I almost think you like me,” I teased, managing a shaky smile.

Derrel snorted. “Paperwork. Oh my god, the paperwork,” he replied, but his eyes shone with relief that I was all right.

I looked around for my phone, saw it about a dozen feet away, apparently still in one piece. And still working, I found to my relief. The screen had a bit of fuzz to it, but a hard shake took care of that.

“You sure you’re okay?” Derrel asked, hovering over me like a mother hen. A very large and intimidating mother hen.

I nodded and did my best not to do anything that would require me to move my right arm. That shoulder was trashed. “I’m good. Promise.” I gave him a quick tight smile. “Lemme get something out of the van real quick.”

I managed to extricate myself from his hovering long enough to get back to the van and snag my cooler out of the front seat. Hunger gnawed at me. I needed brains and I needed them now. The parasite dulled the pain, but that meant resources were being depleted for healing. Fortunately, as long as brains were available, my zombie parasite did a speedy job of making repairs to physical damage. Without them, the damage would remain, and rot and brain-seeking desperation would soon follow.

I pulled a water bottle containing a thick sludgy drink from the cooler. Though I always told people it was a protein drink, in reality it was a delicious-to-me smoothie of chocolate milk and pureed brains. I chugged it like a frat boy at a kegger, then sighed in relief as my shoulder pulled itself back together with a familiar sensation of shifting and tingling. My senses remained muted and dull—another way the parasite conserved resources when I was low on brains—which told me I could have used another bottle. Fortunately, the one I had was enough to get me by until I could obtain more. I wasn’t starving and nowhere near losing it to the point of cracking open heads.

Of course, I then had to deal with the crazy driver aftermath. First I had to give a statement to the cop who’d been manning the barricade—who’d also narrowly avoided being run over. Then I had to reassure both Ben and Derrel that I was fine and no, I did not need to go to the hospital to get checked out. After that, a bit of shameless gawking on my part as I watched the belligerent driver get handcuffed and stuffed into the back of a police car.

Finally, with all the bullshit out of the way, and Ben and Derrel reassured for the billionth time that I didn’t need to go to the ER, I escaped to my van and headed toward the morgue.

First thing I did once I got on the road was call Marcus since, as my not-quite-boyfriend, I knew he’d want to know what had happened. “Hey,” I said as soon as he answered. “Did you know there’s a zombie movie being filmed in town?”

“Sure did. High School Zombie Apocalypse!! Two exclamation points. Bunch of our guys are working security details there.”

I chuckled at the “two exclamation points” business. If it ever came out in 3-D would it get a third? “Yeah, I got called out for a death on the set this morning, and then almost got my own body bag when some idjit who wasn’t paying attention to the whole ‘road closed’ thing tried to run me over.”

“Wait, what?” he asked, alarm in his voice. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, but only because Philip tackled me out of the way.”

“Who?”

“Philip. My zombie-baby. Remember?” I’d filled him in on everything that had happened to me in that goddamn lab, but months down the road there was no reason for him to remember the guy’s name.

I heard his intake of breath. “Shit. But…wait. I don’t understand. Was he attacking you?”

“No!” I said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t. It sure as hell seemed like he was trying to keep me from being plowed by that car. And then he jumped up and ran the hell off.”

“That is seriously weird.”

“No kidding!”

“How are you doing? Hungry? You have anything with you?” I knew he meant brains, not burgers.

“I just sucked down a smoothie to fix up my shoulder, so I’m okay for now.”

“I’ll bring more for you when I pick you up this afternoon.” We had a casual date set for when I got off work today, though he had yet to tell me what he had planned. “Can’t have you falling to pieces on me, now can I?”

“That would suck,” I said with a laugh.

“Yeah, I kinda like your bits right where they are, y’know?”

I grinned. “You like my bits?”

“Pretty much, yep.”

“Cool,” I said. “Bring me something to eat and maybe later I’ll let you touch my bits.”

“Now there’s an incentive not to be late,” he said.

“You’d better not be!” I said with a laugh. “My bits and I will see you at four.” I hung up without giving him a chance to reply. It served him right for not telling me where he was taking me this afternoon.

The rain began in earnest as I pulled up to the rear entrance of the Coroner’s Office building, but I managed to get myself and the body inside without getting too wet, thanks to the recently installed new awning.

No one else decided to die for the rest of my shift, which was damn nice since I really didn’t want to pick up a body in the rain. When Jerry came in at five minutes ’til four to relieve me on bodysnatcher duty, I gladly turned the van keys over to him, grabbed my stuff, and headed outside to wait for Marcus.

Rain drummed on the awning in a heavy staccato, and barely a minute later Marcus pulled up in his bright blue Ford F-150 pickup.

I gave him a broad smile as I climbed in. “Right on time.”

“You know it,” he said with a grin as he passed me a bottle. “Now let’s get those bits stable.”

I took a long drink, then watched him as he drove. Ruggedly handsome with dark hair and eyes, and a great smile, he was a damned good guy who happened to be the one who’d saved my life by turning me into a zombie. He’d also anonymously secured me a job at the Coroner’s Office, so I’d have a supply of brains, and helped me establish myself in my new life as a zombie. Later, we had a few hot and heavy weeks as a couple before I backed off to get perspective and space.

It was the whole business about zombifying me and extorting me into taking the morgue job that I’d needed the most perspective about. Pair that with some over-the-top protective bullshit and general treating me like a child, and I’d been damn close to washing my hands of him completely. But the truth was, Marcus had some really great qualities, and I did enjoy him. Therefore, after a number of Very Serious Talks, I’d decided to mentally wipe the slate clean and start over. No point in holding a grudge for shit in the past, especially when his actions had totally saved my life and forced me to get my act together. Marcus had promised to try harder and actually get my input on things from now on, and I tried not to overthink anything and simply have fun.

I finished off the bottle, exhaling in relief as the last tugs of hunger faded and the world came back into proper focus. “Yeah, that’s the good stuff.”

Marcus pulled a baggie of what looked like ugly grey banana chips out of the console and passed it to me. “Now try these.”

I replaced the top on the bottle and stuck it in the drink holder, then gave the contents of the baggie a dubious sniff. I liked what I smelled, but they sure looked nasty.

“What are these?” I asked, taking a cautious nibble.

“Brain chips,” he said. “I got a dehydrator and thought I’d give it a try. Slice thin and let ’em dry.” He shrugged. “Only about half of the brainpower they’d have if they were fresh or frozen, but no cooler needed and they satisfy that crunch craving.”

I took a bigger bite. “I like.”

Marcus smiled, obviously pleased. “Keep those. I have more at home.”

“Cool!” I ate another brain chip and then stuffed the bag down into my purse. “Man, I feel sorry for those fake zombies who have to wear that makeup all day. Wonder how much it costs to pay all those people and stuff?”

“Dunno,” Marcus replied, “but I heard that these extras are making a hundred to a hundred and fifty bucks a day, and that they gave first hiring priority to people who were laid off after Saberton Corp bought the farm machinery factory last fall.”

“Oh, wow,” I said. “That’s pretty cool of them.” The bigwigs at Saberton had sworn up, down, and sideways that the layoffs were temporary, and that everyone would be rehired as soon as the company nailed down a major defense contract. But the contract had yet to come through, and several hundred people were either still out of a job or making do with whatever work they could scrounge.

Marcus glanced my way. “Well, Uncle Pietro said that State Senator Jane Pennington really pushed for that.”

“Even cooler.” Then I grinned. “Is it wrong that I want to go hungry for a bit and then sneak in as an extra?”

“Probably, but who cares?” he replied with a laugh.

He turned down the street that ran alongside the high school, not far from where I’d picked up the body, then pulled into the deserted back lot of the football stadium. I used to think my high school took their football seriously, but Tucker Point High supporters took it to a whole new level of absurd. After a ridiculously successful, high-profile fund-raising campaign a few years back, the alumni had built a sleek monstrosity that had to be the biggest, glitziest high school stadium in the southeast.

“We’re here,” he announced as he parked close to the entrance and shut off the engine.

The look I gave him was plenty dubious. “Um. Why are we here?”

He grabbed a thick blanket from behind the seat. “Come on, I’ll show you,” he said. And with no further hint, he climbed out and headed toward the darkened entrance.

Okkaaaay. I hurried to follow. Behind me, the truck horn beeped as Marcus hit the remote lock.

“Dude, this is kinda creepy,” I said with a laugh.

He reached back and took my hand. “In a few minutes you won’t be thinking about creepy.”

“Well that can be taken a bunch of different ways,” I replied.

Marcus broke into a run as the light rain abruptly increased in intensity, then pulled me close as soon as we were under shelter. “So can you,” he murmured.

A thrill shot through me. Marcus and I had our ups and downs, but we had some serious chemistry in the bedroom. “Oh wow,” I said with an unsteady grin.

His mouth nuzzled my neck. “You’re in trouble now. I’m primed.”

“So that’s why you wanted me to eat the chips!” I rolled my eyes but I couldn’t help but laugh. Back at his house he had a brain-pudding that he’d nicknamed “foreplay.” Never a good idea to risk falling apart during zombie-sex. Ew.

Marcus chuckled as he took my hand again and headed down a passageway. “I’m no fool.”

I peered around as we walked. “Are we allowed to be here?”

“Uh, sure,” he said in a very unconvincing tone of voice. “Didn’t have to climb any fences did we?”

We wound our way through a dim passageway beneath the seating, then up a set of concrete stairs and onto a covered walkway that ran around the perimeter of the stadium. “This sure is, um, romantic,” I said, casting him a dubious look.

“Didn’t know you were looking for romance,” he said, still grinning as we stepped out onto the bleachers. “Come on,” he urged as he began to climb.

“You’re so weird,” I said, but I went with him.

“You mean besides being a zombie?” he said, shooting me an amused glance over his shoulder.

“Well, yeah,” I said, grinning. “That zombie shit’s old hat now.”

We reached the top of the stairs, and I allowed Marcus to lead me behind the scoreboard and then up a narrow ladder to a hidden alcove above the walkway. He let go of my hand and spread out the thick blanket. I looked out over the empty stadium from our lofty vantage. State of the art, no doubt about that. From the swanky all-glass press box to the perfect grass on the field with Tucker Point emblazoned in the end zones it screamed, We obsess way too hard over high school football, and don’t you forget it!

“Okay,” I said. “This is kinda cool.”

His gaze went out to the view “Not so creepy up here.”

I sat down on the blanket. “Well, you are a zombie, so automatically creepy.”

“Wait,” he protested. “A few seconds ago the zombie aspect was old hat.” He stripped off his damp shirt and dropped it to the concrete. “I think you just say stuff that’s convenient in the moment.”

“Yeah? You don’t seem to mind too much.” I leaned back on my elbows and admired the view. And not the one out in the stadium. “For a sorta-dead guy, you’re pretty hot.”

Marcus flexed his right bicep. “I eat my Brainies.” He unbuttoned his jeans then struck a deliberately ridiculous muscle pose.

“Oh my god.” I laughed. “Cut that out and come show my bits what your Brainies do for you.”

He proceeded to show me in great detail exactly what his Brainies could do for my bits, paying special attention to certain bits, to my great delight. No matter what else I might have been unsure about with the two of us, there was no denying that the sex rocked. Marcus was attentive, fun, creative, and always made sure I got off.

And he was even great about doing the whole cuddling after stuff too.

“You like that?” he murmured as he held me close.

I gave him the smile of a very sexually satisfied woman. “My bits are happy.”

He chuckled low and gave me a light squeeze. I rested my head on his chest and listened to the thump of his heart. “I think I kinda like this date-adventure thing,” I said.

Marcus was quiet for a moment. “I think I kinda miss waking up next to you in the mornings.”

The statement brought a warm rush of pleasure, along with a chaser of guilt and a splash of frustration. We’d been dating—really actually dating—for about six months now. I wanted to keep the pace super slow, and he wanted us to be, well, an actual honest-to-god couple. But after the long slogging mess of my previous relationship with Randy-the-loser, I wanted to be sure everything was right before getting too caught up in things like spending the night, and moving in together, and whatever else might come after that. I also wanted to be sure we were together because we were actually compatible, and not simply because we were both zombies.

I slid a hand over his chest. It was a damn nice chest. “Yeah, but I like that we’re taking the time to really get to know each other.”

“And you don’t think that can happen the other way?” he asked. To his credit there was only the faintest whisper of disappointment in his voice.

“Marcus, it’s…different, okay?” I said with a low sigh. Tilting my head back, I looked up into his face. “Yeah, we’d get to know each other if I spent the night with you or lived with you, but…” I trailed off with a grimace, wishing I could explain it better. “I just think it’s too soon.”

He couldn’t completely mask the letdown, but he smiled and kissed me. “Okay, I can take a hint. Or a two by four,” he added with a slightly forced chuckle.

Damn it. “Marcus. I’m not saying it’ll never happen.” Why couldn’t he understand? Sure, six months was a long time. But we were both…well, we had the potential to live a damn long time. And I didn’t want to screw this up.

“It’s all right, babe,” he said, and for a moment I could almost believe that it was. “One day at a time,” he continued. “I can do that.”

I snuggled close, and he tightened his arm around me. The warm air and the drumming of rain on the metal roof lulled us both into boneless relaxation. Safe and content for the moment, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift into a doze.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

Footsteps and a man’s low voice penetrated my light snooze. I opened my eyes, heart pounding, as I got my bearings. For a moment I was certain that someone had discovered us in our little sex nook, but the only person in sight was Marcus, eyes closed and clearly in a far deeper sleep.

“No way that support fell on its own,” the speaker continued, sounding frustrated and annoyed. He was below us, I realized, on the walkway. “I was on that scaffold yesterday. Everything was solid.”

“Forget it,” another man said. “Doesn’t matter now. Sucks to lose Stewart, but be glad it happened before everything else got going. Can you imagine cops crawling around later this week?”

The first man replied, but they’d moved off and I couldn’t hear it.

“Marcus,” I said softly as I gently shook him.

He blinked awake, focused on my face and smiled. “Hey, babe. Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep. I guess I was too comfy cuddled up with you.”

“There are people here,” I said. “I mean, down on the walkway. I think they’re from the movie.”

He kissed me, then sat up and reached for his shirt. “Not surprised. The big finale zombie attack scene is going to be filmed down on the field in a few days.” His voice was briefly muffled as he tugged his shirt over his head. “They’re probably figuring out lighting and cameras and stuff.”

My jeans and undies were close by, and I began to tug them on. “They were talking about the guy who died,” I told him. “It sounded like they didn’t think it was an accident, that the pipe shouldn’t have fallen the way it did.”

He stood and pulled on underwear and pants. “Probably want to be sure they don’t get blamed for it.” He glanced my way. “Insurance company will check it all out, I’m sure. And Ben’s thorough,” he added, referring to Detective Roth.

I slipped my shirt over my head, ran my fingers through my hair. “Okay, but then one of them said it was good it happened now before ‘everything else’ started so there wouldn’t be cops around.” I leveled a frown at Marcus. “Explain that.”

Marcus grinned. “Filming,” he stated. “They’re in rehearsals and preproduction now. They actually begin filming with the leads in the morning. I suppose it would be a pain in the butt to try and film with a police investigation going on.”

“Damn you for making sense,” I said, lightly smacking him on the chest.

He pulled me close for a kiss. “I always make perfect sense,” he said with a chuckle, then glanced out at the sky. “Rain’s letting up. We should probably get going.”

Taking his hand, I let him lead the way back down and out of the stadium, then together we dashed through the lingering drizzle to his truck.

I fought back a yawn as he drove me back to the morgue and my car. As nice as the date had been—even with the slight strangeness at the end—I couldn’t deny I was ready to get home and chill for a while before bed.

He pulled up next to my car, and I was about to say my goodbyes when Marcus reached into the console and pulled out an envelope. “I have a surprise for you,” he said with a smile. “Compliments of Uncle Pietro.”

I took the envelope he offered and pulled out two tickets to the Gourmet Gala, a swanky annual charity event I’d never even dreamed of attending. Damn near every restaurant in the parish participated, each with a booth or table where they gave out free samples of all sorts of fine cuisine. Tickets were expensive as hell, which meant that all the movers and shakers and rich people made sure to be seen there. I didn’t give a crap about being seen—I just wanted the food.

I stared at the tickets. “You’re serious? Your uncle simply gave these to you?”

“Umm, yeah. Sure,” he said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “He passes stuff like this my way now and then.”

“You’ve gone to this before?”

He smiled. “A couple of times in the past few years.”

“And we’re really going? Tomorrow night?”

Marcus snorted, pretty obviously amused by my enthusiasm. “That’s the plan, if you want to. And judging by the gleam in your eyes, I’d say it was a yes.”

Okay, it’s possible that I gave a squeal of excitement worthy of a teen girl at a Justin Bieber concert. “Oh my god. I have to find something to wear!”

Marcus laughed. “You have time. Don’t sweat it.”

I gaped at him in horror. “Easy for you to say! You have a closet full of clothes, and you’re a guy.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, grinning. “Just make sure you get something with elastic in the waistband. Lots and lots of food.”

“I’ll undo the top button. Not a problem.”

“Sounds good to me.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss which I didn’t mind returning. “Go veg out and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing,” I said, giving him a smile as I climbed out of the truck. He waited until I had my car started before driving off. Good dude.

Yet on the way home, my thoughts went back to the weirdness on the movie set this morning. What the hell was Philip doing there? And why save me from a world of hurt and then run away? He was tied in with Dr. Kristi Charish, which left me more than a little unsettled. I didn’t want that psycho bitch anywhere near me. There was only one person I could think of who might have some answers—Pietro Ivanov.

He’d thrown me to the wolves a few months ago when he’d allowed Charish to kidnap me, but had since admitted he’d screwed up and had done a lot to try to make up for it. Like the pardon. About two years ago I’d been arrested for possession of stolen property—while driving a car my loser-ex-boyfriend had insisted was a totally legit purchase—and ended up with probation and suspended sentence, and a felony on my record. But shortly after I managed to pull off my escape from Charish’s secret lab, my probation officer let me know that I wasn’t on probation anymore because I’d been pardoned. Totally clean record. Fresh start. And I had no doubt Pietro was responsible. As well as being the head of the local “zombie mafia,” he was rich as hell and had a zillion political connections. No one else who gave a shit about me had the power to pull off a full pardon from the frickin’ governor. No way did I trust Pietro yet—or forgive him, for that matter—but there was certainly a truce and potential to rebuild.

There was no sign of my dad when I got home, but since it was barely seven p.m. I figured I could hold off worrying that he was out drinking. He never drank at the house anymore—probably because he knew I sure as hell didn’t approve—and to his credit he was pretty damn careful about not drinking and driving.

Unfortunately, that was primarily because a few months ago Mr. Jimmy Crawford got stopped for driving while intoxicated. Fortunately, it was Marcus who had pulled him over. And even though Marcus bent rules like crazy and called me to come get my dad—saving us a ton of hassle and thousands of dollars—the incident pretty much shattered the shaky peace the two men had made, and my dad had gone right back to an active dislike of “that cop.”

Scowling in annoyance and frustration with the whole situation, I slugged down about half a bottle of brain smoothie to make up for what I’d burned off in my exertions with Marcus, then flopped onto the sagging couch to watch TV.

I woke later to screeching laughter on some nighttime talk show. A glance at the clock told me I’d crashed for a solid four hours.

Which meant that now I could worry about my dad’s drinking.

Not that worrying did a damn bit of good. Or arguing, or lecturing, or yelling. I knew that. I could wait for him, brace myself for an argument or worse when he finally came through the door. And for what? It wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing.

I shut off the TV and went on to bed, unsure whether to be upset or relieved that he still wasn’t home.