White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

by Diana Rowland

  “I see what you mean,” Brian said, exhaling. “But the alternative—having no resource at all—would be worse. And, yes, I know I’m biased.” He gave me a slight smile.

  “I know, I know,” I replied, wrinkling my nose. “I’m lucky to even have this option. Don’t mind me. I’m being stupid.” I was lucky. I knew that. How did people without credit or collateral or other options go about rebuilding after a disaster?

  “Not stupid,” he said. “Simply wary of walking open-eyed into a trap. I get it.”

  “Right,” I said. “I’ve done that kind of thing already and it wasn’t fun.” Like trading myself for my dad to end up as one of Dr. Charish’s lab rats. I didn’t regret doing so for a second, but damn, that had not been fun.

  Brian cleared his throat softly. “I owe you an apology.”

  Frowning, I glanced over at him. “What do you mean?”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “About what happened to you with Kristi Charish…and McKinney. I missed identifying McKinney as William Rook, an operative working for Saberton at the time.” His hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel. “Charish hired him not knowing who he was,” Brian continued. “McKinney got the info he needed and put her together with Saberton. The rest progressed from there.”

  I took that in, then shook my head. “Charish woulda still found a way to fuck Pietro over. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

  “I don’t dwell on it, but I damn sure haven’t forgotten it,” Brian said, jaw tight. “Rook was good, really good, at what he did.” Sighing, he shook his head. “If I’d uncovered him at any point, it would have saved a lot of loss, and certainly would have kept you out of that situation. Maybe even cut off Charish before she gave too much to Saberton.” He slanted a glance my way. “Only speculation now, though. Didn’t have her under close enough supervision. I’ve tightened everything up since then.”

  “All of this corporate espionage shit is pretty crazy,” I said. “Like the whole business with Philip.”

  Brian gave a slight nod. “He endured a great deal and gained us a tremendous advantage.”

  “Right,” I said. “But, um, Pietro said something that I’ve been thinking about: Philip was undercover with Saberton before I got kidnapped, right?”

  Apparently Brian knew exactly where I was going with this. “You want to know why Pietro left you in that lab if he knew what was going on.”

  I smiled tightly. “Something like that.”

  “Basically, he didn’t know,” Brian said. I gave him a dubious look, and he continued, “Philip managed to get onto the volunteer list for Charish’s project by some devious sleight of hand and was only able to send a very terse message to that effect before he was taken to Charish’s lab at that factory. And once there, he had no opportunity to get a message out with details or location.” He looked over at me. “Angel, I give you my word on this.”

  I hesitated, then nodded slowly. I trusted Brian to tell me the truth—at least as far as he knew it. “Okay.” I fell silent for the rest of the drive. I’d thought I’d known how high the stakes were for Pietro and zombies in general, but in reality they were higher than I could’ve ever imagined. It wasn’t simply Pietro versus Saberton. The safety of every zombie, as well as our ability to live relatively normal lives and blend in with regular society, depended on guarding our secrets and being the first to make the advances such as fake brains and ways to modify the parasite. Pietro had to be ruthless for a reason, and I truly did understand it.

  So maybe it was time for me to let go of some of my grudges. Even if I could possibly live a couple hundred years, life was still too damn short to cling to regrets or old anger. Maybe that was maturity—understanding that even the bad shit makes you who you are.

  Maturity still sucked. And though I was ready to forgive Pietro, that didn’t mean I had to trust him farther than I could throw him. Maturity didn’t have to equal stupidity.

  We pulled into Marcus’s driveway, and Brian put the Escalade into park.

  “Thanks for the drive,” I said. “And for listening to me whine.”

  “You’re welcome, Angel,” he replied. “And you have my number if you ever need anything.”

  “Um. No, I don’t anymore, actually. Flood got it too.”

  He pulled out a new card, then wrote another number on the back. “If it’s an emergency, and you can’t get me, call that number and tell them ‘one one three Archer.’ That will ensure you get assistance.”

  I took the card, nodded. Sometimes those strings-attached could be lifelines as well.

  Marcus barreled out of the house and rushed to me, crutches and all, as I climbed out of the SUV. “Angel!” He gave a quick nod of thanks to Brian but stopped before pulling me into a hug. Instead he simply took hold of my shoulders. “I’ve been so worried about you. Sarge was supposed to go by for you last night but got called to deal with looters.” Uncertainty warred with relief in his eyes. I abruptly remembered that our last conversation had been oh-so less than pleasant, and because I’d hung up on him, he didn’t know where we stood. All that seemed like a million years ago.

  I slipped my arms around him and pulled him close. I felt a shudder of relief pass through him as he dropped the crutches and returned the embrace. “It’s okay, hero,” I murmured. “It’s been a weird couple of days, for sure.” I drew back to look into his face. “My dad is here, right? Is he okay?”

  “He’s watching TV in the guest room,” Marcus told me. “He’s fine. How about you?” His brow creased. “What happened to you today?”

  Brian cleared his throat softly. “Angel, I’ll be going now.”

  I glanced over, smiled. “Thanks, Brian.”

  He gave us a nod as I closed the passenger door, his professional mask in place while he backed out. Was the official air for Marcus’s benefit? Brian had certainly been more relaxed with me alone. Or maybe it was simply habit. Who could tell with him?

  After retrieving the crutches, Marcus and I headed inside where he immediately tossed the crutches into the corner and stumped along on his half cast.

  “It must suck having to wear a cast,” I said.

  Marcus nodded. “Yeah. Everything went fine until the car shifted and caught my leg,” he said as we settled onto the couch. “Fortunately Uncle Pietro has a doctor lined up for us to take care of hospital red tape. Can’t get out of having an injury, but it keeps too many questions from being asked.”

  Now that was pretty damn useful. There was a lot I still didn’t know about the workings of the zombie subculture, but Pietro sure seemed to have his fingers in a lot of it. Then again, if he’d been around for centuries or so, it made sense that he’d have made plans for stuff like that.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re in one piece and saved that family,” I told him with a kiss.

  He returned it enthusiastically as we settled on the couch, but before we could get too distracted I paused the general naughtiness and proceeded to give him a rundown of the events of the past few days. The firefighter on Highway 1790, Philip undercover, Saberton and their shenanigans, the movie extras as test subjects, Philip freaking out and the resulting mayhem on the movie set, Dr. Charish and her fuckups. I didn’t hold anything back, though I was well aware how outlandish some of it seemed. I figured that if Pietro didn’t want Marcus to know all of it, that was his own damn problem, and he should have warned me.

  “Shiiiiiiit,” Marcus breathed when I finished. “Uncle Pietro had all of that going on?” To my relief he seemed to accept the whole thing without question, even the parts that sounded batshit crazy.

  “Yeah, it was a mess.” I rubbed at my eyes. The fatigue was starting to catch up with me. “I need to check on my dad.”

  Marcus nodded. “He’s in the guest bedroom at the end of the hall.”

  I left Marcus on the couch and headed that way. The door was open, and my dad sat in a comfy-looking recliner watching TV.

  “Hey, Dad, you doing okay?” I asked. I searched
for any hint of anger or his usual orneriness, but apparently having a plush recliner and a flat screen went a long way toward pacifying him.

  He looked over, gave me a slight smile. “Hey, Angelkins. I’m doin’ fine.”

  “So, um, everything’s cool between you and Marcus?”

  His bony shoulders lifted in a shrug. “We had a few words.” He paused. “More than a few. But I’m sitting in his house, so that should tell you something.”

  “Yeah, I guess it does.” I didn’t even want to think of what words had been exchanged. “Look, I’m gonna ask Pietro Ivanov if he’ll cosign a loan for me.”

  He frowned. “Why the hell would someone like that help you out with a loan?” The frown shifted to a familiar scowl. “And, dammit, I don’t want to be sucking up to any Ivanovs.”

  I leaned against the doorframe, crossed my arms over my chest. “You think a bank will hand over enough to put our lives back together?” I asked.

  A grimace deepened the lines in his face. “No, you’re right. No chance with a bank.”

  “I’m hoping Pietro will help since he’s, uh, like me and Marcus.”

  “Shit!” His jaw actually dropped a little. “You mean he’s a—”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s the one who made Marcus…like him. A zombie.”

  My dad let out a low whistle. “Jesus Christ.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “How many of, er, you lot are there?”

  I had to stop and think about that. “I don’t really know, actually. I think there’s maybe a dozen or so in this area,” I hedged. I had a feeling there was a higher concentration around here because of Pietro’s operation and support. It surely couldn’t be as high everywhere. There simply wouldn’t be enough brains to feed everyone. Plus, if there were a whole lot of zombies spread out everywhere, it would be impossible to keep it hidden from the general public.

  “That’s too damn weird,” he muttered. “Y’all have meetings or anything?”

  I let out a bark of laughter at the thought. Zombies Anonymous? Hello, my name is Angel, and it’s been three weeks since I’ve shambled. “No,” I said, grinning. “At least none that I’ve been invited to.”

  He merely snorted. “Don’t let the bastards leave you out, Angel. You’re better than any of them.”

  A sudden jolt of worry went through me. “Uh, Dad, you know you can’t tell anyone about me being a zombie right? Or about Marcus or Pietro either.” Shit. I’d outed both of them without even thinking, and there wasn’t any good reason for doing it. I mean, I trusted my dad, but I needed to be more careful.

  He laughed. “Like anyone would believe me?” But then he saw my anxious expression and sobered. “Won’t tell a soul, Angel. Wouldn’t do anything that might come back to bite you in the ass. Promise you that.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I moved to him, gave him a hug. He felt more solid than he had in a long time. He clung to me for a moment, then let me go. I quickly turned and left before either of us could get all weepy.

  Marcus was still on the couch. I sat, then regarded him, brow furrowed. “So, how is this gonna work with me and my dad staying here?” I asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful, but…” I trailed off, not quite sure what else to say.

  “Your dad is settled in the guest room just fine,” Marcus told me. “I have plenty of space.” He pushed a strand of hair back from my face. “This isn’t us ‘moving in together.’ I know you aren’t ready for that. We aren’t ready for that.”

  Relief swept over me. I’d been dreading this conversation, totally uncertain how to lay out my misgivings without insulting him or screwing things up, and here he was being all understanding.

  “I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can find me and my dad another place to live,” I said.

  “It’s a three bedroom house.” He gave me a soft smile. “I promise I won’t pressure you.” Then he shook his head. “Or rather, I promise I’ll do my very best not to pressure you,” he amended. “I’m crazy about you, Angel. I can’t shut that down.”

  I kissed him, smiled. “I’m crazy about you too. And I think I know why you sometimes get too overprotective.”

  At his questioning look I proceeded to tell him about my theory of zombie-mama instinct with Philip. Marcus seemed a bit doubtful, and perhaps a teensy bit jealous when I spoke of Philip, but in the end he simply gave a serious nod.

  “As much as I’d love to let the parasite take full responsibility, I’m not sure I can,” he said to my surprise. He gave me an uneasy smile. “It couldn’t have influenced my one-sided decision to turn you, since I wasn’t your zombie-daddy yet. And the heavy-handed shit of blackmailing you into taking the job at the morgue? Yeah, the instinct might have had a role, but it was probably more just me being a superior dick and giving you a great Teaching Moment.” Then he took a deep breath, met my eyes. “And even if all the stuff later was because of some kind of instinct…God, Angel, you’ve come so far in the past year. I know it’s stupid and wrong to treat you like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You deserve better than that, and I promise I’ll try my damndest to throttle it back, whether it’s instinct or simple dickishness on my part.”

  I believed him. “And I promise I’ll give you many chances to do so.” I smiled, gave his hand a squeeze. “I need to meet with your uncle to ask him about cosigning a loan for me,” I said, then extended a big horking olive branch by adding, “Would you call him for me?”

  Marcus kissed me, a lovely, lingering kiss. “No. You should call him,” he said, handing the entire olive tree back to me.

  And so I did. Pietro seemed unsurprised by my desire for a meeting, and I suspected that Brian had already given him a heads up. After a polite inquiry about how I was doing post zombie-mayhem, he told me he’d send a car for me at ten the next morning.

  With that taken care of, I snuggled up against Marcus. “I really like you a lot.”

  He slipped an arm around me. “Is there a ‘but’ coming?”

  “Nope. No buts,” I said. “I’m too exhausted to deal with buts.” I frowned. “That sounds weird.”

  “Yes, it does,” he said, laughing. “All you need to do right now is rest.”

  My eyes closed. Now that I’d stopped moving and knew my dad was all right, the fatigue swept in with crushing force. “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Rest would be cool.”

  I heard Marcus ask me something, but I was already well on my way to sleep, and apparently he didn’t need the answer badly enough to wake me up.

  * * *

  Sometime later, I woke in a bed that wasn’t my own and wasn’t Marcus’s either. A clock nearby told me it was 1:14 in the morning, and a few more seconds of semi-coherent thinking informed me that I was on a futon in Marcus’s office.

  I smiled into the darkness. He wasn’t pressuring me. I got up, headed down the hallway to Marcus’s room and crawled under the covers to snuggle with him.

  He woke, blinked at me. “Angel?” he asked in a voice thick with sleep. “You okay?”

  “More than okay,” I told him. “Now shut up and hold me.”

  And he did.

  Chapter 26

  I half expected some awkwardness in the morning, but Marcus was already cooking eggs when I woke up and shambled into the kitchen. He had on shorts, his cast, and nothing else, and he looked seriously hot.

  He gave me a smile. “I’m making zombelets. Want one?”

  “Uh, zombelets?” Then my brain kicked into gear. “Oh, zombie-omelet? Eggs and brains?”

  “That’s right!” he replied, chuckling. At my approving nod he pulled another plate out of the cabinet, then slid a portion of the contents of the pan onto it, and pushed the plate and a fork my way.

  “And don’t worry,” he said as he served himself. “I’ll wash the pan before your dad gets up.”

  Laughing, I dug into the “zombelet” with gusto. As I ate, Marcus pushed the newspaper toward me.

  “Y’all hit the front page,” he told me.r />
  I peered at the headline over my plate. Riot Halts Filming on Movie Set. Tucking into my brains and eggs, I skimmed the article. No known reason for the fight that broke out between several of the zombie extras. Numerous injuries reported, several arrests. Filming to resume today.

  I read to the end. No mention of a death, so apparently Saberton had taken care of the body of the guy Philip killed. I wondered if they would take care of any footage that was shot as well.

  “Sucks for the extras who were arrested,” I said with a slight grimace. “None of it was their fault.”

  Marcus gave a nod of agreement. “Uncle Pietro will probably take care of that. It’s in everyone’s best interest for this to die down as quickly as possible.”

  I finished my breakfast, then jumped into the shower to clean up for my meeting with Pietro. When I got out, Marcus produced jeans, underwear and a couple of shirts that I’d left at his place ages ago, which saved me from meeting Pietro while wearing the same donated clothing I’d worn the day before.

  I made sure there was non-brain food available for my dad and, at ten a.m., a black Mercedes pulled into the driveway. The driver wasn’t Brian, so I obediently sat in the back when he held that door open for me and, apart from a few polite pleasantries, rode in silence to Pietro’s house.

  To my surprise it wasn’t the same house Marcus and I had gone to months ago for the barbecue but instead a very nice lakefront house only about ten minutes from Tucker Point. Even though it wasn’t secluded in the sense of being far from other properties, it was surrounded on the non-lake sides by a couple of acres of woods, which added a strong feeling of privacy. Pietro was rolling in it, no doubt about that. No telling what he had for resources if he really was hundreds of years old.

  We pulled up in front of the house, and I managed to remember to wait for the driver to come around and open the door for me instead of barreling out on my own. I even followed politely as he went up to the house and rang the doorbell for me, though to my relief he stood back once he did so. Apparently I was allowed to speak and act for myself now that the hard part had been done.