Together, we lugged the bucket to the edge and scooped frogs into the water. They swam quickly away, leaving only ripples behind. “Buh-bye, froggies.” I gave them a cheery wave, stupidly pleased at the success of my scheme. I had no delusions about what would happen to them now. Some would end up as dinner for various wildlife. Others might meet their maker beneath a car tire, or get sick and die from some dread froggy disease.
As if reading my thoughts, the woman said, “Old Blue will likely spot some of them.” She nodded toward the far end of the pond where a stately heron stood motionless among the reeds.
I shrugged. “That sort of thing would happen wherever I took them. My hope is for a few to survive and go on to make happy froggy families. Either way, they’re better off than if I’d left them in that storage room.”
“No argument from me!”
“I’m Angel Crawford.” Now that we were partners in crime, it couldn’t hurt to give her my name. “Thanks for the help.”
“Portia Antilles, and this is Moose.” She nodded toward the dog.
“Nice to meet you both.” I emptied the last of the water from the bucket. “You’re a biologist? That’s so cool.”
“I enjoyed my work tremendously,” she said. “I retired last fall.”
I didn’t think she looked old enough to retire, but then again I wasn’t the best judge of age. Besides, maybe she had a good retirement account. “Nice place to retire.”
“Yes, it is.” Portia’s gaze traveled over the pond before returning to me. “So tell me, do you often pilfer amphibians?”
I laughed. “No more than the average biology student, but who knows what the future holds?”
“Good to leave your options open.” She nodded in approval. “How long have you been taking classes at TPCC?”
“This is my first semester,” I said then winced. “I’m only taking two classes, though. I work full time as a morgue tech at the Coroner’s Office.”
“You must find that absolutely fascinating,” she said, watching me with interest.
“I do,” I said, pleased she understood. “It’s really awesome.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. And don’t fret about your course load. I didn’t start college until I was twenty-five.”
“Well, I dropped out of high school when I was fifteen and just got my GED last year.”
Portia cocked her head. “Yet here you are.”
I grinned. “Yeah. Here I am. An accomplished frog thief.”
She laughed then dropped her eyes to Moose as he leaned against her leg. “My assistant here is reminding me I need to get home. It was very nice to meet you, Angel. I do hope our paths cross again someday.”
“It was nice to meet you, too,” I said. “And ditto.”
Portia gave me a parting smile then headed back the way she came, Moose trotting happily at her side.
As I watched her leave, my gaze fell on a dark blue Tahoe cruising slowly around the pond. I went still, watching and ever-so-slightly wary. There were plenty of Tahoes just like the one Pierce drove.
But not that were actually being driven by Pierce. Dark hair, powerful build, strong jaw. Yep, that was him in the driver’s seat. Why on earth was he here?
I grabbed the bucket and hurried up the path to the relative concealment of the trees. Once there, I crouched and watched as the vehicle rounded the far end of the loop. Was he following me? And if so, why? I couldn’t think of a single reason that made sense. Not to mention, I’d been here for several minutes already, so either he’d been pretty far behind me, or he was being impatient and looking for me now. Which really didn’t make sense, since my car wasn’t exactly concealed.
My bafflement increased as Pierce pulled to the side of the road just shy of making the full loop. Definitely not in a position to be watching me. I suspected he had zero idea I was here. He had some other goal in mind.
Wildly curious, I dashed to my car, stuffed the bucket into the trunk, then grabbed a pair of field glasses. As soon as I returned to my semi-concealed vantage in the trees, I trained the glasses on Pierce. I had a silly instant of worry that I’d see him looking straight at me through his own field glasses, but his attention appeared to be on a house up the street, the second one from the pond.
My curiosity increased about a billion percent, and I scrutinized the house in question. It wasn’t a mansion like some of the houses here, but it was definitely nice. Two story, pale brick, with pretty landscaping full of flowers, and a half-circle driveway where a white Audi was parked.
“Vewwy intewesting,” I murmured. Interesting and ever-so-slightly annoying. I needed to be at work in twenty minutes, and I had to drive past the house Pierce was watching to leave the neighborhood. He’d paid no attention to my car in the little parking lot, but he’d certainly recognize it as mine as I went by. And even though we were each here on completely separate errands, I knew damn well he’d give me grief of some sort, because . . . Pierce.
If I had to wait him out, I might as well be nosy. I took note of the address then pulled up the property tax website on my phone and did a search.
Owner: Pennington, Jane Alexis.
“Holee shiiiiit,” I breathed. Pierce was stalking his ex. Or rather, Pietro’s ex, who was also known as Congresswoman Jane Pennington. She and Pietro had dated, but Pierce had told us no one was to inform her that he was Pietro, zero exceptions, full stop. And clearly he hadn’t spilled the beans to her, or he’d be knocking on the door instead of skulking around. I bit back on a laugh. Talk about unexpected. Pierce was always so serious and careful and focused, and here he was clearly pining for his lost love.
I glanced at my watch. He needed to pine a little faster, or I was going to be late to work.
The minutes ticked by as Pierce watched the house. Right when I was about to say to hell with it and zoom past him, he lifted his phone. After a conversation that lasted maybe half a minute, he drove off.
I checked my watch. Barring disaster, I’d make it to work with minutes to spare. Add that to freeing the frogs and meeting Portia, and this was turning out to be a damn fine day.
Chapter 13
Allen called when I was less than a mile from the morgue. “As soon as you clock in, head out to Highway 1268 near the parish line. Traffic fatality. Nick’s already on his way in his own car.”
“Gotcha.” I held back a sigh that I’d be working with Nick again. Yes, please, let me have more tension in my life. But I couldn’t really complain since Allen was great about scheduling my shifts around my classes. “By the way, did the, uh, exterminators ever come?”
“Wait, what? Did you see a roach?”
“No! I mean . . . bugs.”
“What kind of—Oh. Yeah, they came. No roaches.”
“You do know I’m talking about listening devices, right?”
Allen huffed. “Yes, Angel. I get it. No bugs.”
After he hung up, I muttered a few choice curses. If the morgue wasn’t bugged, then how the hell had Saberton known about the gators and the shambler?
Baffled, I clocked in, snagged the van keys, then got on my way.
• • •
Louisiana State Highway 1268 was a long, two-lane stretch of nothing, giving me plenty of time to think about my life choices.
Too bad it took only about three minutes for me to accept my choices as a lost cause—for now at least. With another twenty minutes left to kill, I started the audiobook of the essay collection I was supposed to read for my English class. Listening to my required reading not only made these long drives bearable, but since my reading speed was about as fast as a snail on Xanax, it also saved me hours and hours of time that could be better spent doing important stuff. Like sleeping. Or watching funny videos online. Unfortunately, a legit and legal audio recording of the collection—which I’d’ve gladly paid for—didn’t exist. Instead, I p
irated a PDF copy, found a program that would read it to me, and also bought the paperback so I wouldn’t feel guilty about the piracy.
The robotic tones of the e-narrator droned on as I left what passed for civilization in St. Edwards Parish. After several miles of pine forest, I crossed an ancient drawbridge where rust-covered struts supported two counterweights that would lift the entire roadway to let boats pass.
By some miracle, I made it to the other side without the bridge collapsing into brick-red dust. The pines gave way to water oaks and tallow trees, and wildflowers bloomed madly along the shoulders in a frenzy of gold and magenta and purple. I crossed yet another decrepit drawbridge, and the trees thinned, interspersed with low scrub and grass. A few miles farther, red and blue lights flashed just beyond a sharp curve.
A helicopter rose from the highway and zoomed off, heavy thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup vibrating my van. As I neared the line of emergency vehicles, a Fire and Rescue ambulance drove away from the scene, lights dark. I exchanged waves with the driver, then did the same with the driver of the passing fire truck.
Since I didn’t know what I was dealing with yet, I left the gurney and body bag in the van and trekked up the highway past Nick’s Hyundai and two Sheriff’s Office cruisers. Up ahead, a gnarled oak tree hunkered twenty feet or so from the shoulder, bark gouged with old scars. Forty feet beyond the oak, a black Camaro rested upside-down like a dead insect. Halfway between the tree and car, Nick stood beside a human-shaped lump in the grass, clipboard in hand.
An odd sense of déjà vu tugged at me as I trudged toward him. There was something familiar about this area, but I couldn’t put my finger on it for the life of me. Didn’t help that I’d never been to this part of the highway. Then again, it was a desolate stretch of cracked pavement in the middle of nowhere, and there were at least a thousand similar settings in St. Edwards Parish.
A rake-thin deputy with a familiar, sunburned face rolled a measuring wheel down the centerline. He stopped at a faint skid mark and wrote something in a pocket notebook, then gave me a chin lift and smile. “Hey, Angel. Are you stalking me?”
“Hey, Connor. If I was, you’d never know it.” I gestured toward the wrecked car. “Don’t the State Troopers handle accidents on state highways?”
“They do, but they’re dealing with an overturned chicken truck west of Longville. The Troop asked the Sheriff’s Office if we’d work it until someone can break free. Since I usually do the accident reconstruction for our jurisdiction, the Captain had me come out.”
I nodded sagely. “Makes sense. Who’s with you?”
“Blag.” Connor hooked a thumb behind him. “He’s taking pictures at the other end.”
It took me a second to realize he was referring to Blagojevic. “How the hell do you pronounce his name? And . . .” I stopped and peered at the oily sheen covering his sunburn. “What do you have all over your face?”
He chuckled. “I think it’s Blah-goy-yah-vich, but my rule is I don’t gotta learn any newbie’s name until they’ve been here six months. And it’s coconut oil.” He pointed at his face. “My mom swears by it for sunburns. Next time, though, I’m bringing my own damn sunscreen!”
“Could’ve been worse,” I said, expression serious. “You might’ve been wearing a speedo out there.”
“Yeah, at least I only got burned bad on my face and neck.”
“No, I meant it would be worse for everyone else if you’d been wearing a speedo.” I danced back as Connor swung a mock-punch at me.
“Good thing you’re cute,” he growled.
“Aw, I’d kiss you, but I’m afraid I’d slide right off.”
He winked. “You can owe me.”
I blew him a kiss then continued to where Nick crouched in the wildflowers. As I got closer, the lump resolved into the badly mangled body of a white male. Blood stained the ground, but not a big pool of it—most likely because his entire torso had been crushed, instantly stopping his heart.
“Spencer Leigh. Thirty-four years old.” Nick tapped a driver’s license on his clipboard. His jawline bore a shadow of purple from where Douglas Horton had clipped him.
My gaze lingered on the bruise then shifted away. “Is he the only fatality?”
“So far.” His mouth thinned as he straightened. “The driver has multiple compound fractures and a tenuous airway. He’s being airlifted to Baton Rouge—the closest level-one trauma center.”
I took in the deep gouges in the turf. “What happened?”
Nick sighed and lifted his chin toward the mangled vehicle. “Connor says it looks like the driver took the turn way too fast, overcorrected, and flipped three times. Neither occupant was wearing a seatbelt. The passenger here was ejected and crushed by the vehicle. Driver got bounced around inside.” He scowled as he looked down the road. “This is a bad curve. It’s supposed to be marked, but an accident a couple of years ago took out the signs, and they’ve never been replaced.” He returned his attention to his notes. “That was a fatality, too.”
My entire body went cold, as if I’d been dunked in ice water.
Glass and twisted metal. Dark blood and jagged white bone. Grey brains.
And hunger. So much hunger.
My heart began to pound. That oak. The curve. I knew this place. I knew it because I’d been here before. A year and eight months ago.
I worked spit into a mouth gone dry. “That fatality was Herbert Singleton,” I said, amazed I could keep my voice steady. “He died the day before I started working at the morgue. You told me you’d autopsied two, and neither one had a head.”
“Damn, I’d forgotten all about that.” Nick glanced up with a slight smile. “You have a really good memory.” His smile faded as he registered my stricken expression. “What’s wrong?”
I swallowed. “That was the night I . . .”
His forehead puckered. “The night you what? Angel?”
“Nick.” I took a shaking breath. “I was in that car. With Herbert.”
“Huh? How could you . . .” His eyes widened, and he took a step back. “Oh Jesus. The driver was decapitated. You . . . did you—”
“No! I-I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t a zombie then. And Herbert was already dead. That’s what I was told.” I hugged my arms around myself and looked away from the horror in his eyes. “I was fucked up bad that night, dying even before the crash. Herbert had roofied my drink but didn’t realize I was already high . . . I think when I started having trouble breathing, he came out here to dump my body.”
Nick didn’t speak for several seconds. When he finally did, his voice was brittle. “He intended to rape you?”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s usually the next step after you roofie someone.” A shiver crawled down my spine. “I don’t remember most of that night. But I woke up in the emergency room without a scratch on me, and with a note saying I had a job waiting at the morgue.” I dared a look at him, but his expression was unreadable. “Forgot you didn’t know any of this.” I sighed. “I mean, you found out the hard way what I am. But not how. Or why.”
Nick remained still and silent for several agonizing seconds, then he glanced toward the highway as the sound of an approaching car reached us. “State Police are here,” he said, tone betraying nothing of his thoughts. “You should be able to take the body in a few.”
“Right.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I returned to the van and busied myself with getting the body bag unfolded just right.
• • •
By the time the State Trooper gave me the go-ahead to remove the body, I’d perfectly spread out the body bag, organized the loose change in the console, and regained my composure.
Nick and I transferred Spencer Leigh into the bag, then Trooper Hoang helped us carry it to the highway where the gurney waited. While Nick and Hoang conferred, I wheeled the gurney to the van, teeth clenched
as the cracked and pitted asphalt sent jangling vibrations through the stretcher.
Blagojevic was on his phone in his cruiser. Connor glanced up from his notes as I drew close then leaped to open the back of the van for me. He was even nice enough to help me load up the gurney, though I didn’t really need the assistance since it was designed to be pushed right into the van, with the legs folding up neatly beneath it. But I had a feeling hefting a dead body for me was Connor’s way of flirting.
“Thanks for the help,” I said then stifled a gasp at how pale he looked despite his sunburn. “Dude, are you okay?”
Sweat covered his oily face. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Feel weird all of a sudden.” His hand trembled as he pressed it to his stomach. “Must’ve eaten something . . .” His eyes rolled up, and his knees buckled.
“Shit!” I dove forward barely in time to keep his head from smacking the pavement. A shudder passed through him, and he began to convulse. “Nick!” I shrieked then tore off my jacket and stuffed it under Connor’s head.
Blagojevic bailed out of his car. “Oh fuck!”
“Ambulance left maybe ten minutes ago,” I gasped. “See if you can get them back!”
“Got it.” He keyed up his radio then barked stuff about officer down and paramedics.
Connor jerked beneath my hands, face impossibly pale, with frothy spit oozing from the corner of his mouth. I rolled him to his left side into recovery position.
Nick sprinted up, tugging on a fresh pair of gloves, and dropped to his knees beside Connor. Hoang followed, speaking urgently on his cell phone.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“We keep him from hurting himself,” Nick said tersely as he checked Connor’s pulse.
Blagojevic lowered his radio. “ETA two minutes on the ambulance.”
White Trash Zombie Unchained Page 12
