White Trash Zombie Unchained

by Diana Rowland

  “Are you okay?” I asked quietly.

  His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  I waited for the last person to leave and close the door. “We might not be dating anymore, but I know you pretty damn well. You’re miserable.”

  Marcus offered me an unconvincing smile. “I’m not miserable. I’m just . . .” The smile dropped away, and he sighed. “Disappointed, I guess. I spent so many years wanting so fucking badly to be a part of the Tribe, while wondering what the hell I’d done wrong to make Uncle Pietro exclude me.” Hurt shimmered across his face. “And now, not only am I in the Tribe, I fucking lead it. Except I don’t. You saw that meeting. I sure as hell didn’t run it. I have minimal say in anything that matters, and it has nothing to do my skills or what I can offer.” Bitterness sliced through his words. “I’m a goddamn puppet. It’s worse than being kept out of the Tribe. At least back then I had a life of my own.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. I can’t even quit. It would affect everyone—Aw, shit, Angel, no no no. Don’t cry.”

  My lower lip quivered as the tears poured down my cheeks. “It’s all my fault you’re the head of the Tribe,” I wailed. “Which means it’s all my fault you’re miserable!”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” He pulled me into a hug. “None of this is your fault.”

  “It is. It is.” I sniffled against his chest. “When we were in New York, after we rescued you and Kyle, I told Pierce how much you hated being excluded. He said he’d made a promise to the original Pietro Ivanov to keep his family away from all the zombie dealings and drama and danger and stuff, but then I pointed out that he’d turned you to save your life, and it was really stupid to cling to that promise now especially since it hurt you to be shut out, and he said I was right and then all of a sudden he said you should become Tribe head in his place.”

  He tightened his arms around me. “It’s still not your fault, you goose. Pietro-Pierce laid everything out for me before I agreed to it. I knew I was going to be a figurehead.” A sigh escaped him. “I just didn’t expect to be so . . . powerless. Useless. I suppose I had this idea of him grooming me to take over for him someday—teaching me how to lead the Tribe, or something along those lines.”

  I tipped my head back to look at his face. “But that’s the sort of thing mortals do,” I said. “Pierce was born over a thousand years ago. He’s basically immortal. Why should he ever worry about training a replacement?”

  A corner of his mouth tugged up. “And I’ve been thinking like a mortal.” He took a deep breath then reluctantly released me. “Thanks, Angel. I think I needed to vent.”

  I cocked my head. “You don’t look as unhappy.” He didn’t look happy either, but it seemed as if a bit of the weight had lifted.

  “Well, other than traumatic brain injury, I’m basically immortal too, right?” Marcus crooked a smile. “So, for the sake of the Tribe, I can put up with a few years of being a puppet.”

  It still sounded sucky to me, but I didn’t want to shatter his newfound morale. “You’re tough and smart,” I said instead. “You’ll come out on top and be happy and fulfilled. I’m sure of it.”

  But, immortal-ish or not, no way was I going to sit back and watch Marcus waste years of his life feeling useless.

  Chapter 16

  My thoughts broke off as Raul stuck his head in. “Marcus, there’s a problem.” His eyes flicked my way then back to Marcus. “There are more cases. And it’s on the news.”

  “Oh fuck,” I breathed. Marcus echoed my curse.

  Raul nodded grimly. “I have it paused on the TV in the media room.” He departed at a jog, and we followed on his heels.

  Pierce arrived the same time we did. “Dr. Nikas and Brian are on their way,” he said. On the TV, a dark-haired news anchor was paused with her mouth open and eyes in mid-blink.

  Less than a minute later, the other two stepped into the room, with Marla pacing beside Dr. Nikas. Marcus picked up the remote and unpaused the TV.

  “—ennan Masters with a new development on the health front.”

  The scene cut to a clean-cut, sharp-eyed reporter standing in front of Tucker Point Regional Hospital. Brennan Masters. I’d met him about a month ago near a murder scene. I’d lent him a towel to wipe off mud, and he’d left me a note inviting me to coffee. Nice guy.

  “The medical community is grappling with a new and deadly health threat looming over St. Edwards Parish. Earlier today, one person died from a currently unidentified form of encephalitis, and five more patients have been admitted with symptoms of non-standard encephalitis marked by blind aggression.”

  The report cut to a grey-haired, white-coated woman inside the hospital. The crawl at the bottom of the screen read Dr. Maureen Bauer, epidemiologist.

  “What we know is that the deceased and the five new patients contracted a form of meningoencephalitis. We’re working in close coordination with other epidemiologists and the CDC to determine the cause.”

  Masters smoothly queried, “Do you know yet how this disease was transmitted?”

  “We have reason to believe this form is transmitted via bites.”

  “Mosquito?”

  “Mosquitoes can’t be ruled out yet, but we suspect human-to-human bite transmission is currently the primary means. The infected patients are aggressive, and there’s strong evidence that human bite wounds were the source of infection in at least three cases.”

  The scene returned to Masters outside the hospital. “If you come across anyone exhibiting symptoms, including extreme pallor accompanied by sweating, convulsions, or radically heightened aggression, call nine-one-one immediately. Please do not engage with any possible victims.”

  The news anchor thanked Masters for his report. “And now Dana with the weath—” She froze with her tongue between her teeth.

  Marcus lowered the remote.

  “I’ll call Allen.” I left the room and hit his number with shaking hands.

  “I was just about to get in touch with you,” he said. “You saw the news?”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed. “Connor and five more patients.”

  “The report left out some details. Patient One is the nurse we saw in Connor’s room. Patricia.”

  “Oh no. He managed to bite her.”

  “Maybe just grazed her, or maybe the shambler pathogen is transferred by other means as well. We don’t know.”

  “Shit. What about the others?”

  “Patients Two and Three are brothers. They’re not sure how the twenty-year-old contracted it, but he works in the hospital cafeteria. The parents were on the way to the ER with him last night when he bit the seventeen-year-old. Less than an hour later, little brother became aggressive, and both parents were bitten and infected.” He paused. “It’s bad, Angel.”

  “I know,” I choked out. “It’s awful.”

  He sighed. “Let Dr. Nikas know he can call me twenty-four seven if need be.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  He hung up. I returned to the media room and related what Allen had told me. “Pierce, have you ever seen anything like this before?” I asked. Desperately.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean much. Before the twentieth century and rapid communication, I had little knowledge of events beyond my local area.”

  Dr. Nikas pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “I will speak to Allen,” he said then left with Marla. Pierce did a come-with head nod to Marcus, and they departed, leaving me alone with the news anchor and her weirdly bared teeth.

  I sank to the couch, stomach a tight knot of acid. I wanted to be numb, too shocked and upset to feel anything. But I didn’t deserve that luxury, not when I was the one responsible for this catastrophe. There was absolutely no denying this was all my fault. Horton and Connor. Dead. And now five more people were infected. Con
nor had been murdered, but what if the disease itself was fatal?

  If I hadn’t abused the V12, I wouldn’t have damaged my parasite, and I couldn’t have infected Judd, which meant the alligators that ate his remains wouldn’t be all zombified. And sure, even as normal gators, they might’ve chowed down on the hunters, but Douglas Horton wouldn’t have turned into an undead monster.

  And Connor would still be alive.

  I forced myself up off the couch. Enough wallowing in misery. Sure, I’d fucked up bigtime with the V-12, but who the hell could’ve anticipated it would result in contagious zombie-gators? All I could do now was look for ways to put out the dumpster fire I’d started. Dr. Nikas was hard at work on the issue, and he knew more about zombies than any other zombie alive.

  Or maybe there was someone who knew zombies even better. Maybe a certain someone who was a couple of thousand years old.

  I made my way to the medical wing and Kang’s room. The door was closed, so I quickly punched in the code then slipped in and shut it behind me.

  Kang lay gauze-wrapped in the bed exactly as I’d seen him the other day. Squiggly lines continued to crawl across the monitor screen, but his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

  I sat on the chair, propped my elbows on the bed, and planted my chin in my hands. “Kang, it’s Angel. Again. I really need you to wake up. Please. There’s some bad shit going on, and I’m hoping you might know a way to fix it or help us out with your ancient zombie mojo smarts. People are . . . shambling. I don’t know what else to call it. And it’s all my fault. I got addicted to the V12 mod, and it really fucked up my parasite, and then I went and bit a guy named Judd who was trying to kill me but then he got wasted by another dude and so I ate Judd’s brain but I didn’t eat all of his brain ’cause I was in a hurry and had to escape into the swamp, but later that night Judd fucking came into the swamp and found me even though most of his brain was gone. And he was all Night of the Living Dead and shit. But I killed him again for good, so I thought everything was okay. But a couple of days ago a hunter got in a boat accident and drowned, then got bit by an alligator, or got bit by a gator then drowned, either way he woke up in the morgue and came after me all urrrrrrrrrr so we figured some gators must have eaten Judd and got infected. And then yesterday a really decent cop who’d been grazed by alligator teeth collapsed and started going shambly. But then some Saberton fuck killed him. He didn’t deserve to die. And now we have zombie-gators out there, and Dr. Nikas is trying to find answers, but we don’t know jack shit about curing a shambler and . . . we’re so screwed.”

  I massaged my temples. Kang remained frustratingly unconscious. I couldn’t even annoy him awake with my unchecked blather.

  “Wake up,” I snapped. “Wake the fuck up. I need you.” I pressed my middle knuckle in the center of his sternum and twisted.

  Nothing.

  “Goddammit, Kang. I know you can hear me. Please.” I gulped back a sob. “What the hell do I have to do? Bribery? Barter? Blackmail? How’s this: if you don’t wake up, I’ll post pictures of you looking like a mummy all over the internet.”

  Was his steady breathing a teensy bit faster? I yanked my gaze to the monitor. The pulse had climbed two whole beats per minute. Didn’t seem like a lot except for the fact it had been steady at fifty-two since he came out of the tank.

  I clenched my hands together as adrenaline set them shaking. “That’s right,” I said. “If you don’t wake up, I’ll upload a pic of you to one of those Photoshop battle sites. Next thing you know, there’ll be pictures of mummy-Kang getting ass-fucked by bin Laden.”

  Kang’s chest shifted as he drew a deeper breath. I froze, certain that if I so much as twitched, I’d scare him back to the safety of his coma.

  “Would . . . break . . . internet,” he whispered, eyes open a crack.

  I leaped to my feet and punched the air several times. “Is it too bright in here?” At his infinitesimal nod, I rushed to the wall and dimmed the lights to about quarter strength. “Better?”

  “Much,” Kang rasped, opening his eyes more. He cleared his throat, wincing a bit. “Angel. I . . . saw you. In the tank. A dream?”

  “Nope, it was me,” I said. “I had a little problem and had to be regrown, so I know a bit of what you were going through.”

  “A problem . . . such as mine?”

  “No, not the serial killer. I, uh, had trouble with one of Dr. Nikas’s parasite supplements.”

  Questions swam through his eyes, but he merely gave a nod. “Has the killer been stopped?”

  “Yeah. It was Ed Quinn—the paramedic. But he’s in Costa Rica now since it kinda wasn’t his fault. He was coerced and brainwashed by Kristi Charish to kill zombies. It’s a long story, but Kristi had your head—frozen—then Pietro got it back, and Dr. Nikas here did the work of regrowing you.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Ed attacked you about a year and a half ago.”

  He wheezed something in a language I didn’t recognize. “So much time lost due to my own hubris. I should have listened when you warned me of the threat.”

  “Yeah, well, I can be smart sometimes.”

  “I have little doubt.” A faint smile flickered across his mouth then faded as if it was too much effort to maintain it. “You look well.”

  “I am. Now, at least.” I winced. “You’ve missed a lot.”

  “You’ll catch me up—” He broke off, eyes flicking to the door. A half second later the sound of running footsteps reached my ears.

  Crap. I darted to the door and punched in the code, yanking it open just as a red-faced Pierce reached it. “Kang’s awake!” I announced with a cheery smile. “I was about to come tell you!”

  The red darkened a shade. “You should have notified me immediately,” he snarled and pushed past me. He stopped at the foot of the bed, crossed his arms and gave Kang a fierce smile. “And now we can finish our conversation.”

  Kang gave a slow blink. “Who . . . the fuck are you?”

  I stifled a giggle. “Oh yeah, that’s another thing you missed. This is Pietro! Though now he’s known as Pierce Gentry.”

  Pierce shot me a furious look.

  Kang began to make an odd gasping sound. Alarm shot through me until I realized he was laughing.

  “I wondered how long you . . . would tolerate that aged form, forced to watch others fight your battles, itching to wade into the thick of the action.”

  “The Pietro identity was a necessary sacrifice for the good of my people,” Pierce said through his teeth. Though he kept his arms folded over his chest, the muscles stood out like cords. “I didn’t abandon it for selfish reasons.”

  “Of course not. You are an ever-suffering saint.”

  Pierce bristled. “There are only a select few who know Pierce Gentry is the same person as Pietro Ivanov. It’s best if we keep it that way.” He stabbed a dark glare at me.

  I was immune to them by this point. “Jeez, I know! But this is Kang. Like your zombie daddy wouldn’t know you?” I glared right back at him. “And surely Kang would need to know you’re a Pietro-Pierce mashup if y’all were going to finish some super special conversation.”

  Before Pierce could squash me like a bug, Dr. Nikas stepped in, breathless. I gave him a triumphant grin. “Dr. Nikas, look who’s finally awake!” I gestured brightly to Kang then let out a sour hmmf. Kang’s eyes were closed, and the activity on the monitor was back to his pre-waking levels. “Well, he was awake.”

  Pierce rounded on Dr. Nikas, face suffused with rage, and hands tightening into fists. “Wake him up, Ari. Now.”

  “I will not,” Dr. Nikas replied, voice as calm as a crisis counselor on Valium. I started forward to defend him, shocked by Pierce’s sudden fury, but he gave me a micro head shake.

  “I’ve waited long enough already,” Pierce growled. “Wake. Him. Up.”

 
Dr. Nikas remained icy cool in the face of Pierce’s heat. “No.”

  For an instant I was certain Pierce would strike Dr. Nikas, but then he spun away with a guttural cry and slammed his fist into the wall, penetrating the heavy plywood. Teeth bared, he yanked his bloody hand free and stormed out.

  Silence descended.

  I gulped and tore my eyes from the hole in the wall. “What the hell was that about?”

  Dr. Nikas let out a small sigh. “It’s all right. The rage will pass soon enough.”

  Frowning, I peered at him. “You’ve seen him like this before.”

  He let out a longer sigh. “Too many times. It’s rare to see him thus lately, but the unchecked anger still occasionally surfaces when he grows deeply frustrated.” He turned away and busied himself checking Kang’s vitals, giving me the distinct impression he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

  I held my burning questions and instead replayed the incident in my head. Pierce’s blowup had been startling, but Kang’s behavior had been odd, too. He’d been awake and coherent and talking. And then . . . not.

  Dr. Nikas gave me a slight nod then quit the room, closing the door behind him. I returned to the chair and took Kang’s hand. It remained limp and cool, but he wasn’t fooling me. He was faking being asleep. I was positive. There were plenty of reasons he might do so, and one stood out neon-bright: He didn’t want to answer Pierce’s questions.

  Yet eventually Pierce would find a way to wring the answers from him. I didn’t know whether Pierce or Kang was in the right, but it felt wrong to force Kang to reveal a secret he’d prefer to keep.

  “Pierce has been itching for you to wake up ever since he got your head back from Kristi’s lab,” I murmured, shifting my grip so we were palm-to-palm, with my hand beneath his. “I sure hope you’ll tell me what the big deal is. Soon.” My pulse quickened as I used my middle finger to trace four numbers in his palm. I was trusting my gut, even though it had steered me wrong a time or three. “Sure, it’s okay to get back together with Randy. For the fifth time.” Or “I’ll try OxyContin just this once. Can’t get addicted on only one pill.” Or, more recently, “Dosing myself with V12 is a good idea and worth the risk.”