White Trash Zombie Unchained

by Diana Rowland

  I busied myself with consuming the last of the brains. Felt the tingle in my leg as the break repaired itself. And the tingle in my face as rot I couldn’t see—but Nick could—healed. Finally, I said quietly, “You think I’m intelligent?”

  “Yes! You’re sharp as a tack. You learned the morgue computer system in three days. I struggled with it for a week when I started. You beat the odds and got your GED. You’re in college now. You see things others miss. I could go on, but none of that’s important right now.”

  I looked up at him. “What is?”

  Nick’s eyes met mine. “Rotting is pretty disgusting. I’m not going to lie. But you know what? I don’t think you are disgusting. You still hang around me even though I poop. Pooping is pretty gross, right? I also fart, belch, and scratch my balls.” He gave me a crooked smile. “I pick at scabs. And sometimes I even pick my nose.”

  I suddenly felt a billion times lighter. “But do you eat it?”

  He winked. “There are no witnesses who could testify that I do.”

  I snorted a giggle.

  “The point is, the gross stuff doesn’t matter to me. You matter to me.”

  A warm tingly sensation chased away the last of the pain. “You matter to me, too.”

  “You okay now?”

  I flexed my foot. “Yeah. I think so. How do I look?”

  “Back to the Angel I know and . . .” He stood and drew me to my feet then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a kiss.

  I melted into it, layers of stress and drama and pain of the past hour, the past month, falling away. His hands were warm and strong on my back, running up beneath my makeshift crop top. A wicked little part of me was glad my sports bra was tied around my leg, leaving my tits free for him to—Oh yeah. That.

  He breathlessly broke the kiss about a year later and took my hand. “We’d better get out of here. I’m parked down by the gate.”

  “Dude, you reek of DEET, y’know?”

  He laughed. “My new aftershave.”

  “I suppose I can tolerate it.” I smiled. “For now.”

  We headed down the dirt track, hand in hand. He glanced at me. “Had to break your window to get the brains. Sorry. I’ll have it fixed.”

  I smiled, comfortable and happy. “If that’s the worst thing to come out of this night, we’ll count ourselves lucky.”

  His reply choked off, and he stumbled. “An . . . gel?”

  “Nick! What’s wrong? What—”

  He gave a deep moan and collapsed in a seizure at my feet.

  Chapter 31

  I stared in shocked disbelief, heart pounding. “No! Oh no. Nick? Nick!” How could this be happening? He was wearing mosquito repellent, so it couldn’t be a bite—

  The kiss. That had to be it. Oh god. Not Nick.

  Needed to get him somewhere safe. To the lab. I took deep breaths to calm the panic and willed myself into emergency overdrive. Hands shaking, I rolled Nick to his side. Dug keys from his pocket. Scaled the fence. Sprinted to his car by the gate.

  Ram it right through the chained gate? No, wait. I dug through his trunk instead and came up with bolt cutters. Preppers gotta prep, right?

  Cut the chain, kicked open the gate. Cranked the engine, peeled out down the dirt track toward where I’d left him. He loomed from the darkness in the wash of headlights, shambling with arms outstretched and lips pulled back in a snarl.

  Slammed the car into park and left the lights on.

  Cold knotted in my belly, and a sob rose. Stop it. No time for that. I had to move fast. I activated a dose of combat mod and counted down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

  Sweet fire breathed through my veins. Night sounds of crickets and frogs amplified and resolved. My vision sharpened.

  With my reflexes and senses at peak performance, I pulled the trunk release and bailed out of the car. Jumped up and down and waved my arms, hoping Nick would behave like other shamblers and try to pursue and bite. “C’mon Nick! Woooo. This way! Come at me, bro!”

  His head swiveled toward me, eyes dead-white in the harsh light.

  “That’s it.” I took a step toward the rear of the car. “C’mon.”

  He lurched forward with awkward, unbalanced steps.

  I lured him until he was by the trunk then, in a blur of mod-enhanced zombie speed and strength no shambler could match, I tackled him into the trunk, stuffed his arms and legs in, and slammed the lid on him. Opened it again and grabbed the roll of duct tape I’d spied. Closed the lid. Pulled a long piece of tape off the roll, opened the trunk, wrapped Nick’s wrists and hands. Slammed it again. Good. Good enough. No way was he coherent enough to use the trunk latch release on purpose, and with his hands wrapped he wouldn’t do so accidentally either.

  “I’m so sorry, Nick. We’ll fix this. I promise.” We had to.

  I dove into the driver’s seat. A three-point turn later, we flew down the dirt track and careened onto the road. In the rear view mirror, I caught a glimpse of my car near the stand of pines. It was only a matter of time before big Bubba discovered it—and that one of the impounded cars had been ripped to pieces. He’d put two and two together, and a world of trouble would come down on my head. But I’d worry about that later. After I saved Nick.

  As soon as I hit the highway, I called the lab to give them the gist of the situation, and tell them we were on the way. Followed a hunch at Bubba’s place. Nick. Shambler. Ten minutes away. Help.

  And then I hauled ass, teeth clenched to keep me from breaking down and crying. Couldn’t start bawling yet. I needed to see the road.

  Thumpity-thump-thump. From the trunk.

  Why did I have to go and call Nick to help me instead of Marcus or Pierce or Brian? Any one of them would have been a more logical choice than Nick to handle a hungry, injured zombie. It hadn’t even occurred to me to call anyone else, but then again I’d been brain-starved and not thinking straight.

  I cranked up the volume on the radio, tried to sing at the top of my lungs to drown out the thoughts and the thumps, but the words stuck in my throat. Fuck it. I didn’t need to worry about hearing damage. I turned the volume up to the max, let the music pound me as the miles slipped by.

  I tore into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes, shaking in relief at the sight of people waiting for us outside the lab. Kyle, Marcus, Rachel, Jacques—and of course, Bear.

  Killed the engine and popped the trunk. Then couldn’t hold back the sobs anymore. The combat mod had faded to nothing, leaving me weary and drained. Rachel and Kyle dragged the slavering Nick out of the trunk and held him down on a stretcher while Jacques secured medical restraints. I did nothing but shudder with big, snotty, chest-hurting sobs while the crew wheeled Nick inside, followed closely by an ashen-faced Bear.

  My door opened, and Marcus was there, helping me stagger out. He didn’t say a word, just steadied me enough to walk. I didn’t need words. I needed the big gaping hole in my heart to heal, and that wasn’t going to happen until we found a cure.

  Marcus steered me through security to the medical wing. By the time he let me go outside Nick’s room, my sobs had eased to sniffles.

  Inside, Jacques and Kyle worked in smooth precision to transfer Nick to the bed and restrain him, then began setting up monitors and an IV.

  Bear stood in the doorway, face stricken, holding himself back with an effort of will I doubted I’d ever possess.

  “I’m sorry, B-bear,” I choked out. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  Bear spared me a perplexed look. “I know you’re the source of this disease, Angel. That doesn’t make this your fault.”

  “I’m the source, but this is different. I infected him . . . when I kissed him.” My throat clogged. What the hell had I been thinking?

  Bear turned to face me squarely and seized my upper arm. “Let me get this straight. You kis
sed Nick?”

  I gulped and nodded. “And then he collapsed, like a minute later. I should never have—”

  “Did you force a kiss on him?” His expression was stony, and his grip remained firm on my arm.

  “N-no. He kissed me first.” Fresh tears welled up at the memory of that glorious, perfect moment. It felt like I’d waited my entire life for it.

  Bear sighed and eased his grip. “Fuck me. He finally made a move.”

  I blinked at him stupidly. “Huh?”

  “That boy has been crazy for you since day one,” Bear murmured, finally releasing me. His anguished gaze returned to Nick. Yet to my shock, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to his side in a reassuring embrace—which of course started me crying all over again.

  “Shh,” he said. “It’s going to be all right, Angel. Your Dr. Nikas and that Dr. Charish will find a cure for this shit.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I have to believe that.”

  I let out a shuddering breath. “Me too.”

  We both fell silent and watched the activity around the bed. Now that Nick was restrained and his IV started, Jacques and Kyle collected samples of blood, body fluids, and various tissues.

  “Nick’s mom and I divorced when he was four,” Bear said after a moment, voice low. “She wasn’t ready to be a mom. Never really wanted to be one either, to be honest. Her career was taking off, and it didn’t leave much room for raising a kid. Nor did living in Podunk, Louisiana. She just moved to New York one day, and that was it. Didn’t ask for custody.”

  “What about visitation?”

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “When Nick was little, I used to take him to see her for Christmas and a couple of weeks each summer. But I stopped when he was nine. It tore him up too much to get his mom back only to have her ripped away again. Plus it was pretty clear she wasn’t invested in being a part of his life.” He shook his head. “She’s not a wicked witch. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. She’s an investment banker and travels all over the world. She’s a huge advocate for women’s rights worldwide—even started a micro loan program for women in poverty-stricken areas. Donated a shit-ton of money to build hospitals and clinics in Haiti. She’s a good person, but she knew she was going to end up being a terrible mother.”

  “Nick never talks about her. I always assumed she was dead.”

  “Nope, still very much alive. Victoria sent child support without fail, and far more than was required. She set up a bunch of investment accounts for Nick. Hell, his retirement was set by the time he was fifteen. She paid for that house he lives in. Sends lump sums every now and then.” He snorted. “As Nick got older, I half expected him to send it back with a nicely worded ‘fuck you,’ but I guess he’s too practical—and too kind—for that. He squirrels it away and sends her a thank you note. Every. Single. Time.”

  “That’s . . . kind of heartbreaking.”

  As if agreeing, Nick moaned long and low.

  Bear gave a sad nod. “I feel the same way. I never wanted to be a single dad, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to abandon him the way his mom did. I just wish I’d done a better job.”

  “What? At raising him? Nick’s a terrific guy.”

  “He is, but more despite me than because of me. I should’ve been more of a dad than a father and really listened to him.” His breath hitched. “I know you saw that black eye I gave him right before Mardi Gras. I swear to god, that was the first and only time I ever laid hands on that boy.”

  The agony in his eyes was all too real. “I believe you,” I said softly.

  Bear tightened his arm around my shoulders. “You’ve been a real gift to my family, Angel.” He lifted his free hand to wipe his eyes. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be a part of it.”

  “Goddammit, Bear,” I muttered as the fucking floodgates let loose in my tear ducts. Then I had to compose myself as Jacques came over to us.

  “Dr. Nikas left for NuQuesCor shortly before you called, Angel,” Jacques said. “He’s aware of Nick’s condition and will return to assess for himself, if you’d like.”

  I managed a watery smile. “I think he’ll do Nick more good if he continues his work there.” I glanced up at Bear and got a nod of agreement. “Please give Dr. Nikas my thanks, and if you need any help here, I could use something to keep me busy.”

  “I will convey your thanks,” Jacques said. “And I’d welcome the help processing these samples from Nick and inputting the data.”

  Bear patted my shoulder. “I’ll stay here with Nick and will let you know if anything changes.”

  I threw my arms around Bear in a hug then followed Jacques to the histology room. Jacques immediately busied himself with prepping slides, and I moved to do likewise.

  Yet now that I wasn’t freaking out quite so much about Nick, I noticed that Jacques wasn’t as placid and collected as he usually was. In fact, he looked downright upset—hands trembling as he worked, and face bearing an actual grimace. And I didn’t think it had anything to do with Nick.

  “Jacques? What’s wrong?”

  A slide slipped from his grasp to break on the tile floor. He looked down at the pieces then up at me. “I—” He tightened his hands into fists then took a deep breath and relaxed them, shoulders sagging. “I made an error, and I’m not sure how.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Jacques stooped to clean up the broken slide. “Yesterday, during the blood draws, Dr. Nikas instructed me to switch the tube labels on Pierce’s blood and one of yours. Which I did.”

  “Right. Dr. Nikas told me you’d do it. Once you made the switch, Pierce’s tube had my name on it, and mine had his. I’m guessing you pocketed his real blood, and Kristi was left with a tube marked as Pierce’s but was actually mine.”

  “That was the plan, yes. And I followed it.” His brow creased. “I couldn’t take Pierce’s real tube immediately with Dr. Charish’s tech there, but I did so it as soon as I could.”

  “So . . . what was your error?”

  “When I arrived here and removed the stopper from what was supposed to be Pierce’s tube, I instantly realized that it was your blood, not his.”

  I blinked. “Wait. How did you know?”

  “The scent,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I’ve been working with blood samples for over a century and have developed a keen nose for such.”

  “Maybe you just grabbed the wrong one,” I said, packing my tone with all sorts of reassurance. It was unnerving seeing Jacques upset like this. “The important thing is that you got the labels switched. As long as Pierce’s blood isn’t marked as his, it should be okay. Kristi would have no way of knowing it was mature zombie blood, right?”

  Jacques nodded slowly. “The factors are subtle, even with a complete DNA analysis.”

  “And does Kristi even know about mature zombies?”

  “No,” he said with zero hesitation. “That information has always been kept from her—as from most.”

  “Then everything is most likely totally cool,” I said brightly, despite the pinprick of worry that I couldn’t shake. “What did Pierce say about it?”

  “‘What’s done is done.’” He let out a breath. “I can only hope that all is indeed . . . cool.” But a whisper of doubt remained in his eyes as he returned to work.

  I dove into slide preparation, focusing on accuracy and precision in a semi-successful attempt to keep the bone-deep worry for Nick at bay. When we finished, I headed to the media room. I couldn’t be with Nick. Not yet. I knew I was being a coward, but I would totally lose it for real if I had to keep seeing him being so . . . not-Nick. My Nick.

  Though I fully expected the media room to be empty since it was 5 a.m., the sound of laughter and voices drifted into the hall. To my surprise, Victor and all the humans except Bear were present, listening to Rosario recount some humo
rous event.

  Annoyance raced through me that they could be laughing at a time like this. Yet in the next instant, my ire drained away. It wasn’t their fault shit was so borked. Besides, sometimes you had to laugh to keep from falling to pieces.

  My dad saw me and scrambled to his feet. “Angel! Is Nick okay?” He hurried to wrap me in his arms.

  “He’s . . . stable,” I said. “Why are you all awake?”

  “We heard about Nick,” Jane said simply. Beside her, Portia nodded.

  I sniffled at the unexpected show of support. “Thanks. Bear’s with him now.”

  Portia smiled warmly. “Dante here was telling us the story of how he got shot in the derriere.”

  Rosario chuckled and gingerly shifted position on the very fluffy cushion beneath his wounded ass. “Yes, I was about to describe how you ran across the spit of land and launched yourself into the water with a psycho-manic war cry.” He cleared his throat then let out a keening and ridiculous ululation, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

  Even me, though I attempted to glower. “That is not what it sounded like. It was more of a—” I shrieked a screeching eeoooeeeeoooeeeeeeeleeleee that had Rosario lifting his hands in surrender.

  “Dear god, please never make that noise again,” he pleaded. “Haven’t you hurt me enough?”

  “Me? I didn’t shoot you in the butt.”

  Rosario grinned. “Not the butt, yet you have shot me.”

  I realized he was referring to the incident before Mardi Gras, when both he and Judd had been after me, though for different reasons. “You deserved to be shot then. And I barely nicked you. Besides, it was your fault I ended up spending the night in the swamp only to have Judd show up missing half his head.”

  Rosario whistled. “That shit was weird. A couple of minutes after you took off, he climbed his feet and staggered away in the same direction. I couldn’t do much though, since I was busy trying to stop the bleeding from where you shot me, plus I didn’t have another dart.”