White Trash Zombie Apocalypse wtz-3

by Diana Rowland

  Yeah, we did some people watching, but mostly, we ate.

  “I do so love free food,” Marcus said. He took a bite of an oyster-something and let out a small moan. “And good free food is even better.”

  “Oh my god,” I said with a weak laugh. “I should have paced myself better. There are still three tents to go, and I’m about to explode.”

  “Now you know what I meant about the elastic waistband,” he replied, grinning.

  “Yes, next time I’ll wear my sweat pants with the designer jacket.”

  We made our way through the crowd, then paused to get our bearings. One woman, a leggy brunette in a skin tight sheath of a dress and impossible stiletto heels gave me a startled look that slid to one of amusement. Her eyes met mine briefly before she pulled her gaze away. She leaned close to murmur something to the woman by her side, and a second later they both tittered, glancing at me again.

  I turned away, face heating, reminded a bit too much of high school and the way the popular girls pointed and laughed at my complete lack of anything that could “fit in.”

  “Marcus,” I murmured. “Is there something on my face? Or a sign stuck to my back?”

  To his credit, he actually gave me a solid look-over. “No. Why?”

  “Heels over there, the woman behind me in the red and black dress and stupid shoes, keeps looking at me and laughing,” I told him, trying very hard not to be as unsettled as I was.

  “Snobby bitches all over this place, babe,” he said with a reassuring smile. “And it doesn’t even matter if you have money or whatever. Someone like that tries to put everyone down they can.” He gave me a squeeze. “You look great. She’s probably jealous. And her feet have to be killing her, which makes her doubly bitchified.”

  I laughed. “I never thought I’d hear ‘doubly bitchified’ coming out of your mouth.”

  Marcus grinned. “It seemed to fit the moment.”

  I smiled up at him. “Thanks. I’m probably overreacting.”

  “Don’t sweat it.” He made a face. “Really have to have a thick skin around some of these people. I’m here for the food, and they’re here for dirt and gossip.”

  “I hate that crap,” I muttered, then caught a glimpse of a familiar face through the crowd. “Isn’t that your uncle?” I asked with a lift of my chin.

  Marcus’s gaze followed mine. “I do believe it is. I wonder if he’s as overstuffed as we are?”

  “We should thank him for the tickets,” I said, remembering my inconsistent manners.

  He eyed me. “Can you still walk?”

  “Waddle,” I replied. “I can most certainly waddle.”

  Marcus slipped an arm around my waist. “Waddle on, then.”

  Together we wove through the crowd, murmuring apologies and “excuse mes” as appropriate along the way.

  Pietro Ivanov looked over at us as we approached. He was slightly stocky with brown hair touched with grey and dark eyes that glinted with keen intelligence. For all outward appearances he was a hale sixty-something, but I’d seen his eyes go ancient once and had no doubt he was far, far older. I didn’t know a damn thing about tailoring or suits, but Pietro looked really good in the dark grey one he wore, and it radiated Expensive. Odd as hell, though, was the splint on his left wrist. Being a zombie with no shortage of brains, there was no way he should have an injury. Faking it? Had to be. But why?

  A smile crossed his face. “Angel. Marcus. I’m so glad you could use the tickets.” He gave Marcus’s upper arm a squeeze, then offered me a polite kiss on the cheek, which I managed to accept without appearing as startled as I was.

  “Thank you so much,” I gushed, fully aware that I was gushing and not much caring. “This is awesome!”

  His smile widened. “You’re more than welcome. Have you been here long?”

  “About an hour,” I replied. “Long enough to get totally bloated.” Crap. Not the most couth thing to say. I fought back a wince.

  “Not me,” Marcus stated with a smile. “I’ve barely touched a thing.”

  Pietro gave a low chuckle. “I don’t believe that for a second.” He shook his head. “I’ve been busier than usual this time with little chance to eat yet.” He tilted his head at the two of us. “Do you have a minute? I need to get my date a drink, and then I’d like to introduce you both to her.”

  I assured him we had all the time in the world. He smiled and went off to the refreshments table, and I swept my gaze around the tent area. This one wasn’t as crowded as the others, mostly because it held only tables and a couple of serving booths for drinks. People clustered around tables, plates of all sorts of food piled high before them, and filled the air with the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter.

  Marcus gave me a quick kiss. “I’m going to find the men’s room while Uncle Pietro gets drinks. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be here,” I told him. “Or stuffing my face.”

  Chuckling, he strode off through the crowd. I allowed my attention to drift across the paved path, to the tent that held a booth we’d bypassed earlier, where wonderfully evil-looking bread pudding was served. I could probably stuff a few more pounds of food into my gut. Surely my parasite would keep me from exploding, right? After all, what the hell good was a zombie parasite if it couldn’t help me drastically overeat every now and then?

  I felt someone come up behind me. I turned, surprised to see Heels leveling a smirk down at me.

  “Well, it looks like my jacket did make it into the Goodwill bag rather than the trash after all,” she said in a smooth purr. “Unless, of course, you dug it out of a dumpster.” She tilted her head, and I instantly hated how perfectly her hair flowed over her shoulder with the movement. “So, which was it?”

  Are you fucking kidding me? I’d seen this kind of scenario in movies, but did this actually happen in real life? “Excuse me?” I managed. I didn’t miss that the two women with her had smirks of their own as they eyed me. Perfect noses. Perfect breasts. Perfect bitches.

  Heels reached out and tweaked the collar of the jacket with a French-manicured hand. “Simple question,” she said. “Goodwill…or dumpster?”

  I eyed the bitch, then widened my eyes in mock comprehension. “Oh!” I made a show of sweeping my gaze over her. “Now it all makes sense! I was wondering why the pockets were stuffed with condoms.” I tilted my head in a mockery of her pose as her eyes narrowed. “So, simple question. Were they yours? Or did men give them to you to keep your skank under control?”

  Her mouth tightened then opened in a snarl, but before she could speak I felt an arm tuck through mine. I flicked a glance over, expecting Marcus, and was briefly taken aback when I saw Pietro instead.

  “Ah, Jessica Langburn,” Pietro said with a pleasant smile. “I haven’t seen you since you tried to swim the Kreeger River in nothing but your thong and had to be fished out by the Sheriff’s office boat patrol.” He chuckled. “That was…priceless. Do you plan to amuse the crowd with something equally entertaining today?”

  Jessica’s eyes went wide in horror. Without another word she spun and fled as quickly as she could in those insane stilettos, her two cronies trailing after her wearing similarly mortified expressions.

  I tried not to utterly wilt in relief as Pietro turned a look of amusement on me. “Even though you were doing a marvelous job of cutting that venomous bitch down to size,” he said, “I didn’t think you’d mind some additional firepower.”

  I gave a weak laugh. “Not at all. Thanks for the assist.”

  “I call those types ‘piranha,’” he said. “You’re okay?”

  “Absolutely,” I assured him. “Though my next move would have been to slug her, which might not have gone over so well.”

  Laughter flashed in his eyes. “Probably not. And then she would have been the poor victim of an attack, giving her even more drama to spew,” he said. “Not that I would have minded seeing you slug her though,” he added.

  I grinned. At times he wasn’t
so bad. “Hey, Pietro, Marcus said he was gonna tell you about what happened with Philip and me the other day at the movie set, but I forgot to ask him if he ever did.”

  “Yes,” he said with a nod. “He did tell me, and I’m looking into it.”

  Nagging worry surfaced. “But does that mean Dr. Charish might be around as well? What if she’s up to more bullshit involving me?”

  Pietro’s face grew serious and contemplative. “Legitimate concerns indeed, though she would be a fool to act against me again. My people are working on it, but you be sure to let me know if you have any more trouble whatsoever.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, relieved. “It’s not just me,” I added. “I mean, last time she messed with my dad, and that’s way over the line.”

  “She stepped over a lot of lines and burned all of her bridges,” he agreed, a whisper of anger tightening his expression. “Keep your eyes and ears open, and you’ll be fine.” He gave me a genuinely reassuring smile, then lifted what looked like an iced tea in his other hand. “I need to take this to my date. Walk with me?”

  At my nod he headed for the back of the tent, keeping his arm tucked through mine. “You and Marcus can sit with us for a few minutes and help keep her piranhas at bay.”

  I shot him a questioning look. “Your date has piranhas?”

  “A different breed of piranha, perhaps, but still wanting a piece of her.” At my baffled look he explained, “She’s Dr. Jane Pennington—State Senator and recently elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. Way too many piranhas, though a little better now that the election is over.”

  “Oh, wow,” I said. Gulping, I swept a glance over myself. Was this jacket stylish or ridiculous? The fact that Heels had owned it wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation in my eyes.

  Who the hell do I think I am, pretending to fit in with important, influential people? Yet even as I thought it, Nick’s face came to mind as though he’d heard the negative self-talk and was prepared to give me a heap of shit for thinking so little of myself. Get over it, Nick, I thought with a stifled snort of amusement. You’re not the one playing Goodwill Girl meets Congresswoman.

  Oblivious to my inner angst, Pietro steered me to a table where a slim, dark haired woman sat, thirtyish or so, and looking perfectly at ease in a sleek navy-blue skirt suit. Under the table, I noted the bulk of an air cast on her right leg and a cane leaning against her chair. Not a zombie then, I realized. Not with unhealed injuries. Unless she was faking it too? Whatever the deal was, I had no doubt there was a connection between her possibly-fake injuries and Pietro’s definitely-fake one.

  “Jane,” Pietro said with a warmth in his voice that surprised me. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Angel Crawford. Angel, Dr. Jane Pennington.”

  My confidence increased as I managed to do the handshake and “pleased to meet you” thing without embarrassing myself.

  “And please call me Jane,” she insisted with a smile. A moment later, Marcus found us and was duly introduced as well. We all got seated, and I tried not to focus on how very out of my depth I was. Good grief, first name basis with a frickin’ congresswoman? Me? What alternate universe had I slipped into?

  “And now, with a full table, I can have a few minutes peace,” Jane said with a chuckle.

  The drumming of rain on the tent eased to a soft hiss of drizzle. Marcus laid his arm across the back of my chair in a gesture that felt juuuuust right, not too possessive and not too distant. For the next few minutes the conversation shifted to topics that ranged from neutral to mildly amusing—nothing that required a great deal of thought or effort.

  A sharp increase in the buzz of the crowd drew our attention to the outside walkway.

  “What on earth?” Jane murmured. She straightened and peered in the direction of the increasing murmurs and laughter.

  I followed her gaze and drew in a sharp breath. Ten or so zombies shambled down the sidewalk between the tents, giving low moans of “Braaaiiins” and reaching toward people at tables. I shot a quick look at Pietro, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything he looked indulgently pleased.

  Duh, they’re the movie zombies! I realized with a wash of relief. What a perfect place to do some promo and fish for more investors. Everybody who was anybody was here. Money. Lots of money.

  “Oh my god, Pietro,” Jane breathed. “They look amazing!”

  “New makeup people,” he commented, eyes on the lurching actors.

  “You’re an investor, Uncle Pietro?” Marcus asked.

  His uncle nodded. “One of several. Having the movie here is a nice boost to the local economy. In fact the other investors are here tonight as well. J. M. Farouche, Francis Renauld, and Nicole and Andrew Saber.” He gave a nod toward the fake zombies. “I have no doubt this performance is partly to reassure us that our money is being well-spent.” Pietro’s mouth twitched in amusement.

  As the hideous group made its way past, a zombie woman with half a face groaned “Braaaiiins” and lifted a shredded hand toward us. Another zombie with a bloody face and protruding guts lurched toward Nicole Saber, who took a half-step back, an expression of genuine interest on her face. She peered closely at the extra as if assessing the realism and quality of her investment, then dismissed him with a laugh and wave of her hand. Beside her, Andrew Saber took a sip of his drink and looked on with utter disinterest.

  Marcus grinned, leaned close to me. “Weird as hell, right?” he murmured.

  I bit back a laugh. “Yes!”

  Marcus turned to Pietro. “How many extras did they hire?”

  “Close to a hundred,” he replied, still watching the zombies as they continued up the path to the cheers and applause of the crowd.

  “Yikes. Do they have to do makeup on all of them?” I asked.

  “Well, yes, but the majority of them have very basic makeup since they’ll be in crowds seen at a distance,” Pietro explained. “Only a couple dozen or so will get the more detailed makeup like those.” He nodded toward the cluster of zombies as they drew out of sight. “Those are the ones who’ll get the close camera work.”

  Jane turned to Pietro, expression aglow with excitement and delight. “You’ll get me onto the set for filming, right?” she asked with a smile. “I’d love to see.”

  “I’ll check with Vince and get you in on a good crowd scene,” Pietro told her, smiling.

  “Oh, it doesn’t have to be anything big,” she protested, though her eyes brightened at the thought. “I don’t want to get in the way, and I certainly don’t want to be on camera.” She let out a soft snort, then chuckled. “I get enough of that now. I simply want to see how it’s done.”

  Pietro smiled. “Too bad you’re a congresswoman-elect. You could get yourself made up.”

  Jane laughed. “Oh, my goodness, no. I love watching zombies and zombie movies, but I don’t ever want to be one.”

  Okay, so not a zombie, which means her injuries are real, I thought, very carefully keeping my expression under control. But that still doesn’t answer the question of whether or not she knows Pietro is a zombie.

  Marcus gave me a light squeeze. “Hey, babe, did you ever get the bread pudding you were lusting after?”

  “I wasn’t lusting…” I stopped, then shrugged. “Okay, I was lusting. It smelled amazing. I would do terrible things to that pudding.” I gave him a bright smile. “You offering to go get some for me?”

  Jane raised an eyebrow. “Lustworthy bread pudding?”

  Pietro chuckled. “Come, Marcus. The ladies want bread pudding, and we should oblige them.”

  It wasn’t until the two went off together that I realized I’d been left alone to talk to a congresswoman. Okay, I can do this. Now try not to say anything stupid. Easy, right? “So, um, you and Pietro,” I said. “You known him long?”

  “A few months now,” she replied, a flicker of something I couldn’t identify passing quickly over her face. “I met him at a fundraiser.”

  “I only met him
about six months ago or so,” I said, then couldn’t think of a damn thing to follow that up with. An awkward silence threatened, but Jane saved me.

  “I absolutely love your jacket,” she said with an appreciative smile. “The color is gorgeous on you, and it’s a terrific style.”

  “Thanks!” I replied, then added, “I actually picked it up for fifteen bucks at Goodwill.” Somehow I had the feeling it wouldn’t matter to her where I got it. And there was also a small part of me that wanted to establish that I wasn’t a snob like Heels.

  She didn’t disappoint me. Her face lit up in honest appreciation of the find. “What luck!”

  “I’m a pro at finding the good bargains,” I said with a laugh. But then I sobered. “At the risk of being rude and nosy, what happened to your leg?”

  She sucked in her breath with a hiss and shook her head as though it was an ugly memory. “Pietro and I were in a serious car accident a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been told I’m lucky to be alive.”

  “Oh, man, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, then hunched my shoulders. “I mean…not sorry you’re alive. Sorry you had the accident…” I groaned. “Jeez, someone needs to shoot me right about now.”

  But Jane merely gave a nice laugh. “It’s all right. I know what you meant. And I still don’t know how Pietro managed to get out with only minor injuries. Moreover, his driver was completely unscathed.” She shook her head in amazement. “A real miracle.”