Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues wtz-2

by Diana Rowland

  “Ma’am?” I heard the dispatcher say. “Charmaine? Is everything all right? Talk to me.”

  Light flooded over me, and I looked up to see Philip pulling the entire section of flooring away. One of his eyes was clouded over and his right ear hung oddly on the side of his head. His cracked lips peeled back in a grotesque smile.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Chapter 28

  I let out an unholy scream—totally for the benefit of the dispatcher, of course—then braced myself since I knew what was coming next. Sure thing, Philip grabbed me by the front of my shirt, yanked me out and held me up with one hand. I screamed again, but this time purely for my own sake as Philip turned and tossed me a good dozen feet. I landed hard in a sprawling slide that managed to scrape several layers of skin from my hip and shoulder and sent a sharp jab of pain through my chest. One of these days I probably needed to learn how to tuck and roll and all that crap.

  But I had to deal with a pissed off zombie-baby right now. I staggered to my feet and yanked the gun out of the holster. Philip paused in his approach, then let out a dry, rasping laugh. “That can’t kill me. You should know that.”

  “I know, but I need you to listen to me for just a few seconds.” Holy shit, I sure as hell didn’t want to try to actually fight this guy. I’d burned through most of my excess brains and, judging by my growing hunger, I’d suffered more injury than just a few scrapes from being thrown. Plus, Philip actually knew how to fight.

  “Look, there’s something wrong,” I said urgently. “You shouldn’t be rotting so quickly. It’s the fake brains that Doc gave you. They…” I trailed off, only now seeing the two guards that I’d thought were dead. They were slowly getting to their feet, and had gaping bites on their neck and shoulders. And the look in their eyes…

  “Oh, that’s not good,” I breathed.

  “Forget her!” Dr. Charish yelled from the van as she brandished something in her hand that looked like a protein bar. The two new zombies turned and began loping toward her. “Let’s go, Sergeant! We’re about to blow this place. There’s no way she’ll get clear in time.” She grinned nastily. “Now get your ass in the van!”

  Ah, shit. Now I saw the little tan chunks placed around the factory next to barrels that probably had something flammable in them, especially around the section I’d just managed to break out of. I’d watched enough Mythbusters to know what C-4 looked like. I heard sirens in the distance, and I knew there was no time left. There was no way these assholes were going to leave any evidence lying around.

  I didn’t wait to see what Philip was going to do. I turned and started sprinting, but not in the direction of the door like she probably expected. I had no doubt they’d shoot me if I tried to get past them, and I figured I had at least a minute until they could all pile into the van and get clear. There was no way I could run fast enough to make it out before they did, but if I could just remember correctly…

  There. Just past the foreman’s office was a bank of windows that overlooked the river. Many of them were broken, but most weren’t. I risked a glance back and saw that the van had cleared the broad doors and was accelerating fast.

  Any second now…

  I wasn’t stupid enough to try and dive through the windows since I wasn’t sure I had enough mass behind my scrawny ass to actually break through. Instead I snatched up an abandoned chair mid-stride, then swung around in a big arc like one of those hammer-throwing dudes in the Olympics, and let it fly at the windows.

  It smashed through with satisfying ease and a few seconds later I heard a muted splash. But I was already moving. I sort of expected the place to blow up right as I was diving through the hole that the chair had made in the glass—because that would have been insanely awesome and dramatic. But instead I simply hit the water in an awkward splash with no explosion to propel me.

  The water was cold enough to make me gasp for breath—which sucked ass since I was still underwater at the time. I wasn’t the best swimmer in the world by any stretch, but I finally managed to get my head above water, cough out the nasty river water, and start doggie-paddling away from the edge of the building with everything I had.

  The place blew not even five seconds later, and the force of the blast shoved me underwater again. Instinct screamed at me to get my head above the surface, but I fought back and stayed underwater, even doing what I could to get deeper. As I expected, debris began to rain down into the water almost immediately. I barely missed getting clipped by a large section of a brick wall, but I did get smacked hard in the shoulder by a twisted hunk of metal. It bore me down several feet before I could wriggle myself free, all while I hovered right at the edge of full-blown panic. I didn’t want to think what could happen to me if I somehow got trapped at the bottom of the river.

  My lungs were bursting by the time I started paddling my way back up. A brick or something equally hard and heavy whacked me on the head right before I surfaced, and I had to tread water for a moment while I fought the dizziness and gulped air. C’mon, little parasite, I numbly urged. I know I’ve been asking a lot of you lately. I promise I’ll give you a nice big brain as soon as we get out of this.

  I heard more sirens now, and lots of people shouting. I started paddling again, nice and slow, toward the far end of the building in the hopes that I could get out of the water over there without anyone seeing me. ’Cause I had no idea how the hell I could explain why I was there and what had happened.

  I couldn’t feel the cold anymore—couldn’t feel much of anything, which I knew was a damn good thing and a bad thing all at once. But my arms and legs kept moving and the combination of the current and my sloppy paddling finally got me down to the rocks that formed the bank on the south end of the factory.

  It took me several tries to clamber up out of the water and onto the rocks. Everything was so numb that I couldn’t get a decent grip and I slipped several times. The hunger was getting damn serious, but at this point I could only hope to maintain enough control not to attack anyone. I didn’t really have a choice. If I stayed in the water it would only make it worse.

  Breathing through clenched teeth, I eased my head up over the edge of the bank and peered at the activity. The outer walls of the factory still stood—but smoke poured from what was left of the roof, and flames licked out of the gaping holes that had once held windows. At least half-a-dozen police cars were there, but they’d clearly shifted their mission to keeping everyone clear of the scene until firefighters could get there—which wouldn’t be long to judge from the sound of more sirens and the honks of approaching fire engines.

  The wind shifted, sending clouds of acrid smoke over me, but for the moment I welcomed it. At least the smoke drowned out the smell of everyone’s brains, which meant I might actually stand a chance of controlling the hunger for a while longer. I decided not to think about what I was going to do after I got away from here. I didn’t have the faintest damn clue.

  Another car pulled up just as I was about to climb the rest of the way up. I hunched down, waiting, then stiffened as the driver got out.

  Pietro Fucking Ivanov.

  I seized a rock, but before I could carry out my not-very-well-thought-out plan of “run at him while screaming like a maniac and then bash his head in a lot over and over” Marcus exited the passenger side, staring in naked horror at the burning factory. My shock doubled as Ed climbed out of the back seat.

  Wow. Apparently a lot had happened while I was gone.

  I staggered up over the low wall, hoping that none of the firemen or police were looking toward the river. “Marcus,” I croaked, but there was too much noise. Scowling, I pitched the fist-sized rock still in my hand at Pietro. It missed by several feet, but it did hit his windshield, making a marvelous spiderweb of cracks. All three men turned in unison.

  “Hi, boys,” I rasped. “Miss me?”

  Marcus ran to me, scooped me up in his arms before I could do more than twitch, then hurried back to the car as Pietro pulled the back
door open.

  “God almighty, Angel,” Marcus said, sliding in with me and then clutching me close. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “Here,” Ed said, thrusting a blanket at Marcus. “Wrap her in this.”

  I lifted my head to look at Pietro as Marcus tugged the blanket around me. His eyes met mine and his face crumpled.

  “Angel, I swear I didn’t know that this…” Pietro gestured vaguely in the direction of the factory. “Any of this…I had no idea. I swear.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him he was full of shit, to tell him I knew he’d thrown me under the bus, but all that came out was, “Braaiinns.”

  Yeah, I was kinda hungry.

  Pietro handed me a brain smoothie and then we got the hell out of there. A roadblock had been set up, but Pietro showed the deputy something in his wallet, and was waved on through without any further questions.

  I finished the first smoothie and was still in pretty lousy shape, but the other two zombies had apparently planned for the possibility of a high need for brains and had a cooler packed full of smoothies and baggies. The hunger started to fade by the time I finished the third smoothie, but it took me downing two baggies of straight-up brains before I felt even close to “okay.” Damn good thing that Pietro owned some funeral homes.

  “We need to talk,” I finally said, relieved that my voice was normal again. “Especially, you, Pietro.” I glared at the back of his head while he drove. “But first we need to go to NuQuesCor.”

  “No problem, Angel,” Marcus said. He still had an arm around me which I didn’t mind one bit. “What’s at the lab?”

  “Heads,” I said. Ed stiffened and flushed. “I don’t know how many—if any—are still there, but I want to get them back.”

  Marcus exhaled and didn’t argue. Not that I expected him to. “It’ll take about fifteen minutes to get there.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Pietro said, pulling out his cell phone.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean? If any of the heads are there, I want them back.”

  “And you’ll get them,” he replied, dialing a number. “But you’re looking to break in and take them back by whatever means necessary, right?”

  I scowled. “Pretty much. I’m a little tired of playing nice.”

  He put the phone to his ear. “Dominica five-oh-four.” A pause. “NuQuesCor in Colomb, Louisiana. Retrieval of any human heads matching the victims of the decapitation murders that occurred in St. Edwards Parish in the last four months. Most likely from the labs of Dr. Sofia Baldwin or Dr. Kristi Charish.” Another pause. “One hour.” He clicked off and set the phone down. “Do you mind if we try it my way first?” he asked me.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” I muttered, leveling a black glare at the back of his head.

  “Fair enough,” he replied. “Why don’t we allow Angel to get cleaned up, and then we can say everything that needs to be said over coffee.”

  Chapter 29

  When Pietro said he wanted to give me a chance to clean up I figured we’d stop at a convenience store where I could wash the worst of the grime off in the bathroom and then buy a vastly oversized shirt that I could wear as a dress until I could get home. It’s what I’d have done.

  That, however, was not how Pietro Ivanov handled such situations. No, instead he rented a room at the only Hilton in St. Edwards parish, handed me the key card, and informed me that if I wanted a shower I should go on up, and that he would obtain clothing for me.

  I stared at him for a few seconds, then silently took the card, went on up to the room, and took the hottest shower of my entire life.

  He must have made another one of those mysterious phone calls while I was scrubbing blood and river grime off me, because, laid out on the bed when I emerged was a selection of clothing, various toiletries, and even an assortment of makeup—in my damn color palette even. And, finally, a note on the bed that said that the others were down in the hotel café and to please join them when I was ready. I was tempted to take my damn sweet time, but I knew that this whole mess was far from over, and everyone needed to know what was going on.

  In the end it took the four of us talking it out to piece together just how the hell everything had gone down.

  First, I found out how Ed came to be there with Marcus and Pietro. It was simple, really. After Ed got my dad to his little safe house in the woods, he went straight to Pietro and said, “You fucking owe me.” And, yes, he used those exact words. To his credit, Pietro did agree that yes, he did fucking owe Ed.

  I held back on saying the same damn thing to Pietro. I could tell by the way he looked and acted around me that he was fully aware of that fact. It simply remained to be seen how much he’d truly known about, and what he intended to do about it. And what I intended to do about it, for that matter.

  I told them what had happened to me, how I’d been forced to turn Philip into a zombie and how the sweet-faced Aaron had died. Told them how Ed’s plan had paid off, and how I’d escaped. Also told them what I’d seen—Philip rotting far faster than he should have, and the two guards who’d appeared to be turned by just a couple of bites. And, finally, told them that Kristi and her pet pseudo-zombies had escaped and were now dust in the wind.

  No one looked happy about any of that.

  As for the rest, Pietro explained that Dr. Charish had been good friends with the Quinns as well as being Dr. Quinn’s partner in their neurology practice. After the pair had died, Kristi Charish had taken possession of all of Dr. Quinn’s notes and research, some of which dealt with theories of how a “zombie” parasite could operate. Curious as to why on earth Dr. Quinn would have been pursuing such a subject, she broke into the Quinn’s residence before their possessions could be packed up, and stole or copied as many notes and papers as she could find. Among the stolen papers was a notebook of rambling entries written by Ed’s dad, and under any other circumstance, Dr. Charish would have likely dismissed it as a rather amateurish attempt at writing fiction. But paired with everything else she found, as well as the circumstances of their death…

  Pietro gave a heavy sigh. “Kristi is not a stupid woman. She initiated a romance with me, and eventually ‘discovered’ that the zombies were real.”

  “Which she’d suspected the whole time,” Marcus said, frowning. “That was merely a way for her to confirm and get the inside scoop.”

  “Precisely,” Pietro said, mouth turned down in a grave curve. “And even when the romance fizzled, she made sure to remain close to me. We were friends, or so I foolishly believed.”

  “Why didn’t you have Dr. Charish do the fake brain research?” I asked him. “Why Sofia?”

  A sardonic smile touched his mouth. “I did. But none of Kristi’s attempts worked, and I eventually banned any further experimentation on any of the zombies within our faction.”

  “And this was before I came along,” I said, super sweetly, “so you didn’t have a convenient zombie you wanted to get rid of to throw her way.”

  He flushed, shoulders slumping. “I swear to you, I thought the worst that might happen would be that you’d feel sick.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I said. I didn’t buy that for a second, because otherwise why not allow any of his other zombies to be guinea pigs? But I wasn’t going to pursue it right now. I had other shit to take care of first. “Please, go on,” I told him.

  He didn’t look at me, which was probably a very good idea on his part. “Sofia was a brilliant girl,” he continued, “and came up with a protocol that would allow her to test her formulations without risking any ‘living’ zombies. About six months ago, she told me she was close to a breakthrough. I’m confident that, given a bit more time, she would have perfected it. She was meticulous. Did not wish to cut any corners or take undue risks.”

  “Six months ago was when I started getting mystery packages in the mail,” Ed said, expression bleak.

  “Exactly,” I said. “I think that the darling Dr. Kristi Charish has had p
lans for the zombies for quite some time. But it all depended on being able to develop a dependable and plentiful food source.”

  “You mean making super soldiers?” Ed asked. “She’d worked on enough government grants to know who to go to with her idea. But, of course, first she had to prove she wasn’t totally full of shit.”

  I leaned forward, tapped the table. “I bet she told them she had something that worked. She jumped the gun, and then got impatient when Sofia was taking her sweet time. So she copied Sofia’s research, got Ed to grab some zombie heads for her to experiment on, and told the government dweebs she was good to go.”

  It was Ed’s turn to flush in shame, but I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dude. She’s a world-class manipulator.”

  “I know,” he said in a low voice. “But I’ll never forget how close I came to killing the two of you.”

  “Just means you have to buy my beer until the end of time,” Marcus said with a grin.

  Ed laughed weakly. “Sounds more than fair.”

  “But why did she want only the heads and not the whole zombie?” I asked.

  “She didn’t have the funding, support, or facility to house captive zombies,” Pietro stated. “To store heads, all she needed was a cooler. And, at the time, the heads—and brains—were all she required for her research.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “Makes sense.” I cocked my head. “But we can’t forget that the darling Doctor Charish is on the loose now and god-only-knows where with live zombies of her own.”

  “I have many connections,” Pietro stated. “She will not slip my net.”

  “Oh, really?” I retorted. “She worked under your nose for how long? Pardon me if I don’t trust your ‘net.’”

  Pietro grimaced and didn’t respond. Ha! Point to Angel.