My Life as a White Trash Zombie (34 page)

I shook my head, fear and anger battling it out inside me. “No,” I managed to rasp out. “You’re wrong. I’m Angel.”

Ed’s mouth trembled for a brief second. “No. You’re a monster. The worst kind of monster, because you make people think you’re alive. Then you go and bash their head in with a fucking anchor and—” He spun away abruptly as his words roiled within me.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Ed said in a hoarse whisper. He swiped at his face again, and I realized he was crying—which only pissed me off more. He was going to be all weepy and emo because he’d shot me
and
his best friend? Fuck him!

“I’d wondered about Marcus,” Ed went on, voice still hoarse. “Marianne’s dog acted a bit funny around him at first, but then he kept playing with the dog. Told myself it wasn’t possible.” He flicked a glance my way. “Then Kudzu indicated on you. I didn’t believe it then either.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “I was an idiot. All this time your bodies have been desecrated. Animated by this monstrous shit.”

“I’m not a monster, you stupid fuck!” I tried to yell, but it came out as mostly rasps and gurgles, and I had no idea if any of it was understandable.

But even if it was, Ed ignored it. He was too caught up in his self-righteous pity-party. “Now I’ll give you both the mercy of a true death,” he said, squaring his shoulders He slowly holstered his gun, then—almost reluctantly—looked over to where Marcus lay sprawled on his back on the ground. He was silent for several seconds, then shook his head. “I’ll finish you off quickly,” Ed said to the possibly dead Marcus. “I owe you that much.”

He turned away and began to dig through the gear on the four wheeler. He wasn’t paying attention to me anymore. I figured he was going to let me crawl around and moan a bit before he gave me his “mercy.”

Yeah, well, I had no desire to roll over and give up yet. Part of me felt sorry for him, but the rest of me was simply pissed off. I knew I had it in me to get back on my feet and move toward Ed. It would take a lot more than two bullets in the chest to keep me down. When he shot me, I’d collapsed from the shock as my body took a hard nosedive into being a helluva lot more dead than usual, but that had pretty well worn off by now. My chest was a mess, but it didn’t hurt. I still couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t need to. Whatever made me a zombie was taking care of all that shit. I’d be slow, though, and pretty damn uncoordinated. I was definitely a mess. Ed would have no trouble hacking my head off.

Good thing I had an ace up my sleeve. Or rather, something much better than an ace. Two of ‘em, in fact.

I shifted slightly—not enough to draw his attention, just to where I could pull one of the plastic bags out of the side pocket of my cargo pants. The contents were still pretty frozen, and swallowing the chunks of icy brains down began to hurt like shit after the first few gulps, but that faded quickly beneath the blissful feel of my chest knitting itself back together. I finished that one and let the empty bag drop, then pulled the second bag out and ripped it open.

I clambered to my feet, still shoving frozen brains into my mouth as fast as I could swallow them down. Oh, yeah, this was the good shit. I was whole again. Better than whole.

Ed saw me stand out of the corner of his eye and spun, machete in his right hand. He raked a narrowed-eyed gaze over me. I wasn’t sure if he could see that I’d healed up. The front of my shirt was still covered in blood, and it wasn’t as if bullets really left big gaping craters in flesh like in the movies.

“So you’re still strong enough to stand.” Ed said, answering my question. His hand tightened on the machete. “You fuckers don’t like to stay down, do you?” His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile, but there were still tears in his eyes. “But once I take your head off and burn the skull, then it’ll all be over.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, then crammed the last piece of frozen brain into my mouth and let the plastic bag drop to the ground. Ed looked puzzled for only a couple of seconds before comprehension flashed across his face. He took a step toward Marcus, raising the machete up high in his left hand while pulling his gun out with his right.

“This has to be done,” Ed said through clenched teeth. “I know you don’t believe it, but you’re a monster.”

“Nah, not buying it,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’m still Angel. I’ve never killed anyone. Yeah, what happened to your dad was horrible, but we all make choices. Right now
you’re
the monster.”

Agony swept across his face as I ruthlessly shoved down the surge of pity that rose in me. “You can’t stop me,” he said, doing his best to curl his lip into a proud sneer. “I’ll finish him, then finish you.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. Then I couldn’t resist. I took a deep breath and yelled: “Zombie Super Powers, Activate!”

Then I
moved.

Oh, Ed did his best to shoot me again, but I’d just gobbled down two brains worth of brainsicle, and I was fast. Not outrun-speeding-bullet fast, but my reflexes were pegged at
Fuck Yeah!
He got two shots off, but I could tell exactly where he was aiming and see the tightening of his trigger finger. It felt almost effortless to simply step out of the paths of the bullets. In the next breath I was on him and had the gun and machete ripped out of his hands.

I took three steps back from him, then stepped on the machete blade to break it. I had a split second of worry that I was going to stomp on the blade only to have my foot bounce right off it, but my super-brainy state didn’t fail me, and the metal snapped with a terrifically satisfying
crack
.

I almost tried to see if my zombie-strength would let me break the gun but figured it’d be way too embarrassing if I failed at that. Instead I flung it as far as I could into the woods, watching with satisfaction as it sailed several hundred yards. He’d be a long time trying to find it.

But then I suddenly didn’t know what to do. I watched the terror crawl across Ed’s face as he looked at me, his eyes wide and full of white. He saw me as a monster, no doubt about that. I could smell the fear. My senses were so high I could hear every thump of his heart. Beads of sweat popped out on his upper lip as we stared at each other. I was hungry too, but not in the stomach-clawing, wolverine-in-the-belly way I was used to. Beneath his terror I could smell that he was
prey
. In this moment I was predator. Yeah, I
could
be the monster. A really awesome monster. I could be like this all the time. Strong and fast. Fucking invincible.

I moved toward him, and he stumbled back against the four-wheeler. “No, oh God, please,” he stammered, his breath coming in harsh pants.

“You smell good,” I murmured. Hunger swirled through me as I listened to the rapid flutter of his pulse. I could smell his brains beneath it all—every time he exhaled, I could smell it. How awesome it would be, warm and fresh . . . .

A scrape of motion drew my attention, and I flicked my gaze to the side long enough to see Marcus’s leg slowly moving.
He’s alive!
Relief slammed through me, and I took a step back from Ed, forcing down the feeling that I was allowing prey to escape.
Marcus is alive! Err, sorta. He’s a zombie. He’s really a zombie!
Wow, that would’ve sucked if Ed and I had both been wrong about that.

I took a deep breath and speared Ed with as menacing a gaze as I could manage. I must have done a pretty good job of it, because he went whiter than I ever thought anyone could be. Regret twined through me, but I knew I couldn’t back down. I liked him and I even felt a little sorry for him.

But he was perfectly willing to murder his best friend.

“Go. Run,” I snarled. “I don’t ever want to see you again. And if you kill any more zombies, I’ll hunt you down and eat you. Then I’ll kill you.” Heh. I cracked myself up sometimes.

He made a strange sort of gibbering noise, then spun and took off running toward the woods. He stumbled a couple of times, but scrabbled up and kept going. After a couple of minutes the sounds of him crashing through the underbrush faded away. I hoped he fell into a few patches of poison ivy along the way. Followed by a sticker bush. Then maybe a wasp’s nest.

A low gurgle came from Marcus, and I abandoned my brief desire to chase Ed down. I hurried over and crouched beside him. His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to be seeing anything.

“Wow, babe, you’re a mess,” I muttered. I knew what he needed. Unfortunately, I’d downed all the backup brains I had on me in my big showdown with Ed the Zombie Hunter.

I did a quick and frenzied search through the cab of the truck and then through Marcus’s pockets, but failed to turn up keys to the truck. Aggravating. They were probably still in Ed’s pocket.

Whatever. I was still strong as shit and fast as well. And it was only about a quarter mile to the car.

I turned to the moaning Marcus. “Okay, big guy, up you go!” Grabbing his wrist, I pulled him upright. He swayed and would have fallen if not for my hold on him. Worry sliced through me. How much damage had the bullet done? If I gave him brains, would everything in his head grow back to what it had been before he was shot? Or would he be a . . . vegetable zombie?

I couldn’t think about that right now. I slung him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, got a solid grip on his wrists, wrapped my other arm around his legs, and took off running.

Marcus was a fairly solid pile of muscle, I quickly discovered. I wasn’t doing as much gazelle-cheetah this time—more like rampaging water buffalo. I was pretty high on brains, but carrying Mr. Two Hundred Pounds If He’s An Ounce had me fading right about the time the car came into sight. I staggered the last few steps and let him slide off my shoulders onto the ground, barely keeping his head from cracking down hard.

Hunger growled at me as I yanked open the back door of my car and popped the cooler open. I grabbed the most-thawed bag I could find, fighting back the desire to feed myself first. Ripping the bag open, I scooped out a handful and carefully dribbled it into Marcus’s mouth—not too difficult since he was all slack-jawed and drooling.

But apparently even a brain-damaged zombie still knew what to do. He gulped them down, and I quickly slopped another handful into his mouth, watching the bullet hole in his head for any sign that it was closing. I continued to hand-shovel brains into his mouth while he made low grunting noises and swallowed down everything I gave him.

I thought I could see the edges of the bullet hole begin to close as I tore open the second bag. By the time I was halfway through, the hole had definitely healed over. More encouraging was the fact that his eyes were beginning to lose the vacant stare. At least I hoped so and that it wasn’t merely my wishful thinking.

I was nearly through feeding him a third bag when he suddenly seized my wrist. “Angel,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re okay?”

I nearly laughed in hysterical relief. He was still Marcus—and I’d been the one to save us both. Never would have thought that would happen. “Yeah. I’m cool. You still hungry?”

He struggled up to a sitting position, then leaned up against the car. “Fuck, yes. But I can hold on if you don’t have any more.”

I pulled two more bags out, handed one to him with a grin. “Eat up. I kinda hit the mother lode recently.”

 

I leaned up against the car next to him while we ate. A strange and comfortable silence descended.

“Did you kill Ed?” Marcus asked after a while. His tone was as conversational as if he’d been asking me if I’d found the car keys, but I could see aching regret in his eyes.

“No,” I replied. “I . . . wanted to. But not because I wanted to keep him from killing anyone else, or for revenge. I mean, I
did
, but—“

“You wanted to kill him for his brains,” he said.

I winced. “Yeah. And I think I would have if you hadn’t started moving.” I swallowed the hard knot in my throat. “It, um, kinda freaks me out.”

He surprised me by taking my hand. “But you didn’t. You have control of this.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I didn’t feel like I had control of this. Even now I could feel the urge to do whatever it took to get back to feeling so wonderfully high.

“You’re not a killer,” he continued. “You’re not a bad person at all.”

I gave him a weak smile. His hand was nice and warm in mine. He certainly wasn’t dead anymore. I liked the feel of it.

“Why did you change me?” I asked, meeting his eyes. “Why
me
?”

He gave my hand a squeeze. “Well, it’s not like I’d planned it ahead of time. But I always thought you got screwed by life in general. You had so much to overcome. And when I came up on that wreck and saw you,” he let out a heavy breath, “I figured I’d give you a second chance.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” Again, what was I supposed to say to that? Okay, so at least it wasn’t a random “I’ll-turn-her-into-a-zombie-whether-she-likes-it-or-not” sort of thing. He
did
save my life.

He cleared his throat. “And in case you think it was purely a pity thing, I, uh, also think you’re damn cute.”

I regarded him for several seconds. “Was it a Bride-of-Frankenstein type of thing? The monster wanted a monster girlfriend?”

His eyes widened in shock, and it was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

“No!” he exclaimed. “Oh, god, no. I never would have turned you for that. I swear! But you were dying, and that cocksucker had drugged you—”

“Marcus, it’s cool,” I said, grinning. “Look, dying was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He visibly relaxed. “Okay. Yeah. Good. I mean, not good that you had to die, but, you know.”

“How long have you been one?” I asked. “I mean, Ed said the two of you had been friends since you were kids.” Then I scowled. “And yet he was still ready to kill you.”