How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (12 page)

After several endless seconds the pain stopped as abruptly as a light going off. My legs buckled as much from the pain as from the sudden end of it, and I stumbled sideways to fall hard to the floor.

“And stay down, bitch!” a familiar voice sneered.

Stun gun
, I realized as I fought to catch my breath. A lot like the time I was Tasered by Kristi Charish's goons, though not
quite
as sucktastic. And the voice belonged to Debbie Stewart, another Carol Ann crony. I tried to turn to deal with her, but to my surprise Randy stepped between us. Good thing, since I wasn't moving all that well.

“What the
fuck
you think you're doing, Debbie?” Randy challenged.

I managed to push up to a swaying kneel, shifting enough to see Debbie with a stun gun in her hand and a defiant look on her face. Good thing Randy had my back since my left side was a mass of pins and needles thanks to her holding the stun gun on me for so long. If she'd tried to hit me again, there wasn't a damn thing I could've done about it.

Debbie took a step back in the face of Randy's anger, then jerked her chin up. “You saw what that narc whore did to Carol Ann!” she declared, a vicious gleam in her eyes. “We don't take that shit around here.”

Seriously?
I thought as I accomplished one knee up. Half the stains on the floor were from bar fights. This place was a staph infection's wet dream.

Randy's shoulders tensed. “You just pulled some low shit even for 'round here,” he said, words clipped. He only talked like that when he was really riled up. “And, yeah, I saw what she did to Carol Ann.” He took a step toward Debbie, and it warmed my heart to see her back away in response. “She kicked Carol Ann's ass, so I'm thinking you best get your ass outta here before Angel gets up.”

That sounded like the perfect cue for me to do exactly that, though it probably would've been a lot more impressive if I hadn't been swaying. Damn it, my left side still didn't want to behave, but a familiar ripple of hunger told me my parasite was on the job.

“She ain't gonna do shit,” Debbie said, then brandished the stun gun. “And you best back off!” She looked around at the crowd for support, but frowned when she saw that most were simply watching or recording the entire event for future shits and giggles.

A mild stir in the crowd behind her drew my attention long enough for me to see the familiar blond head of Philip. Relief shot through me, quickly followed by worry. The rugged, clean-cut operative and former soldier would stand out in this place like a lion among kittens, and the last thing I needed was for Randy to get spooked or for even
more
fighting to break out. Yet even as I caught Philip's eye and gave him a slight
It's cool
head shake, I realized he wasn't attracting anywhere near the attention I'd expected. He had a bit of a slouch in his shoulders now, and an unhurried air that fit with the overall vibe of the crowd. The instant he caught my signal he smoothly shifted direction to amble to the bar as if he'd been headed that way the entire time.

Fortunately all Debbie saw was that the crowd wasn't as firmly on her side as she'd hoped. Scowling, she swung her attention back to Randy. “Why you have to go get in the middle of things?” she whined. “You should be taking up for poor Carol Ann!”

Randy folded his arms over his chest, ignoring the stun gun completely. “Carol Ann took a lot less hurt than she was planning to give out,” he said. “I'd say that's even. It's you buttin' into things now, so you'd best back the fuck off.” He sounded laid back again, but I knew him well enough to know he was still pissed. Right now I was fine with letting him handle things. Even though my left side wasn't buzzing anymore, I felt just enough brain hunger to know I wouldn't have any zombie super speed going for me.

Debbie hesitated, defiance flickering in the face of Randy's staunch defense of me along with the lack of overwhelming crowd support. Glaring at Randy, she waved the stun gun in my direction. “She got off easy!” she announced, then turned and flounced off toward the bathroom.

For an instant I considered charging after her to tackle her face first into the grimy linoleum, and even took a step forward to do so, before deciding it wouldn't be the best idea considering my overall goal here.
Eyes on the prize, Angel.

With the excitement over and no blood to clean up or ogle, the onlookers drifted away to return to their games or conversations or drug deals or whatever the hell they'd been up to before. No one was giving me Fuck You looks anymore, so apparently I'd proved myself by decking Carol Ann. It didn't make a lick of sense, but I understood it all the same.

The bartender said something to Philip and gestured toward the back room. Philip nodded and headed that way without a single glance in my direction as he passed. My guess was that he planned to duck out the back door, though I already saw girls angling in his direction like sharks scenting hunky blood in the water.

I gave Randy a fervent smile. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “There's dirty fighting, and then there's fighting dirty, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I rubbed the crook of my left arm where it still had a bit of tingle. “It's okay. I'll get her back someday when she's not expecting it.”

Randy chuckled, and the last of the anger slipped away from the set of his shoulders. “Carol Ann's gonna be pissed when she can think straight again,” he said, smile tugging at his mouth that told me he didn't really care and that he'd enjoyed the scene as much as any of the others. Probably would've enjoyed it more if we'd ended up in a classic roll-on-the-floor catfight where we ripped each other's clothes off, but I could forgive him that since he'd stepped in when I needed the help.

“What are you doin' down here?” he asked, cocking his head. “Come back for a little of what I got?”

Here I'd been worried that Randy would tell me to fuck off, kind of the way I'd told
him
to fuck off the last time I'd seen him—right after he asked me to steal drugs from the Coroner's Office for Clive to sell. We sure as hell hadn't parted in a nice way. Then again, we'd broken up and got back together so many times over the four years we'd dated, he'd apparently taken it in stride just like all the other breakups, even though it'd been over a year.

Hell, if he really thought I wanted to get back together with him, who was I to set him straight? An uncomfortable tickle of guilt fluttered in my belly for leading him on, and I couldn't entirely push it away. Randy was a loser, sure, but we'd been losers together, and right now he was a loser I needed. So, what the hell did that make me?

I just gotta be careful, that's all
, I told myself as I put on a smile for him. “Yeah, something like that.” That part wasn't a lie. I
was
back for a little of what he got.

He moved closer. “Where's that cop asshole you been fucking?”

“We broke up,” I said and shrugged, doing my best to keep the ache of it off my face.

Lingering tension in his face relaxed in what seemed like relief. “I like the sound of that.” He leaned against the post beside me. “You need another beer?”

“I can't stay long,” I said, and set the barely touched beer down on a convenient table. “Can I come by your place in a bit? There's something I need to ask you.”

Pleased surprise lit his eyes. “Sure you can.” He grinned. “I got answers for
all
your questions.”

“I bet you do,” I said, unable to resist a low chuckle at the good ole Randy charm.

The women's bathroom door opened, and a sniveling Carol Ann came out, flanked and supported by her two cronies. Randy glanced at her then gave me an easy smile. “It's gonna take me a while to clean up the mess here. How 'bout I see you in an hour or so?”

“An hour or so it is.” I gave him a wink and a smile, then turned and sauntered out, sashaying as much as my skinny hips would allow. As soon as I made it outside and the door closed behind me I blew out a breath and let myself slump. Philip pushed off from the wall where he'd managed to be damn near invisible in the shadows, judging by the startled reactions of the junkies clustered near the corner of the building. They skittered off like roaches in sunlight when Philip moved toward me.

“You sure you're okay?” he said as he raked an assessing look over me.

“Yeah. Thanks for having my back,” I replied, then grinned. “Worth getting zapped to deck that skanky bitch.”

Amusement lit his eyes. “I don't doubt it.”

“Let's get out of here,” I said. “I'm going to his trailer in about an hour.”

“He has a vehicle we can use?”

“Dunno yet, but at least he's willing to talk to me.”

We returned to where the car was parked on the perimeter of the lot, and I settled in the back with Naomi. Philip climbed into the front passenger seat, then tossed a small handful of cocktail napkins onto the dash before giving Kyle a sly look.

“Seven, in under three minutes.”

Kyle gave a dry chuckle. “Nice.”

Naomi frowned. “Seven what?”

I leaned forward to peer at the napkins, then laugh-groaned. “Phone numbers of girls who thought Philip was a filet steak in a room full of cafeteria hamburgers.”

“Good lord,” Naomi breathed. “I'm surprised he made it out alive.”

“It was touch and go for a minute there,” Philip replied. “Or rather, I felt touches where I didn't want them and knew it was time to
go!
”

And on that note we got the hell out of there.

Once we were away from the bar and headed to the highway I downed some dehydrated brain chips then filled the others in on the conversation with Randy. Naomi remained fairly quiet while I spoke, and I figured she still thought it was a bad idea to ask Randy for help. Hell, she was probably right, but no one else had come up with a better solution. And, no, stealing a random car was
not
a better solution.

“He was cool?” she finally asked. “No jealousy crap?”

“He was cool,” I replied. “I think he got turned on when I knocked his girlfriend on her ass.”

Kyle made a noise that sounded
almost
like a snort of laughter, but when I looked at him his face was as stoic as ever.

I gave Kyle directions, a little surprised when he knew the roads. Randy didn't exactly live in a high-traffic area of St. Edwards Parish.

At least I thought he knew them. I straightened when he made a right instead of a left onto Locust Lane. “Hey, you went the wrong way. You need to go toward the river.”

His gaze was on the rearview mirror but he wasn't looking at me. “Tail,” he said and it took me a couple of seconds to understand.

“Shit!” Immediately I craned around in my seat to peer behind us. “How do you know? Maybe it's just someone else going the same way?”

He was nice and didn't give me an
Are you fucking kidding me? I really do know what I'm doing
look and simply said, “Made two turns with us plus this one.”

Fair enough. If Kyle said we had a tail, we had a tail. “Can you tell who it is?”
Saberton or Tribe?
I didn't need to say it. We all wondered the same thing.

“Headlights,” he said simply. “No details.” Then, “Hang on.”

He made a sharp turn and floored it, but the other car obviously had a better engine. Within seconds they were right behind us. I clung to the seat, utterly certain that our pursuers were about to ram us and send us flying off the road.

Kyle abruptly did
something
that I couldn't follow at all. I only knew it involved brakes and tight turns and skidding, and at one point we were going backward at what had to be sixty miles-per-hour, but when we straightened out we'd miraculously gained a substantial lead.

“Holy shit, I know this area!” I said as I realized where we were, practically flapping my hands in excitement. “There's a game trail I used to take back in junior high and high school when . . .” I hesitated, then realized these guys wouldn't hold my past against me. “It leads to a clearing where some of us used to smoke pot. It goes on through to the road that runs past Randy's property.” I'd met Randy for the first time in that clearing.

Philip's frown was reflected by the other two. “We're more vulnerable on foot,” he said.

“But we'll be off road,” Kyle put in. “I doubt they'll have dogs to track us.” His eyes met mine. “You sure you can lead the way and not get us stuck in some godforsaken bog?”

“I only know nice god-sanctioned bogs, I promise,” I replied. “Turn at the broken signpost right up there.” Kyle made a turn that left my stomach behind, and we bounced over rutted and winding dirt road for about a minute. “Here! Stop here!”

Kyle did so, and we quickly grabbed everything we had with us, which wasn't all that much, thankfully. As we bailed out of the car, Philip snagged his jump bag from the trunk, and Kyle looked back toward the main road. “They went past,” Kyle said. “The brush is high enough to hide the car from the road, but they'll be coming back to see where we turned off. We have about two minutes to get some distance and then go to ground.”

“Not a problem,” I insisted, then took off into the chest-high grass with the others close behind. Less than a minute later we heard the sound of tires on the bumpy road.

“Down,” Kyle ordered. We dropped to the wet, spongy ground and didn't need another order to tell us to be still as statues. I concentrated on slowing my breathing, listened as the car stopped. The beam of a powerful flashlight skimmed by, but the grass was tall and we'd made it far enough away from the road that they couldn't see any sign of us.

I heard a muttered and angry conversation, filled to the brim with curse words. After some more cursing, the men returned to their car and backed out to the highway. I began to rise, but Philip seized my arm and shook his head. Muscles taut, I listened for any evidence of our pursuers but only heard the retreating sound of their car. Even after it reached the highway and peeled out we remained still in the grass, and it took everything I had not to shriek and leap up when something slithered across my calf.