White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (22 page)

My amazement increased as I flipped through the pages. In each of the dozen or so finished drawings, I
picked out tiny lettering worked into the intricate and beautiful abstract designs, or curving around the edges of the figures. Without a magnifying glass, I couldn’t get much from them other than the realization that she’d meticulously offered a shitload of information. More details. More confidential and proprietary information that I had no doubt would be damn useful to Pietro and his organization.

I looked over at Brian, passed the drawings to him. Expression grim, he took them while I returned my attention to Heather. “What would happen if you got ransomed back?”

“Best case scenario is they’d kill me,” she said. The cloying scent of fear thickened. “Worst is they’d use me.”

Brian tucked the drawings under his arm and exited the room, expression not shifting at all from
grim
.

I had a feeling I knew, but I had to ask it anyway. “Use you? How?”

“They need test subjects.”

Zombie research. Yeah, I bet they did. “I’ll tell you right now I won’t let that happen,” I assured her.

Heather’s gaze went to the sprinkler above her, then dropped back to me. “No matter what it takes?” she asked, voice quiet but intense. “I can’t go back there.”

I knew exactly what she was asking me. I flicked my own glance at the sprinkler, which I realized probably housed a camera or something. “Whatever it takes,” I said. Somehow. Shit. I’d worked in the morgue for long enough to know the human weak spots, and I was pretty sure I knew how to kill someone quickly. But damn, could I kill someone I actually
liked?
And yes, I did like her, despite everything.

I looked back to her. “Why did you leave?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” she sighed.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She tried to lift a hand, but was brought up short by
the restraints. A mixture of annoyance and resignation passed over her face before she began to speak again. “Late last Friday my zombie friend Garrett got called in for a check up, but never came back.” She exhaled. “I tend to not let things like that rest, and went looking for him early the next morning. I knew where he’d gone, so I figured that was the best place to start and got in without tripping the alarm, no problem.”

“At first, I thought it was exactly what I was expecting—a medical station—but there was a gas chromatograph-mass spectrometer, microscope, fume hood, and other equipment that made me think more of some sort of lab,” Heather explained. “I’d only been in a minute when I heard someone unlocking the door, and I ducked into a side room.” She hesitated and a look of revulsion mixed with anger came over her. “The room wasn’t empty. Garrett was there, strapped to an exam table, alive…and vivisected, with all sorts of monitors and tubes connected to him. He had duct tape over his mouth, and…” She swallowed. “And the look in his eyes. Oh my god.”

Fury welled within me, but I stayed silent.

“The door opened, and I barely had time to press myself against the far side of a cabinet and pray whoever it was wouldn’t look my way,” she said. “A man came in, took some blood and direct organ samples, messed with the monitors, all the while talking shit to Garrett about how he’d be there a long time, so he better get used to it. Said he’d be back in a while for more samples, then headed out.”

“Jesus,” I breathed.

“The whole thing set off something I’d never felt before,” she said with a shake of her head. “Beyond anger. It was still and focused and kind of scary. I fed Garrett brains until he, uh, could get himself back together and wouldn’t kill me for my own, unhooked and unstrapped him,
then went and found the guy who’d been cutting on him.” She paused, mouth tightening. “By that time, I’d recognized him as Brent from research and development. But it didn’t matter that I knew him.” A haunted look came over her face. “I had every intention of killing him.”

“Wait. Brent Stewart!” I exclaimed. The movie set victim. “I
knew
there was more to that.”

She swallowed, nodded. “I followed him, looking for a place where I could make it seem like an accident. Once he got onto the school grounds and behind the trailers, I knew it wouldn’t get much better. I hit him hard in the head with a two by four, then pulled the scaffold pipe down to mask the blow.”

“You did a good job,” I told her. “It’s still classified as an accident.”

She lifted her eyes to mine. “I know. Pretty cold-blooded.”

I shrugged. I sure as hell couldn’t judge her. I’d have probably done the same damn thing if some asshole was torturing a friend. “What happened to Garrett?” I asked.

“He headed off with a bag of brain slices and a plan to go into hiding big time. Haven’t seen him since.” Sick anger flashed over her face. “Garrett worked hard as a driver. I know he didn’t have any idea what he was getting into when he signed on with Saberton. They promised him a regular supply of brains. Didn’t tell him what else they intended.”

My gut was tight with horror over the whole scenario, but I simply nodded.

“So I’d gotten an up close and personal look at what Saberton was doing with zombies, and I’d killed one of the research guys,” Heather continued, voice strained, “but they hadn’t figured out it was me. I wasn’t ready to jump ship yet, but I wanted to know more about my options. I went back to check out some Saberton confidentials
on Mr. Ivanov’s organization. I got into the security feeds without any problems,” she said as if it was nothing. “But what I saw…” Her face paled.

“What was it?” I prompted.

Her eyes went to me. “The first video I pulled of any significance was of you, Angel,” she said to my utter surprise. “I saw everything Kristi Charish’s team did to you. Locking you in a cage, searching you.” She swallowed. “And what they made you do to Philip and Aaron.”

Numb, cold horror set in.
Videos of all that are out where people can see them
.

But Heather was still talking. “And there were more videos: with Philip, when he bit Tim Bell and Roland Westfeld, and with some other zombies later.” Tears came to her eyes. “With my mother and brother right there. Condoning all of it.”

I considered everything she’d told me. “What exactly did you
do
for Saberton?”

Heather twisted her head to wipe her eyes on her shoulder. “On the surface, I worked in the PR department and was a photographer for them,” she said. “In reality, I did industrial espionage. And I was good at it.” She said it as a statement of fact, no ego attached. “My grandfather had done espionage-type work for the military. He figured out early on that I
loved
it, so he taught me, doted on me, groomed me almost my whole life.” An odd sadness touched her eyes. “My mother didn’t seem to have any problem with it, encouraged it even. So at an early age, Nicole Saber’s daughter dropped out of memory, presumed off at boarding school, and I got to do what I loved. Pretty lucky, huh?”

I made a noncommittal grunt. In light of recent developments, I didn’t think she was feeling all that lucky.

“No one other than my grandfather, mother, brother, and a few insiders knew me as anything other than Heather Lucas, a nobody corporate photographer. And I
guess it was all just a big game for me until…Kang. And then Garrett. And the vids.” Tears glimmered in her eyes again. “But it’s not a game.”

“No,” I said quietly. “It really isn’t.”

She sighed, expression haunted. “Yeah, can’t just call a do over. And now I know how dirty I am. Life really sucks sometimes.”

I gave a soft snort. “I know ‘suck.’ Trust me.”

“If I hadn’t freaked the hell out when you IDed me as a Saber, I had the big plan of escaping tonight. I already had the door disabled. Not that I wanted to go, but I had to, y’know?” Heather took a deeper breath, glanced up at the sprinkler. “I swear, in those drawings I gave you everything I had that’s of use.”

I had no doubt Brian was making a
lot
of phone calls right now. “What happened after Brian caught you taking pics?”

Heather made a pained face. “I already knew I wanted out. No doubt about it. But getting out from under Saberton would take some time and planning. At the hospital after Brian,” she lifted her splinted hand slightly, “I had the fantasy that I could just switch sides.” She let out a low snort. “Like anything is that simple when dealing with this kind of thing. So I let that go and headed back to my hotel room to come up with an exit strategy.” She grimaced.

I gave her a
Keep Going
nod.

“My brother was there,” she said after a moment. “Andrew Saber. And everything went downhill after that.”

I remembered him from the Gala. Tall, Blond, and Serious. “He knew?”

Her grimace deepened. “He knew I’d killed Brent Stewart. Put pressure on me about getting myself in line with the company philosophy. Threatened to let our mother know I’d killed the guy if I didn’t.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Mother can be…vicious, and I
know my brother really well. I’d never be anything but his bitch for life if I agreed. I should have let it go. Should have agreed to anything just to get out of there, but I was exhausted, on edge and already doubting so much.” A look of anguish came over her features.

“Did you kill him too?” I asked uncertainly.

“No!” she replied, eyes widening in shock. She shook her head in a firm motion. “No. God no. But I didn’t let it go when I should have. I told him I was through with all of the Saberton crap.” She winced. “Not a good thing to say to the next CEO. We argued and it turned ugly. Physical. He’s stronger, but I’m quicker and I’ve had more training. I got in a lucky punch that laid him out, and left him hog-tied with the bed sheet.” She looked at me. “That’s when I knew it was over. They’d never trust me again. And so I had no choice but to run. Right then, with no plans or arrangements made.”

“Okay. Wow.” I fell silent for a moment while I processed it all. “I’m gonna help you any way I can,” I finally said.

She gave me a weak smile. “You already did. The rest is gravy.”

“I mean it,” I said, frowning. “I’m real good at doing stupid shit. And I’m gonna bring it hard if Brian doesn’t come in here with a goddamn welcome home fruit basket.”

Her brow creased in worry. “Angel, it’s okay. There won’t be any welcome home fruit basket and it’s okay. I don’t want you getting yourself messed up over this. Really.”

“No, it’s not okay,” I stated firmly. “And that’s all there is to it.”

“Damn it.” She shifted in the restraints, tried unsuccessfully to sit up. “Don’t. Please don’t do anything stupid. And you know it would be. I mean, you have no idea how cool it is you have my back, but it would still end the same.”

I gave a snort of amusement, smiled. “You really don’t know me very well, do you?”

“Oh, man.” She winced. “I’m afraid I do.”

“I won’t let them do bad shit to you,” I said with a shake of my head. “I
can’t
.”

The door opened, and Brian entered with one of the drawings in his hand, face in
unreadable
mode.

Heather’s gaze went to the drawing, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Yeah, no fruit basket.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded. “Brian?”

“She’s the one who turned us over to Saberton four years ago,” he said, voice even but carrying a dark undertone that sent a chill down my back. “It’s why they know about zombies. Why they know so
much
about zombies.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. “How?”

Brian opened his mouth to speak, but Heather beat him to it.

“Got into one of Mr. Ivanov’s safes,” she said. “I copied a bunch of research material. I didn’t realize what it was until later.” She grimaced. “After that I spent almost a year gathering more information on zombies. That’s how I ended up with John Kang.”

“Damn,” I breathed, but then I shook my head. Lifting my chin, I looked back to Brian. “You can’t lay all that at her feet. Charish was ready to sell us out to the highest bidder. It would’ve happened at some point.”

Brian seemed unmoved. “Angel, I need to speak with Heather alone now.”

“Yeah,” I said tightly. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“It has to happen,” he stated. “I give you my word that nothing will happen to Heather in that time.”

I hesitated, but the memory of the hole in the office wall rose. He wouldn’t have punched a wall in frustration if he was totally okay with treating her like the enemy.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m trusting you.” And with that I gave Heather’s hand a squeeze and stepped out.

*   *   *

I obediently went off with the taciturn Jacques and allowed him to draw vials and vials of blood, after which I downed a fresh, warm puff pastry stuffed with brains and a to-die-for smoothie that Jacques called Dr. Nikas’s Special Blend. It sure beat the hell out of juice and cookies. Yet then I had to wait—very impatiently—for what was close to half an hour before Brian returned. Didn’t help that all I had to read was a decade-old issue of
Field & Stream
. Seriously, what the hell? Didn’t zombies keep up their magazine subscriptions?

When Brian came to get me, his face was still utterly unreadable. I stood and set the magazine down, crossed my arms defiantly over my chest, and looked up at him with as much authority as a short and skinny high school dropout zombie could muster.

“I’m not much of a fighter, Brian,” I warned him in a low voice, “but I’m mean, and I don’t quit. So I sure as hell hope you have something good to tell me.”

His expression turned grim, and dread curled into a tight knot in my gut as he approached.

“Goddammit, Brian,” I said, unable to keep my voice from shaking in anger and stress. “Have you already done something awful to her?”

I caught a faint whiff of cherry, and then before I could react, the stoic Brian Archer took hold of my shoulders and planted a big brotherly Cherry ChapStick laden smooch right on my lips. He’d smeared it on extra thick too, the bastard.

“No.” He pulled back, faint smile playing about his mouth.

A laugh of delirious relief burst out of me, even as I wiped the thick smudge of lip balm off my mouth with the back of my hand. “Oh my god, you must’ve used half a stick. So everything’s okay? She’s gonna be okay?”