White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (11 page)

“Yeah. That works,” I heard Randy say. “See you at the gun shop in an hour.”

I closed the door, flushed the toilet and ran water over my hands, then opted to dry them on my pants instead of the grungy towel. “Hold your shit together,” I snarled at my reflection. I'd never find out the truth about the murder if I ate my ex.

Back out in the living room, Randy was peering out the blinds.

“Everything cool?” I asked.

He let them flick closed and gave me a crooked smile. “Uh huh, just gotta get my shit together and head to the Zombie Fest.”

“I'm on call 'til noon,” I said, “but I'm supposed to go over there this afternoon. Maybe I'll run into you.”

A frown tugged at his mouth. “Yeah, since I'm the one what invited you.”

Crap. Forgot about that. “Oh, um, a guy I work with has two VIP passes. I figured it'd be dumb to turn down free shit.”

Randy took a drag off his cigarette, shrugged. “Good for you.”

Not even a weensy bit of disappointment. “Where will y'all be this afternoon? Maybe I'll stop by.”

“Hard to say. We're gonna be hunting . . . and stuff.”

“Gotcha,” I said. “I need to run, so I'll let you get ready.”

He nodded, flicked off ash. “See you around.”

I gave him a quick hug then left the trailer, skirting puddles as I returned to the van. Though he hadn't given anything away, he hadn't acted normal either. Randy was a pro at being a piece of shit, but I'd never known him to be cold-blooded. If he'd been involved in a murder, he'd be a helluva lot more freaked out.

Okay, great. I was
almost
certain Randy hadn't killed anyone. But my Angel-sense told me there was a big stinking pile of shit not far off.

The beast awoke the instant the van door closed. Fire raced through my marrow, and blades of ice sliced at my gut. Whimpering, I fumbled the lunch box open to grab my brain burrito, then stared at the three duct-taped vials that should have been at home in my fridge. But of course they'd be here. Even though I didn't remember packing them, the beast had taken care of it for me. I couldn't possibly leave home without V12 because what if something happened and I
needed
it?

Oh thank god.
I snatched the vials and held them in a shaking fist.

No. Fuck no. Cold turkey, goddammit.

Sweat beaded my lip as I willed my fingers to open. A gasp of relief and despair sagged out of me as the vials dropped back into the lunchbox. Another battle won? No. Bullshit. That was like saying the beach won every time the surf retreated. That wasn't victory. The waves would keep coming, keep scraping away at the sand.

A harsh sob clogged my throat. I peeled out of the driveway, palms slick against the wheel. As soon as I was out of sight of Randy's place, I pulled onto the shoulder.

Cold turkey was kicking my ass. I got myself into this state all on my lonesome, but now I needed a boost to claw my way out. Time for me to put my big girl panties on and ask for help before I ruined what was left of my life. I'd have to face Dr. Nikas eventually. Might as well be now.

I called the lab, and a baritone voice with a lilt of French accent answered. “Angel.”

“Jacques. Hi.” Shit, could my mouth get any drier? “Um, I need to talk to Dr. Nikas.”

“He's working with Philip.”

Guilt shuddered through me. I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Did Philip get worse?”

“You sound like shit.” His words slapped out. “When was your last dose of V12?”

Oh god. Jacques knew. Shame and humiliation rolled through me in waves of hot and cold. Of course Dr. Nikas would've told him. “I . . . last night.”

“Are you out?”

My blood cells turned into spinning razor blades as they flowed through my veins. I sucked air between clenched teeth and clung to the outrage. “You think I took
three whole vials
since yesterday?”

“I don't know what you may or may not have done. Right now, anything is possible.” His voice remained icy cool and professional. “Are you out of V12?”

“I don't need the third degree,” I snapped. “I just need to talk to Dr. Nikas.” Damn judgmental ass. Who the hell did he think he was? Sure, I'd borrowed a few doses, but that didn't mean I couldn't be trusted at all. And no way was I going to tell him how much V12 I had left. What if he sent security to take it away from me? “When will he be done with Philip?”

Jacques huffed out a breath. “Take a dose if you have one. I'll let him know you—”

I ended the call and hurled the phone. It bounced off the dash and skittered to a stop on the passenger side floorboard. My chest heaved, and I screamed in fury. Useless, backstabbing asshole. Take a dose? I was trying to get off the crap! Calling had been a mistake. Jacques probably resented that I'd ever been allowed to work at the lab. Trashy loser Angel, horning in on his turf. He wanted me to take a dose to make sure I never got my job at the lab back.

The phone beeped with a text. I snatched it off the floor:
Where are you? Take a dose.

My bones burned. I slammed my fist into the seat over and over then typed in a reply, barely able to keep my hand steady enough:
Headed south on Fuck You Street.

My gut twisted as if it was about to burst out of my belly like an alien. I needed brains. I needed a goddamn dose. How was I supposed to drive after he got me all worked up like this? What if I got a call to pick up a body? Asshole. He knew what he was doing. He knew I only had one option.

I fumbled the lunch box open. Grabbed the vials and prepped a dose right through the goddamn duct tape. Jabbed the needle under my skin.

“This one's
your
fucking fault, Jacques.” My breath hitched as I pressed the plunger. “This one's on you.”

The V12 had me nicely chilled out by the time I got home, yet resentment stewed despite the effects of the mod. If Jacques hadn't screwed with me, I wouldn't have needed to chill in the first place. Asshole.

I headed inside and changed into clean jeans and T-shirt, then stuffed my impromptu zombie costume items for the Fest into a plastic grocery bag. He
had
screwed with me, hadn't he? Doubt butted up against the resentment. I struggled to replay the incident, but my memory of it was fuzzy. And downing an entire bottle of brain-enhanced chocolate milk did nothing to clear it up.

My phone beeped.
Jacques again?
Annoyance flared as I snatched it from the dresser. “Why can't you leave me the f—”

Not Jacques. The text was from Nick.

It was an early morning. Still good for meeting up at 1:30?

My ugly mood melted away, and I smiled.
You wimping out and need a nap?

Hell no. I was worried about your dainty self.

I grinned as I thumbed in my reply.
My delicate butt will be there on schedule.
I glanced at the clock to be sure. Yep, I'd have enough time to buy calf brains from the butcher then get to the morgue and stick them in Mr. Noah Granger's organ bag before Nick got there.

Good deal. See you then
.

Feeling more settled, I put my phone aside then sat on the floor of my bedroom and glowered at the contents of my fridge. One bottle of brain smoothie and two brain burritos. Before I'd started using V12, that would have been enough to last a week. Now, at my current mod-stimulated hunger levels, it was barely enough to get me through the day.

In addition to the dismal contents of my fridge, I had a small for-absolute-emergency-only stash here at the house, a baggie of chips, and less than a week's worth in the freezer in my storage unit. At the rate I was going, I'd need a buttload of “patients” to come through the morgue. Maybe a derailment of a train carrying a bunch of prisoners destined for death row?

Sighing, I chugged the last smoothie then closed the door and clambered to my feet. Surely the crazy hunger would die down as soon as I quit the V12 for good. The craving faded as I drained the bottle, but I threw the last two burritos into my lunch box and tucked the brain chips into my pocket, to be on the safe side.

I shoved down the worry. It would all work out. Somehow.

Humming with V12-fueled confidence, I grabbed the grocery bag with my costume pieces and headed off to Tucker Point. It sucked big milky turds that I'd been forced to take the V12 after swearing off the stuff. Now I'd have to start over from scratch on the cold turkey withdrawal crap. But at least this dose would help me get through the day. It was silly to try and stop cold with everything that was going on: Randy and trouble at the lab and the murder and snooping and being on call and school. I
needed
that dose.

Traffic slowed as I neared downtown Tucker Point, and the dozen brightly colored parade floats in the BigShopMart parking lot reminded me that the Krewe of Swampfoot parade was due to start in an hour. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I ducked down side streets and through neighborhoods. The police wouldn't start blocking streets off until the parade was ready to pass by, but I
needed
to get to the butcher shop. I pumped a fist in triumph as I scored a parking place a mere three blocks away, though I knew I couldn't take too long with my shopping. The last thing I needed was to get trapped by the parade until it was done—which would be a couple of hours at best. In and out. That was the plan.

Main Street bustled with a strange mix of parade goers and Zombie Festers, and it wasn't easy to tell which was which. Plastic beads and fake rot. Only in Louisiana.

I walked past Le Bon Décor and the zombie carnival masks, then stopped, went back, and peered at the sign beside them.
40% off
.

Ooooooo. That put them in the “not stupidly expensive” territory. Nick had bought VIP tickets for the Zombie Fest, so it was only right for me to give a little back in return. And, it would be fun to surprise Nick and use the masks for part of the day. Besides, I wanted them. Grinning in delight, I marched into the shop, plopped my debit card down, and became the proud owner of unique zombie Mardi Gras mask awesomeness.

With my treasures boxed and bagged in a fancy-schmancy artsy bag, I continued on my way. A pair of jugglers were entertaining a crowd in front of the Bear's Den and Wyatt's Butcher Shop, so I ducked around the corner and into the alley to hit the back entrance. Judging by the number of new paintball splodges on the practice wall at the end of the alley, Bear was no doubt making a killing from sales for the festival.

I set the bells on the back door jangling as I entered the butcher shop.

“Be with you in a minute,” Mr. Wyatt called out from the processing room.

“Take your time,” I called back as I strolled to the front display cases. A sign on the wall advertised game processing—everything from whitetail to alligator. Every hunter I knew brought their kills here.

Mr. Wyatt emerged through swinging doors, wiping his hands on a blood-covered white apron. Stocky, with hair the color of dark steel, the first impression was that he wasn't someone to be messed with. Yet he always had a ready smile, like the one he sent me now.

“G'morning, Miss Angel. What can I do for you today?”

“Hey, Mr. Wyatt. I need calf brains.”

He shook his head solemnly. “Fresh out. Cletus Crowe picked up the last of them this morning. Got some nice pig brains, though.”

I hid a wince. “Can I see what they look like? I mean, how big they are?”

He moved behind the right display case and tapped the glass. “That's them in the front. This for special effects?”

“Nah, for eating.” I peered at the brains nestled in crushed ice. Damn. They were a quarter the size of a human brain, if that. “Any idea when you'll get more calf brains in?”

“I can order them special, but Wednesday would be the soonest.”

My plan could still work, though I'd need more than I'd thought. “I'll take four of the pig brains for now.”

The front door bells clanged, and Mr. Wyatt looked up. “Mornin', Miss Savannah,” he said with a broad smile. “Be right with you.”

Savannah. I glanced at the woman who'd entered. Shit. Savannah Prejean. Allen's wife. And, outside on the sidewalk, the boss-man himself watched jugglers with the rest of the crowd.

“Take all the time you need, Wyatt.” She smiled at me. The kind of polite smile you give to strangers. “Angel, it's nice to see you.”

Damn, so much for hoping she wouldn't remember me. I'd only met her twice before—at the Coroner's Office Christmas party and a crawfish boil at Derrel's place last spring. I managed a nice smile in return. “Good to see you too, Mrs. Prejean.”

Wyatt prodded a brain with his gloved finger. “Miss Angel, you want me to special order for next week?”

“Uh.” I stole a glance at Allen. I needed to order three calf brains, but having his wife listen in while I schemed made me more than a little antsy. “Lemme get back to you. I'll cook these up for my dad, and we'll see how that turns out.”

“Good enough. Call me by ten Monday.” He flopped the pig brains onto butcher paper, wrapped them.

Savannah lifted her chin toward the display case. “Allen tried to talk me into taking a bite of his sandwich at the diner.” She gave a prim shudder. “I can't get past the thought of them being
brains
.”

I shoved a ten across the counter. “I had the same problem the first time I had brains, but they grew on me.”

Wyatt passed me a bag with the brains and my change.

The jugglers had moved on, but Allen remained on the sidewalk in front of the shop. No way was I going to carry contraband pig brains past him. Sure, I was being paranoid, but he—

My gaze froze on a man across the street, phone to his ear as he looked straight at the butcher shop.

Philip
.

My heart thundered. A thousand scenarios flashed through my head for why he was here, each more heinous than the last. But one stood out: Jacques had sent him here to pick me up. Made perfect sense that he'd use Philip. The Tribe didn't have a lot of manpower to spare right now, and he was the one who'd suffered most from my bullshit.

I had no idea how long he'd been out there, but I wasn't going to wait around. While Savannah waffled over ribeye vs. T-bones, I hustled out the back door.

The door jangled shut behind me. I hurried toward the street then skidded to a stop as a black SUV pulled across the mouth of the alley.
That's a Tribe vehicle
, I thought wildly, followed by,
I'm trapped
. No way forward and no way back with the paintball dead end behind me. If I cut through the Bear's Den, I'd come out on Main Street where Philip was waiting.

My one shot was to dart past the SUV. Surely the driver wouldn't be desperate enough to tackle little old me in front of a bunch of pedestrians.

No way to tank up on brains for zombie-speed, so I sprinted as fast as possible for regular Angel. The driver's door flew open as I squeezed past the SUV. Jacques clambered out. “Angel! Stop!”

Heart pounding, I dodged down the sidewalk away from Main Street and Philip. I needed to be a damn grownup, stop and give myself up, but my inner third-grader insisted that if I just kept going maybe they'd give up and leave me alone.

Footfalls behind me told my inner third-grader she was a moron, but I scooted through a cluster of parade-goers and kept going.

“Angel!”

Different voice. Not Jacques.
Dr. Nikas.

I stumbled to a halt, spun in horrified shock to see Dr. Nikas climb out of the back of the SUV and take several steps toward me. Jacques had also stopped and was looking back at the reclusive doctor. I could practically hear the thoughts clamoring through his head.
Dr. Nikas is out of the vehicle in a crowd!

“What are you
doing
here?” I blurted.

People whooped on Main Street. Dr. Nikas flinched, then paled as pedestrians crowded past the SUV. “Come to the car, Angel,” he said, voice strained. “Please.”

Shit. Dr. Nikas had a horrific phobia of crowds, and for damn good reason. No way could I put him through more pain because of my idiocy. Shoulders slumped in defeat, I headed his way, reaching him as Philip rounded the corner of the Bear's Den. I couldn't bring myself to meet Philip's eyes. I didn't have the energy—or the courage—to handle the condemnation and anger that I knew they held.

Dr. Nikas fled back to the SUV. Worry and fear and embarrassment battled it out in the hard knot in my chest as I climbed in after him. Fuck it. I had no choice but to be a grownup and take my licks now.

Philip closed the door behind us, but remained outside with Jacques, to my very small relief.

“I'm sorry,” I croaked, and clenched my hands together to try and control the shaking. “I'm so sorry. Oh god, why did you come here?”

Dr. Nikas took a long drink from a thermos, and a bit of color returned to his face. “You left the lab, then wouldn't answer texts, and hung up on Jacques. I need to talk to you.”

My throat tightened. “What's there to talk about?”

His calm eyes rested on me. “We have yet to sort out the issue.”

“What's to sort out?” I said, miserable. “I'm an awful person who stole drugs.”

“Yes, you did,” he said then sighed. “And it is partially my fault. I hope you can forgive me, Angel.”

“Huh?” I stared at him. “How the hell is it your fault?”

“I'm the one who authorized you to use the combat mod in New York,” he said. “I knew of your addictive nature yet didn't take care of you when we returned.”

It was several seconds before I could speak. “You had more important problems. I'm the one who made the decision to steal from Philip's doses.” My eyes filled with tears as I glanced at the broad back of my zombie baby where he stood near the front of the vehicle. “That's why he's messed up again, isn't it? I hurt him.”

Dr. Nikas's expression of regret told me I was right. “I didn't catch it sooner because it took months for the cumulative dose decrease to show an effect.” He touched the back of my hand lightly. “Now that I know, I've made corrections and the reversal is well underway.”

“But I hurt him and made him suffer,” I said. No way could I ever look Philip in the face again.

“It's you I'm concerned about now,” Dr. Nikas said.

The lump in my throat thickened. “Don't worry,” I said. “I won't come back to the lab. I understand.”

“No, you don't understand,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I
need
you to come back.”

Baffled, I struggled to make sense of his words. “Come back? Why?” Punishment or imprisonment seemed unlikely at this point. Dr. Nikas wasn't the type to be all sneaky like that.

He gave me a gentle smile. “You're part of my team. You, Jacques, and Reg. I don't want to lose you.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Even after everything I did?”

He covered my hand with his. “It isn't what you did, but what you
didn't
do that I'd like to change.”

I blinked. “What didn't I do?”

His eyes met mine. “You didn't trust me. I would very much like it if you would.”

Damn. I bit my lip. “I was using the V12 for a few weeks before I realized it was helping the dyslexia.” I sniffled and wiped at my eyes. “By that time I didn't know what the heck I could say, y'know? ‘I've been skimming drugs, but hey, they have a cool side effect.'”

His gentle understanding didn't waver one bit. “I'm sorry I didn't catch it sooner.”

If he'd yelled at me and been angry it would have been easier to handle than his quiet patience.
It ends now,
I thought fiercely.
The bullshit ends now
. I'd rather pull my own guts out than see his compassion turn to disappointment.