White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (8 page)

The population of St. Edwards Parish included a variety of ethnic groups, income levels, religions, political views, and sexual orientations, but one thing everyone agreed on was that the Royale Cinema in Tucker Point was hands down the best movie theater in the entire parish. Best popcorn, nicest seats, cleanest bathrooms, and biggest screens, it was damn near the only place I'd go see a movie anymore now that I could afford the extra fifty-cents it cost compared with the Multiplex Six. The last time I'd been to the Royale was when that movie came out about a chick who had kinky sex with a hot billionaire and then they teamed up to save the world from giant robots, then had more kinky sex. I didn't watch it—preferring a shoot-em-up car chase action movie instead—but I swear to god every woman in the parish apart from me was at the theater to see it. Twice.

Tonight the theater was closed to all but the two hundred and fifty premiere ticketholders, which made my job of keeping an eye out for suspicious stuff easier. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I'd know it when I saw it. I hoped.

Two searchlights swept the sky, and Mr. and Mrs. Paul and Julie Wood from the
Tucker Point Sentinel News
snapped pictures as the local version of paparazzi. Gigantic posters for
High School Zombie Apocalypse!!
draped the building on either side of the entrance, and red carpet covered a chunk of the parking lot. To add to the fun, zombies moaned and reached for people from behind the velvet ropes, turning the walk into an absurd and awesome gauntlet. Dad glared at the zombies until we reached the end, but pulled a smile as a pert blonde with impressive breasts handed us each a numbered fake finger bone.

“Hang on to that,” the woman chirped. “There'll be a drawing before the movie starts for all sorts of nifty prizes!”

“So, what makes a prize nifty?” I murmured to my dad as we moved on.

“Nifty means it's something you'll toss in the garbage in a few months 'cause it takes up space and ain't worth shit.” He gave me a knowing nod. “You'll see.”

I laughed and hooked my arm through his. People milled and conversed. A lot of local big wigs were here, no doubt taking advantage of the chance to network and call in favors and make promises. Champagne flowed, but Dad took a soda. I gave his arm a squinch, proud of him for staying off the booze.

A wall display proclaimed
Coming Soon!
Zombies Are Among Us!! The documentary THEY don't want you to see.
Then, in smaller lettering:
Ten minutes that will change everything you thought you knew.
Beneath the words, a smiling woman in scrubs stood beside a patient's bed. I had to hand it to the studio. They were milking this silliness for all it was worth. When we moved on, the new angle showed the woman rotted and horrific. I took a step back. Normal. Forward. Zombie-riffic. Okay, that was cool.

Stationed around and through the crowd were at least a dozen men and women in bright blue shirts with SECURITY stenciled across the back. Justine Chu, one of the stars of the movie, signed autographs at a table near the theater door. Asian-American and damn pretty, she had sharp eyes and a quick smile, and appeared to enjoy interacting with the fans.

I spied a familiar figure stepping onto the red carpet—a good-looking man with honey-blond hair and a strong bearing. Andrew Saber, a high-ranking muckety-muck at Saberton Corporation and the son of CEO Nicole Saber. The company was one of the financial backers of the movie, which explained his presence here.

But he was also a zombie.
My
zombie baby, in fact. Andrew had been on the brink of death after getting shot during the Saberton raid in New York, and I'd offered him a chance to survive. I often wondered if he regretted his decision. He was a covert zombie in a company that did fucked up things to zombies. Dying might've been easier.

We weren't exactly enemies, but we weren't allies either. His eyes met mine, and the tension crackled between us. I had a thing or two I wanted to say to him. But not here. Not where it could put my dad in the spotlight.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A chill snuck through me when I checked the display.

We need to talk.
From Dr. Nikas.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket. Shoved the ache and worry from my mind.

“Everyone's dressed up as sumthin,” my dad remarked, lifting his chin toward a gaggle of people who were helping run the event. “The workers and movie people. Every one of 'em's in a costume.” He grinned, clearly delighted. “It's a hoot.”

“A hoot,” I echoed. “Who the heck says ‘hoot'? Besides, that lady in the pink suit isn't in costume.”

“I say ‘hoot,' and yeah, she is.” He gave me a smug smile. “She's dressed up like the school principal.”

I rolled my eyes. “C'mon, Dad. How on earth could you know what the school principal looks like?”

Amusement danced across his face. “I been watchin' the trailers and behind the scenes stuff online for months now. They even got Twitter and Instagram for the movie. Couple weeks back they posted a Vine of the principal whacking a zombie.”

I stared at him in astonishment. “I don't believe this. My redneck dad has more internet savvy than I do.”

He cackled in triumph.

Smiling, I watched the production company people with new eyes. The majority were zombified, with varying degrees of rot, but even though I obviously wasn't as much of an expert on the movie as my dad, I'd seen the trailers enough times to pick out half a dozen characters. They all seemed to be having fun, too, which was cool. That or they were faking it
really
well.

Except for one zombified dark-haired guy with seriously cool shoes—high tops with zombie pinup girls painted along the sides. He paced and fidgeted and kept glancing over his shoulder as if the bogeyman might pounce on him at any second. How could anyone be in a bad mood with shoes like that? He edged up to one of the security people, leaned close and spoke low. The security guy gave a crisp nod, then Zombie Shoe Guy moved on to another security person and did the same thing. And again, with every blue-shirt out front.

Ooooh boy, that had my zombie-sense tingling. What had him spooked? Whether it was real-zombie related or not, I wanted to know.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, “I need to go take care of something real quick. Will you be okay without me for a sec?”

“I'm a big boy, Angelkins,” he grumbled. “I can handle myself just fine. Next you'll be wanting to tie a balloon to my ass so you can find me if I get lost.”

Laughing, I handed him my numbered finger bone. “Fine. I'll only be a couple of minutes, but if I win a nifty prize you can collect it for me.”

“Better be real damn nifty,” he said with a snort, but he tucked the bone into his shirt pocket.

I kept an eye on Zombie Shoe Guy as I slipped through the crowd, and after a moment I realized he was heading for Justine Chu's table. Being short and skinny didn't have a lot of advantages, but getting through a crowd fast sure was one of them. By the time he made it to Justine, I'd already staked out a spot a few feet from her table where I pretended to gawk at a display that was nothing more than a picture of a judge with the title
Zombies Are Among Us!!
splashed above it.

Justine glanced over at my guy as he slipped behind her table, then leaned in as he bent down and spoke close to her ear. Even with my brain-enhanced hearing, it was tough to hear much over the buzz of the crowd, but adding in a bit of amateur lip-reading helped me get a few snatches.

“. . . tell your security . . . on their toes . . . watch yourself . . .”

She drew back and gave him a skeptical look.

He nodded fiercely. “ . . . feds wanted . . . believe me . . .” He made a sharp gesture at the display in front of me then froze as he caught me looking at him.

Shit. I knew enough not to jerk my gaze away. Instead I let it wander off. With any luck he'd believe I was casually taking in the sights.

Nope. He started toward me, suspicion in his bearing. Behind him a relieved Justine returned her attention to the line in front of her table.

“I love your shoes!” I blurted.

He stopped, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

I let out a nervous giggle. “Your shoes. They're so awesome, and I know I was staring, but I was trying to figure out who you are in the movie.”

The wariness hovered on his features for another second, then he relaxed, apparently deciding I wasn't a terrorist. Or a fed. Could his muttered “feds” be referring to the FBI agent in town? But what on earth could the FBI want that might connect to the
Zombies Are Among Us!!
film?

“I'm not
in
the movie,” he said in a deep warm voice that put a wobble in my knees. “I'm a producer. And a friend custom-painted the shoes for me.” His smile sent a coil of lust into my belly. “You're local?”

“All my life.” I gave him a dazzling smile of my own.

“I love the south,” he said, adding a rich chuckle. His gaze roamed over me, hot and searching. “The food. The women.”

He dragged me close for a scorching kiss, and I didn't fight it. Heat seared my bones as his tongue invaded my mouth. My hands gripped his shirt, and his grabbed my ass. I shuddered, wanting all of—

“Miss? Are you okay?” He peered at me in concern from a good two feet away. Sparkles flickered over his face, danced in the cleft of his chin.

No. Oh god. He'd never kissed me. I'd hallucinated the entire thing. What the hell had I
done
? Did everyone see me making out with no one?

Color flooded my face as I groped for an excuse, an apology. Before I could get a word out he slipped an arm around my shoulders and steered me to a quiet spot behind a display.

“It's all right,” he said. “I have a cousin who has petit mal seizures.”

Oh, thank god
. “Y-yeah. A seizure,” I managed, gulping. “Did I, um, do anything?”

“Stared off into space for a few seconds,” he said, blue eyes gentle and reassuring. “No one besides me noticed a thing. Are you steady now?”

“I'm good.” I forced a smile. No, I wasn't good. I was anything but good. I was a fucked up mess.
That's it. No more V12. None.
“I, um, better go find my dad. Thanks for watching out for me.”

“Anytime.” He gave my hand a friendly squeeze then tilted his head. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”

“I don't think so.” No way would I forget a face like his.

“Hmm. Strange. Déjà vu.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I hope to see you around.” With a parting smile, he strode off through the crowd.

I took a minute to recover from the close call. I needed to notify Dr. Nikas about the bit of conversation I overheard and the security alerts—

No. I couldn't call Dr. Nikas. I was on his shit list.

Tears stung the back of my eyes. Being on Dr. Nikas's shit list was shittier than being on Santa's shit list. It was like being on
Mr. Rogers'
shit list. You had to fuck up like a champ to get there. No way could I talk to him. Not yet. Besides, it wasn't as if I knew there was trouble brewing. No point in calling until I had more info on Mr. Hot Zombie Shoes Guy and his paranoia. I'd keep an eye on the situation myself and see what was up at the Zombie Fest tomorrow. By then I'd be off the V12 and it would be easier to face Dr. Nikas. Tell him how sorry I was.

Squaring my shoulders, I set off to find my dad. It didn't take long, considering he was toting a life-sized cardboard cutout of Justine Chu.

“Hey, Angelkins!” A grin split his face. “Look what I won. Now
this
is nifty!”

•   •   •

High School Zombie Apocalypse!!
rocked. I was the last person in the world to be a fan of zombie movies, but this one was funny and clever with a great plot, lots of action, and a few truly touching moments. Plus, even though the actors were pretty much unknown when they were cast, they were fantastic. Justine Chu played the plucky nerdy girl who saves the day and rescues the jocks and cheerleaders who were mean to her before. I particularly enjoyed the part when the hunky captain of the football team came up to her at the end, said he was stupid to have never realized how cool she was and asked her to be his date to the prom, at which point she laughed in his face and walked off.

The one negative was my stress during the big climactic scene when the heroes had to retreat to the football field and fend off the rampaging zombie students. During the filming of the movie, Saberton Corporation had used the extras as unwitting test subjects and turned them into temporary pseudo-zombies. Mistakes were made, hijinks ensued, and the zombie-rampage scene ended up being a little too real. I'd kinda crashed the filming of that scene, but to my relief I was nowhere to be seen in the movie, and none of the “real” rampage was either.

After it was over, my dad carefully stowed the cardboard Justine in the back seat of my car.

I cranked the engine. “I can't believe I didn't win anything,” I said with a pout.

“You did.”

I glared at him. “You're holding out on me? Well, where is it?”

He dug in his pocket, pulled out two little stuffed brains, each about the size of an apricot and connected by a string. “Better than fuzzy dice,” he said as he looped the string over my rearview mirror.

“Fuzzy brains.” Smiling, I flicked one to set them swinging. “They're perfect.”

•   •   •

I sat on the edge of my bed, opened my lunch box, and unloaded an uneaten brain burrito and two vials of V12 into the mini-fridge. The third vial went on my nightstand.

A buzzing itch began deep in my muscles as I changed into a sleep shirt. I scrubbed at my arms, my face. Something had changed in the past couple of days. Worse side effects. Hallucinations. Less impulse control. An increase in my already near-insatiable brain hunger.