“Oh, you poor thing!” I scooped it up, wincing at all the stuff that clung to its skin. “You escaped the bucket only to spend the whole night in my car? I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” I looked around for a ditch or some other froggy-friendly body of water, but it hadn’t rained in a while, and the ditches were all dry. And no way could I let the frog go by the side of the road.
“Well, Mr. Fluffy, how about I take you someplace I can clean you up?” I didn’t have anything in my car I could put him in, so I set him gently on the passenger seat. “But don’t jump at my face again, ’kay?”
The frog simply stared at me, which I took as a solemn promise to not cause any trouble.
A couple of minutes later, I pulled into the lab parking lot, scooped Mr. Fluffy up and headed inside. Once we were both cleared through security, I took the frog to the nearest procedure room and washed him off in the sink, then left him there while I hunted through cabinets for a suitable froggy container.
Pierce stepped in. “Angel, I need you to—” He startled as the frog let out a deep crooooooak—made even more impressive by the resonance of the metal sink. “What the hell?”
“That’s Mr. Fluffy,” I explained. “My biology prof is an ass and was going to have us kill our own frogs before we dissected them, so I rescued the frogs and set them all free. But this one must’ve escaped the bucket in my car, and I found him only a few minutes ago.”
He scoffed. “Mr. Fluffy? It’s a frog.”
I smiled sweetly. “Yeah, well, it’s kind of like how I sometimes think of you as Mr. Happy.”
A flicker of amusement passed over his face, but then he sobered and stepped close. “Have you ever knowingly passed information relative to the Tribe or operations in this lab to Saberton or other potentially hostile outsiders?”
An indignant reply sprang to my lips, but I held it back as his nostrils flared. He was scenting me. My outrage dissipated. Old zombies like Pierce and Dr. Nikas were walking lie detectors—better than any polygraph. Everyone was getting this treatment. It wasn’t personal.
“No,” I said.
A pause, a sniff, and then, “Are you aware of anyone else doing so?”
“No.”
“Where does your loyalty lie?”
This one was a little annoying. If he expected me to pledge my allegiance to the Tribe, he was going to be sorely disappointed. I folded my arms over my chest. “To the preservation and protection of all zombies.”
A low snort escaped him before he stepped back. He didn’t seem upset by my answer, though. “Once you’ve finished with your new pet, I need you in the north conference room. Meeting starts in five minutes.”
“Got it. Thanks,” I said and kept the bright smile on my face until he left the room. Gah. The north conference room was where the inner circle held their super private closed-door pow-wows. Even with all the stuff I’d done for the Tribe, I’d never been invited to one of those meetings. Never really wanted to be, either.
Pierce asked me to come because I’m patient zero, I told myself, but logic didn’t help my overactive imagination. What if they had more information about how Douglas Horton and Connor became shamblers? And what if that information drove them to prevent more shamblers by getting rid of the source—me?
Which would be totally stupid since surely they’d want to keep me alive in order to use my unique parasite to find a cure. Besides, if they wanted to get rid of me, they’d hardly call me into their inner sanctum to do the deed. The carpet was really nice in there.
One thing was for sure, though—if they had plastic drop cloths on the floor, I was totally out of there. I’d seen enough mobster movies to know what that meant.
I transferred Mr. Fluffy into a suitable ventilated container, stuck a note on top that read “Property of Angel,” then gathered my courage and proceeded to the meeting room.
About half the size of the main conference room, this one had a good deal more elegant comfort. An enormous whiteboard took up most of one wood-paneled wall, and a screen dominated another. Eight leather executive chairs surrounded a burnished walnut table, with a pad of paper and pen at each place. Best of all, there was no plastic to protect the luxurious cream carpet from blood stains.
Marcus occupied the seat at the head of the table, flanked by Dr. Nikas and Kyle. Brian sat near the other end, and across from him was a woman I didn’t recognize. Mid-thirties or so, wearing a deep blue hijab. She had serious dark eyes that flicked up to me before returning to the tablet before her.
Marcus gave me a nod of greeting. “Angel, I don’t believe you’ve met Shideh Rajavi yet. She’s our accountant and financial advisor.”
And she was human, too, with a brain that smelled just right to my still teensy-bit-hungry parasite. How did a human get to be part of the inner circle of the local zombie mafia? I held my questions and did the polite smile and nice-to-meet-you, which she did right back, then I took the conspicuously empty seat between Brian and Kyle. Brian was Kyle’s zombie daddy, but there was no love lost in that relationship. Several years ago, Kyle had been a Saberton operative, in the final stages of aggressive lymphoma caused by an experimental combat stimulant. He’d welcomed death for long-standing personal reasons and was ready for it. But Brian stole death away from him, turning him zombie against his will—on Pietro’s orders to recruit him.
Pierce entered and closed the door firmly behind him then sat at the opposite end from Marcus. Suddenly that was clearly the head of the table.
“Let’s cut right to the chase,” Pierce said, placing both hands flat on the polished surface. He launched into a quick and dirty briefing about the shambler in the morgue and how it related to me and Judd, the suspected gator involvement, the decision to go to the swamp in the hopes of retrieving the body and getting tissue samples from alligators, and finally our encounter with the Saberton thugs and all that we discovered.
My presence was justified when the topic moved to Connor, and I was asked to relate what happened before, during, and after his collapse, up to and including the hospital and his death. Once I finished, I fielded questions, even from the accountant. Kyle gave his report next—with about a thousand percent more detail than I had on the hospital events. He even rattled off Connor’s heart rate and other vital signs at varying stages of the ordeal. Damn, the dude was a pro.
At long last, the others seemed satisfied that they’d wrung every scrap of information from me and Kyle.
“Angel killed Judd Siler a little over three weeks ago,” Pierce said. “Then two days ago this drowning victim, Douglas Horton, decides to go for a fucking walk in the morgue. And yesterday Deputy Beckett Connor appeared to succumb to the same malady—and then died in the hospital under suspicious circumstances.” He frowned at Dr. Nikas. “What have you found out?”
“I’ll begin with the alligator samples,” Dr. Nikas said. “All but one were normal. The tissue of the off-color gator was rife with a parasite mutation identical to the one found in Mr. Horton.”
I shuddered. “What happens if an infected gator bites another animal? Will the prey go shambly?”
“I wish I knew the answer,” he replied, eyes haunted at the implications. “I have some preliminary tests running, but resources are thin, and my priority must be the development of a cure.”
“Get on with it,” Pierce growled. “The samples?”
Amazingly, Dr. Nikas didn’t flip him off, as I would have done in his place. “The severed hand Rachel retrieved from the Saberton vessel carried the mutated parasite, as well.”
Marcus muttered something foul. “Saberton got away with the rest of the body, which means they’re in possession of the mutated parasite now.”
Dr. Nikas exhaled. “I’m afraid so.”
I made a hmmfing noise. “We’ll be here all night if we keep calling this thing the mutated parasite. I vote we name it Eugene. Two sy
llables instead of six. Easy peasy.”
Pierce let out an annoyed grunt, but Dr. Nikas gave me a curious smile. “Why Eugene, Angel?”
“Because it messes with you genes.”
Brian groaned, and Kyle almost smiled. Dr. Nikas simply inclined his head. “Eugene it is then.”
“What about Deputy Connor?” Pierce snapped.
“My testing shows that Beckett Connor was infected with, ah, Eugene.”
I raised my hand. “Connor is being autopsied today. Will there be a problem with lab tests and stuff? Will they find Eugene?”
“Based on the samples taken, I would say not,” Dr. Nikas said. “Eugene is as cagey as the normal organism, and detection requires specialized equipment and the knowledge of precisely what to look for.”
At least our secret was safe. Though it also meant we were on our own to find a cure. “Did you test the Paxibiotic?” I asked. “Was it poisoned?”
“It was untainted.” The lines in his face seemed to deepen. “But he was, indeed, murdered.”
“By Saberton,” Pierce said. “Why?”
“I don’t know for certain, but it is well within Saberton’s methodology to kill for no reason other than to give themselves an advantage. My guess is they acquired the samples they needed, then killed Connor so I would not have access to a live patient.”
Pierce scowled. “Why do they care? What’s their game?”
“Exploitation is ever their underlying motivator. I wish I knew more.”
“If it wasn’t the antibiotic, what killed him?” I asked.
“The earwax sample contained an extremely high concentration of”—Dr. Nikas rattled off a long chemical name—“which is the primary ingredient in Saberton’s zombie tranquilizer. The compound had been encased in a wax with a melting point close to body temperature. This delayed the toxin’s delivery long enough for the murderer to be clear of the scene—and coincidentally corresponded to the administration of the Paxibiotic. I suspect what the nurse interpreted as taking an earwax sample was, in truth, the insertion of the tranq capsule into the ear canal, where it would not likely be noted on autopsy. Further testing revealed that, while the tranq merely slows the healthy zombie parasite, this particular compound is fatal to Eugene . . . and host.”
Silence fell as we digested the ugly news.
“How did Saberton know about Connor?” I finally asked. “Allen said the morgue isn’t bugged, but they were at the ER not even twenty minutes after we called for the ambulance.”
“We swept the entire Coroner’s Office building and vehicles thoroughly,” Brian put in. “I don’t know of any surveillance devices that could avoid detection by our equipment.”
“Perhaps the phones are tapped?” Shideh asked, voice a gravelly alto.
“Calls to and from the lab are encrypted and secured,” Pierce said. “Angel’s phone has been checked, and neither Ari nor I have sensed a mole among our people.”
Marcus tugged a hand through his hair. “We’re missing something.”
“Maybe we need to have a chat with Kristi Charish,” I said, lip curling on her name. “Baldy must be working for her.”
Pierce pressed a button on the remote, and my cell phone picture of the health department doctor and Baldy appeared on the wall screen. “We haven’t confirmed Dr. Garrison’s ties to Saberton, or determined whether she was coerced into assisting them. But Angel was right about her assistant. He’s Harlon Murtaugh, the Saberton operative from the boat incident. But even with that connection, I’m not convinced Kristi is pulling the strings.”
“We monitor her every movement,” Brian said and pulled up the message app on his phone. “This morning Kristi woke at 5:40 and went to the 6 a.m. yoga class in the studio at the end of her block. She returned home at 7:10, had a cup of coffee, showered, had another cup of coffee, and ate a boiled egg and half a grapefruit. At 7:45 she called for her car, and she arrived at her office at 7:58.”
I slouched in my chair. “Okay, I get it. She’s probably not being a horrible psychopath in this situation.”
“Actually, that brings me to my next point.” Pierce leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his stomach. “Kristi Charish is a brilliant scientist who has considerable research experience with our unique condition.” His mouth tightened into a smirk. “But, as we know, she would love nothing more than to fuck over all zombies and see to it that we become her test subjects. It’s only a matter of time before she takes radical action against us, especially if she finds a way to weaponize the mutated para—Eugene. Personally, I’d rather not wait for the axe to fall.”
“You want to take her out?” Brian asked.
“No. I want to turn her into a zombie. Make her work for us.”
Kyle tensed beside me.
I stared at Pierce in undisguised horror. “Are you fucking kidding?”
His gaze snapped to me. “I’m not fucking kidding. She is a potential asset and an existing threat. We remove her from Saberton and cut them off at the knees.”
“But turning her? No,” I said with heat. “That’s wrong.”
I swung around to look at the others. Kyle sat with hands clenched and expression dark. Brian was as unreadable as always, while Shideh could have given him lessons in “inscrutable.” Marcus looked tense and unhappy, but then again, he looked like that a lot lately. Dr. Nikas sat with his head bowed so I couldn’t see his face. Was he relieved that he might be able to work with Kristi again? He’d certainly been frustrated by his lack of progress while working alone.
I dragged my attention back to Pierce, the smug asshole. “There’s no guarantee that Kristi would help us under duress. She’s Kristi Fucking Charish! She’s killed, kidnapped, mutilated, and tortured for her own twisted purposes. If you bring her into our midst, she’ll find a way to take us down from the inside.”
“Your opinion is duly noted, Angel,” Pierce said with a mocking incline of his head. “Not that you have a vote in this matter.”
“However, I do.” Dr. Nikas lifted his head, face pale and eyes haunted. “It is but one vote of those gathered here, but I cannot support such an abhorrent and deeply offensive plan.”
Kyle stood, expression hard. “Another voice of dissent here.” His gaze bored into Pierce. “Not that my dissent mattered to you when you ordered me turned, but at least we had a common enemy in Saberton. I had a reason to work with you after I was . . . saved.” He spat the word.
Brian’s mask of inscrutability slipped, and he looked away.
Dr. Nikas cleared his throat as Kyle sank to his chair. “I know I have thus far failed to find the answers we need, but this . . . this is not the solution. If you force Dr. Charish into our service, I will not work with her.”
Pierce snorted. “Come on, Ari. Do you expect us to build a second lab for her to use?”
“No. There would be no need for a second lab.” Dr. Nikas stood. “What you propose is an abomination. If you move forward with your heinous proposal, I will leave this lab . . . and the Tribe.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Leave the Tribe? Dr. Nikas had been with Pierce for hundreds of years and had a crippling phobia of crowds.
Shock washed over Pierce’s face. “You can’t possibly mean that. You’re overreacting. You of all people know how much we need her on our side.”
“It is slavery,” Dr. Nikas said, biting the words out. “We trod too close to that line when she last worked with me. Your current proposition eradicates the line altogether.” He planted his fists on the table, eyes locked on Pierce. “You would deny her freedom and bind her to the Tribe through need of brains. Much like human traffickers hook their victims on narcotics in order to better force their compliance. Would Dr. Charish also be required to spread her legs for any man who desires her?”
A horrible and tense silence fell. The outrage flowed from Dr. Nikas, thic
k and palpable.
“You’re absolutely right,” Pierce said, jaw set. “But what if she agreed to be turned?”
“Without any coercion?” He held Pierce’s gaze, and it felt as if communication beyond my perception crackled between them. Ancient zombie mojo. “You cannot be serious.”
After a long moment, Pierce looked away. “I was, but I was wrong. I withdraw the proposal.”
The tension vanished from the room, probably blown away by the many relieved sighs.
Dr. Nikas sat, hands trembling ever so slightly. “Thank you.”
Pierce spread his hands. “I’m fortunate to have such wise counsel.”
I rolled my eyes. Hadn’t I said flat out it was a stupid idea? But at least Pierce had no real choice but to listen to Dr. Nikas. I couldn’t imagine the Tribe—or Pierce—without the doctor. Hell, if he left, I’d be right there with him.
“What if we found someone else?” I asked. “Someone willing, I mean. Kristi is an amazing neurobiologist and researcher, but surely she’s not the only person who knows that crap. And yeah, there’s still the whole ‘zombies are secret’ thing, but what if we found someone who wanted to be turned? Y’know, maybe there’s a scientist out there who has cancer or ALS or something equally awful who’d be willing to come work for the Tribe in return for getting their life saved by being turned into a zombie.”
Dr. Nikas gave me a look of such appreciation and regard that I damn near started crying right then and there. “I believe such an avenue would be worth exploring, at the very least.”
Heads around the table nodded, paired with murmurs of assent. Even Pierce looked relieved that I’d shifted the subject away from his fucked up human trafficking proposal.
Shideh tapped the screen of her tablet. “I can put out discreet inquiries.”
“Very well,” Pierce said. “Does anyone have anything else they wish to discuss? No? Then I believe we are adjourned.” He pushed his chair back, inclined his head to everyone, then swept out of the room.
The others followed him out, but I caught Marcus’s arm as he started toward the door.