White Trash Zombie Unchained

“Bullshit!” I bared my teeth. “We ID’d the bald man who was in the swamp and at the hospital. Harlon Murtaugh, who works for Saberton.”

  “Saberton, perhaps. But not me.” She made a sound of disgust. “I’m here independent of Saberton.”

  Bullshit again. “I have it on good authority that you’re trying to take over the Saberton Board of Directors.”

  Kristi rounded on me. “Because those single-minded idiots only care about weaponizing the zombie parasite. They’re stuck in a rut of one defense contract after another when there are a multitude of potential medical applications.” She made an angry sound. “And the farm equipment? A move of pure desperation, and a waste of time and resources.”

  “You tried to weaponize the parasite by making zoldiers.” I was vaguely aware that everyone had stopped working to watch the heated exchange.

  She lifted her chin. “And it was a failure, which is why I moved on. As should Saberton.”

  Pierce entered, effectively ending the argument, though not my tension. What the hell was he doing here, around people who might have known the real Pierce Gentry? There was a damn good reason we were maintaining the fiction that Gentry had always been a zombie. If Kristi or anyone else at Saberton figured out Pietro had actually killed the real Gentry and taken over his form, it would open up an enormous can of worms as far as how he’d done so, and might lead Kristi or others to find out about mature zombies and their abilities. I didn’t want to think what she might do with that information.

  Then again, Pierce wasn’t the sort to sit back and hide. He couldn’t stand being out of the loop in any way, and probably felt coming here was worth the risk in order to make his own assessments.

  I could only hope it wouldn’t blow up in his face.

  Kristi swept an appraising gaze over him and let out a throaty laugh. “Why, Pierce Gentry, you naughty boy. I thought I’d never get to see you again.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and glowered. “I guess this is your lucky day.”

  “And to think, you were a zombie the whole time you worked for Saberton. That’s absolutely hysterical.” She did a little golf clap. “Congratulations on pulling off such a delicate undercover job for so long. I can’t say Nicole is pleased with your little charade, though.”

  Pierce simply nodded—the safest reply considering Saberton CEO Nicole Saber and the real Pierce Gentry had spent the last couple of years in a torrid affair.

  Kristi glanced my way as Jacques finished taking the pint. “Perfect timing. I need blood from other zombies as well so I can establish proper norms. Pierce, how about you go first? Just one little tube.”

  I held my breath. Surely he wouldn’t let Kristi get her hands on the blood of a mature zombie.

  A muscle in Pierce’s jaw twitched. “You don’t need anything from me. There are other zombies here.”

  One-Ear Guard snorted. “Pussy.”

  “You’re a pussy!” I declared, leaping to Pierce’s defense both figuratively and literally. Pierce was a lot of things—asshole, jerk, prick—but definitely not a pussy.

  Kristi’s eyes shone with amusement. “Now, now, Fritz, we should be more understanding of Pierce’s anxieties.”

  “I don’t have anxiety,” Pierce growled.

  “If you say so.” Her lips pursed. “You’ve never suffered from shyness either, so I don’t understand this whole tall-dark-and-brooding thing you have going on now.”

  Pierce exchanged a long look with Dr. Nikas, then he jerked his shoulders up in a shrug. “Fine. I’ll give you a damn sample.”

  Kristi gestured grandly to the chair I’d vacated and gave him a sly look. “Remember that time Nicole asked you to take your shirt off in the middle of a meeting? You didn’t even hesitate. Perhaps you’d be willing to give us a repeat performance? Far better than simply rolling up your sleeve.”

  “I was undercover and playing my part,” he said but then, to my astonishment, he gave her a cocky wink and tugged his shirt from his waistband. “But I’ll oblige if it’ll shut you up.”

  Her smile widened. “Ah, yes. There’s the Pierce Gentry we know and love so well.”

  I watched, unease rising. Maybe he didn’t want to raise suspicion by acting too different from the original Pierce Gentry’s personality. But why would he give Kristi access to mature zombie blood, even if she didn’t know what she had?

  Pierce pulled the shirt off, exposing chiseled abs and a powerful chest sprinkled with dark, curly hair, wide lats that tapered down to a narrow waist, and arms with the perfect amount of muscle. Whuf. Pierce might be over a thousand years old, but holy shit goddamn he looked good half-naked.

  Jesus. I was salivating over Pierce. “Well, it’s been weird,” I said, slapping my confused libido down, “but I have to go.”

  “But Angel, dear,” Kristi said, “I need more samples.”

  “Yeah, well, I need to get to work. Besides, Jacques already siphoned a whole pint of blood from me.”

  “And yet your body is made up of so much more than blood, isn’t it?”

  Dr. Nikas looked up from the tablet. “Blood is sufficient for our current needs, Kristi.”

  She sniffed but didn’t argue the point.

  I shot Dr. Nikas a look of gratitude. “I’ll come back after work.”

  “Not necessary,” Kristi said, waving in dismissal. “I only needed you here for the samples.”

  Dr. Nikas held up a placating hand before I could deliver a scathing retort. “Angel is an experienced lab assistant. I need her here.”

  “Fine. She can come.” Her smile turned feral. “Besides, I suppose it would be more convenient to have you close by in case I need even more samples.”

  Dr. Nikas moved to me and took my hand. “Thank you for coming in so early.” He pressed a folded piece of paper into my palm.

  “No problem,” I said and casually slipped the paper into my pocket. “See you later.” I sauntered out, waved to Billy in the lobby, and didn’t look at the secret message until I was in my car.

  Jacques will switch Pierce’s blood sample once away from the other tech. No need to fret.

  I let out a sigh of relief. Silly me. I should have known Dr. Nikas would take care of things.

  With that worry settled, I followed the GPS’s instructions back to civilization, pulling over once as an ambulance screamed by.

  My car rocked in the wake, and it suddenly clicked where I’d seen Kristi’s black-eyed bodyguard before. The roadblock. He was the guy FBI agent Sorsha Aberdeen arrested. So how the hell was he out and about now? And why had Sorsha been after him?

  I didn’t have any answers, but for the first time in the last few godawful days, I felt as if I finally had a lead. A thread to tug. Maybe it would turn out to be a dead end, but at least I could take some action. Sorsha Aberdeen had arrested Kristi’s bodyguard for a reason, and I intended to find out why. ASAP. I needed to ask a cop with access to the right info. And I knew just the one.

  Chapter 22

  Unfortunately, ASAP would have to be after the autopsies of the two shambler victims. When I arrived at the morgue, the bodies were waiting—along with Dr. Leblanc and two doctors I’d never seen before.

  “Angel,” Dr. Leblanc said. “This is Dr. Yolanda Lafferty and Dr. Bernie Reid from the CDC.”

  I did the polite nice-to-meet-you thing then excused myself and ran to the bathroom. With the door locked, I Googled both names. Not that I was completely devoid of trust, but I was completely devoid of trust.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as both appeared to be exactly who they said they were. I didn’t know whether having the CDC here was good or bad for the Tribe, but their not being obviously Saberton was a definite plus.

  After sending a quick text to Dr. Nikas, I scurried to the cutting room to prep the bodies.

  I unzipped the first bag to reveal t
he face of a teenaged boy—Nigel Copper. Sandy blond hair lay dank against his skull, and his forehead bore a scattering of acne. Heartsick, I opened the second bag—Tristan Copper—and found a young man with similar features but clearly a few years older. Dark stubble covered his jaw, and a gorgeous tattoo of a wolf’s head was a spot of color on the pale skin of his upper arm.

  My stomach churned. These were the brothers Allen had told me about. Only twenty and seventeen. How could they be dead less than twenty-four hours after being infected?

  After a moment to recover my composure, I got the older brother onto the cutting table and made sure all the tools were at hand and ready. Dr. Leblanc came in with Dr. Lafferty and Dr. Reid, and the autopsy began.

  Other than some medical lingo, neither of the CDC docs were big conversationalists, which was fine with me. I did my morgue tech duties with quiet efficiency—being careful not to drop any brains this time—and kept my eyes and ears open for anything odd or interesting.

  As the autopsy proceeded, I picked up the gist of what happened. The older brother had showed symptoms yesterday and bit the younger. The parents didn’t know what was going on and took them to an urgent care clinic where both brothers received steroid shots. In the process, both parents were bitten. By the time all were transported to the hospital, the brothers were comatose, and the parents were symptomatic. Antibiotics, an antiviral, and an epinephrine drip were administered during the hospital stay, the same as for other patients showing shambler-symptoms. But by morning, the two young men were dead.

  “Mosquito bite,” Dr. Lafferty said, pointing to a tiny bump on the side of the older brother’s upper arm. She exchanged a significant look with Dr. Reid.

  “This is Louisiana,” I pointed out. “Mosquito bites aren’t exactly rare.” I kept my tone light, but inner me huddled in the fetal position. If this shit could be transmitted via mosquito, we were fucked.

  Dr. Lafferty’s mouth pursed. “Mosquitoes are vectors for a good number of diseases, including several varieties of encephalitis.”

  By the time we started on the autopsy of the younger brother, inner me was rocking and gibbering in a corner. Both victims had a mosquito bite. To my frustration, Dr. Lafferty excised both bites for analysis, leaving no sample for Dr. Nikas. Dammit.

  The presence of a few bites doesn’t mean mosquitoes are spreading the shambler epidemic, I told myself, but the flimsy self-reassurance didn’t ease my worry one bit.

  After finishing up the second body, Dr. Leblanc and the CDC doctors left to review results in the main office. Allen returned, and while he helped me get the bodies sewn up and put away in the cooler, I gave him a quick rundown of the brothers, the steroids, and the bites—both mosquito and human.

  “I’ll get samples of these two for your people,” he said as we heaved Tristan Copper W/M 20 YOA onto the shelf. “Let’s hope to god they supply some answers.”

  “I’ll ask Philip to swing by for them,” I said. “Dr. Nikas will want the samples sooner rather than later.”

  “Have him contact me, and I’ll make the arrangements.”

  I shoved a laden gurney to the side. “I need to go to the Sheriff’s Office to talk to Ben Roth. Is it okay if I do that now?”

  “As long as you make it snappy. No telling how many more of these encephalitis cases will come in.” He glowered at the crowded cooler. “I need to light a fire under the asses of the funeral homes so we can move out some of our guests.”

  “I’ll be quick,” I promised.

  He stalked off. I shucked my protective gear, grabbed my keys, and pushed open the back door.

  And yanked it shut again at the sight of a dark green Chevy Impala pulling into the lot. Special Agent Sorsha Aberdeen. Shit. Last thing I needed was to be sucked into a conversation with her.

  Hide? Except the only place to hide in the morgue was the cooler, and she might go in there to look at shambler bodies. Besides, I still needed to talk to Ben, and skulking in the cooler didn’t fit with Allen’s “make it snappy” order.

  Flee. That could work. Keys in hand, I sprinted up the hallway toward the front of the building. At the door to the foyer, I paused and cautiously peered out in case the wily FBI agent had decided to come around to the front.

  No Sorsha. Only Reb on the phone at the reception desk. Thumbs in my pockets, I sauntered by, gave Reb a wave and smile, then continued out the glass double doors as if I was merely heading to Dear John’s for a mid-morning latte. Once out of Reb’s field of view, I broke into a run to the corner of the building then did my sneakiest sneaking around to the back, crouching in the bushes until I could see Sorsha’s car parked beneath the morgue entrance overhang.

  She was still in the driver’s seat, talking on her phone, dammit. I stayed put, branches poking my butt, and glanced at my watch only six times. Maybe seven.

  After four agonizing minutes, she climbed out of the Impala and knocked sharply on the morgue door. A few seconds later, Dr. Leblanc ushered her in.

  The instant the door closed, I dashed to my car and got my ass out of there.

  First thing I did was call Dr. Nikas and tell him about the mosquito bites and the details of the CDC visit. Did he cringe every time my name appeared on the caller ID? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d phoned him with good news.

  After I hung up, I made a quick side trip to BigShopMart to purchase a toaster, tissue paper, and a gift bag that proclaimed “Happy Engagement!” in bright gold letters. I felt a little guilty using Ben’s engagement as an excuse to go see him, but at least it was a darn nice toaster.

  The Sheriff’s Office HQ was only a couple of miles away—barely outside Tucker Point city limits. The two-story building was painted a jaundiced yellow with dull beige trim around small windows. The green entryway might have been attractive on its own, but against the sick yellow it looked like a decomp.

  I stuffed the toaster into the gift bag, shoved tissue paper over it and fiddled with the arrangement in an attempt to make it look nice. Half a minute later, I muttered, “It’s the thought that counts,” gave up, and headed inside.

  After getting directions to Ben’s office from the deputy at the front desk, I navigated my way upstairs and down a long hall to the back of the building. His door was ajar, and I peered in to find him parked behind his desk, scowling at his computer screen.

  “Are they hiding you back here for a reason?” I asked.

  He looked up, a broad smile replacing the scowl. “Hey, my Angel of Death! What brings you here?”

  “Prezzies!” I set the bag atop the inbox on his desk.

  His eyes filled with pleased surprise. “Aww, you didn’t have to do that. You’re the sweetest.”

  “You can open it if you want. Or, y’know, pull out that crumpled mass of tissue paper. No actual opening required.”

  He chuckled and obliged. “Oh, wow. A four-slicer with separate controls! How did you know we needed one? Neil and I both love toast, but we only have a two-slicer with wonky heating elements. Been meaning to replace it for a month.”

  “And you can do bagels in it, too,” I said, delighted that I’d managed to strike gold with the spur of the moment excuse-gift.

  “That’s awesome.” Beaming, he replaced the toaster in the bag.

  “Hey. I meant to ask you the other day. A guy nearly ran me off the road Monday morning—same day that drowning victim came into the morgue. Then he got stopped at a roadblock a couple miles later and Abadie arrested him. What’s the deal with that?”

  “Why don’t you ask Abadie?” Ben asked with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

  “Cuz Abadie and I aren’t exactly bosom buds.”

  “You mean he’s a prick.”

  “I was trying to be nice.” I paused. “But, yeah.”

  Ben grinned. “Well, lucky for you I know the deets since I got passed the case. What little there was
of it. It was weird. FBI wanted our help nabbing a Reno Larson, then all they did was charge him with trespassing, criminal mischief, and reckless driving.”

  “Trespassing where?”

  “Admin building for the hospital. You know the brick single-story out back?”

  “The one for authorized personnel only?” A tingle started at the base of my skull, telling me this was important.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Even with the lightweight misdemeanor charges, the guy’s bail was crazy high—way more than anyone would have thought. But he was out twenty minutes after it was set. Didn’t even get his car out of impound. Not that it could be driven with four blown tires.”

  “Huh. That is weird.” Had Sorsha arranged to have the bail set high to try to keep Reno Larson in jail for a while? And why? “Did anyone search the car?”

  “Uh huh. The FBI agent got a warrant, and she and I went over it from top to bottom looking for anything tying him to that building or what he was doing there.” He shrugged. “Didn’t find a damn thing. That car was clean. Barely any dirt on the floor mats even. Abadie thought he saw the guy ditch something small, but a search along that stretch of the highway turned up nada.”

  “Or maybe there’s something hidden in the door or hubcaps.”

  “I wondered that myself, but the warrant didn’t extend to ripping the car apart. And the agent was hardcore by the book. Didn’t want to do anything that might invalidate the search.” He nodded in approval at the adherence to protocol.

  “Yeah, no point fucking up the case by breaking the rules, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  Too bad none of this cleared up why Sorsha had asked Bear about me and my dad. Could it be connected to the Larson stuff? Or was she juggling two cases at once? “Is this Reno Larson thing the only reason why Agent Aberdeen is in the area?”

  “She said it was part of a much bigger case her task force is working, and that she’d be in the area for a while.”

  Bleh. I glanced at my watch. “I need to get back to work. We’ve been a little busy the last couple of days.”