White Trash Zombie Unchained

  He winced. “So I hear. Has anyone pinned down what’s causing the outbreak?”

  “The CDC is on it, but they haven’t found out anything yet.” That much was true. “But you might want to wear mosquito repellent, just to be safe. And don’t let anyone bite you. Same goes for Neil.”

  In any other situation, he’d have laughed, but he simply dipped his head in a grave nod. “10-4. Thanks for the toaster.”

  “Thanks for the info about the roadblock guy.”

  I exited the Sheriff’s Office, musing over the conversation. Law enforcement had to stick to the terms and limits of warrants, otherwise any evidence they collected could be considered invalid and useless for getting a conviction. But I wasn’t trying to get a conviction or find official evidence. I wasn’t limited by pesky legalities.

  With my plans for tonight set, I returned to the morgue.

  Chapter 23

  Ten minutes before my shift ended, I collected my things and watched the clock tick down. According to Allen, Sorsha’s visit to the morgue had been simply to get an update on the shambler cases. No questions about me. And no new shambler deaths. But there were nine new cases at the hospital, which left me itching to get to NuQuesCor and do my part to help end this whole disaster. Maybe I wasn’t as smart and educated as Kristi, but I could damn well wash beakers, sterilize equipment, and pipette the hell out of all sorts of shit.

  The instant the clock ticked to 4 p.m., I grabbed my things and quick-timed it to my car, worry following me. If the infection kept spreading at the current rate, where would the patients go? Tucker Point Regional Hospital wasn’t a large facility. And the shamblers needed to be quarantined and restrained and—

  A hand grabbed my arm.

  I shrieked and dropped my bag, even as the hours and hours of practicing the ippon seoi nage shoulder throw kicked in. I seized my attacker’s wrist, pivoted, yanked, and bent in perfect-enough form to send him sailing over my shoulder.

  The man let out a surprised yelp and landed in a heap before me. “Fuck me, Angel,” he gasped. “What the hell?”

  I stared for a second before recognition clicked in. “Kang?” He looked a good fifteen years older—an easy disguise for a mature zombie. “Why’d you jump out at me like that? You scared the shit out of me!”

  Groaning, he clambered to his feet. “I did not jump out at you. I merely touched your arm.”

  “Grabbed. You grabbed my arm.” With an exasperated huff, I found my keys and unlocked my car. “Get in before someone sees you. Jesus. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking you asked me to wake up,” he said with asperity as he climbed into the passenger seat. “And, I wanted to thank you for giving me a way to escape that place.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t make me regret it.”

  Tense, I drove away from the Coroner’s Office and didn’t relax until I was sure no one was following us. For all I knew, Pierce had eyes on me in case Kang tried to do exactly what he’d just done and make contact with me.

  I flicked a quick glance at Kang. “Are you doing all right? I mean, after I woke up from being regrown, it took me a couple of weeks before I could walk without looking like I was three sheets to the wind.”

  He chuckled softly. “I’ve picked up a few tricks here and there.”

  “Ha! I knew it.” I grinned. “You were awake the whole time, and got used to your new body while pretending to be in a coma.”

  “Not quite the whole time but close enough. As far as I can tell, I woke about a day after I came out of the tank. Ariston was in the midst of a rather tense conversation with a man whom I quickly identified as Pietro in a new form. It didn’t take me long to suss out it was in my best interest to feign unconsciousness.”

  “In other words, you were pretending yesterday when you said you didn’t know who Pierce was.”

  He winked. “Seemed the right move.”

  “Heh. And Pierce was sooo insistent he could tell if you were faking it.”

  “Pierce,” Kang said as if trying out the word for the first time, “isn’t as phenomenal as he likes people to think he is.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “And you are?”

  Kang shrugged. “I’ve never made claims to greatness.”

  “Fair enough,” I said after a moment’s thought. Until Pierce told me how old Kang really was, I’d assumed he was as ordinary as any other zombie “When you were faking unconsciousness, did you hear everything I said to you?”

  He sobered. “I did. And I don’t have a solution for your shambler issue—at least not one that you’ll like. Around fifteen hundred years ago in Constantinople, I saw zombies that were wrong. Aggressive, but not from brain starvation, and seemingly devoid of humanity.”

  I turned onto a side street. “How were they cured?”

  “They weren’t.” Kang winced. “The infected—and anyone who’d been bitten—were driven into a house which was then set on fire.”

  “Oh.” I passed a strip mall then drove into the alley behind it and killed the engine. “Yeah, that’s not an option.”

  Kang gave me a long look. “Other than the current shambler crisis, you seem to be doing well.”

  “I am. I’ve had a few setbacks, but I got my GED last year, and I’m taking classes at Tucker Point Community College.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he said. “I confess, when I briefly woke up in the tank, I was quite shocked to see you alive and well. And even more shocked when I discovered you were welcome in the heart of the Tribe’s lab.”

  I snickered. “A lot’s happened since you got your head chopped off.”

  “Yes, I caught up on much of the news via Pierce, albeit unwittingly on his part.” Wicked glee briefly lit his eyes. “I can’t help but find it damn funny that you’ve become such a . . . valuable asset.”

  I bristled. “You don’t think I can be a valuable asset?”

  “Don’t be silly. That’s not what I think at all.” Kang lounged against the passenger door. “I knew from the beginning Marcus was the one who zombified you. Pietro was pissed when he found out Marcus had turned someone without consulting him first.” He chuckled. “And absolutely, utterly furious when he learned what kind of person you were.”

  “Drug addict, high school dropout, felon, loser,” I supplied cheerfully.

  “Model citizen, indeed.” He cocked his head. “He wanted to have you killed. In fact, before I got my head chopped off, I didn’t expect you to live much longer. But then you went and stopped the zombie killer and saved Marcus’s life, yes? I suppose at that point Pietro could hardly claim terminating you would be for Marcus’s own good.”

  I remained quiet for a moment as I sorted through my churning thoughts. Pietro hadn’t gone so far as to have me killed, but he’d thrown me to the wolves when Kristi Charish needed a test subject.

  Yet he’d also sent a helicopter to save me and my dad from raging flood waters, and then loaned me enough money to rebuild our home and our lives. And he’d paid me rather handsomely for doing various work for the Tribe. In fact, I’d recently discovered that my entire debt had been forgiven—payment, perhaps, for saving zombies from being exposed to the public.

  “I think Pietro-Pierce and I are good now,” I finally said.

  He regarded me, forehead slightly creased as if trying to solve a riddle. “He doesn’t trust many people. But he trusts you. Or your intentions, at least.”

  I met his eyes. “I just want zombies to be safe.”

  “And that’s what he sees in you. It’s all he has ever wanted.”

  “That’s why he formed the Tribe, right?”

  Kang let out a dry chuckle. “Yes, for better or for worse.” He shook his head. “I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Because it draws attention.”

  “Precisely. And ?
??attention’ is seldom kind to those who are different, much less a potential threat.”

  “Sure, but there are huge advantages, too,” I said. “It’s a community that helps each other out. It’s a safe place, a ready supply of brains, and the latest in zombie health care.”

  “I agree.” A light smile played about his mouth. “There are pros and cons. I have yet to decide which way the balance tips.”

  I fell silent while various thoughts ticked over in my mind. Kang was over two thousand years old. Of all the amazing cities and communities around the world, why had he settled here, in Nowhere, Louisiana? Surely not because he was Pierce’s zombie-daddy.

  “You’re here to keep an eye on Pietro and the Tribe!” I cried, pleased when Kang nodded. “Wait. The Tribe’s been around for hundreds of years, and you still haven’t decided whether or not it’s a good thing?”

  “No. The Tribe as you know it has only been around for a couple of decades. Before then it was a small group of perhaps four or five. Often it was only Ariston and the man you currently know as Pierce. It was only when Francis Coleman became Pietro Ivanov and gained his holdings, investments, and influence that he was able to organize and expand—helped considerably by technological advances in communication and transportation.”

  “Francis?” I snickered. “I can’t picture Pierce ever being a Francis.”

  Kang smiled. “Francis was a decorated marine during the conflict in Vietnam.”

  “Hold up.” I glared at him. “You mean the Vietnam War that happened in the twentieth century, right? Because you burned me once before, making me think you were talking about a recent war instead of an ancient one.”

  This time he laughed. “Yes, in the twentieth century. He saved fourteen U.S. soldiers by taking out a Viet Cong ambush and then literally carrying the wounded men to safety. Quite the badass.”

  I cocked my head. “Who was he before he was Francis?”

  Kang pursed his lips in thought. “I believe he went by Clarence . . . Clarence Ambrewster.”

  “Jesus, that’s worse than Francis.”

  “Clarence was equally badass in World War I and World War II.”

  I frowned. “He sure does love fighting.”

  Kang’s expression shadowed. “He is skilled in the various arts of war, and as a zombie he is unusually suited for such a life. Throughout history, a good soldier has always been able to find a job.” He paused. “Not to mention, a battlefield is an excellent source of brains.”

  I shifted to face him. “What does Pierce want from you? I mean, he’s been nuts over whatever it is, but obviously you don’t want to tell him.”

  Kang sobered. “It’s complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  He remained silent long enough for me to worry he might bolt to avoid spilling the beans.

  “Have you ever heard of a zombie referred to as mature?” he finally asked.

  “Actually, yes. Dr. Nikas told me about them. It’s how Pietro Ivanov became Pierce Gentry.”

  “Yes, precisely. And you know it has very little to do with age, right?”

  “I think I remember him saying that.”

  “Good. That saves us a great deal of explanation.” He looked up as if deciding how to proceed. “And you’re probably aware that a mature zombie has a far higher level of abilities, such as heightened senses.”

  I nodded. “Like how Pierce can smell lies, and how Dr. Nikas can taste what’s wrong with someone.”

  “Right. A mature zombie has a greatly reduced the need for brains and gains the ability to reshape himself into the form of another by consuming their fresh brain, as you saw for yourself when Pietro became Pierce. Of course, we didn’t know the how of it—DNA reconfiguration—until a few decades ago when Ariston’s research unraveled that part of the mystery.” He took a deep breath and blew it out in a sigh. “Maturation is like an evolution, where host and parasite become one entity. Indistinguishable. And . . . a very long time ago, I figured out a way to trigger that evolution and force the zombie organism to quickly complete the process.”

  “Pierce wants to know how to do it!” I said. “But I’m guessing you’re about to tell me why forcing it is a bad idea.”

  His shoulders sagged, as if bearing the weight of two thousand years of existence. “I met Pierce—known then as Sulemain—over twelve hundred years ago. We became lovers, and a year or so later, I turned him. He—”

  “Whoa!” My eyes widened. “Pierce is gay? Or I guess bi. Holy shit!”

  Kang laughed. “No, he has always preferred women.” A sly smile lifted a corner of his mouth.

  I gasped. “You were a woman?!” I grinned as he nodded. “Were you smokin’ hot?”

  He let out a snort of mock disdain. “Of course I was. I’d hardly take the form of a hag.”

  More questions burned to be asked, but I made myself focus. “Okay. So you and Sulemain were doing the lust and thrust, and you force-evolved him. Then something went wrong, big time. Am I right?”

  Old grief filled his eyes. “Sulemain was a soldier, accustomed to killing when necessary. Yet he was also a good man—a tender and considerate lover with the capacity for great compassion and loyalty. We’d been together nearly seventy years before I forced the change, and I’ve regretted it for over a millennium.” He massaged the center of his forehead as if trying to physically ease the pain of an old memory. “Sulemain’s entire personality changed. Almost overnight, he developed a hair-trigger temper and a greatly increased capacity for violence. Not bloodlust or berserker . . . but cold-blooded and aggressive, terrifying to be around, even for me.” He met my eyes. “I couldn’t be with him anymore, although I have always monitored from a distance. It took centuries for the hyperaggression to fade such that he regained a measure of his old humanity.”

  That explained a lot. “When you pretended to fall asleep again, he went off on Dr. Nikas and punched a wall.”

  “That incident was a pale shadow of his former belligerence. It was after Sulemain rescued Ariston from the mob that change for the better began. Ariston was . . . is . . . a wellspring of calm. For everyone.”

  I smiled. “I’ve felt the effect about a zillion times.”

  “Ariston helped Sulemain regain balance, became a touchstone for the man Sulemain needed to be.”

  “Did you force-evolve Dr. Nikas, too?”

  He shook his head. “After the disastrous result with Sulemain, I vowed never to force completion again. Ariston matured naturally after about two and a half centuries as a zombie.”

  “Is that about when most zombies do the maturing thing?”

  “Most zombies never mature,” he said to my surprise. “It takes the perfect match of person and parasite. There’s no way to predict, but yes, if it happens, it’s usually after a couple hundred years.”

  “If a zombie doesn’t mature, what then? Do we just go on living like we are?”

  “The relatively few zombies who manage to avoid death by accident or injury can potentially live several hundred years before they lose the ability to repair damage. At that point, they begin to swiftly age and die within a year or so.”

  Huh. And here I’d been thinking I was immortal. “Several hundred years isn’t a bad haul.”

  “Not at all.” Kang shrugged. “For that matter, I’m sure that even an evolved zombie has a limit to his life span, though clearly it’s longer than twenty-two hundred years plus change.”

  “I can’t even imagine living that long.”

  “It hasn’t always been glamorous,” he said, face an unreadable mask.

  Two thousand years. How much tragedy had he seen? “How many mature zombies are there in the world?”

  “A dozen, maybe less.” He shrugged. “Who knows? There aren’t all that many zombies in the first place, and only a scant few of them mature—with no known rhyme or reason
. Through the years, I’ve encountered six others. None as old as I am, and none younger than Ariston.”

  “Kristi Charish has a theory that the zombie parasite controls its own population. Maybe it applies to mature zombies, too.”

  His eyes narrowed. “The doctor who wants to be queen dictator?”

  “That’s the one.” My mouth tightened. “Over a year ago, she was trying to create zoldiers—zombie soldiers. I was kidnapped to be used as her test subject. She had one of her men shoot Philip Reinhardt, then gave me the choice of making Philip a zombie or watching him die. I couldn’t let him die, so I turned him.” I rubbed my arms. “The very next day they brought in another ‘volunteer’ and shot him, but the instinct wasn’t there for me like it had been for Philip, and that man died in my arms.”

  “Because it doesn’t work like that. A variable amount of time is required between turnings—weeks to months—which is why you couldn’t save that second man.”

  “Found that out the hard way. Kristi told me it was because of a population control mechanism with the parasite, due to brains being a limited resource. I suppose that explains why there are so few zombies.”

  Kang regarded me with calm, ancient eyes. “Is that truly what controls our population?”

  I made myself consider the question. Even if each zombie made only one new zombie every six months, the population would triple each year. Given our long lifespan, after a thousand years or so, we should have zombies stacked halfway to the moon—which obviously wasn’t the case.

  “It’s not the parasite controlling the population,” I finally said. “It’s us. We choose when to make a new zombie.” In fact, as long as I’d been with the Tribe, the only two new zombies created were Philip and Andrew Saber—both by me. “We’re not indiscriminate. We know about the limited food supply. We know that more zombies means more chance of being outed and killed. For self-preservation, we don’t go around making zombie babies every time we can, but only when we need or want to.”

  He gave me a sage nod. “We’re not driven to create more zombies. Ever. There’s no zombie hormones that make us bitey. We turn people we care about in order to keep them from dying.”