“Cripes, Angel. Relax.” He exhaled. “You’re right. About the allies, not the burning. We’ll take good care of them.”
My anger subsided. “All right. Thanks. And I wouldn’t really have burned it down.”
“It’s okay.”
“I mean, it’s concrete, and it would be really hard to—”
“Goodbye, Angel.”
The line went dead. Now for the toughest call of all.
I started speaking the instant my dad answered. “Dad, you have to go to the Tribe lab. Shit’s getting worse, and Bear Galatas is coming to get you in about half an hour. Please don’t argue with me about this. Please.”
“I won’t argue, baby,” he said. “I can hear it in your voice. I’ll be ready when your buddy gets here.”
I shuddered in bone-deep relief. “Really? I love you so much, Dad.”
“I love you too, Angelkins. You be careful out there, okay?”
“I will. I promise.”
My hands trembled as I shoved the phone into my pocket. I sat on the curb, closed my eyes, and tried to find a brief moment of balance.
A stretcher clattered by. The last of the shamblers being loaded into an ambulance. As the unit roared away, a warm hand gripped mine. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know it was Nick. He didn’t try and pull me close or hug me. Simply held my hand, letting me know he was there.
Tears filled my eyes, and I let them fall, crying for the whole awful situation as well as for how much Nick meant to me. He was an important part of my life, more than I could have ever expected. Kind and supportive—a good, decent man.
An image swam in my mind—the memory of his face twisted with revulsion at the sight of my rotting body. Yet, here he was, unafraid to touch me.
My phone buzzed with a text. I pulled my hand away to thumb in my passcode.
From Dr. Nikas.
I started to reply with a No, then remembered Dreadlocks Man.
I heaved myself up from the curb. “I need to get some of that bloody carpet for Dr. Nikas.”
Nick stood. “I have a box cutter in my car.” At my curious look, a corner of his mouth kicked up. “My dad is a prepper. It rubs off.”
He retrieved the box cutter, and we headed inside. Hardy leaned against the shoe counter, talking on his cell phone. “Yeah, honey, I know I said I’d be home, but we’re slammed, and I’m stuck until the crime scene techs are done here, and they’re still ten minutes out. I promise I’ll make it up to—” He went silent and listened.
“Crap,” I whispered to Nick. “We can’t exactly cut a hunk of carpet out of a crime scene.” The blood was a dark stain on the worn green carpet, surrounded by discarded gauze and syringe packaging and other EMT debris. Nearby lay the bloody towel Kang had used to slow the bleeding. Taking the towel from the scene would be a really bad idea, but the sight of it gave me a better one.
“Change of plan. I’m going to snag a clean towel from behind the snack bar and soak up some of the blood with it. As soon as Hardy gets off the phone, keep him distracted. I should only need about fifteen seconds.”
“Got it.”
I made my way toward the snack counter as if looking for something I’d dropped. Nick sauntered toward where Hardy continued to try and reason with his honey.
“Look, baby, don’t hang up on . . . me.” Hardy lowered the phone and stared at it glumly.
“Hey, man,” Nick said, “can you help me look for my badge? It must’ve slipped out of my pocket when we were wrestling with the Rucker twins.” He gestured vaguely toward where pins and shattered plastic and debris littered the far end of the lanes.
“Sure thing.” Hardy shoved his phone in his pocket. “Better than trying to talk sense into my girlfriend. You wouldn’t believe what she just said to me!”
The two ambled down the lanes, with Hardy giving Nick an earful. I ducked behind the snack bar counter, pleased to find a neat stack of white bar towels on a shelf below the popcorn machine. I snagged one then searched for a bag, but only found a box of gigantic industrial garbage bags under the sink. No sign of anything smaller.
It would have to do. I peeled one open as I strolled out to where Dreadlocks Man had been shot, casually dropped the towel onto the blood-soaked carpet, then stepped on it with my full weight. Lifted off and stepped again then stuffed the bloody towel into the bag. I was about to close it up when scattered water bottles caught my eye in the area where Bear’s people had been sitting. Nice Springs bottling company—water from my hometown. What if something in the water caused the shambling? It made about as much sense as anything else. Nick was still talking to Hardy, but they were coming back up the lane. I grabbed two of the bottles and dropped them into the bag, then rolled it up tight and headed outside.
“Shit. My keys,” I muttered. I’d given them to the scared girl. Maybe she left them on the seat? I peered through the window then almost burst out laughing. The girl cowered in my backseat, eyes squeezed shut.
I tapped on the window, and she let out a screech.
“It’s safe now,” I said, raising my voice so she could hear me through the glass.
She shifted to peer out. “C-can you get my purse? I don’t want to go back inside.” Her lower lip quivered. “It’s in the office.”
I couldn’t blame her. “Sure thing. Open the door first.”
By the time I got my contraband tucked under the front seat, Nick was walking out. After hearing the story, he jogged inside, soon returning with a bright purple bedazzled clutch.
The girl scrambled out of the car, snatched the purse from him with a stuttery thanks, then dashed to a pale green Kia.
More saddened than amused, I watched her squeal out of the parking lot. She was probably still in high school. Too young to see people turn into monsters around her.
“Poor kid,” Nick murmured. His hand clasped mine again. I squeezed it back then forced myself to release it, feeling as if I was tearing free a part of my own self.
“Nick.” I swallowed. “I like you. A lot. But you don’t know what you’re getting into with me.” He started to speak, but I shook my head to stop him. “You’ve seen me rot and fall to pieces. If I don’t get brains, that’ll happen again. I eat human brains, Nick. It’s revolting. And you’ve never seen me when I’m hungry. I have a monster of a time-bomb ticking within me. I’m messed up, weird, and gross. You deserve better. I-I care about you too much.”
Like a total coward, I spun away, climbed into my car, and shut the door.
“Angel!” Muffled.
I peeled out in an echo of the girl’s departure and didn’t look back. It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid, like those dumb teen-romance movies where I’d yell at the screen at how stupid they were being.
But this was reality. And the stakes were too high.
Chapter 25
On my way to NuQuesCor, I passed three mosquito control trucks spraying the ditches. Maybe it was pure coincidence that they were out in force—after all, this area was well-known for West Nile virus. But I suspected the CDC had a hand in it, as a precaution.
In the nearly deserted NuQuesCor parking lot, I fished the water bottles from the bag then stuck them back under the seat. I’d give them to Dr. Nikas later when Kristi wasn’t around. At least he wouldn’t be snarky if analyzing them turned out to be a waste of time.
I headed inside, garbage bag with bloody towel tucked away in my backpack. Instead of Billy, Kristi’s security guy Reno Larson a.k.a. Car Chase Dude stood watch by the staircase, regarding me with a smirk as I crossed the lobby. For an instant, I was tempted to call him by name, then decided not to tip my hand that I knew anything about him.
Upstairs, Billy leaned agai
nst the wall outside the main lab door. “Afternoon, Miss Crawford,” he said cheerfully.
“Hi, Billy, and you can call me Angel. Why are you stuck out here?”
“I’m a glorified gofer, ready and waiting for my next task.” He grinned. “Wait, did I say glorified?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “How long have you been out here?” Though he wore a dark suit like Fritz and Reno, he didn’t have the bulge of a gun under his jacket. Apparently he wasn’t part of her security team.
“About three hours now.” He pondered dramatically for a second. “Or perhaps it’s been three days?”
“You poor thing,” I said with a laugh. “Can’t you at least play solitaire or Bubble Popper on your phone?”
“No way, Miss Angel. If Dr. Charish caught me, she’d fire me like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“That sucks. I’d be dead of boredom by now!”
“Money’s good. I can handle it.” He winked. “For now, at least.”
“You’re a better man than I am. Er, figuratively speaking.” I grinned. “I’d better get to work. Catch you later, Billy.”
In the main lab room, soft jazz music floated over the low hum of equipment. Kristi perched on a stool in front of a computer while One-Ear Fritz leaned against a nearby counter, arms folded casually over his chest, but eyes sharp and watchful. Jacques and a Kristi-tech with a glorious chest-length auburn beard sorted through computer printouts at the center table. On the far side of the room, Brian and Rachel conversed quietly while still managing to keep an eye on everything.
Kristi glanced up as I pulled the garbage bag from my backpack. “You have the blood sample? Good.” She pointed at the bearded tech. “You there! Come take care of this.”
“Where’s Dr. Nikas?” I asked.
“He left about ten minutes ago by helicopter to return to his own lab. Being here, around new people, is hard on him.” She stated it frankly with no hint of derision.
“Yeah, it is,” I said, more than a little surprised by her show of actual empathy.
Beardzilla approached, wearing mask and gloves, and bearing a big zip bag marked with a biohazard symbol. I slipped a glove onto my right hand then lifted the towel out and dropped it into the biohazard bag. Though I couldn’t catch the shambler disease, I didn’t want to contaminate everything I touched later and endanger others.
The tech left the room with the bag while I stripped off the glove and shoved it into the medical waste bin. I started to throw the garbage bag in as well then thought better of it. Kristi was almost acting like a normal, feeling human right now, but I wasn’t keen on giving her full control over the blood sample. After checking that her attention was elsewhere, I stuffed the bag into my backpack.
“Is there anything else that needs doing?” I asked.
She swiveled to face me, gaze penetrating. “Tell me what happened in the bowling alley.”
Damn it. I hated turning over any sort of info to her, but Kristi was supposedly an ally, and needed to know. Holding back a grimace, I related the events with the same kind of precise detail I used when briefing Dr. Nikas.
She listened without interrupting, lips pursed in thought. When I finished, she tapped her pen on the pad and gazed at the ceiling, as if mulling over everything I’d said.
“Go back to the wounded one,” she said after a moment. “He was shot in the spine?”
“That’s what I figured since he stayed down. His upper body seemed to work fine, but his legs didn’t.”
“Interesting. And they took him to Tucker Point Regional, I assume?”
“Yeah. And if the others aren’t there, they probably ended up at the Tucker Point High School gym. Triage kind of thing.”
“All right. Let’s go.” Kristi logged out of the computer and slid off the stool. “Billy!”
He opened the door and stepped in. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Would you be a dear and drive us?”
Billy practically snapped to attention. “Yes, ma’am!” He dashed out.
“Us?” I shook my head. “Where are we going?”
“To the hospital, of course.” Kristi tucked her legal pad and tablet into a black leather briefcase. “I know it’s hard for you, but do try to keep up with the conversation.”
I gritted my teeth. “Why do you want me to go?”
“For your scintillating wit?”
A furious retort bubbled up, but I held it back. She wanted me to lose my temper. I wasn’t going to play her game. “Be fucking straight with me or find another lackey.”
She lifted her chin. “I need an assistant who’s able to interact closely with the shambler patients, and I would rather not jeopardize a human, considering your kind aren’t at risk of infection. Jacques has important work to do here.” She gestured toward Brian and Kyle. “And these two, well, they don’t fit the other requisite. My assistant for this also needs to have a smattering of medical experience, which I’m assuming your time in the morgue has given you.”
It wasn’t an insult or even a backhanded compliment—though she’d seriously underestimated Kyle. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. I shot a quick look at Brian, but he simply lifted one shoulder a fraction of an inch in a “might as well” gesture. Or maybe it was “you’re going to die.” Hard to tell.
“Um. Okay,” I told Kristi.
“Dr. Charish,” Brian said. “Mr. Griffin will be accompanying you.” Kyle stepped forward.
Her smile turned icy. “I have my own bodyguards.”
“Yes, ma’am, you do.” Brian’s expression grew fiercely polite. “It’s not your body I’m concerned about.”
Kristi hesitated, as if weighing whether this was a battle worth fighting, then closed the briefcase and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Let’s go then.”
• • •
To my surprise, a limo was waiting for us out front. Though not a stretch big enough to fit ten high school seniors on the way to prom, it still screamed elegance and money and “I’m important enough to have someone drive me around while I think about important things.”
I really needed to get rich.
Reno pulled up behind in a sleek black Mercedes sedan. Overkill much with the bodyguards? Maybe Kristi thought I’d attack her the instant we were alone. As much as I hated her, I wasn’t even tempted. She was so nasty her brain would probably taste rancid.
Fritz climbed into Reno’s car while Billy ushered Kristi and me into the back of the limo. Kyle took the limo’s front passenger seat, and Billy settled behind the wheel. Kyle’s presence was a relief, for that little pinch of fear that Kristi was up to something horrible with her need for an assistant—me, of all people.
I braced myself for snark, veiled insults, or other nastiness from her, but she ignored me and worked on her notes and tablet. Relaxing, I watched her out of the corner of my eye, quietly envying her ability to look so effortlessly stylish yet professional. Then again, money could buy an elegant smart watch, perfectly tailored clothing, and bras that actually fit and made your boobs properly perky. Hair cut and colored by someone other than “Kutz 4 Y’all,” and stockings that weren’t sold at the grocery store. And shoes . . . she had on elegant little tan pumps with a sensible yet attractive three-inch heel.
“Are your shoes made of alligator skin?”
Kristi flipped a page on a legal pad. “I certainly hope so. They’re the Manolo Blahnik Blixa alligator pump.”
I pulled out my phone and Googled the name. “Four thousand dollars?!” That was more than my car had cost.
Kristi made a notation in the margin. “Four thousand six hundred. Before tax.”
She returned to ignoring me and didn’t speak again until we pulled up at the hospital, and then it was to say, “Oh, here already? Let’s go, Angel.”
Billy leaped out to open Kristi’s door and give her a hand
out. Then he sprinted around to my side, looking crushed when he saw I’d dared open my own door. He thrust his hand at me, and though I was perfectly capable of getting out of a vehicle on my lonesome, I took it. Didn’t want to hurt the poor guy’s feelings.
Kyle let himself out and followed us into the hospital, a silent, comforting shadow. Not so comforting was Fritz taking up the rear. At the information desk, Kristi offered the white-haired lady there a dazzling smile. “I’m Dr. Kristi Charish. I believe Dr. Ingram is expecting me.”
Before the words were completely out of her mouth, a brown-skinned man with a receding hairline and impressive mustache burst through a set of double doors and rushed up to Kristi.
“Dr. Charish!” He seized her hand and pumped it. “When your secretary called to say you were on your way here to offer a consultation pro bono, well, you have no idea how thrilled I was. Having a doctor with your credentials and experience help us with this medical mystery . . . it’s a blessing from above.”
Huh. Some of the tapping on her tablet must’ve been to her secretary to orchestrate a grand entrance. I would have probably done the same. Cut through the bureaucratic bullshit with a few well-placed phone calls. But the way he referred to her as “doctor” sure made it sound like she was an MD kind of doctor. Never would have thought that. What kind of bedside manner did she have? Lethal?
Kristi extricated her hand, smile never wavering. “I’m given to understand a patient exhibiting LZ-1 symptoms came in with a gunshot wound. Is he still alive?”
LZ-1? What a boring name for the Eugene-caused illness. Thanks a lot, CDC.
“Yes, yes. It’s the most unusual thing I’ve ever seen. Come. I’ll show you.” He gestured toward the double doors then leveled a frown at the rest of us as we moved to follow her.
“I’m Angel Crawford. Coroner’s Office.” I pointed to the logo on my work shirt. “I’m partnering with Dr. Charish in this medical mystery investigation.”