White Trash Zombie Unchained

  Anger and heartache still roiled within me, but I couldn’t deny Dr. Nikas. “Of course,” I said. “I won’t do anything stupid. Not on purpose, at least.” I grimaced as a thought occurred to me. “How will Pierce take this? Kristi’s supposed to be open and honest with you. Will he try to default back to the zombify-and-enslave plan for her?”

  “Quite possibly, but I will handle him.” His voice sounded infinitely weary, I suspected from centuries of being Sulemain-Clarence-Francis-Pietro-Pierce’s rock and solace. “I told Kyle to return her briefcase and to not allow any more feeding. You did right in taking it, but I cannot have a meaningful conversation with her if we keep it from her.”

  “All right,” I said and tried not to grumble. “I don’t like it, but I understand. And I trust you.” Besides, she could mix up another batch of the cures-that-kill if she wanted to, so there was no point taking the packets from her. “I’ll be at the Tribe lab later this evening.”

  “Good. I will see you then. Take care, Angel. And thank you.”

  By the time I returned to the cot area, Kyle and Kristi had finished taking samples. While Kristi thanked Dr. Bauer, I said a last goodbye to Armell, and then we departed without fanfare.

  As soon as we were in the limo, Kristi raised the Plexiglas partition between us and the front then gazed out the window, forehead creased in thought.

  I managed to tolerate the silence for all of thirty seconds. “What exactly happened back there? A man died.”

  “I’m quite aware,” she replied tightly. “I don’t need some backwater hick to enlighten me.”

  “How about having a civil conversation? That’s really tough for me at the moment, but I’ll give it a shot for the good of the team.”

  She remained silent for at least a full minute before finally speaking. “All right. It seems consumption of pure brains may trigger a short period of calm followed by extreme violence, aggressiveness, and strength in LZ-1 patients. Whereas brains processed with protein gel do not. I can’t draw a definitive conclusion based on a single case. The one cure trial I was able to complete on patient nine yielded some data, the extent of which will be determined after analysis of his blood and tissue samples.”

  “Yielded some data?” I sputtered. “You killed a man!”

  “He wasn’t supposed to die. That was an unfortunate outcome.”

  “Jesus.” I tossed my hands up. “What the hell happened to make you such an unfeeling bitch? Did mommy not hug you enough?”

  Kristi’s eyes snapped to me. “Oh, do you want a sob story? Maybe some tragic tale of neglect and abuse?” Her lip curled. “Well, you won’t get it. I had a perfectly ordinary middle-class upbringing in middle America with two middle-aged parents who wanted me to be happy—in their own middling way. Sent me to college where I graduated in four years, summa cum laude, with degrees in biology and chemistry. I told my parents I wanted to be a doctor, a researcher. Their reply? ‘That’s too much for you to take on. Go to nursing school first.’” She snorted. “Would they have said that if I’d been their son?”

  “Doubtful,” I agreed. Kristi had a couple of decades on me, and breaking out of gendered roles was even harder back then.

  “You have no idea what it’s like to not be taken seriously, to command the most expertise and have your opinions and ideas casually dismissed, only to watch a male coworker put forth the same ideas and be lauded for it.” Her hands clenched. “To be passed over for advancement and opportunities because you’re not friendly enough, or you don’t smile enough. To be forced to toady to morons in charge of funding and project approval.”

  Pure venom filled her eyes when I laughed.

  “Trust me,” I said. “I know what it’s like not to be taken seriously. People assume that because I’m not as educated, I must be stupid.” I sneered in derision. “You do it to me all the time. Hell, you’re the worst! According to you, I’m just a backwater hick who’ll only get in the way while the smart people work.” My chin went up. “I grew up with nothing, and yeah, I dropped out of high school—after my abusive mother committed suicide in prison. My god, I’m such a loser, right? At least I’m trying to get educated.”

  “You might have a point,” she said grudgingly.

  Why did that feel like such a damn victory? “Dr. Nikas takes you seriously.”

  She nodded once. “Yes, he does. He’s a decent man who’s far too hard on himself.”

  “That’s something we can agree on,” I said, somewhat off balance by our sudden if tenuous rapport. “Why didn’t you tell him you were going to test possible cures?”

  She touched her forehead, as if sensing a headache coming on. “It was a last-minute decision. He’d already left for his lab, so exhausted I hated to bother him, especially for what I truly believed would be trivial tests.”

  I didn’t buy into her compassion, even though she came across as sincere. “Here’s an idea,” I said. “Bother him about anything and everything. He’s super dedicated and would rather hear all the details. Work with him, not at odds with him.”

  “I do enjoy working with him.” Her lips pressed thin. “When it’s of my own volition, that is.” She leaned toward me. “You know what’s worse than not being taken seriously? Being taken. Forced to work, first for your precious Tribe, then for Saberton after they ‘rescued’ me from Pietro and took me straight to their Dallas lab, whether I wanted to go or not.”

  “Dr. Nikas hated that you were a prisoner,” I said quietly. “He threatened to leave the Tribe if it ever happened again.” No way was I going to tell her about Pierce’s proposal to turn her into a zombie.

  Kristi sat back and crossed her legs. “Did he now? He should leave the Tribe. He’d be far better off.” She pulled out a legal pad and began perusing notes, signaling an end to the conversation, and leaving me with plenty to mull over for the rest of the return trip to NuQuesCor.

  Chapter 28

  It was twilight when we arrived back at NuQuesCor. Since I was heading to the Tribe lab next, Kyle passed me the packet samples for Dr. Nikas then continued inside with Kristi.

  I spent a good chunk of the drive puzzling over Kristi’s statement about Dr. Nikas. Why would she think he’d be “far better off” away from the Tribe? She was well aware of his paralyzing fear of crowds. Maybe she wanted him to come to work for Saberton? Though I couldn’t imagine any incentive that would convince Dr. Nikas to defect to the enemy.

  My worry shifted to how my dad, Jane, Portia, and Bear were handling being thrust into the world of zombies. Especially Portia. The others already knew about zombies and had come to terms with the fact that brain-eating monsters walked among them and could actually be pretty nice people. But I’d thrown Portia into the deep end.

  Not that I regretted my decision. I’d rather have her be freaked out and hating me than see her duct-taped to a cot. Still, once I reached the Tribe lab, I tucked the water bottles from the bowling alley into my backpack then practically ran inside.

  After I turned the protein packet samples over to Reg, I found Bear sitting in the central rotunda, face puckered in worry.

  “Angel!” He lunged up from the chair. “Any news?”

  “I checked on your people about an hour ago. They’re stable.” A safe answer. Better than telling him that some of his people were restrained in the high school gym, and one of them had gone berserk.

  “Yeah? Okay. That’s good, I guess.” He started a nervous pacing. “I told the rest of my group to get into their bunkers and keep in touch with each other and give health updates.”

  “That sounds pretty solid.” I paused. “Why didn’t Nick just have you get in your own bunker? I assume you have one.”

  “Oh, I definitely have one. But Nick probably knew I wouldn’t stay in it and would instead be checking on the others.”

  I smiled. “Was he right?”

  “One hundred percent
. But now he’s still out there, with all that shit going on.”

  “Nick knows all of the safety protocols,” I reassured him.

  Bear scowled. “Everyone in my survivalist group knew them, too. Didn’t help my people at the bowling alley. I fucking worry about him.”

  “So why are you telling me you’re worried?”

  Bear stopped pacing. “You’re right. You’re fucking right.”

  “Of course I am. Go call him right now. But first, where are the others?”

  “The Congresswoman is in the conference room making a zillion phone calls, pulling strings to get more medical staff and supplies down here. Your dad is in the media room, and Miss Portia went off with that tall doctor guy.”

  “She did?” My pulse quickened. “Why? Was she hurt? Or was she really freaked out about the zombie stuff? Or doesn’t she know yet? Is she—”

  Bear held up his hands. “Angel, stop! She’s fine. We broke the news to her on the way here. Figured it was better for her to find out from us before she was in the thick of things.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “Utterly disbelieving at first, as expected. Then Kang . . . well, let’s just say he convinced her zombies were real.”

  “Nuh-uh. No ‘let’s just say.’ What did Kang do?”

  “Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.” Bear whistled low. “First he got old, like he was in his eighties. Then a knife slash kind of wound opened up on his arm and closed right back up. And then he went back to looking normal forty-something. I could tell she was a believer when she started asking him questions—really technical stuff on how it worked. Kang finally told her she should talk to Dr. Nikas.”

  I relaxed. “She’s in good hands then.”

  “Sure seemed that way to me.”

  He stepped away to call Nick. I made my way to the media room, where I found my dad playing Swords and Swagger on the big screen TV.

  I gaped. “You brought the PlayBox here?”

  He startled then faced me with a mulish expression. “Well, y’gave me a half hour’s notice, and I remembered that this place ain’t exactly a fun house.”

  “Okay. Wow.” But I had to admit he had a point. “Well, you know how I said it might’ve been from someone with the Tribe? It turns out it was from Andrew Saber—the guy I turned into a zombie when I was in New York.”

  “What, like a weird ass Mother’s Day gift?”

  I snickered. “Not quite. He had to go into hiding because there was a chance his mother—Nicole Saber of Saberton Corporation—had found out he was a zombie. And he’s using the game as a way to communicate with me.”

  “So I guess I shoulda left it at the house.” He grimaced. “Sorry, baby. I’ll get it all unplugged so you can take it back.”

  “Nah, keep it. I’d never get it set up right in a million years. But if I’m not here and need to get a message to Andrew or talk to him, you have to do it for me.”

  He groaned. “Guess it serves me right for bringing it along.”

  “Sure does.” I grinned and kissed the top of his head then went to the research wing.

  I found Dr. Nikas in the computer room seated beside Portia. Before them, amorphous blobs flowed across a monitor screen. Portia said something that made Dr. Nikas laugh, a warm sound that sent a wave of delight through me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard him really laugh. Nearby, Marla lay flopped on the floor, with Portia’s big dog, Moose, beside her.

  Dr. Nikas looked up as I entered. “Angel, I was just showing Dr. Antilles some of our research.”

  She smiled and put a hand on his arm. “Please, call me Portia.”

  His own smile turned radiant. “And you must call me Ari.”

  I bit my lip. “Portia, you’re not freaked out?”

  “I admit I had a few qualms, but Ari has been showing me how the organism utilizes prions. It’s quite fascinating.” She stood, probably sensing that I needed to talk privately with Dr. Nikas. “But I’d best go see if Jane needs anything.” She politely excused herself and left, with Moose padding behind her.

  He watched her go, smile fading.

  “She’s really nice, isn’t she,” I said.

  “Indeed she is. A remarkable woman.”

  “You don’t look very happy about it.”

  He looked away. “She is also a very sick woman.”

  I sank onto a stool. “Please tell me you mean sick like ‘Whoa, dude, that kick flip was sick!’”

  “Alas, no. Unless I’m mistaken, she has advanced pancreatic cancer.”

  Tears stung my eyes. “Well, that sucks.” Understatement of the century. Dr. Nikas could smell sickness, so I had no reason to doubt him. Dammit. I should have fucking hugged her at the coffee shop. “Maybe she’d be willing to be turned?”

  The lines in his face deepened. “It’s much harder to turn someone successfully when they have late-stage cancer.”

  I frowned. “But Kyle had advanced lymphoma when Brian turned him.”

  “Kyle beat enormous odds. I don’t have enough data to make a definitive statement, but I would estimate less than a fifteen percent chance of success with metastasized cancer. And if the turning fails, death is immediate.”

  I silently railed at the unfairness of it all. I had a feeling Dr. Nikas was doing the same. “How much time does she have?” I asked, pleased that my voice only wobbled a little.

  “Perhaps six months. Without reviewing her test results or, er, tasting her, I cannot be certain.”

  I squared my shoulders. “Okay, we’ll deal with that once the current crisis is over.” I refused to let myself believe the current crisis might last much longer. “I couldn’t get the bowling alley carpet, but I got some blood on a bar rag and gave it to Kristi. Since you weren’t there, I saved the bag so you have some to work with.” I handed over the bag and the two bottles. “This is what Bear’s people at the bowling alley were drinking. Nice Springs. Maybe the shambler disease was spread through the water? I know it’s a longshot.”

  “It is a longshot, but it wouldn’t be a shot at all if you hadn’t had the presence of mind to collect the bottles.” He gave me a proud smile that lifted my spirits. “Now, why don’t you tell me everything that happened.”

  With supreme effort, I managed to keep it all from tumbling out in a torrent, and instead carefully thought through each event to include any details that might be important.

  Dr. Nikas listened attentively until I finished. “I’ve already spoken to Bear Galatas to get his account of events. I am deeply disturbed and quite baffled at the report that people are turning within minutes of each other. It implies another factor in the transmission that I’ve yet to even consider, much less isolate.” Fatigue washed over his face. “This shambler epidemic is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” He shook his head. “I’m missing something, and I’ve no idea in which direction to look.”

  “You seriously need to stop being so hard on yourself.” I stood and planted my hands on my hips. “Even Kristi says so, and if the two of us agree on something, you know it has to be true!”

  A puzzled smile touched his mouth. “Did she?”

  “She did.” I paused. “She also said you’re pretty much the only dude who takes her seriously. As odd as it sounds, I’m fairly sure she respects the hell out of you, despite the fact that you’re a nasty, icky zombie.”

  A chuckle escaped him. “Strangely enough, that’s quite heartening.”

  “Yeah, well hold onto that good mood, ’cause now it’s time for me to give you the full briefing on Kristi and the gym.”

  “Yes. I do need to hear it.” His expression turned bleak, and I had a feeling it was both for the patient who died as well as the failed cure trial. He listened attentively while I rattled off every aspect I could remember. By the time I was done, I wanted to call Portia back in and get
him to smile and laugh again, but right now her being terminal might just make him sadder. “Do you need help with anything?”

  He patted my shoulder. “Not at the moment. You should go home and get some rest.”

  “I’ll be at NuQuesCor bright and early.”

  “As will I.”

  I reluctantly left him to his work then checked on my dad in the media room—only to find Portia, Jane, and Bear in there as well. Jane’s zombie bodyguard, Victor, sat unobtrusively in the far corner, reading a paperback with Moose sprawled at his feet. Jane held the second game controller, and the others shouted encouragement as she and my dad slaughtered a variety of monsters in the ruins of an ancient castle.

  I sat next to Bear. “Did you talk to Nick?”

  “Uh huh. He told me he respects my position and my concerns, but he wants to be where he’s needed. He’s doing good out there. Hard to argue with that. Gotta say, I’m really proud of him.”

  “Did you tell him so?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I did. You’ve taught me a thing or two about that.”

  “Glad to hear it. If it helps, I worry about Nick, too.”

  “I know. Y’all are really good together. You take care of each other.” Before I could fumble out a response to his statement, he rose to investigate a tray of sandwiches that someone had thoughtfully provided for the human refugees.

  I waited until the gamers finished the level then told my dad I was returning to the house to get some sleep. After the expected, “You be careful, y’hear me?” I started to leave then stopped by the armchair where Portia sat, bare feet tucked beneath her.

  Trusting my gut, I bent and gave her a hug.

  Startled, she returned it then gave me a curious look as I straightened. “What was that for?”

  “Kinda felt like you need one.”

  A warm smile spread across her face. “Thank you. I suppose I did.”

  Feeling somewhat lighter, I continued on out to my car.

  The cool thing about hugs was giving one meant you got one, too.