White Trash Zombie Unchained

  I held my frustration at bay with effort. I’d tugged this thread hard and so far had nothing to show for it. Great. Found Reno’s car. Tore it apart. But I—

  The sound of tires on gravel cut my pity party short. Headlights of an approaching car shone through the trees. With only seconds before the vehicle made the curve, I scrambled into the trunk and pulled the lid shut to barely a crack so I could see who was coming.

  To my everlasting annoyance, a battered green pickup stopped right outside the impound lot gate. A man stepped out—at least six feet tall and skinny, with a potbelly that made him look nine months pregnant. With twins. Impressive, in a grossly disproportioned way. I eyed him as he fumbled with the key for the gate lock. Long, stringy hair. Dingy flannel over a grubby white t-shirt. Stained jeans.

  Potbelly Guy wrestled the lock open and pulled the gate aside. “C’mon, babydoll.” He waved for the passenger to join him.

  A woman with painfully red hair climbed out. She wore a crop top, exposing a midriff that had never known a situp. A black mini skirt at least two sizes too small strained over lumpy curves.

  As she stepped around the pickup, I got a good look at her face. I clamped a hand over my mouth to hold back a chortle. Carol Ann Pruitt who, back in the day, had tried to steal my then-boyfriend Randy away from me. And this past fall she’d tried to bust my skull open with a pool cue during a bar fight, only to end up on the floor after I laid her skanky ass out with one brain-fueled punch.

  “Bubba baby, why’d you bring me way out here?” Carol Ann whined. “It’s creepy.”

  “Come on, I got a surprise for you.” Bubba held out a hand for her. Pouting, she took it and allowed him to lead her into the yard.

  “Now you gotta close your eyes,” he said, grinning—or as much as a body could grin with only a scattered handful of teeth in his mouth.

  Carol Ann giggled and squeezed her eyes shut. “You gonna do something nasty to me?”

  “Aww baby, all sorts of nasty.” Bubba led her around to the front of the Camaro—directly across from where I was hiding. “Okay, you can look now!”

  She let out a gasp. “Oh my god! Is it yours? It’s so gorgeous!” She rushed forward to stroke her hands over the sports car.

  “Nah, ain’t mine, but that don’t mean we can’t have some fun on it.” He patted the hood and leered.

  “On it?” Carol Ann’s face puckered. “You mean we can’t drive it?”

  Bubba shifted uncomfortably. “Well, no. Not this one, anyhow. I could get in a heap of trouble. But, um, next time I get me a hot car in, I’ll make sure your purty little ass gets in the driver’s seat.”

  Carol Ann squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “You’re the best, Bubba!”

  Or maybe she’d said “the best Bubba” because she was hedging her bets. Either way, she seemed plenty satisfied with his offer. She did a little jump and wrapped her legs around Bubba’s waist. Or mostly around, since the size of his belly made the feat impossible. Not to mention, Carol Ann wasn’t exactly petite, and Bubba didn’t have a ton of muscle tone.

  The result was Carol Ann trying to tighten her legs to hold on while Bubba staggered to keep his balance. He saved them from crashing to the ground only by turning and falling forward onto the hood of the Camaro, with Carol Ann flat on her back.

  “Aww, yer so damn sexy,” Bubba crooned as if placing her on the hood had been his intention all along. “You want me to fuck you right here? Would ya like that?”

  Carol Ann giggled then shimmied out of her undies and tossed them aside. “What do you think, big boy?”

  I pulled the lid closed just shy of latching since I had zeeerrroooooo desire to see those two banging away. Yikes. The sounds were bad enough. Bubba grunting, and Carol Ann making porn star noises, mixed with the melodic tones of flesh slapping wetly against flesh.

  At long last, Bubba let out a guttural cry, which seemed to be Carol Ann’s cue to fake her own orgasm, with wails and moans so loud the poor possum was likely traumatized.

  The noise finally trailed off to hard breathing and “Oh, baby, that was so good” from both. I dared a peek out again in time to see Bubba stuffing an utterly enormous wang back in his jeans. Big Bubba indeed.

  For her part, Carol Ann didn’t seem to care about her underwear and simply tugged her miniskirt down to its previous barely decent length. Yet my hopes that they’d leave crashed and burned as Bubba climbed onto the hood and stretched out beside Carol Ann. When he lit a joint and passed it to her, I had to choke down a shriek of frustration.

  The two lay back and traded the joint back and forth, looking at who the hell knew what since the streetlight was too bright to see any stars. I couldn’t even try and search inside the trunk while I waited for them to finish their post-fuck pot. It was too dark, and if they heard me fumbling around, not only would I be busted, but I’d have a much harder time escaping. Thank god the stay-awake mod kept me from drifting off out of sheer boredom.

  Finally, the two stumbled off the Camaro and to Bubba’s truck. I waited until the sound of the engine faded into the distance before climbing stiffly out of the damn trunk. Ugh. Bubba’s little tryst had killed nearly an hour.

  I resumed my search, ripping carpet out, and even pawing through the first aid kit. Still nothing. I was coming to the reluctant conclusion that Sorsha and Ben hadn’t found anything because there wasn’t anything to find.

  Shit.

  Dejected, I sat in the slashed driver’s seat. Maybe I was going about this all wrong. What if nothing was hidden in super-secret places, because there’d been no time for that? Ben said that Reno might have ditched something small before the road block. Which meant it was a move of desperation. But what if there’d been something else not as easily ditchable? If there was, he’d have hidden it within easy reach of the driver’s seat.

  Pretending to be Reno, I scooched forward to where I could reach the gas pedal. Then, keeping one hand on the wheel, I tested to see how far I could reach, adding a couple of inches to make up for my shorter arms.

  My hand brushed the CD player, and my pulse quickened. My less than stellar background meant I’d been witness to a car stereo theft or three. Though I was nowhere near as speedy as the hooligans I’d once hung around, I wasn’t worried about reselling this particular stereo, so the big flathead screwdriver and a little brutality helped remove it in right under a minute.

  I pried open the CD tray, making a little noise of delight at the sight of a small white card within. A punch card with no punches. Double Dime Diner—buy ten sundaes, get one free.

  I flipped it over and found a series of letter and numbers. The tingle in my fingers told me this was important, but what the heck was it? Not a zip code or phone number. Address? Website? Order confirmation number? Whatever it was, it was a clue. Reno had stuffed it into the CD player since it was too light to throw far. Too much chance it would fall onto the road and be found by the pursuit.

  I took a picture of both front and back of the card then pocketed it and my phone.

  Headlights flickered through the trees as someone turned off the highway and pulled up to the outer gate.

  Nuh-uh. No way in hell was I getting trapped for another front row seat to the Bubba and BigBoy show. I bailed out of the car and sprinted toward the Kia by the fence. In a mighty, zombie-speed leap, I planted one foot on the hood, sprang to the roof, then launched myself high on the fence to cling like a spider on a web.

  The heavy clatter of a diesel engine told me the newcomer wasn’t Bubba unless he’d changed vehicles, but I had no intention of waiting around to find out for sure. I clambered to the top of the fence, threw my leg over, then thought better of jumping the twelve feet. Instead, I maneuvered to hang by my hands to make the actual drop a more reasonable five feet or so. Easy peasy. I pushed off from the fence with my feet and let go.

  The ground gave w
ay under my right foot with an awful screech of metal. Fiery pain raked up my calf. I flailed to stay upright but crashed sideways.

  Crrraaaack. I might have screamed. I definitely fainted.

  Muffled country rock music thumped. I opened my eyes to a cold, grey world. Dull pain throbbed in my right leg. I was lying on my side, lower leg wedged at an unnatural angle through a slab of rusted metal covered in weeds. Car door maybe. I shoved up onto one elbow, squinted for a better look. White bone poked out of an ugly gash mid-calf.

  Shiiiiiiiiit. It’s okay it’s okay. Parasite slowed the bleeding. Dulled the pain. Dulled the brain. Brains. Need brains.

  The scent of a fresh brain wafted over me. I inhaled deeply, zeroed in on it. Movement in the impound lot. I peered through the fence, between the Kia and LTD, to where a man unhooked a minivan from his tow truck. A low growl rose in my throat.

  No no no no no no no no no. With numb fingers, I fumbled in my pocket for the packet of brains. Found it. Ripped off the top with my teeth. Squeezed the brains into my mouth. Squeezed some more. Sucked it dry.

  A tinge of color returned to the cars, to the grass, to the man. The desire to crack a skull eased. A bit. I needed more brains. Had to make it to my car. Not that far.

  How? Brain hunger made it hard to think. Brain fog from brain hunger. One step at a time. Focus, Angel. Focus.

  The man was occupied with his business and would never hear me move over his music. My foot and half of my lower leg had gone straight through the metal scrap, getting gouged along the way then wedged in. The hard fall to the side had snapped both bones. Tib . . . tibia and fibula. Yes. Focus. And it was a compound fracture. Two jagged ends sticking out meant compound. Compound was bad.

  Clenching my jaw, I grabbed with both hands below the break and twist-tugged. Then again. On the third pull, my foot came free. Bone grated on bone, and a wave of sickening pain cut through the brain-hunger numbness. I breathed like a pregnant lady in labor until it receded.

  Woof. A heavy bark from inside the impound lot. Woof.

  The possum scurried along between the fence and cars, passing right by me to hole up in an old tire a dozen feet away. A hulking brute of a rottweiler slid to a stop in the gap between the Kia and LTD. Locked eyes on me. Forgot the possum. Woof woof WOOF.

  “Shh shh shh . . . nice doggie.”

  WOOF WOOF. If not for the fence, that sucker would be on my skinny ass.

  “Rocko! Shut up!” Tow Truck Guy hollered. “Leave that possum be.”

  WOOF WOOF WOOF.

  Shit. Staring down the bigass dog made him think I was a threat that needed to be dealt with. The last thing I needed was the guy coming over to investigate. I closed my eyes to slits, ducked my head, and went as still as possible.

  Rocko rumbled a deep menacing growl. Better than barking for my predicament, though a shitload scarier. Here I was, rotting and being menaced by a rottie. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so terrified.

  “Dammit, Rocko,” Tow Truck Guy shouted. The music got louder as he opened the passenger door. “Get in here, NOW!” He started our way.

  The dog didn’t move. I prayed for the shadowy darkness to keep me hidden from human view. The scent of the man’s brain raised a low growl in my own throat. Shit shit shit. I groped through the weeds. My hand closed on a baseball-sized rock, and I hurled it at the fence beside the possum’s hidey hole. Either the dumbest or smartest thing I ever did. Could go either way.

  Clang.

  The possum popped out of the tire and fled the scary fence monster, letting out a stream of grunty screech-growls. Dog and master jerked their heads toward the sound—away from me.

  Tow Truck Guy hollered at Rocko. “C’mon, ya dumbass beast. Possum’s gone. Get yer ass in there!”

  Rocko finally listened and bounded toward the truck. The dog jumped up into the cab and settled on the passenger seat. The man shut the door, then he and his fresh brain made their way to the driver’s side. The door opened and closed, cutting off the source of the irresistible smell.

  Breathing raggedly, I willed the skull-cracking urge to subside. Clenched my fists until the tow truck was long gone. Wasted time. Wasted brains. Stupid tow truck. Stupid dog.

  Focus, Angel. Brains in the car.

  It was hard to focus with the dull fog creeping in again. I half-crawled, half-dragged myself away from the impound lot and toward the perimeter fence. Only a hundred feet. I could do it. My leg thought differently, throbbed. I looked back to find it twisted a full ninety degrees below the break and threatening to pull loose. No no no. I didn’t have enough brains in the car to completely regrow a limb. And how the hell would I drive without a right foot?

  One step at a time, Angel.

  Had to get to the car first. Brains were there. Yanked off the balaclava and sliced a hole in the top, then slipped it over the break like a sleeve. Stripped out of my shirt and cut off the bottom half. Kinda sorta got my foot turned the right way after an awful grating of bone. Forced my increasingly clumsy hands to obey and wrapped the t-shirt piece around the balaclava and break. Needed more. Stretchier. I struggled to wriggle out of my sports bra then gave up and sliced the front. Wrestled it off. Cut it in two. Rewrapped the t-shirt piece snugly. Used the bra to secure it above and below the break. That would be enough to keep my foot from falling off. Best I could do for now.

  I pulled my shirt—now a crop top—back on and crawl-dragged for the perimeter fence line and my car beyond.

  Or not. I collapsed in the middle of the dirt track, a godawful realization penetrating the haze of my thoughts.

  The fence. Even if I could make it there, I’d never be able to climb it. No way.

  And I was hungry. Soooo hungry.

  I flopped onto my back and stared up where the stars would be. Like Big Bubba and Carol Ann. But I didn’t have a Big Bubba beside me to carry me to the hood of my car. Brains in my car. No Bubba. Memory of a warm hand squeezing mine. Better than Bubba. Nick.

  Nick! I scrabbled for my phone. Hit the speed dial with shaking hands mottled by rot patches. Shit. Answer answer answer.

  “Angel?” Sleepily.

  “Need . . . help.” My voice sounded raspy and wet.

  “Where are you? What happened?” No longer sleepy. Intense. Focused, like I needed to be.

  Focus, Angel.

  “Back of . . . Big Bubble’s thing. Cars. Need brains. From my car . . . can’t. Fence.”

  “Big Bubble’s? I don’t . . . Oh, Big Bubba’s Towing on Cooter Mill Road?” Scuffling sounds in the background.

  “Back of Bubbub. Car on lil road.” I struggled to form the words. “Brains in glub . . . glove thing. Broken. Me. Help?”

  “Tell me if this is right.” More banging and scuffling. “You’re at the back of Big Bubba’s property. You’re hurt and need brains, but there’s a fence between you and your car. Brains are in the glove compartment.”

  “Don’t come near . . . me. So hunnnnngry.” It came out in a wet growl.

  “I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes, tops. Don’t hang up.”

  I fumbled the phone onto speaker. Laid it by my head. Stared up at nothing. Went still to conserve energy. Sounds dull. Vision dull. Pain dull. Nick’s voiced droned on in a muffled blanket of comfort.

  “Angel?”

  “Didn’t . . . hang up,” I tried to say.

  Light swept over me. And the scent of a human brain.

  “I’m looking for you.” His voice issued from the phone and from nearby.

  I lurched to my hands and knees. Snarled. Eyes fixed on the dark shape beyond the fence.

  The light swung back. Rested on me. “Angel, I have the packets. You’re going to be okay.”

  Saliva filled my mouth, spilled over. “You’re not. Stay . . . away.” I crawl-dragged forward. Collapsed as rotted flesh shredded from my hand.

  “I
t’s too far to throw the packets.” He climbed the fence and dropped down on my side. “I can’t stay away, Angel. I won’t.”

  I snarled, clawed at the ground to inch toward him. “Stay . . . back.” The words were barely words, burbling through wet throat rot.

  The luscious brain crouched twenty feet away, set the flashlight on the ground, pointed at me. I reached toward him, flesh trailing in strings from my fingers.

  Something landed in the dirt in front of me. Not braaains. I growled.

  Another something splatted in the dirt near my hand. The scent washed over me. Not warm. Not fresh. But brrrraaaaaaiiins. I grabbed it up. Squeezed it into my mouth. Let out a howl when there was no more.

  But another open packet of not-warm brains landed. I sucked them down. Senses cleared a bit. “Nick?” I croaked as I snatched the first packet from the ground and ripped the top off.

  “I’m right here,” he said, voice calm and steady and soothing. He tossed another packet to me.

  I scarfed down both packets before shifting to sit, bodily hauling my mangled leg in front of me. My leg below the break twisted to the right and angled off at forty-five degrees. Rot covered my fingers, but it was healing. Slowly.

  Nick stood and approached.

  I put up both hands. “Stay back! I . . . I’m . . . not whole yet.”

  “Would you please shut the fuck up?” He dropped to one knee in front of me then, with a crunch of bone against bone, skillfully pulled and straightened my leg.

  I breathed through my teeth and sent up thanks to the universe that the parasite still had the pain dampened. “How can you even stand to be around me? I’m . . . gross.”

  Nick opened two packets at the same time and pressed them into my hands. “Angel, I swear to god, for someone so intelligent, you can be a real idiot sometimes.”