White Trash Zombie Unchained

  “Seriously, you need to do something about that,” I said. “It’s kinda freaking me out.”

  The building trembled again with a smaller whump. Kyle and I exchanged a charged look.

  “Sorsha,” I breathed. The computers in the microscope room.

  “Go. I got this,” Brian said in an unnerving echo of Sorsha.

  I lurched up and sprinted back the way I came.

  Smoke and fog seeped around the histology door and poured from the microscope room. At histology, I skidded to a stop and yanked the door open.

  “You okay, Billy?” I shouted through the fog, barely able to see him stagger to his feet.

  “10-4,” he croaked.

  I spun toward the microscope room even as Kristi Fucking Charish stepped out like a demon emerging from the bowels of hell, smoke curling around her, and heralded by unearthly gator growls and wet snorts. She held her briefcase in her left hand, and her right gripped a tranq gun. Zombie tranqs. Shit. This would be a really bad time to get dropped by one of the damn things.

  “Perfect timing,” she breathed and lifted the gun in my direction, finger tightening on the trigger. I scrambled to evade, but even my zombie combat-mod-enhanced reflexes weren’t going to be fast enough to counter my forward momentum.

  Kyle slammed into me, knocking me aside. I crashed into the wall then fumbled to grab him as he staggered, a tranq dart sticking out of his shoulder.

  Except instead of going limp as if he’d been tranqed, he began convulsing.

  I yanked the dart out, threw it aside, and hugged him close. “What the hell did you do to him, Kristi?” I yelled.

  She dropped the empty tranq gun. “Well, I was hoping for you to be my test subject, but he’ll have to do.”

  “To test what?” Kyle was jerking harder now. I lowered him to the floor then tried to pull his gun from his holster, with no success. Fuck. It was a retention holster, and I didn’t know the right sequence of moves to get the gun free. “What’s happening to him?”

  “Behold the other part of my project,” she said with a nasty smile.

  “What, your stupid immortality shit?”

  Kristi shrugged. “That one’s not quite ready, but I’ll crack it soon enough. This”—she lifted her chin toward Kyle—“is so I don’t have to deal with you lot for the rest of eternity. My anti-zombie serum. Or, more precisely, a real zombie serum.” She let out an ugly little chuckle, while I struggled to keep Kyle from hurting himself. “You fed a version to poor patient nine at the gym.”

  “You said that patient wasn’t supposed to die,” I said, voice shaking with rage.

  “He wasn’t. But I learned oh-so-much from him. Tweaked the formula.” She checked her watch. “In a few minutes, the parts of Kyle Griffin’s brain that make him a thinking, feeling person will be permanently disabled—devolving him into a true, traditional zombie. Mindless, obedient, and just intelligent enough to be trained for menial work. Won’t that be nice?” She looked behind me as Billy stumbled out of the histology room. “Have fun with the new Kyle!” she sang and hurried off in her stupid wedges toward the roof stairs—probably to wait for a helicopter extraction.

  Billy staggered up to me. “I’ll get her.”

  “No! Check on Sorsha.” I prayed that Kristi hadn’t killed her. “I don’t hear a chopper yet. Kristi can’t go anywhere.”

  Billy glanced in the direction of the stairs then jogged unsteadily to the microscope room. “She’s alive but needs a medic!” he hollered a few seconds later. “Calling now.”

  Kyle’s convulsions calmed to tremors. One hand gripped my arm like a claw.

  “Ang-gel,” he stuttered.

  “Dr. Nikas can fix this, Kyle,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “It’s going to be okay. He can stop this before . . . before it causes permanent damage.” Kristi had probably laced her serum with something that anesthetized the parasite so the toxin could do its nasty work. It was what I’d do if I was an evil psychopath neurobiologist. He needed a parasite stimulant. Now.

  “Another combat mod,” I said. “That may slow the effects of the serum down and buy you time.” I reached for his mod port, but he pushed my hand away.

  “No. I . . . I’m ready t-to go.”

  “Where—”

  “I don’t want . . . t-to be c-cured. Please. P-please.”

  My shoulders sagged as I realized what he meant. “Oh.”

  “P-p-please.”

  Brian had turned him zombie against his will and stolen death from him—a death Kyle yearned for. And last year, I’d promised him that, when the time came, I’d help him die.

  It seemed a relatively easy promise to make back then, in the comfort of a posh New York hotel. But now I was faced with the reality.

  “All right,” I said, words barely a squeak. “I need your gun.” It wasn’t easy to kill a zombie, but a few ways were permanent.

  The tremors were beginning to ease, but I suspected that meant the toxin was starting to do its work. “Retention holster,” he slurred. “Twist right, tip forward and pull.”

  Tears spilled over as I twisted and pulled in the right sequence to remove his gun from the holster.

  His grip on my arm loosened, and his eyes struggled to focus on mine. Yet his face was smooth with soul-deep relief. He’d been ready for this for a long time. “Thank you . . . Angel.”

  “Anytime, dude,” I said, trying for humor but choking on a sob.

  “It’s been an honor . . . and pleasure to know you.” A soft smile touched his mouth, and then he rolled facedown and tucked his chin to his chest.

  “The honor and pleasure has been all mine,” I gasped out past the tears. The gun was a Beretta M9—a model I was familiar with from training with him. I checked to make sure a round was chambered and the safety off, then pressed the muzzle to the base of his skull and looked away. “Goodbye, Kyle.”

  I pulled the trigger.

  The sound crashed through the corridor, and brought Billy at a run. “What the hell?” Though he didn’t reach for a weapon, he held himself loose and balanced, a ready stance like I’d seen in my jiu jitsu instructors. Billy knew how to handle himself.

  I dropped the magazine and cleared the chamber, then set the gun beside Kyle’s body and lifted my hands away from my body. “Are you going to arrest me?”

  He took a slow step forward. “Why did you shoot him?”

  “Because I promised him I would.”

  He searched my face. “I see.”

  “Do you?” I said. “Because if you’re not going to arrest me, I need to chase down the bitch responsible for all of this.” The distant thwup-thwup of a helicopter reached us. Kristi’s extraction.

  He nodded once. “Go do what you gotta do.”

  “I appreciate it.” I activated my last combat mod and took off for the stairs, glancing into the microscope room as I passed. The computer stations were slagged wreckage. Sorsha was crumpled on the floor. Someone was huddled on the counter. The back wall was splattered with blood, and the gators were in a frenzy . . . feeding. On what—or who—I couldn’t tell.

  I tore into the stairwell, vaulted the steps three at a time and burst out onto the roof, teeth bared in a snarl.

  Kristi stood on the far side, shading her eyes toward a helicopter that was still several hundred yards away. She startled as the door slammed open against the outer wall then shot me a furious glare. “You lost,” she yelled. “Accept your fucking defeat already!”

  “Like hell! Give me the motherfucking cure!”

  She laughed, clearly enjoying the moment immensely. “Not until after your boyfriend is dead.”

  “Then I’ll just have to take it from you!” I broke into a run even as gunfire spat from the helicopter door. Chips of concrete flew up around me, and a bullet whizzed by my ear. I kept my focus on my target and
picked up speed, ignoring the jolts of pain as two bullets found their target. I was still able to run, so they didn’t matter.

  Her arrogant sneer crumbled as I rapidly closed the distance between us. Her eyes widened in mounting panic. She shifted her weight to evade even as I corrected for it.

  I hit her low, knocked her off balance. Wrapped my arms tight around her legs and waist. Lifted her off her feet and kept running.

  Kristi screamed and struggled as she realized my intent, but it was too late. A three-foot wall surrounded the perimeter of the roof, and I leaped, planted one foot on top of it, and pushed off to sail out into the open air.

  I tucked my head against her chest. Her scream vibrated against my cheek. The ground came up fast. I yanked my arms back to avoid getting them crushed.

  The ground slammed into us, cutting off Kristi’s shriek. My Kristi-cushion went crack cruuuunch pop, and pain sliced through my ribs and right knee and ankle.

  Slowly, I lifted my head, feeling the creak of bone and tendons throughout my poor abused body. I’d expected to land on the parking lot, but apparently I’d launched us off the back of the building to land on hard dirt just beyond a line of bushes. Didn’t matter. The fall from a three-story building was enough. And probably best we hadn’t landed in the parking lot, considering the lot would surely be filled with people from the evacuated building.

  THWUP-THWUP-THWUP. The helicopter overhead, hovering. I forced myself to roll off Kristi to stare upward. The pilot, wearing headset and sunglasses, peered down at us, mouth set in a scowl. I braced myself for bullets to spit from the open door, followed by Saberton thugs rappelling down to finish me and rescue her.

  But to my relief and glee, the door slid closed, and the helicopter zoomed off. Mission aborted.

  I gave the departing chopper a shaky middle finger, then groped for a brain packet.

  Kristi wheezed in a ragged breath and let it out in a moan. I gulped down the brains and welcomed the tingle of healing.

  “You’re dying, you psycho,” I rasped then pushed up to one elbow and dragged her briefcase to me. Though it was locked, a little brain-powered force got it open.

  But the only contents were a medical magazine with her face on the cover, and a list of celebrity agents. Nothing that could possibly be a cure, or even a hint toward one.

  “Fuck you, you worthless sack of skin.” I didn’t regret taking Kristi for a short and fast flight. She never would’ve told me what the cure was. Not when she’d infected Nick and Bear and countless others on purpose. I only wished I could have drawn her end out more. Made her suffer. Because unless we came up with a miracle, Nick was going to die.

  Something moved in my periphery. I jerked up to a crouch.

  “It’s all right, Angel,” Kang said. He moved to Kristi’s side, dropped to one knee, and peered into her face as she moaned and coughed blood.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, eyes narrowed. “Don’t turn her! Is that what you’re going to do?”

  Kang leaned close to her bleeding head and inhaled her scent.

  “No, Kang, don’t save her! She’s the last person in the world who needs to be a zombie.”

  Kang got to his feet and pushed through the bushes, then picked up something I couldn’t see at the foot of the building.

  “Kang . . .? Please don’t.”

  “Chill, Angel.” He returned to Kristi.

  And slammed a brick down onto her head.

  I jerked back as blood spattered. “What the fuck?”

  He brought the brick down once more to smash the skull open. I stared, uncomprehending as he tore pieces of skull aside and grabbed handfuls of brain to stuff into his mouth.

  It wasn’t until he gobbled down the third handful and his features began to shift that it finally clicked. “Whoa. Dude.”

  He smiled around another fistful of brain. I watched in awe as his skin lightened and his limbs grew slimmer. His torso narrowed at the waist, and widened at the hips. His—her?—jawline softened, the cheekbones became a touch more refined, and the eyes took on a Northern-European shape, with the irises shifting to blue. His black hair fell out, leaving him briefly bald before new hair sprouted and grew to a length similar to Kristi’s—though scraggly and unstyled. And mousy brown streaked with grey. Ha! She’d never really been blonde or auburn!

  “I need her clothes,” Kang-Kristi said.

  “You sound just like her. That’s so creepy.”

  “I am her,” he-she winked and slipped Kristi’s wedges off. “Which means I’m on the Saberton Board of Directors.”

  “Holy shit,” I breathed, fumbling to unbutton her blouse. “You totally are.” It was brilliant. With our own Kristi Charish, and with the help of Andrew Saber, we could change Saberton from the inside. Except . . . “Shit, dude, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Kristi is wanted by the FBI, and—”

  We froze at the sound of running footsteps. This was going to be hard to explain. At least Kang-Kristi had no makeup and messy brown hair, and therefore didn’t look exactly like Real-Kristi. And maybe whoever was approaching would assume Real-Kristi had smashed her skull in the fall rather than getting it bashed in with a brick?

  Billy came running around the corner of the building and slid to a stop. He took in the woman in ill-fitting men’s clothing, then the partially dressed dead woman on the ground, the smashed skull, the bloody brick, and the distinct absence of most of her brain.

  His gaze finally rested on me. “Gotta say, this assignment sure hasn’t been boring.”

  Chapter 36

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Angel, get back upstairs and deal with the gators,” Billy said. “I’ll take care of . . . this.” He waved a hand at the two Kristis.

  “Take care of this how?” I asked with suspicion. “The mass-murdering Kristi is the one on the ground. The scroungy one is . . . new.”

  “I gathered as much,” he said, manner still easy and friendly, though his eyes were guarded. “Trust me. You really do need to get upstairs before someone else dies.”

  Kang-Kristi swayed and sank to her knees, but gave me a thumbs up. Pierce had been forced to rest and integrate after his transformation from the Pietro-shape, but he’d been able to function for a while before completely collapsing.

  “Go,” she said. “I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

  “Well, pardon me for worrying about an old lady then.” I cast one more uncertain look at her then raced for the front entrance. She was right. Her situation was as under control as it could be, given the circumstances. But I was the only one who could deal with the gators.

  Several dozen people milled at the far end of the parking lot. The sirens grew louder. Fire department and paramedics no doubt, with deputies not far behind.

  The building security guard at the main entrance waved me right past. Billy must’ve given him a heads up that I’d be coming in.

  The fire alarm was still hooting, and of course the elevators weren’t working. I slid to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Grey tinged my vison, my ribs were on fire, and an overall achiness screamed that I hadn’t fully healed from the fall. “Okay, okay,” I muttered to my body. “I’ll be more considerate.” I sucked down another packet of brains then climbed at a far more reasonable pace. Though I was still out of breath when I finally reached the third floor, the pain had faded.

  Cries for help and the growl-bellows of gators echoed through the corridors as I ran through the LZ-1 suite. I found Sorsha, face covered in blood, sitting beside the closed door of the gator-filled microscope room. The short black guy from the genetics lab was on one knee beside her with a first aid kit, splinting her forearm. A thick lump of gauze already bound what must have been a nasty scalp wound.

  Kyle’s body was nowhere in sight, and the pool of blood had been somewhat wiped up, with a streak extending down t
he corridor.

  “Hey, Ninja Girl,” Short Guy said.

  “Hey. Thanks for helping.”

  Sorsha’s head lolled my way. “Billy texted that you’ve dealt with Charish.”

  “Er . . . yeah. She won’t be any trouble.” How much did she know? I wasn’t about to fish for that info while Short Guy was here. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been worse.” Sorsha glanced toward the microscope room door as two male voices hollered for help. “Charish’s techs. One was on the electron microscope, and I don’t know where the other ended up. He was on a counter last I saw, and that wasn’t going to last long.”

  That meant Fritz had been the gator food. Damn it. Even though he’d been working for the bad guys, he’d seemed like a basically decent guy. A pro. “Gators can climb,” I said, “but the techs will be okay now that I’m here.” I silently told the gators to leave the two high ones alone then touched Short Guy on the shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “Travis Montague,” he said as he tightened the last binding on the splint. “Finally got to use my First Responder training.”

  “I’m Angel. You did good, Travis. Would you mind going down to meet the paramedics and show them the way up?”

  “You got it.”

  Sorsha grabbed his forearm with her good hand. “You are not to repeat, share, or otherwise disclose anything you’ve seen or heard here today. This entire situation is under federal investigation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m good at secrets. Part of my job.”

  “Thank you,” she said and released his arm. “I’ll contact you soon for a post-incident interview.”

  “Do you need my—”

  “I’ll find you.”

  “Alrighty then.” He gave a nervous chuckle as he rose to his feet then winked at me. “See ya, Ninja Girl.”

  I crouched beside Sorsha and waited until I heard the outer door open and close. “Where’s Kyle’s body?”

  “In histology,” she said. “Billy took care of him.”

  Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them back. “How did Kristi get past you?”