“Oh, right!” I giggled. “Duh.” Slick cover, dude. I hadn’t imagined his “I’m busted” look, though.
He stuck out his hand. “Dante Rosario.”
After an instant of hesitation, I took it. He had a confident grip, sure of himself but not too cocky. “I’m Angel Crawford. Nice to meet you.” Not. “Your dog sure is cool. I mean now that she’s not acting as if she wants to eat me.”
Rosario gave me a long and guarded look. “She’s like that with some people,” he said slowly, as if choosing each word with care. “But she’s fine now that you’ve been introduced.” He flicked a glance around the tent. Looking for Andrew?
I snuck a peek behind me, relieved to see Andrew safe on the far side of the tent and surrounded by studio people. “I thought her name was the Marquise de Saber.”
Amusement lit his eyes. “That’s her official name. It’s a little too snooty for daily wear.”
“You’re right about that,” I said, keeping everything nice and agreeable. “Are you sticking around for the screening?”
He shook his head. “I’m on my way out. We did two demos today, and Marla needs a break.”
That was fine by me. “Aw, puppy naptime.” I made a kissy face at the dog and gave her one more headscratch before lifting my eyes back to Rosario. “Well, I hope I run into you again soon,” I lied. Unless it was with my car.
“I’d like that,” he said and gave me a nice enough smile. “Come on, Marla.”
Eyes narrowed, I watched the Saberton dude and his zombie-sniffing cadaver dog depart. I’d be keeping close tabs on those two. If they were up to anything besides doing charity demos, I intended to find out.
The light dimmed, and I scooted back to the place I’d staked out earlier. A spotlight hit Justine Chu as she stepped onto the stage. Everyone applauded because it seemed like the right thing to do, but she held up a hand, expression grave, until the clapping died away.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Justine said in a campy Deathly Serious mode. “The documentary that you are about to see contains images you may find disturbing.” She paused, shook her head. “No. You will find them disturbing. Prepare yourselves. Because—zombies are among us!”
The lights went out, leaving the interior of the tent far darker than I would have expected considering the bright daylight outside. Excited and nervous laughter tittered through the crowd. After all, this was what they were paying for. They wanted to be scared and shocked and disturbed.
“Those of you with weak stomachs should turn away now,” Justine warned.
Ominous music swelled to a nerve-jangling discordance. Images of bodies and panicked mobs flashed in chaotic patterns, gradually resolving to longer shots of the melée at the Tucker Point High football field during the filming of the movie.
“Zombies—a source of primal terror,” a deep-voiced narrator intoned as soundless chaos reigned on the screen. “Implacable. Hungry. A threat to all we hold dear. The mythology is as old as time, from the slow and relentless to the fast and strong. From conscious creations to viral-infected monsters.” More images of shamblers. Rotting arms reaching through broken doors. I slowly relaxed. Okay, this was nothing more than a bunch of cheesy shit to get people fired up over the movie.
“Yet, the nightmare,” the voiceover continued, “the truth—is worse than we ever imagined.”
More long shots of the high school melée scene, then the image jerked as if the camera had been bumped. The video transitioned to a jerky handheld news camera style in the thick of the action. It swung to a broad-shouldered zombie just as he smashed a man’s head against a cinderblock wall.
Every cell in my body went numb even as a gasp and delighted shudder swept through the crowd. Not a special effect. That was Philip killing a Saberton operative.
Philip dropped into a crouch as the body fell, tore the man’s skull apart and began to shove chunks of brain into his mouth. His dead-grey face was plenty horrifying without a speck of movie makeup, and his entire body jerked every few seconds as though jolted by electricity. He screamed through a gory mouthful, spattering the pavement with blood and brain bits.
I watched in growing horror while the rest of the crowd laughed nervously and applauded the realistic “effects.” That was real, I thought in shock. Someone filmed the whole thing. It doesn’t look like studio footage, but surely they realized it wasn’t their special effects when they put the documentary together?
“A new generation of zombies is here,” the narrator continued. “They aren’t slow and stupid.” I held my breath, tense and sweating as a shambling zombie woman morphed into a smiling college professor. “They look like us, but don’t be fooled. When they get hungry—” The scene changed to the campus at night, where the now-rotting professor stalked a lone football player. “—they must feed.” The crowd sucked in a collective breath as the professor took the football player down and cracked his skull like a walnut against the sidewalk.
And, in the next scene, the professor—smiling and whole again—gave a lecture as if nothing had happened. I breathed in shallow sips. Didn’t matter that these were actors. This whole scenario hit too damn close to the truth.
“They’re fast and strong.” A very realistic zombie ran down a sprinter, lifted him over his head then let out a terrifying scream.
“These zombies can’t be stopped by the swing of a machete.” The shot zoomed to a dark-skinned arm strapped to a wall. I jerked as one swift stroke of a machete hacked off the hand with too-real-for-prime-time brutality. Even as the horrific image registered, time-lapse video showed a new hand regrowing from the stump—starting out as a bud then growing to full size. Just like Kang’s body had been regrown from his head.
That shit was real. Saberton lab footage. It had to be. Dark skin. Oh god. Was that Kyle Griffin’s arm? When I’d found him in Saberton’s New York lab, he’d been mutilated and tortured, with his entire lower jaw removed. My gorge rose, but I forced myself to stay put, focused on the words and images. I needed to know exactly how fucked up it was.
“They’re smart. They’re strong. They’re fast. They can heal.” The shocking scene shifted to a postal worker walking down a street. To a nurse in a hospital. A church choir. A dentist.
“They live among us. Right here. Right now.”
Scenes bled together showing everyday people going zombie, feeding on neighbors and customers and patients and students and coworkers. Actors and special effects. Mostly. But too real. Too goddamn real.
“Don’t get caught. ZOMBIES. ARE. AMONG. US!”
The screen went dark. The lights came back up, and wild applause broke out an instant later.
I didn’t clap. Couldn’t. Not even to pretend I was part of the crowd. Nausea threatened to bring the canapés right back up. The hideous documentary had segments that matched each of the single asterisk filenames on Seeger’s list. But what about the double asterisk files? What else was out there? Were there videos of Marcus being broken over and over? And would anyone recognize the crazed zombie at the melée as Philip?
More importantly, would anyone wonder if it could be real?
I looked around wildly for Andrew then froze like a rabbit beneath an owl. A broad-shouldered man stood on the other side of the tent with his arms folded over his chest. Bear, with Nick beside him. I wasn’t surprised to see Bear here since his shop was one of the main sponsors. But knowing that Nick had seen the real zombie footage—even if he didn’t know it was real—left me feeling weirdly off-balance.
The tent slowly emptied, and at long last I spied Andrew sitting in a folding chair near the back of the stage. Shoulders hunched and face sheet-white, he looked every bit as appalled and freaked as I felt. It was a double whammy for him. Real zombie stuff on top of insider footage from his company.
Braddock stepped into my path when I was a dozen feet away from him. “Now isn’t the time,” sh
e told me, gaze hard and voice firm. “I’m taking him out of here.”
Damn it, why did she have to be such a good bodyguard? “I know,” I said. “Everything’s screwed up, and he needs to leave.” I gave her my best sincere and pleading look. “But it’s vitally important that I talk to him, for his own sake. I swear I won’t cause a scene.”
Her eyes narrowed in distrust, but uncertainty flickered in them as well. She glanced toward the screen as if remembering the horrors shown there. Months ago she’d caught a glimpse of the atrocities taking place in the Saberton basement. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of the film was real.
Mouth tight, Braddock shifted her regard to Andrew. He clutched his phone in one hand, and his cool business attitude was in tatters. With Snyder’s help, he waved off eager fanpoodles but gave Braddock a nod when he saw me.
She glared the mother of all glares at me then stepped aside with obvious reluctance. “No trouble.”
I breathed a thanks and moved to Andrew. He gestured for Snyder to back off.
“How did that footage get out?” I demanded, voice low. “Do you know anything about this?”
“I have no idea how the studio got their hands on it,” he said. “I swear.”
“All right. Shit.” I pulled my thoughts together. “What’s Dante Rosario’s deal? What does he do for Saberton besides the doggie demonstrations?”
“He’s worked security for close to a decade,” Andrew said, slowly regaining his composure. “He became Marla’s handler five years ago and was assigned to the Dallas lab for the past six months, up until you people raided it. He’s on extended leave now.”
“Sonofabitch,” I breathed. “If he worked the Dallas lab, he was deep into the zombie research crap.” An ugly suspicion stirred in my gut about the video files, but I wasn’t ready to share it with Andrew yet. After all, he was first and foremost a Saber of Saberton.
He gave me a grim nod. “I have an exit strategy in the event everything goes to shit,” he murmured. “It’s an absolute last resort, but—”
“That’s damn good to hear,” I said fervently. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” I did my best to keep my tone calm and casual. “Any updates on Kristi Charish?”
“Nothing yet. I’m scheduled to talk to my mother in the morning.”
“Good luck with that.” I made a face. “Keep us posted, and I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible.”
He snorted. “Why start now?”
My thoughts whirled as I left him in the tender care of his bodyguards. Dante Rosario had worked at the Dallas lab while Kristi Charish was there. According to Andrew, she’d taken a buttload of documentation with her when she escaped from the lab. What if she was the source of the leak?
Contents of USB Flash Drive from D.R. I didn’t know yet how it all fit together, but I had a crazy-strong suspicion that the mysterious “D.R.” from the file list was none other than one Dante Rosario.
Chapter 21
Rain from a sneak-attack Louisiana shower splattered my windshield and sent less adventurous Fest goers scurrying to their cars. My stomach growled as I briefed Dr. Nikas, and I switched the phone to speaker and set it on the dash. “Can’t security pick up Rosario?”
“He’s high profile Saberton,” Dr. Nikas said. “An acquisition would require finesse, even if we had sufficient personnel for the op.”
“So he walks?” I scowled and ripped the top off a brain packet.
“Other projects have priority.”
“But—”
“I know,” he said. “It’s frustrating. Potentially damning zombie videos have been made public, and you’ve uncovered fragments of intel that seem to fit together. But we don’t know Rosario is in league with Kristi or whether he has a Saberton agenda. It’s conjecture.”
“Then we find out for sure. Put a tail on him. Naomi or Rachel or—”
“Naomi and Dan flew out an hour ago to back up Pierce in Portland. Saberton is there in force, which makes recapturing Kristi impossible. Pierce is now hoping to convince Kristi to come with us willingly, but his only contact with her so far has been by phone.”
Ugh. I despised the idea of Kristi Charish working with us while being free to come and go as she pleased, but I also knew that the bitch had smarts and skills the Tribe needed.
“All of our available security people are deployed elsewhere or are working short-handed,” Dr. Nikas continued. “Jacques and Reg are armed because lab security is at half-strength. We don’t have the resources for a local non-emergency operation.” Dr. Nikas went silent for several seconds. “Angel, you’re the only available person who can deal with this.”
Jacques and Reg were carrying guns? Aliens taking over city hall would be less shocking. I sank back in my seat. “Well, damn.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.”
By the time we disconnected, the rain had passed, and a fat rainbow floated over the Fest grounds. Maybe it was a sign that everything was going to be A-okay.
I sipped the packet of brains as I mulled over my options. The most inviting one was to go home, kick back, and watch a bit of mind-numbing reality TV. But I was the Tribe’s only hope for gathering intel on Rosario. I was it, thanks to a perfect storm of a ton of crap happening at once. It wasn’t enough that FBI agents were snooping around funeral homes. No, the universe had to throw in the Kristi Charish wrench, forcing the Tribe honchos to scramble and change their plans to check their out-of-state funeral homes, and instead head to Oregon. Add in Saberton’s usual hijinks, Grayson Seeger’s murder, and Rosario possibly leaking the video files, and we were running around with our hair on fire while the universe laughed its ass off.
Well, screw the universe. I could handle the Rosario shit. There was always the chance he was still at the Fest, despite his earlier claim that he was leaving. It would be easy enough to check at the gate and find out. If he was still here, then I’d wait and tail him when he left. If not, a few calls to hotels within twenty miles might give me—
My phone rang with an unknown number. I stabbed at the answer button. “Hello?”
“Angel.”
Not Randy. Disappointment flashed through me, with anger on its heels. “Judd! Y’all are a bunch of fucking morons! Skip town? Seriously? That’s the best plan y’all could come up with? Where are you?”
“Shit. Calm your tits! Yeah, we skipped.” He spoke fast, stressed. “We all talked it over and figured we’re gonna stay low ’til shit cools off.”
Cools off? For a murder? He was acting like it was a lousy prank. I clamped down on the urge to scream at him. That wouldn’t help. I needed him to believe I agreed and was on his side. “Shit.” I blew out a breath, faked a sigh. “Okay, that might work. Where’s Randy?”
“He and Coy are busy setting up where we’re gonna be staying,” Judd said. “He asked me to call because he needs you to get something he hid and bring it to me.”
My Angel-sense prickled. “What kind of something?”
“Just a couple of things that need to be properly disposed of, if y’know what I mean.”
Incriminating evidence. The machete and baseball bat. It had to be. “Where are they?”
Judd let out a strained laugh. “I’m telling you in code in case phones are tapped, okay?”
My god, he really was an idiot. “Sure, I’ll do it.”
“Good. That’s good. They’re in the place y’all fixed a wheelbarrow after the river dried up. You know where that is, right?”
Only one place Randy and I had ever fixed a wheelbarrow. But what the hell did “after the river dried up” mean? Did he mean the flood last year when the spillway collapsed? I started to ask then stopped as my Angel-sense did a tap-dance on the back of my neck. “Yeah, I know where it is,” I said instead, “but why can’t you just go get them yourself?”
“’Cause we’re fucki
ng hiding out.” Judd’s voice shook. “I need you to go get the stuff, and then I’ll meet you someplace safe. Out by Lock Three.”
I mentally replayed the twenty seconds or so of conversation. It was a code, all right, but it sure sounded as if Judd didn’t know what it meant. Which begged the question, why would Randy use a code that I understood but Judd didn’t? Randy wouldn’t dick around with a murder rap on the line. My pulse pounded unevenly as pieces of an ugly picture fell into place. After the murder, Coy and Judd went to Randy for help covering it up. Coy hid the head and clothes in his garage, Randy hid the weapons on his property, and Judd didn’t have a damn thing incriminating at his place. Not to mention, Judd had done his best to throw Coy under the bus by saying Coy had the bat. Maybe deep down Randy hadn’t trusted Judd enough to tell him where he stashed the weapons. But whatever the reason, it gave him an ace in the hole.
And he was playing that card right now.
“Let me talk to Randy.”
“I told you, he ain’t here!” Judd said, voice rising. “You stupid bitch. Stop fucking around and go get the goddamn things.”
“You’re a real sweet-talker, Judd,” I said with a sneer. “But I ain’t bringing you jack shit until I talk to Randy.”
“Bring the fucking weapons to the lock in one hour,” he screamed, “or you can talk to the pieces of Randy that I cut his worthless ass into!”
I kept my head, only because I’d suspected that was the deal. “Bring Randy and Coy with you, alive and well,” I yelled right back, “or you can stuff the weapons up your ass!”
He went silent, and for an instant I thought he’d hung up. “Fine,” he choked out. “I’ll trade you those two fuckers for the weapons. One hour at Lock Three.”
The line went dead. My hand trembled as it gripped the phone. Had I said the right thing? What if Randy and Coy were already dead? No, Randy was still alive. Judd wouldn’t kill him until he got hold of the weapons. But Coy . . .
Sick dread swam through me. Judd had killed once already. The second time would be easier. Randy would protect Coy, though. That’s what he always did. God, I hoped he could.