White Trash Zombie Gone Wild

  I faked a slight startle. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Come on in, Angel,” Allen said then gestured toward the woman. “This is Special Agent Sorsha Aberdeen.” He glanced my way and his eyes widened. An expression of alarm and dread filled his face, as if I had purple boogies hanging out my nose, but a second later he recovered and cleared his throat. “Uh, this is Angel Crawford, morgue assistant.” His eyes darkened with unease as they flicked over me. “She, uh . . . I called her away from the Zombie Fest. She really gets into dressing up for it.”

  Huh? I didn’t know what Allen’s game was, but—

  Oh. The grey and makeup. Yeah, not exactly the most professional appearance, but at least he was giving the agent a reason for it—or what he thought was the reason. I faked a bright smile. “Anything for you, boss.” Just in case, I very casually wiped a hand beneath my nose. Good. No boogies of any color.

  Agent Aberdeen looked me over with sharp eyes. “Angel Crawford,” she said as if trying out the name. “It would be a tremendous help if you could assist me while Mr. Prejean attends to the report I requested.”

  “Sure!” I said before Allen could protest. Who knew what juicy info this woman might drop.

  Allen glared, though I couldn’t tell if was at the dismissal or my enthusiasm. Probably both. “I’m happy to stay in case you have a question Angel can’t answer,” he said. “Dr. Leblanc performed the autopsy yesterday morning, and compiling the report won’t take long.”

  “I’m in a bit of a rush,” Aberdeen said with a whisper of steel behind her polite smile. “I’d greatly appreciate it if you could take care of the report now.”

  Allen’s jaw tightened, but it was clear he knew he’d lost the battle. “Not a problem.” He departed, but not before throwing me a firm look of Mess this up, and I’ll make your life hell.

  “You’re here about Mr. Seeger?” I asked after the cooler door swung shut. A clear plastic bag containing Seeger’s property rested on top of his body bag alongside a clipboard that held the property list and chain of custody.

  “How long have you worked here?” Her eyes lingered on my face in an unsettling way.

  “Year and a half.” I smiled. “I know all the procedures, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “No. Not at all.” She scanned through the property list then tapped the signature at the bottom. “You brought him in. Is this everything he had on his person?”

  “Yup.” Except for a certain list of video files. “The sheriff’s office has items from the scene and his car.”

  “I’ve been through all of what they have,” she said. “Are you certain there was nothing else on him when you brought him in?”

  “Other than clothes, yeah.” I gestured toward a paper bag in the corner. “But I went through ’em pretty good.” I didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know she was looking for something specific. The flash drive? “You guys sure are quick. Detective Roth said he was going to call y’all this morning about processing evidence.”

  “I have nothing to do with that,” she said, mouth pursing. “I was in contact with the victim on Friday.”

  Holy crap. Seeger had mentioned the feds to Justine. Another possible reason why he was so nervous at the premiere. “Oh, man. Not a personal friend, I hope.”

  Aberdeen’s gaze skimmed over the body bag. “No. It was the first time I’d met him.”

  “He was a producer for the zombie movie, right?”

  She signed the property sheet and the chain of custody and passed the clipboard to me. “I asked him for an early screening of the Zombies Are Among Us!! documentary,” she said in a tone so conversational every single one of my warning signals lit up. “Have you seen it?”

  I faked a laugh. “Yeah, out at the Fest. It was pretty silly. And the way it was trying to get people paranoid and all was really dumb.” I paused. “No offense. I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

  “Gruesome and inflammatory. I agree. I’m keeping an eye on the public response.” Her expression darkened. “There is enough hatred in this world without unfounded enmity turned on innocent people.” The forced rasp of her voice emphasized the sentiment. It was clear this issue was personal to her. Did it tie in to how she got her throat cut?

  “Good thing the mockumentary is attached to a B-movie and not a blockbuster,” I said wryly.

  Her piercing gaze lifted to my face. “The video was uploaded yesterday and has already had over a million views.” While I stood speechless in shock, Aberdeen smoothly extended a business card. “In case you remember anything else about the victim,” she said. “Or, if any thoughts come to you about the video.” She exited the cooler without waiting for an answer. I stuffed the business card into my pocket and followed her out.

  Allen was waiting for us in the intake area, holding a blue folder that he passed to Agent Aberdeen. “Everything I can give you without a warrant is in there. It’s not much. Sorry. Preliminary tox screen showed cocaine and benzos in his system, but it’ll be at least a week before the full toxicology report is back.”

  While she checked out the folder, I added my initials next to her signature on the property list. SA Sorsha Aberdeen.

  SASA. That was the acronym on Seeger’s video file list. **use for deal with SASA. Double asterisk. And I specifically remembered that none of the double asterisk file names matched any of the clips used in the stupid mockumentary. Seeger had planned to pass files to her, but never got the chance.

  “Miss Crawford? Mind if I take a photo?” Agent Aberdeen lifted her cell phone.

  I startled out of my thoughts. “Of me?”

  “Why yes. Of your makeup for the Zombie Fest.” She smiled, but her gaze was far too intent for my comfort. Beside her, Allen looked as disconcerted as if he’d been asked to drop trou in the middle of Main Street.

  The cell phone remained steady before me like a rifle in a firing squad. She wanted a picture, but the natural pre-rot greyness and smudges of black under my eyes weren’t exactly photo-worthy. Not with all of the really cool costumes and makeup around town. “Maybe I should go touch it up first?” I said, suddenly desperate to find a mirror.

  “No need. It’s perfect as is,” she said, voice and smile equally steely. “Humor me?”

  It wasn’t a request. Refusing would draw suspicion. “Sure. It’s not much makeup. Just a little something I threw on this morning.”

  The cell phone camera flashed before I finished speaking. I blinked away spots as it flashed again.

  Expression triumphant, she turned the phone around for me to see. Along my left cheek, dead-grey skin hung in tatters with nasty red and black flesh below.

  I clamped down on my dismay. “Looks better than I thought,” I choked out.

  She tucked the phone away. “You have my card.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Allen said. At the door, he looked back and mouthed Don’t fucking move before exiting with Special Agent Sorsha Aberdeen.

  Chapter 26

  The instant the door closed, I tossed the clipboard onto the receiving desk and ran for the bathroom. Leaning close to the mirror, I poked at the squishy patch of rot on the side of my grey-as-wet-concrete face. A knot of worry tightened in my chest. I’d downed a whole bottle of brain smoothie not even fifteen minutes ago. I shouldn’t be rotting.

  I dabbed at the spot with a wet paper towel and managed to slough off one of the skin tatters. Hands trembling, I crumpled the paper towel and dropped it into the trash can. I couldn’t go out in public with a rotted face, and makeup wouldn’t cover this. A big gauze pad could work. The tape might rip my skin, but I’d have to risk it. I tentatively scratched the inside of my arm, relieved and encouraged when the skin stayed intact. There was still a sliver of hope that I wasn’t about to fall apart completely. Yet.

  I jumped as a fist pounded on the bathroom doo
r. “Angel!”

  “Jesus! I’m taking a leak!” Damn it. I flushed the toilet then washed my hands, stalling in the hopes that my parasite would get a fucking clue and pull my face together.

  Nope. Face still gross, but hands squeaky clean.

  I dried my hands and stepped out of the bathroom. Across the hall, Allen stood in the doorway of the morgue tech office. “Sorry,” I said with a totally relaxed and chill smile. “I had a lot of coffee this morning.”

  Allen slipped his phone into his pocket and didn’t return my smile. “Let’s talk,” he said then turned and moved behind the desk.

  I hung by the door. “What’s up?”

  He snatched a paper lunch bag from a drawer, then dropped it to the desk with a heavy plop. “You tell me.”

  “You bought me brunch?” My attempt at a laugh came out weak and strained.

  His lips thinned. “Are you trying to incite an investigation?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He stabbed a finger at the bag. “Open it.”

  Wary, I moved to the desk and unrolled the top of the bag. A plastic sandwich baggie held odd lumps—

  “Pig brains, Angel?” The words cracked out. “Pig brains?”

  Ice spread through every muscle in my body. There was no lying my way out of this nightmare. “I guess I’m fired?” My voice sounded tinny and distant.

  He slammed the flat of his hand on the desk. “No brains in the organ bags is one thing. Pig brains takes it to a different fucking level.”

  No brains. So he did know brains had been missing before. That’s why he called me in on Friday. “Look, I’ll go. You’ll never have to deal with me again.” My voice shook, but my thoughts were surprisingly clear. “No more loser Angel in your department.”

  Allen folded his arms over his chest and leveled a stern look at me. “If you leave now, it will only make your situation worse. I suggest you sit down.”

  “Sit down and wait so the cops can scoop me up? Sorry, but no.” I took a step toward the door then hesitated as it all started to sink in. I was about to walk out of this life forever, leave a job I loved, where I wasn’t a loser. It sucked. “Allen, this isn’t what it looks like. I . . .” Shit. What could I possibly say? A girl’s got to eat? “I’m so sorry,” I gasped then fled toward the exit.

  “Angel! Stop!” Allen shouted after me. “I haven’t called the cops.”

  I slid to a stop with the exit in sight, turned and frowned at Allen where he stood in the office doorway. “Why not? What are you waiting for?”

  He exhaled. “I’d like you to answer a question for me. You owe me that much.”

  I wavered between staying and fleeing. “You won’t call the cops?”

  “Not unless you give me a reason to.”

  A bigger reason than replacing human brains with pig brains? Absurd hope flickered that something could be salvaged from this mess. “Ask away.”

  “In private.”

  We were alone in the morgue, but maybe he figured there was a chance another employee would pop in. I returned to the tech office but made sure Allen wasn’t between me and the door.

  He dropped into the chair on the far side of the room. “You’re really grey,” he stated. “And the rot on your face looks bad.”

  I tossed off a shrug. “Half the population of Tucker Point is grey or green or rotten. What’s your question?”

  He leaned back, eyes on me. “I want to know what’s been going on with you these past few months. Pig brains. Careless raids on the cooler. Reckless behavior, like jumping into floodwater for that gurney. You were solid before. What changed?”

  I blinked stupidly at him. That was his question? Not why was I stealing brains? “I’ve been on a special medication,” I managed to say. “For dyslexia. It messes with my impulse control, but I’m changing meds now.”

  He blew out a breath. “Thank God. I thought it might be something less, ah, manageable.”

  What the—? I had no idea what Allen’s deal was, but he had yet to fire me or press charges. “How long have you known about the brains?”

  “Since the gash on your hand healed without a trace.”

  My breath caught even as I shoved my hand behind my back out of pure reflex. I’d cut my hand on a scalpel last year, and Allen had stitched it to save me a trip to the emergency room. He’d almost been nice about it, too. “I have this really amazing miracle scar cream,” I said. “Works like a charm. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Angel, I know.” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes were wary. “I started checking the organ bags after that. You’re a goule-gris.”

  I didn’t know much French, but I understood grey ghoul. Blood drained from my head, and I swayed. Allen shot to his feet and shoved a chair under my butt as I sank. A weird numbness set in, as if I was along for the ride in some other person’s screwed up life. Allen had known for all this time. “I don’t understand.” I looked up at him, baffled. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You were doing what you had to do, and no one was getting hurt.” He sat on the edge of the desk. “I figured you had good reasons to want your privacy. But when you started behaving erratically, I knew it was only a matter of time before you got caught and by someone other than me. That would hurt the Coroner’s Office nearly as much as it would you, and I can’t have that.”

  I felt as if I’d been dropped into a weird dream-world. “How do you know about z—” I swallowed. “—about goule-gris?”

  “A few years ago I went on a medical aid rotation to the Central African Republic.” He grimaced. “We provided emergency services for refugees and victims of armed conflict. There was a local woman, a nurse who I worked closely with. Sorella.” His voice softened on her name. “I found out she was goule-gris when I accidentally poisoned myself with a wound salve I’d seen her use for a cut on her leg.”

  A strange calm settled over me. Allen knew what I was, and he wasn’t going to have me arrested. “It was toxic to you, but not to her.” I cocked my head, intrigued. “Did her wounds heal without the salve?”

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Not as well. I don’t know how it worked, but as far as I can tell it helped conserve, uh, brains.”

  I snapped out of my slouch. “What was in it?” I asked. Demanded.

  A corner of Allen’s mouth twisted. “That’s the same question John asked when I told him this story.”

  “Who the hell is John?” But the answer hit me an instant later. My jaw dropped. “Wait. John Kang?”

  Allen nodded. “Once you’ve seen goule-gris color, you don’t forget it. Less than a year after Africa, John came in to pick up a body, and he had that grey cast. It went from there. He told me—repeatedly—that outing your kind is frowned upon, which is part of why I kept quiet when I found out about you.”

  My mind spun as I worked to readjust to this bizarre new world. “Did you tell Kang what was in the salve?”

  “The ingredients that I knew of, yes. But I have no idea about the proportions or techniques.” He tipped his head back in thought. “Okra seed, moringa leaf, stinkblaar.” His forehead creased. “Boomslang venom—I won’t forget that one anytime soon—myrrh oil. There might’ve been more, but I’m not certain.”

  Ideas formed and fell apart only to sprout again. “Did Kang figure anything out with it?”

  “No clue. He was a private kind of guy. We didn’t talk about the goule-gris aspect much after the first few days.”

  Had Kang shared the word zombie with Allen? Too weird. “I know this is going to sound kind of lame, but thanks. For keeping my secret.”

  Allen didn’t quite smile, but his face lost some of its tension. “I kept my eye on you once I realized. But you make it to work on time, do a good job, and haven’t fucked up anything that I know of.” He shrugged. “As long as you weren’t hurting a
nyone, there was no need for me to butt into your life.”

  I stared at him. “I thought you hated me.”

  “There was no love lost for the first few months, that’s for sure,” he said, then made a sour face. “But you have no idea how many times I’ve been burned by losers who slid into a morgue tech job because of a relative with influence.”

  I winced. I’d been one of those losers when I started out. “Then why do you still jerk my schedule around all over the place and treat me like crap?”

  He surprised me with a bark of laughter. “I treat everyone like crap. That’s what makes me so lovable. As for your schedule, you never complained about it. I was happy to have an employee who was flexible.”

  Now that I thought about it, he’d never given me a lick of trouble about arranging my schedule around classes. I’d spent all this time being butthurt because Allen wasn’t nice to me. “What now?”

  Allen sobered and met my eyes. “No more taking all the brains. Leave some every few bags. No more carelessness. Don’t do your collecting when people are here. There’s a limit to how far I can cover your ass. If you get into a bind, tell me, and I’ll do what I can without drawing attention. And for God’s sake no more pig brains. Anyone with half an eye can tell they’re not human.”

  I nodded meekly. “Does this mean I still have a job?”

  “For now.” He gave me a mild glare. “But I’ll fire you in a heartbeat if you do anything to jeopardize your coworkers or this department.”

  Relief danced through me. “Got it.” I pushed to my feet. “Thanks, Allen. For being decent.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  Chapter 27

  “And they use this for zombie wound care in the Central African Republic?”

  I grinned at the naked awe and delight in Dr. Nikas’s voice. Allen had left to watch the parade with his wife, and I was on cell phone in the morgue tech office, kicked back with my feet on the desk. I’d already given him my update concerning Allen and Special Agent Aberdeen, and had saved the best news—the goule-gris salve—for last. “Apparently so,” I said. “Those ingredients were just the ones Allen could remember, so it’s possible there’s a secret ingredient missing.”