Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues (White Trash Zombie #2)

Didn’t help. Still completely freaked out.

On the other hand, I was tanked up on brains darn near as high as I’d ever been. Even though it was dark, I could see every blade of grass, hear the buzzing of the mosquitos, feel the low thrum of the engine of Ed’s truck from where it was idling farther down the street. A slight shift of movement from behind the bleachers caught my attention as surely as if the man back there had stood up and waved a flag. He had a rifle pointed at me. I was definitely going to get shot again. But with any luck the combination of zombie super-speed and the reserve of brains I had on hand would be enough to counteract the damage.

I sure as hell hoped so, because right now that was the only plan we had.

A breeze swirled past me, and I lifted my head, nostrils flaring like an animal as the wind brought the scent of two people. They were by the south end zone, and I recognized both scents. My dad and McKinney. So Ed was right, the sniper behind the bleachers was a new player. How many others were nearby?

Turning slowly I extended my zombie super senses as far as they could go, seeking out scents and movements. At least one more—over by the opposing side bleachers, and also with a rifle. Possibly more but the light wind wasn’t cooperating. Probably one rifle trained on me and one on my dad to keep me from simply grabbing him and bolting. Even with zombie super strength and speed I wouldn’t be able to avoid bullets while also shielding my dad.

Which meant that I was back to depending on the Power of Brains.

I clenched and unclenched my hands. A creak of metal alerted me, and I spun toward the south end zone to see my dad and McKinney walking through the gate. They paused at the goal line, then my dad continued toward me alone, shuffling in his usual gait but clearly doing his best to hurry. I breathed shallowly, straining my ears for anything unusual—the click of a trigger or a muttered order to fire.

Nothing but the shuffling of my dad’s feet over the grass. It seemed to take forever, but he finally made it across the field to me. I seized him in a hug. God, he felt so frail.

“You okay?” I asked, releasing him and raking my gaze over him.

He nodded, swallowed harshly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Now let’s get out of here, baby.”

“No, you have to keep walking,” I said, gesturing to the other end of the field. “A friend of mine is going to pick you up, and y’all have to get the hell away from here. Understand?” I could hear Ed’s truck rev as he began to ease toward the pick-up point.

He scowled. “I ain’t leaving you. You fuckin’ kidding? I’m your dad, goddammit.”

“Yeah, and I’m your daughter who needs to kick some ass but has to know you’re safe first, okay?” I gave him a hard look. He hesitated, and I knew he was remembering the time it was his ass I had to kick—or threaten to kick, at least.

“Please, Dad, you have to go,” I said urgently. “I have to know you’re all right.”

He hesitated, clearly agonized. He wanted to be there for me, help save the day. He’d dropped the ball too many times to count in the last few years, but he’d been there for me when it had counted most, when he had to make the choice between his wife and me.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “You have to go. It’s the right thing. I can’t…do what I have to do if you’re here.”

Swallowing hard, he pulled me into another fierce hug. “Love you, Angelkins. I’m so proud of you.” He let me go, gave a nod. “You go kick whatever ass needs kicking.”

“I will,” I said with a shaky smile. “Now please, go get to safety.”

It had to have been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he did it—kept walking and left me there in the middle of that field. I watched as Ed pulled up right by the gate and my dad climbed into the truck. I braced myself, and as soon Ed gunned the engine to get the hell out of there I broke into a sprint.

I knew I was fast, but the snipers must have been damn good. I felt two hits in my lower back, but I simply peeled my lips back in a feral smile and kept running. Sure, two shots would slow me down some, but…

I stumbled and went to my knees. My legs didn’t want to work properly. What the hell? I was so high on brains that should’ve barely caused a hitch in my stride. I fumbled to reach the bag in the side pocket of my pants, but my arms didn’t want to work either. Fear slammed through me as I slumped heavily onto my side. Numbness swept through me, but it wasn’t anything like the other times I’d been shot.

Not shot—tranqued, I realized in horror as I watched a white van speed across the field and stop in front of me. I had no choice but to watch since I couldn’t move or turn my head. If I’ve been drugged the parasite will take care of it, I tried to reassure myself. But I knew, with a growing sense of horror, that it wouldn’t be quickly enough. My senses were fading, and I felt the first stirrings of hunger, but that was probably my parasite doing its best to simply keep me alive. Why should it care if I couldn’t move right now?

McKinney and another man exited the van and approached. McKinney crouched in my line of sight while the other moved behind me. I could feel the second guy putting handcuffs on me or something similar. It was tough to be sure, since I had a Novocaine-type numbness throughout most of my body.

“Hello, sweetie,” McKinney said with a grin. “See? I kept my end of the bargain. And now you’re pumped full of enough animal tranquilizer to kill an elephant. I had a feeling that would be more effective—and so much less messy—than shooting you. My new partners are bringing a great deal to the table.” He gave a nod toward the other man and then gestured to—I assumed—the two snipers.

I couldn’t even blink, but apparently I was still able to glare daggers at him because he chuckled. “Fun times ahead, Angel. Fun times.”

Chapter 24

Once I was safely handcuffed and leg-shackled, they made a fairly thorough search of my person. If I’d been able to curse—or even breathe deeply—I would have when they located the bag of brains in my side pocket. Instead I was absolutely shrieking in terror on the inside.

“Jesus,” I heard one of them mutter. “Is that…?”

“Brains?” McKinney answered. “Yes. And it’s the last thing we need to let her have right now.”

“That’s disgusting,” the first one said.

McKinney’s response was a bark of laughter. “Well, you’d better get used to it fast.”

After that, they put me in some sort of large metal box or container. It had plenty of air holes, though, so apparently they were easing up on me in that they weren’t going to let me suffocate. I lost track of time, but it didn’t seem to take long before a lesser sort of numbness began to take over my limbs, and I could wiggle my fingers and toes again. But as the paralysis faded the hunger grew. Whatever I’d been drugged with had clearly forced my parasite to use up a lot of resources, and now it wanted to be fed. Badly. The hunger clawed at me, telling me to break the chains and get out of the box by any means necessary. The air holes allowed me to detect two people with lovely, edible brains in the back of the van with me. I wanted them both. I could take them—I knew that.

I clenched my teeth, breath hissing as I fought the urges. Even if I could break the chain on the handcuffs and shackles, I doubted that I could get through the metal of this box. It looked like the kind of container used to transport dangerous animals, like tigers and stuff. In fact, it probably was, now that I thought about it with the few brain cells still under my control. And if this thing could hold a six-hundred-pound tiger, there was no way my barely one hundred pounds would be able to break free, even with a zombie parasite on my side. I’d only damage myself more.

On the other hand, I had the advantage of being a scrawny little thing, and adequately limber enough to wiggle around and get the handcuffs in front of me. The air holes didn’t let in much light but there was enough for me to see that the skin of my wrists beneath the handcuffs was torn and I could see through to the bone. I’d lost a few fingernails as well, but I was used to that. My breath came in slow, rasping gurgles, and I made no effort to control it. Might as well see if I could freak out the men with me in the back of the van. It was insanely tempting to say something like, “I want to eat you,” but I didn’t want to risk them shooting or tranquing me again. I was in a bad enough state as it was.

Instead I curled up into a ball in the corner of the container, squeezing my eyes shut while I tried to focus on anything except how insanely hungry I was. When that didn’t work, I shifted my thoughts to what I would do when they opened the container. That would be my chance.

But if I break free, won’t they just come after me—or my dad—again?

My lips curled back in a silent snarl. Right now I was willing to take that chance. And if the hunger got any worse, I wouldn’t be able to control what I did when that door opened up.

But it did get worse. It was all I could think about. My entire existence narrowed down to an excruciating need to find brains. I had no idea how much time passed as we drove. I thought it was probably longer than half an hour, but beyond that I couldn’t be sure. I could barely hold onto rational thought, much less keep track of the passage of time. After a while I was aware of a low huffing growl, then realized it was coming from me. Not long after that, I was aware only of the hunger and the need to reach the two who were just out of my reach.

And then, brains. The scent filled the container, and I dove onto the chunks that dropped through one of the air holes, cramming them into my mouth one-handed as fast as I could. There was something wrong with my other hand, but I couldn’t figure out what just yet. Whining, I scrabbled at the hole and was rewarded with several more gobbets, dimly aware of conversation outside the box as I gulped them down.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You were at the briefing. We went through what would happen.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing. Give it another couple of minutes, then it’ll be safe to take her out.”