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

I started to zip the bag closed and paused. I was fairly brain-hungry right now. I wasn’t ravenous or anything, and I hadn’t reached the point where I was starting to smell or skin was peeling off, but my nose for brains always got better the hungrier I was. And with this guy having a fractured skull, I should’ve been able to smell his brains quite clearly. Hell, my stomach should have been yelling at me to pry the broken pieces of skull apart to fish a handful out and cram it into my mouth right this instant.

But as far as my nose was concerned, there was nothing of interest within the man’s head. Which is probably a good thing, I decided, since treating the guy’s head like a popcorn bowl probably wouldn’t go over well.

Hiding a smile at the thought, I finished zipping the bag closed, then got it onto the stretcher and belted into place. I felt someone come up beside me, but I didn’t need to turn to see who it was.

“You hungry?” Deputy Ivanov murmured.

“Fucking starving,” I replied just as quietly. “It’s been slow at the morgue, so I’m trying to go longer between meals.” My lips twitched. “And somehow last night I burned off a whole lot of brains.” I gave him a sly, knowing look, but frowned as sudden worry struck me. “Why? Do I smell?”

He started to shake his head, then shrugged. “Nothing anyone would notice. I ate this morning, so my senses are probably being overachievers.”

I gave him a light elbow in the ribs. “You don’t have to lie. A good zombie boyfriend tells his zombie girlfriend if she’s starting to rot. Just like you’d better tell me if I have spinach in my teeth.”

He grinned. “Or if your skin starts peeling off?”

“Exactly! That’d be as bad as having my skirt caught up in my underwear!”

He leaned close. “I made a new batch of pudding this morning.”

I gave him a sidelong look. The pudding in question was nicknamed “foreplay”—and was heavily spiked with pureed brains. “Are you hoping I’m hungry or horny?”

“I know you’re both,” he said with a wink.

“So, who was the blond chick you were hugging?” I asked. I think I even managed to do so without sounding jealous. Well, not too jealous.

Amusement lit his eyes. “That was Dr. Sofia Baldwin. I’ve known her since high school.”

“Uh huh,” I said, giving him a mild stink eye. “And did you ever date her?”

He grinned. “Yes, and before you get too green-eyed, she dumped me.”

I gave a sniff. “Well, either she’s an idiot, or I have yet to discover your horrifying flaws.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Or both.”

“Hmmf. We’ll just have to see. Now get out of my way, I have a corpse.”

He stepped aside. “I’ll call later.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just see if I answer.”

His low chuckle followed me as I pushed the stretcher down the hallway.

The security guard pulled the lobby door open for me and gave me a slight dip of his chin in greeting as I passed him. I gave him an appropriately sober nod in return. The scent of his brains swirled briefly around me, accompanied by a jab of hunger that reminded me I needed to eat soon unless I wanted to start falling apart.

I continued on outside, shoved the stretcher into the back of the van, and then climbed into the driver’s seat. Screw this whole rationing crap. Especially if there was any chance I was starting to smell. That was one thing I was super paranoid about. The bottle of brain-chocolate smoothie in my lunchbox was only partially thawed, but I went ahead and downed what I could. By the third gulp the hunger faded away to be replaced by a lovely feeling of warm energy.

It wasn’t until after I’d put the half-full bottle back into my lunch box and started the van that it occurred to me:

If I’d been able to smell the live guard’s brains, why hadn’t I been able to smell the dead one’s?

Chapter 4

The question continued to tumble through my head as I headed to the morgue. My cell phone rang, interrupting my train of thought, but I didn’t even need to look at the caller ID to know who it was.

“I almost didn’t answer,” I said with a smile.

I heard Marcus laugh. “You know you can’t resist my charms.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cop-boy,” I warned.

“Okay, how about if I remind you to be careful.”

I sobered. “I’m being careful. I promise. And you as well.” Be Careful had become his mantra in the past couple of weeks. Both of us were hyper-aware that the threat of Ed still hung over us.

“I am,” he said. “But that’s not the only reason I’m calling. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the scene, but my uncle’s having a get-together tomorrow, a casual cookout sort of thing, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

“Your uncle the zombie?” Marcus’s uncle, Pietro Ivanov, had been the one who’d turned him after Marcus contracted rabies from a raccoon. The rabies had absolutely nothing to do with the zombieism, except for the fact that, apparently, rabies was almost always fatal once symptoms began to appear. Marcus hadn’t even considered that he could be at risk and hadn’t bothered to seek treatment for the rather minor bite until it was too late. Conveniently, Pietro also owned several funeral homes, allowing him to keep them both well supplied with brains.

“That’s the one,” he said.

“Um, sure thing,” I said.

“You don’t sound very excited.”

Okay, so I was pretty transparent. Either that or he already knew me damn well. Or both.

I took a deep breath. “Well, you’re asking me to meet a member of your family. And that’s kinda nervous-making, y’know?” Something else occurred to me. “And on that note, who else will be there besides your zombie uncle?”

“Just a couple of people. A family friend or three. Don’t worry about them. This is mostly for you to finally meet Pietro.”

“Uh huh. Yeah, nothing at all to be nervous about. We’ve only been dating a couple of weeks. Shouldn’t this wait until the three-month mark or something?”

He chuckled. “Stop it. He’ll love you.”

“That’s not really the point,” I replied. Okay, it was kinda the point, at least to me. I really doubted that I was the kind of girl parents always dreamed their son would bring home.

I heard him sigh. “Look,” he said, “I know it seems like things are moving really quickly, but I think it’s important that you meet my uncle, especially with all this stuff about Ed going on. I promise, he’s not going to eat you.”

I made a face at the phone. He didn’t get why I could possibly be utterly terrified of meeting his family, even it was only his uncle. But at this point I knew I wouldn’t be able to make him understand.

“Okay. Fine.”

“Great! Call me when you get off work tomorrow. We’ll drive over together.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Liar,” he said, then hung up.

I continued on to the morgue. The Coroner’s Office building was damn near the exact opposite of NuQuesCor. Two stories, wood and brick exterior, lots of windows, and attractive yet subtle landscaping. This facility was fairly new, and one of the main goals had been that the design not be stark and scary but as warm and comfortable as possible. Made perfect sense to me. Hell, if nice carpet and neatly trimmed shrubbery helped people deal with the loss of a loved one, I was all for it.

The morgue portion of the building was on the far back end and wasn’t quite as warm and welcoming. The general public never saw this entrance, where the bodies went in for autopsy and came out on their way to the funeral home. Just one more step in the machine of death. Even when it was necessary for next of kin to identify a loved one, the death investigators preferred to use pictures instead of having them actually see the body. Much less traumatic for everyone involved.

The back parking lot was empty except for my piece of crap little Honda parked on the far side of the small lot. I glanced at my watch. Nine p.m. Marcus’s warning remained foremost in my mind. I made sure to do a careful scan of my surroundings before I parked the van as close to the building as I could. My nerves hovered on a knife’s edge as I pulled the stretcher out and swiped my ID card at the door, and I didn’t relax until I got myself and both bodies safely inside with the door closed behind me.

The scent of the morgue surrounded me like an old friend. An old, dead friend who’d been steeped in formalin and cleaning products. I wasted no time getting the bodies into the cooler and properly logged in, as well as the property from the security guard recorded and deposited into the small safe. Then I breathed a sigh of relief, returned to the outer office, and plopped myself down at the computer. Yeah, some people might think it was weird that I enjoyed the peace and quiet of the morgue, but I was probably the last person to be freaked out at the thought of sharing a room with dead people. Besides, I didn’t have a computer at home, and this was a helluva lot easier than trying to use a computer at the library. Most of theirs were ancient and slow, plus I hated having to wait my turn and then having my time limited.

I could use the morgue computer 24/7, and all I had to do was put up with the way the place smelled.

I diddled around for a little while looking at funny pictures and reading some local news online, then got down to the business at hand: figuring out what I had to do to take, and pass, the GED. After about half an hour I had the information I needed as far as how to schedule a test, but I also had a fairly solid idea of what sort of stuff was on it—and how much of it I didn’t know. But unless I want to spend the rest of my life on probation, I don’t have much choice, do I?

With reckless disregard of Coroner’s Office resources, I printed off stacks of practice tests and study guides, gathered it all up and then headed for the door. I knew how I’d be spending the rest of my free time.