White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

Who the hell do I think I am, pretending to fit in with important, influential people? Yet even as I thought it, Nick’s face came to mind as though he’d heard the negative self-talk and was prepared to give me a heap of shit for thinking so little of myself. Get over it, Nick, I thought with a stifled snort of amusement. You’re not the one playing Goodwill Girl meets Congresswoman.

Oblivious to my inner angst, Pietro steered me to a table where a slim, dark haired woman sat, thirtyish or so, and looking perfectly at ease in a sleek navy-blue skirt suit. Under the table, I noted the bulk of an air cast on her right leg and a cane leaning against her chair. Not a zombie then, I realized. Not with unhealed injuries. Unless she was faking it too? Whatever the deal was, I had no doubt there was a connection between her possibly-fake injuries and Pietro’s definitely-fake one.

“Jane,” Pietro said with a warmth in his voice that surprised me. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Angel Crawford. Angel, Dr. Jane Pennington.”

My confidence increased as I managed to do the handshake and “pleased to meet you” thing without embarrassing myself.

“And please call me Jane,” she insisted with a smile. A moment later, Marcus found us and was duly introduced as well. We all got seated, and I tried not to focus on how very out of my depth I was. Good grief, first name basis with a frickin’ congresswoman? Me? What alternate universe had I slipped into?

“And now, with a full table, I can have a few minutes peace,” Jane said with a chuckle.

The drumming of rain on the tent eased to a soft hiss of drizzle. Marcus laid his arm across the back of my chair in a gesture that felt juuuuust right, not too possessive and not too distant. For the next few minutes the conversation shifted to topics that ranged from neutral to mildly amusing—nothing that required a great deal of thought or effort.

A sharp increase in the buzz of the crowd drew our attention to the outside walkway.

“What on earth?” Jane murmured. She straightened and peered in the direction of the increasing murmurs and laughter.

I followed her gaze and drew in a sharp breath. Ten or so zombies shambled down the sidewalk between the tents, giving low moans of “Braaaiiins” and reaching toward people at tables. I shot a quick look at Pietro, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything he looked indulgently pleased.

Duh, they’re the movie zombies! I realized with a wash of relief. What a perfect place to do some promo and fish for more investors. Everybody who was anybody was here. Money. Lots of money.

“Oh my god, Pietro,” Jane breathed. “They look amazing!”

“New makeup people,” he commented, eyes on the lurching actors.

“You’re an investor, Uncle Pietro?” Marcus asked.

His uncle nodded. “One of several. Having the movie here is a nice boost to the local economy. In fact the other investors are here tonight as well. J. M. Farouche, Francis Renauld, and Nicole and Andrew Saber.” He gave a nod toward the fake zombies. “I have no doubt this performance is partly to reassure us that our money is being well-spent.” Pietro’s mouth twitched in amusement.

As the hideous group made its way past, a zombie woman with half a face groaned “Braaaiiins” and lifted a shredded hand toward us. Another zombie with a bloody face and protruding guts lurched toward Nicole Saber, who took a half-step back, an expression of genuine interest on her face. She peered closely at the extra as if assessing the realism and quality of her investment, then dismissed him with a laugh and wave of her hand. Beside her, Andrew Saber took a sip of his drink and looked on with utter disinterest.

Marcus grinned, leaned close to me. “Weird as hell, right?” he murmured.

I bit back a laugh. “Yes!”

Marcus turned to Pietro. “How many extras did they hire?”

“Close to a hundred,” he replied, still watching the zombies as they continued up the path to the cheers and applause of the crowd.

“Yikes. Do they have to do makeup on all of them?” I asked.

“Well, yes, but the majority of them have very basic makeup since they’ll be in crowds seen at a distance,” Pietro explained. “Only a couple dozen or so will get the more detailed makeup like those.” He nodded toward the cluster of zombies as they drew out of sight. “Those are the ones who’ll get the close camera work.”

Jane turned to Pietro, expression aglow with excitement and delight. “You’ll get me onto the set for filming, right?” she asked with a smile. “I’d love to see.”

“I’ll check with Vince and get you in on a good crowd scene,” Pietro told her, smiling.

“Oh, it doesn’t have to be anything big,” she protested, though her eyes brightened at the thought. “I don’t want to get in the way, and I certainly don’t want to be on camera.” She let out a soft snort, then chuckled. “I get enough of that now. I simply want to see how it’s done.”

Pietro smiled. “Too bad you’re a congresswoman-elect. You could get yourself made up.”

Jane laughed. “Oh, my goodness, no. I love watching zombies and zombie movies, but I don’t ever want to be one.”

Okay, so not a zombie, which means her injuries are real, I thought, very carefully keeping my expression under control. But that still doesn’t answer the question of whether or not she knows Pietro is a zombie.

Marcus gave me a light squeeze. “Hey, babe, did you ever get the bread pudding you were lusting after?”

“I wasn’t lusting…” I stopped, then shrugged. “Okay, I was lusting. It smelled amazing. I would do terrible things to that pudding.” I gave him a bright smile. “You offering to go get some for me?”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Lustworthy bread pudding?”

Pietro chuckled. “Come, Marcus. The ladies want bread pudding, and we should oblige them.”

It wasn’t until the two went off together that I realized I’d been left alone to talk to a congresswoman. Okay, I can do this. Now try not to say anything stupid. Easy, right? “So, um, you and Pietro,” I said. “You known him long?”

“A few months now,” she replied, a flicker of something I couldn’t identify passing quickly over her face. “I met him at a fundraiser.”

“I only met him about six months ago or so,” I said, then couldn’t think of a damn thing to follow that up with. An awkward silence threatened, but Jane saved me.

“I absolutely love your jacket,” she said with an appreciative smile. “The color is gorgeous on you, and it’s a terrific style.”

“Thanks!” I replied, then added, “I actually picked it up for fifteen bucks at Goodwill.” Somehow I had the feeling it wouldn’t matter to her where I got it. And there was also a small part of me that wanted to establish that I wasn’t a snob like Heels.

She didn’t disappoint me. Her face lit up in honest appreciation of the find. “What luck!”

“I’m a pro at finding the good bargains,” I said with a laugh. But then I sobered. “At the risk of being rude and nosy, what happened to your leg?”

She sucked in her breath with a hiss and shook her head as though it was an ugly memory. “Pietro and I were in a serious car accident a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been told I’m lucky to be alive.”

“Oh, man, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, then hunched my shoulders. “I mean…not sorry you’re alive. Sorry you had the accident…” I groaned. “Jeez, someone needs to shoot me right about now.”

But Jane merely gave a nice laugh. “It’s all right. I know what you meant. And I still don’t know how Pietro managed to get out with only minor injuries. Moreover, his driver was completely unscathed.” She shook her head in amazement. “A real miracle.”

“A miracle,” I echoed. She doesn’t know we’re zombies, and Pietro’s pretending to have an injury. What the heck was he up to? Was he trying to get a congresswoman in his pocket? It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, especially for Pietro. And maybe their relationship had started out that way, but judging by the way he looked at this woman and how his voice seemed to deepen on her name, it was pretty clear he was crazy about her now.

“Pietro told me that you and Marcus are an item,” Jane said with a slightly questioning tone, as if wanting to be sure of our status before continuing.

“We’re dating,” I said, hedging on the whole “item” thing. Was “just dating” an “item”? Or did we have to actually be boyfriend and girlfriend? And if Marcus and I were dating each other exclusively, were we actually boyfriend and girlfriend no matter how hard I tried to deny it? Was I overthinking the hell out of this? “He’s a great guy,” I finished gamely.

“Hard to find those,” she said. Her gaze drifted in the direction the two men had gone before it returned to me. “Are you from this area?”

“Lived here my whole life,” I admitted. “Never been farther away than Talladega, Alabama actually,” I added.

“Anywhere you’ve ever dreamed of going?”

“Oh, wow,” I said, exhaling. “Everywhere. Anywhere. New York, L.A., D.C.…God, I’d fucking love to see the Smithsonian.” I winced. Yes, I’d just dropped an F-bomb on a congresswoman. “Sorry. I mean, I’d love to see it.”

The woman leaned forward. “Don’t tell the press,” she said quietly, then cast a furtive glance around, “but I’ve been known to say ‘fuck’ a time or two.”

I grinned weakly. “Be pretty boring if you could never cuss, I guess.”

Jane laughed. “I don’t think I’d make it through my day!”

“What’s it like being in Congress?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t actually know yet,” she answered with a kind smile. “I was elected in a special election, but I won’t be sworn in until next week. It’s a dream come true, so I’m banking on it not being a nightmare.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">