My Life as a White Trash Zombie
Page 46

I clambered to my feet, still shoving frozen brains into my mouth as fast as I could swallow them down. Oh, yeah, this was the good shit. I was whole again. Better than whole.
Ed saw me stand out of the corner of his eye and spun, machete in his right hand. He raked a narrowed-eyed gaze over me. I wasn’t sure if he could see that I’d healed up. The front of my shirt was still covered in blood, and it wasn’t as if bullets really left big gaping craters in flesh like in the movies.
“So you’re still strong enough to stand.” Ed said, answering my question. His hand tightened on the machete. “You fuckers don’t like to stay down, do you?” His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile, but there were still tears in his eyes. “But once I take your head off and burn the skull, then it’ll all be over.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, then crammed the last piece of frozen brain into my mouth and let the plastic bag drop to the ground. Ed looked puzzled for only a couple of seconds before comprehension flashed across his face. He took a step toward Marcus, raising the machete up high in his left hand while pulling his gun out with his right.
“This has to be done,” Ed said through clenched teeth. “I know you don’t believe it, but you’re a monster.”
“Nah, not buying it,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’m still Angel. I’ve never killed anyone. Yeah, what happened to your dad was horrible, but we all make choices. Right now you’re the monster.”
Agony swept across his face as I ruthlessly shoved down the surge of pity that rose in me. “You can’t stop me,” he said, doing his best to curl his lip into a proud sneer. “I’ll finish him, then finish you.”
“Oh yeah?” I said. Then I couldn’t resist. I took a deep breath and yelled: “Zombie Super Powers, Activate!”
Then I moved.
Chapter 36
Oh, Ed did his best to shoot me again, but I’d just gobbled down two brains worth of brainsicle, and I was fast. Not outrun-speeding-bullet fast, but my reflexes were pegged at Fuck Yeah! He got two shots off, but I could tell exactly where he was aiming and see the tightening of his trigger finger. It felt almost effortless to simply step out of the paths of the bullets. In the next breath I was on him and had the gun and machete ripped out of his hands.
I took three steps back from him, then stepped on the machete blade to break it. I had a split second of worry that I was going to stomp on the blade only to have my foot bounce right off it, but my super-brainy state didn’t fail me, and the metal snapped with a terrifically satisfying crack.
I almost tried to see if my zombie-strength would let me break the gun but figured it’d be way too embarrassing if I failed at that. Instead I flung it as far as I could into the woods, watching with satisfaction as it sailed several hundred yards. He’d be a long time trying to find it.
But then I suddenly didn’t know what to do. I watched the terror crawl across Ed’s face as he looked at me, his eyes wide and full of white. He saw me as a monster, no doubt about that. I could smell the fear. My senses were so high I could hear every thump of his heart. Beads of sweat popped out on his upper lip as we stared at each other. I was hungry too, but not in the stomach-clawing, wolverine-in-the-belly way I was used to. Beneath his terror I could smell that he was prey. In this moment I was predator. Yeah, I could be the monster. A really awesome monster. I could be like this all the time. Strong and fast. Fucking invincible.
I moved toward him, and he stumbled back against the four-wheeler. “No, oh God, please,” he stammered, his breath coming in harsh pants.
“You smell good,” I murmured. Hunger swirled through me as I listened to the rapid flutter of his pulse. I could smell his brains beneath it all—every time he exhaled, I could smell it. How awesome it would be, warm and fresh . . . .
A scrape of motion drew my attention, and I flicked my gaze to the side long enough to see Marcus’s leg slowly moving. He’s alive! Relief slammed through me, and I took a step back from Ed, forcing down the feeling that I was allowing prey to escape. Marcus is alive! Err, sorta. He’s a zombie. He’s really a zombie! Wow, that would’ve sucked if Ed and I had both been wrong about that.
I took a deep breath and speared Ed with as menacing a gaze as I could manage. I must have done a pretty good job of it, because he went whiter than I ever thought anyone could be. Regret twined through me, but I knew I couldn’t back down. I liked him and I even felt a little sorry for him.
But he was perfectly willing to murder his best friend.
“Go. Run,” I snarled. “I don’t ever want to see you again. And if you kill any more zombies, I’ll hunt you down and eat you. Then I’ll kill you.” Heh. I cracked myself up sometimes.
He made a strange sort of gibbering noise, then spun and took off running toward the woods. He stumbled a couple of times, but scrabbled up and kept going. After a couple of minutes the sounds of him crashing through the underbrush faded away. I hoped he fell into a few patches of poison ivy along the way. Followed by a sticker bush. Then maybe a wasp’s nest.
A low gurgle came from Marcus, and I abandoned my brief desire to chase Ed down. I hurried over and crouched beside him. His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to be seeing anything.
“Wow, babe, you’re a mess,” I muttered. I knew what he needed. Unfortunately, I’d downed all the backup brains I had on me in my big showdown with Ed the Zombie Hunter.
I did a quick and frenzied search through the cab of the truck and then through Marcus’s pockets, but failed to turn up keys to the truck. Aggravating. They were probably still in Ed’s pocket.
Whatever. I was still strong as shit and fast as well. And it was only about a quarter mile to the car.
I turned to the moaning Marcus. “Okay, big guy, up you go!” Grabbing his wrist, I pulled him upright. He swayed and would have fallen if not for my hold on him. Worry sliced through me. How much damage had the bullet done? If I gave him brains, would everything in his head grow back to what it had been before he was shot? Or would he be a . . . vegetable zombie?
I couldn’t think about that right now. I slung him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, got a solid grip on his wrists, wrapped my other arm around his legs, and took off running.
Marcus was a fairly solid pile of muscle, I quickly discovered. I wasn’t doing as much gazelle-cheetah this time—more like rampaging water buffalo. I was pretty high on brains, but carrying Mr. Two Hundred Pounds If He’s An Ounce had me fading right about the time the car came into sight. I staggered the last few steps and let him slide off my shoulders onto the ground, barely keeping his head from cracking down hard.
Hunger growled at me as I yanked open the back door of my car and popped the cooler open. I grabbed the most-thawed bag I could find, fighting back the desire to feed myself first. Ripping the bag open, I scooped out a handful and carefully dribbled it into Marcus’s mouth—not too difficult since he was all slack-jawed and drooling.
But apparently even a brain-damaged zombie still knew what to do. He gulped them down, and I quickly slopped another handful into his mouth, watching the bullet hole in his head for any sign that it was closing. I continued to hand-shovel brains into his mouth while he made low grunting noises and swallowed down everything I gave him.
I thought I could see the edges of the bullet hole begin to close as I tore open the second bag. By the time I was halfway through, the hole had definitely healed over. More encouraging was the fact that his eyes were beginning to lose the vacant stare. At least I hoped so and that it wasn’t merely my wishful thinking.
I was nearly through feeding him a third bag when he suddenly seized my wrist. “Angel,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re okay?”
I nearly laughed in hysterical relief. He was still Marcus—and I’d been the one to save us both. Never would have thought that would happen. “Yeah. I’m cool. You still hungry?”
He struggled up to a sitting position, then leaned up against the car. “Fuck, yes. But I can hold on if you don’t have any more.”
I pulled two more bags out, handed one to him with a grin. “Eat up. I kinda hit the mother lode recently.”
I leaned up against the car next to him while we ate. A strange and comfortable silence descended.
“Did you kill Ed?” Marcus asked after a while. His tone was as conversational as if he’d been asking me if I’d found the car keys, but I could see aching regret in his eyes.
“No,” I replied. “I . . . wanted to. But not because I wanted to keep him from killing anyone else, or for revenge. I mean, I did, but—“
“You wanted to kill him for his brains,” he said.
I winced. “Yeah. And I think I would have if you hadn’t started moving.” I swallowed the hard knot in my throat. “It, um, kinda freaks me out.”
He surprised me by taking my hand. “But you didn’t. You have control of this.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I didn’t feel like I had control of this. Even now I could feel the urge to do whatever it took to get back to feeling so wonderfully high.
“You’re not a killer,” he continued. “You’re not a bad person at all.”
I gave him a weak smile. His hand was nice and warm in mine. He certainly wasn’t dead anymore. I liked the feel of it.
“Why did you change me?” I asked, meeting his eyes. “Why me?”
He gave my hand a squeeze. “Well, it’s not like I’d planned it ahead of time. But I always thought you got screwed by life in general. You had so much to overcome. And when I came up on that wreck and saw you,” he let out a heavy breath, “I figured I’d give you a second chance.”
“Oh. Um. Thanks.” Again, what was I supposed to say to that? Okay, so at least it wasn’t a random “I’ll-turn-her-into-a-zombie-whether-she-likes-it-or-not” sort of thing. He did save my life.
He cleared his throat. “And in case you think it was purely a pity thing, I, uh, also think you’re damn cute.”