White Trash Zombie Apocalypse
Page 39

Philip dropped his chin to his chest, shoulders shaking and breath coming as if weeping silently, though there were no tears.
“Damn it,” I muttered. Sighing, I slipped an arm around him and pulled his head to my shoulder. Stooooooopid parasite. It felt right, but what the hell was I doing?
To my surprise he seemed to ease, breathing becoming a bit more regular. “Shouldn’t be…here,” he murmured.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “You said that already. Now shut up about it.”
He closed his eyes, tremors easing more. I realized I was stroking his hair, though I didn’t remember lifting my hand to do so.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a moment.
For which part? I wanted to ask. There’d certainly been a lot of bad shit. But he was calm now, and I didn’t want him upset and unstable again.
“Yeah, well, you owe me a new jacket,” I muttered.
He lifted his head and looked into my face, eyes nowhere near as confused and pain-clouded as a few minutes earlier. “I have to go.”
“Sure,” I said. “But drink the rest of the bottle first.”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he shifted to sit fully back against the wall again. He picked up the bottle, looked at the remaining sludgy-brown liquid in it. “When can you get more?”
Was he asking because he wanted me to get him more? Or was he concerned that I’d have to go without?
I avoided a direct answer. “I’ll be okay. My people will take care of me,” I said, with the heavy implication that his people obviously didn’t. “Drink the rest.”
He gave a single tight nod, then nearly ripped the cap off before downing the remainder.
“Why were you dressed up as an extra for the movie?” I asked.
He rubbed at his eyes and set the bottle down. “Have to stay close to the subjects,” he muttered. “Easiest way.”
“Subjects? Of what?” I peered at him, eyes narrowed.
He blinked and looked over at me. “Shit,” he murmured, as if suddenly realizing he’d said too much. He gave his head a sharp shake. “Nothing. Forget I said it.” He paused. “I’m serious. You need to forget it.”
Yeah, like that was going to happen. His shoulder was warm against mine, and I didn’t want to lose the contact with him, but I also knew damn well he was super dangerous and working for people who didn’t have warm fuzzies for me. Reluctantly, I pulled away from him and stood.
“You’re better now,” I made myself say. “You need to leave.”
A barely audible moan escaped him as I moved away, but he pushed himself to his feet, gave a slight nod. “I’m going.”
I slapped down the urge to tell him I’d find a way to give him more help. “You owe me,” I told him instead. “I mean it. Don’t come back around here.”
A wave of what sure as hell looked like sadness passed over his face before his expression hardened. He straightened, looked down his nose at me. “I got what I wanted,” he said, then turned and headed off along the wall behind the hedge.
Confused, I watched him go, unable to shake the feeling I was missing something obvious.
Chapter 21
To my surprise, I managed to get back to sleep without any problem. Maybe my subconscious accepted that if Philip or any of his cronies were going to mess with me they’d had ample opportunity to do so when I followed him out. Or maybe I was simply tired as all hell. Either way, I slept like the dead until around eight in the morning, and only woke up then because another goddamn fire truck went by on the street outside.
A few more boxes of donated clothing had been brought by, and I managed to snag more stuff for my dad as well as a couple of t-shirts for myself. I even found cargo pants in my size, or rather in a teenage boy size that fit me well enough. After the clothing search I grabbed a quick shower in the girls’ locker room, silently grateful that my parasite would take care of any godawful foot fungus I caught from the grungy tile floors.
My dad was peering at a newspaper when I came back out. “Have you eaten this morning?” I asked him as I dragged a comb through my wet hair.
“Yeah. Some fancy cinnamon roll thing.”
“They have eggs and bacon too,” I told him. “You should try and eat some protein.” I tugged on shoes and socks. “I’m gonna see if I can get a ride in to work and then the phone store to get us new phones.” And the DMV. And probably the bank too, I thought. I needed a new debit card, and wanted to deposit the money he’d given me. Holy crap, but there was a lot to do. Good thing most of it was in semi-reasonable walking distance from downtown. Sure, I wanted to find out more about why Philip was pretending to be an extra and who the hell the “subjects” were he was talking about, but taking care of my dad and me had to take priority right now.
“You need anything while I’m gone?” I asked.
Dad shook his head, turned the page in his newspaper. “Don’t need shit.”
That’s when I saw it. A picture of Marcus at the bottom of the front page under all the stuff about the flood. And a headline that read, Heroic Rescue Saves Family of Three.
I snatched the paper away from my dad. “And when were you planning on telling me about this?” I asked, as I hurried to read the brief article.
“What? About that cop?”
“You should have said something,” I said with a scowl. He muttered something I decided to ignore while I focused on reading.
The article praised Marcus for diving into a flooded drainage canal to save a young family from certain death after their car went off the road shortly after dark. Unfortunately, it continued, the officer sustained a broken leg and had to be transported to the hospital for treatment.
I silently cursed the lack of details, but exhaled in relief. A broken leg was nothing but an inconvenience for a zombie. And most importantly, it explained why he hadn’t come by last night.
I hesitated, then thrust the paper back at my dad, gave him a hug. “It’s all gonna be okay,” I said. “We’re still alive and that’s what counts.”
His eyes lifted to mine. “That’s good, Angelkins. Everything’s gonna be just fine. You and me.”
“Damn straight,” I said. “We’re too mean to keep down for long.”
“When you coming back?”
“I’ll probably be a few hours, I figure,” I told him. “Hope to be back by noon or so, though.” My brow furrowed. “You gonna be okay? I heard someone say they’re getting a TV in here to show movies.”
“I know how to take care of myself,” he said with a scowl. “You go do whatever you gotta do.”
I scowled right back at him, but I couldn’t help but be perversely glad that his orneriness was returning.
It didn’t take long to find a volunteer who was more than happy to give me a ride to the Coroner’s Office. Once there, she even gave me her number so that I could call when I needed a ride back.
It took me a few seconds and several brain cells to figure out why the front door of the office was locked, then I remembered it was a Saturday. Crap. Guess I won’t be going to the DMV today. Since my keycard was at the bottom of the swamp by now, I used the number pad of the lock to gain entry.
My footsteps echoed through the quiet halls as I continued through the main building and into the morgue. I planned on finding a way to get to my storage unit, but if there were any available brains to be had here, I’d be stupid to pass them up. With all the weirdness going on with Philip and Saberton, I wanted to be tanked.
But when I pulled the cooler door open, I stopped in my tracks and stared in shock. Body bags—had to be over a dozen of them. All three stretchers were full, as were the shelves along the walls.
The flood. Oh my god. These are people who died in the flood.
My dad could have easily ended up in one of those. If I hadn’t been able to call Pietro for a rescue, or if I hadn’t been home, there was no way he’d have made it out. Goosebumps skimmed over me, and I quickly backed out of the cooler and shut the door. My gaze went to the whiteboard on the wall by the cutting room. Three had already been autopsied. Dr. Leblanc had probably worked late last night.
So far the only brains I’d refused to consume were children and friends—like when Marianne, Ed’s girlfriend, had been murdered. I’d long ago lost my respect for the dead, at least that’s what I tried to tell myself. But I still winced with a razor-sharp stab of regret as I went back into the cooler, found the body of Bern, Alfred B/M 78 YO, and feasted on his brain.
* * *
After I tanked up on both brains and guilt, I fired up the morgue computer and tried to decipher the instructions for applying for disaster aid. After a frustrating half hour, I decided that, for the sake of my own sanity, I needed to get someone to help me out. Since the flood had affected relatively few people, its victims didn’t qualify for federal aid, which left only state agencies with their bizarre requirements and confusing instructions.
The search for a new trailer didn’t go any better. Or rather, I had no trouble finding all sorts of trailers and dealers online, but the prices for anything that wasn’t a roach-infested falling-down hovel were helluva lot more than I’d expected.
More than a little demoralized, I headed back into the main building.
“Angel?”
I looked up to see Derrel step out of the investigator’s office. He gave me a relieved smile. “Angel, so good to see you!”
I mustered a smile. “Hey, big guy.”
“I’m sorry your area flooded,” he said as he moved toward me, face clouded with concern. “It must really be a mess. I’ll be happy to come help with some cleanup on my next day off.” He tilted his head. “Hey, how’d the exam go?”
I blinked at him stupidly. Exam? Cleanup? What was there to clean up? “What exam?”
“The GED? Wasn’t that this morning?”