My Life as a White Trash Zombie (White Trash Zombie 1)

My amusement faded, and I began to get a bad feeling as I clambered over the berm and took note of the number of people clustered right beyond the crime scene tape. I’d never met most of them, but I’d seen their faces in the news enough to know that one of the knots of people was the Sheriff and his immediate cronies—which meant that this was some sort of special crime scene: a multiple homicide, or a local celebrity . . . or a kid. My stomach clenched at the last option. There’d only been a few of them so far, but every time we had to do an autopsy on a kid, it damn near killed me. There’d been two infants who’d died right after being born, and a little girl with some sort of birth defect. But the worst had been a twelve-year-old who’d committed suicide. I’d gone into the cooler and cried like a baby after we were done with that one, and when I’d come back out—braced to be teased by Nick—I was weirdly humbled to see that his eyes were red as well. I guess some things fucked you up no matter what.

I made my way carefully over the uneven ground, breathing a silent sigh of relief when I saw, through the group of people, the lower half of a body lying facedown. Definitely an adult. Damn good. I didn’t even mind that I’d have to carry him over all that ground.

Then the people moved, and I saw why the upper ranks were at the scene.

Oh, shiiiiiiit.

I moved forward toward the headless body, anger and bile filling my gut—at Zeke for not finding another way to control his hunger, and at Kang for his callous acceptance that a zombie could go rogue like this. I knew I was being pretty smug and sanctimonious, especially considering I had a fairly reliable source of brains, but even though the job had been handed to me I still worked my ass off and did what I had to do to keep it. Not like Zeke, who’d stolen from goddamn bodies. What the hell had he been thinking? Why would anyone whose existence depended on a job choose to fuck it up like that?

I shook my head. Yeah, I was fully aware of the irony of my train of thoughts. Maybe I was beginning to learn a thing or two.

“Less for you to carry again, Angel.”

I glanced up to see Detective Roth giving me a sour smile. “Yeah, but this whole losing your head thing is getting old,” I replied.

“Tell me about it.” He ran a hand through his bristly hair and grimaced.

I let my gaze sweep the surroundings. “Who found the body?”

His grimace deepened. “A couple of kids taking a shortcut to their bus stop. High school age, but still. . . .”

“That’ll give ‘em nightmares,” I said with a shudder.

“No shit.” Ben rubbed his eyes. “Fuck. And three headless bodies means we mostly likely have a serial killer, which means the rank is going nuts right now.”

I suddenly felt for him. All I had to do was pick up the body and go. He’d probably be out here all day and all night, and then likely spend a few more hours talking to everyone who lived around here in an effort to scare up any possible clue.

Maybe I could help point him in the direction of Zeke as a suspect. I had no idea how I could do that, but I needed to figure out a way, and fast. Five people were dead—that I knew of—and I had every reason to believe that there’d be more. It wasn’t as if Zeke was going to suddenly wake up one day and decide he didn’t want to eat brains any more. He could have come by the morgue at any time instead of stooping to murder.

And there was no way I could stop him on my own. But can the cops? I wondered. A shiver traced its way down my spine. Even if they found him and arrested him . . . what then? They wouldn’t be feeding him what he needed in jail. He’d rot, and get hungry, and. . . .

“You ready to turn him over?”

I pulled myself out of the spiral of my thoughts to see Derrel and the crime scene tech looking at me expectantly.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Sorry.” Tugging on the gloves, I crouched by the body, trying to position myself away from the messy stump of the neck. I didn’t want blood or anything else gross that might come out of there splorting on me. I took hold of the victim’s hip and shoulder and carefully rolled, then allowed the body to settle onto its back.

Oh Shit. Fuck. Damn.

I straightened, blood pounding in my ears as all of my carefully constructed theories came crashing down around me. White male, dressed in worn and dirty jeans and a faded New Orleans Saints T-shirt that celebrated the fact that they’d been divisions champs around a decade or so ago. Barefoot with mud on his feet and staining the bottom couple of inches of his jeans.

But I was only barely aware of those details. My attention was completely fixed on the Florida-shaped stain on the front of the shirt. Tomato and brain soup.

The crime scene tech leaned in close to photograph the front of the body. Each snap of the flash seemed to slice through me, jarring my thoughts into more disorder. The buzz of conversation between Derrel and the detectives wrapped around me. They would need to get fingerprints. The dog was searching the area for the head. They were considering calling out the dive team to search through the retention pond.

“I know who he is,” I blurted. The detectives and Derrel pivoted to me in unison as if it had been choreographed. If I hadn’t been so off-kilter I’d have probably laughed.

“Seriously?” Detective Abadie said, expression betraying nothing but doubt and impatience that I was wasting their time. “Recognize his face?” The skin around his eyes tightened as he gestured toward the body,

The feeling of being off-kilter suddenly vanished, and I straightened. Maybe a few weeks ago I’d have slunk back and mumbled an apology for wasting their time. But not this time. Now I was annoyed.

“Yeah, seriously,” I shot back. “And I don’t have to recognize his face. I ran into this guy a couple of days ago, and he was wearing the same damn clothes. But, y’know, if you want to be a cocky asstard know-it-all, that’s fine. Don’t let me waste your time.” I crossed my arms defiantly across my chest in emphasis.

I heard a low chuckle that I was pretty sure came from Derrel, but I was too busy giving Mike a death glare to confirm it.

Roth let out a bark of laughter. “Hey, Mike, she knows you pretty well!” He gave me an encouraging smile. “Miz Angel, would you please be so kind as to share any info you have with us?”

I dropped my arms and gave the burly detective a sweet smile. “Why, sugar, I’d be delighted,” I drawled. “This guy is Zeke Lyons. He used to work at Billings Funeral Home until he was fired a few weeks back for stealing jewelry off bodies. And I recognize his clothing because he came by the morgue the other day and was hassling me.”