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

“Fine,” he replied, voice taut. “It’s a problem. What do you want me to do about it?”

You’re an asshole! I wanted to scream, but I hadn’t asked him for the brains yet. I took a deep breath to get my temper in check. “Nothing. I simply figured you might want to be aware. Okay? So you could, um, watch out and shit.”

I heard him exhale. “I see. All right. I appreciate your concern, though it’s misplaced. No one knows about me.”

And the three victims probably thought the same thing, I thought, but I wasn’t going to waste energy arguing with Kang about this. I’d warned him. Hopefully he’d at least watch his back now.

“What’s your second thing?” Kang asked.

“I, uh, I’m in a bind with my supply. Lost my whole stash. I need some to tide me over.”

He made a noise that sounded scornful. “Figured. Fine, come by the funeral home after we close at seven P.M. I need to work late anyway.”

Shit. I was starving, and I didn’t want to have to wait until this evening. It had been three days since I’d last eaten. But I also didn’t really have any choice. Kang was so damn twitchy I didn’t dare push the issue. “Cool,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“Uh huh. Come after seven.” And with that he hung up.

The next seven hours were the longest hours of my entire fucking life. I drove to the park, found a shady place and sat curled up in the front seat of my car—trying unsuccessfully to nap and not move or do anything that might burn me out faster than absolutely necessary. I had the windows rolled down to keep the car from getting too stifling, but as the day progressed the scent of joggers and people walking their dogs grew more and more noticeable. Hunger roiled within me every time someone went by and the scent of their brains wafted through the car. I finally rolled the windows up and forced myself to endure the stuffiness and my own stench.

The hunger wound through every cell of my body—so much a part of me, I felt as if everyone could see it. Colors and sounds felt muted, but one thing cut through my sense of smell: brains. Brains in everyone around me. Pulsing with life and flavor. God almighty, all I needed was to club one of them down, feed while it was still warm . . .

I shuddered, clenching my jaw against the urges. I wasn’t that far gone yet. I was still aware. Surely I had a couple more days until the hunger ruled me? Zeke had been out of work for a couple of weeks, right? Except I already knew he hadn’t been without brains that entire time. I was pretty damn positive he’d killed that drug dealer and Mr. Harris. And if he’d had a stash he might have only been without brains for a few days.

But according to Kang that’s all it would take—he’d said that things started to go south pretty quickly after only a few days.

That’s me—going south.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through my mouth, but that only caused my lower lip to crack in a disgusting fissure that made me look like I had some sort of hideous deformity. I would have cried but my eyes could barely maintain enough moisture to allow me to see.

At a quarter ’til seven I uncurled and started the car, nursing a dull fury as I drove over to the funeral home. Kang was being a complete dick making me wait like this. And I didn’t have a fucking choice but to take it, which pissed me off even more. He had access to more brains than I did by a long shot. Most deaths didn’t require autopsy. In the less than six weeks I’d been working for the Coroner’s Office, I’d seen at least half the bodies released on scene, plus the funeral homes got everyone who died at the nursing homes and hospitals. Sure, most of those were natural deaths, which usually meant they were older. And okay, so older brains didn’t taste as great, but, seriously, once you added some flavor or spice—like my soup—it didn’t make that much difference.

The thought made me giggle in a silly, almost hysterical way. Maybe I needed to start making recipes for brains. Something more than throwing some tomato soup or coffee in. And maybe there was something that could be done for brains that were decomposing and liquefying. Brain soup? Vichyssoise? I didn’t know if decomposing brains still had the enzyme, or whatever the hell it was, that zombies needed, but at some point I’d probably have to try it. What was the worst that could happen? I’d die?

I snickered again as I pulled around to the back of the funeral home. There was only one car parked there. I hoped and assumed it was Kang’s. I hadn’t even considered that other people could be working at this time—simply assumed that had to be why he wanted me to come by this late, after everyone else was gone. Hell, I hadn’t been thinking about much at all, trying to rely on stupid instinct. And right now my instinct wanted me to club passing joggers down and scoop their brains out.

I should have come to Kang sooner, I realized. I was desperate now, and he’d see it. He’d ask for anything, and I’d give it to him. Already my skin felt as if it was about to slip off my bones.

Fuck it. Lesson learned. I was getting a lot of those lately.

I rapped on the back door, waited, mentally rehearsing what I was going to say. Or rather, trying to mentally rehearse. It was kinda tough to do since I had no idea what I wanted to say.

I rapped again, tried the handle. To my relief it was unlocked. I sure as hell didn’t want to turn around and leave. I didn’t have anywhere else to go at this point.

“Hey, Kang?” I called tentatively as I stepped in. He’d better have the brains here for me. I’d fight him for them if I had to.

I suddenly realized that my hands were tightened into fists. I forced myself to unclench them. Kang would come through for me. I knew that much. He’d charge me through the nose, but he’d come through for me.

I got a faint whiff of brains as I came down the hall, but it was mixed with an undercurrent of something I couldn’t immediately pin down. I entered the embalming room and wrinkled my nose. I knew what that other scent was now. There was a body on the table that had apparently recently been embalmed. When a body came straight to the funeral home the brains stayed nice and safe in the skull. They weren’t conveniently sliced up and put in a bag, ready for the taking. But I could barely smell brains in this body, which made me think that most of them had already been removed.

How does Kang get the brains out? I suddenly wondered, frowning down at the body. I didn’t see any sign that he’d drilled a hole in the skull. It would be easy enough to fill something like that in with wax or putty or something, but then there’d be the risk that someone else might notice. Maybe through the nose? Wasn’t that how the Egyptians did it? Now I was curious.

“Kang?” I called again. I moved through the embalming room, surrounded by the low hum of the cooler. I frowned as another odor cut through the faint scent of brains. Coppery and. . . .

Blood. A sliver of fear wormed through me. That had to be a lot of blood for it to get through my dulled senses.

I came around the corner and let out an involuntary scream that would have done any horror movie teenage camper proud. Gasping raggedly for breath, I shuffled backwards, away from the headless corpse and the broad dark pool surrounding it. He hasn’t been dead long, an oddly rational part of my mind informed me. The blood didn’t look like it had coagulated much, and still dripped from the stump of neck in large, slow plops. Not even an hour, probably.

That’s Kang, a more freaked-out part of my mind shrieked. That’s Kang.