Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues (White Trash Zombie 2)

“Just keep yourself out of trouble, ’kay?” he said, frowning at me. Used to be that those frowns meant that he knew I was going to get into trouble and he didn’t want to be bothered by it. Lately I was starting to believe that he actually gave a shit.

He remained silent for a couple of minutes while he ate, emotions playing over his face. “I’ll worry about you no matter what. But I’m real proud of you for fixing yourself up so good.” He set the fork down. “I’m trying real hard to make you proud of me, baby.” I could see the faint tremble in his hands. He wanted a drink. Wanted it bad.

I didn’t even think about it, just got up and came around the counter and put my arms around him from behind. He gave a brief start of surprise, then let out a soft sigh and relaxed while I leaned my head against his back. He felt so fragile, bone and skin held together by sheer will and meanness. I’d known him as a bastard for so long, it almost felt like if he lost that there’d be nothing left of him, nothing to hold him together and keep him real.

God, I hoped I was wrong.

“I am proud of you, Dad.” He shivered, and I realized with a shock that he was crying. I gave him a light squeeze, then turned away and headed toward the front door. I knew he didn’t want me to see him cry.

Or maybe I just didn’t want to see it. I stepped out onto the porch and gently closed the door behind me. Yeah, that was the hard truth. I was the weak one right now. I couldn’t be in there with him, watching him fight the need for a drink every second. I’d never fought it the way he was now. I had it easy. Become a zombie and presto, all your old addictions are swept away by one big new one.

I shivered as I walked down to the driveway, wishing I could shake off the worry and doubt and fear as easily. And also wishing that I’d grabbed a jacket on my way out. Yeah, we were in the deep South, but it was early December, and it could still get damn nippy down here.

But an entirely different sort of cold grabbed me as Ed Quinn stepped out from behind my dad’s truck.

Chapter 13

My heart slammed at the sight of the gun leveled at me. I’d learned a bit about guns in the past couple of months and a few dozen crime scenes. This one was an automatic, possibly a Glock. No idea what the caliber was, except that it wasn’t something tiny like a .22. Either way it was going to suck ass when he shot me. I’m screwed, I thought in near panic. I didn’t have a stash of brains on me like the last time. As soon as he slowed me down, he’d be able to take my head off at his leisure. And I wasn’t tanked up. There was no way I’d be able to reach him before he could pull the trigger.

I clamped down on the urge to shriek or yell for help. The last thing I wanted was for my dad to come out here and be in danger as well. But, oh god, was Ed going to shoot me right here? Would my dad come out at the sound of gunshots? Or come out to find my body?

Except…Ed didn’t shoot me. I swallowed hard, still braced for the feel of lead tearing through me, but he remained frozen, gun on me. I managed to pull my eyes away from the gun and actually look at his face. I was expecting him to look angry, or crazy or maybe even agonized. But instead he looked…puzzled?

And goth, I suddenly realized. Or maybe it was emo. I never could keep those straight. He’d died his hair black and spiked it except for one longer lock that hung down over his forehead. He had on black jeans that were about a size too big for him, a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and a dark grey hoodie patterned with black skulls and lightning bolts. He also had several piercings—eyebrow, lip, and ears—and I had no idea if they were real or not. I had to admit, as a change of appearance, it certainly worked.

I licked my lips uncertainly. “Hey, Ed. Long time no see.” What the hell. If he was going to kill me, I might as well be a smart ass about it.

“Hey, Angel,” he said, his voice so close to normal it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Angel…” I could see his throat bob as he swallowed. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

I blinked, then frowned. “Huh? Why? Did you want me to?”

He scowled. “No. Of course not.” Then he grimaced, swiped at his forehead with his free hand. “Fuck. These past few weeks have been…I dunno. Everything’s so fucked up.” He shifted and leaned against the cab of the truck, but the gun never wavered from pointing at me. I glanced toward the house. Ed was angled so that if my dad were to look outside he wouldn’t see Ed and certainly wouldn’t see that I was being held at gunpoint. “Why didn’t you kill me?” he repeated. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you kidding me?” I replied with a flare of annoyance. “How does it not make sense? You’ve seen me and Marcus walking around all the time and not beating people over the head and killing them. I mean, how can you seriously think that?” I had to fight to keep my voice down. The last thing I wanted was for my dad to hear and come outside. “How the fuck did you get it into your head that we were monsters? Ed, I didn’t kill you because I’ve never killed anyone in my entire life, and I’m sure as hell not going to start with someone who I thought was my friend, even if he did shoot me and his best friend!”

“You said you’d kill me if you ever saw me again. You said—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Ed. I say a lot of things.” I scowled. “Now would you please stop pointing that damn gun at me? It’s kinda freaking me out.”

He slowly lowered it and held it alongside his thigh. Technically, it wasn’t still pointed at me, but it would only take a twitch of his hands to do so. “Nothing makes sense, Angel,” he said, looking off at nothing. “Everything’s so messed up. I didn’t kill Marianne. I swear to god. But the others…I thought I was doing a great thing. I mean, my parents…but then you two…” He shuddered and passed a hand over his face. “I screwed up bad.”

“What do you want from me, Ed?” I said, probably a lot more bluntly than I should have. Okay, I could probably cross “hostage negotiator” off my career plans.

“Answers…?” he said with a sigh.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “From me? Ed, I’m a clueless moron.”

He shook his head and began to speak, but then we both heard the creak of the front door. A frisson of terror shot through me as Ed lifted the gun again. Maybe he truly was completely off the deep end, and this brief semi-normal was just a lull in his psychosis.

“Don’t hurt my dad,” I blurted. “And…and if you’re going to kill me please don’t do it where he’ll find my body. Please.”

Ed gave me a confused look, then his eyes dropped down to the gun in his hand. He swallowed hard.

“I’ll find you later,” he said, voice hoarse, and then he took off at a run down the road. Within a few seconds I lost sight of him in the gloom. Find me later? To talk to me? Or kill me?

“Angel?” my dad said as he came down the steps. “Who was that?” He had a jacket in his hand. My jacket. He was worried I’d be cold. Or maybe it was an excuse to come after me. Either way it damn near made me cry from the fierce joy of it.

“Neighbor from up the road,” I told him as I walked back up to the house. “Looking for his dog. Nothing to worry about.”