White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (White Trash Zombie 5)

Coy gave a low laugh. “She’s got you there, dude. You don’t even like doing beer runs.”

Randy chuckled. “Yeah, well, I wanna get ready for the weekend.” He patted the duffel he carried—one of the zombie hunter survival kits.

“You’re going to the Zombie Fest?” I asked in disbelief.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Everyone’s going.”

I peered at the tag that dangled from the duffel’s strap. “A hundred and fifty bucks? Are you crazy?”

“It’s got a lot of great stuff!” He flipped the tag around t

o show me what the kit included. “It’s good for any kind of disaster, not just a zombie invasion.”

My shock at the price eased as I read the list of contents. Three days’ worth of emergency rations and water purification packets for two, a LifeStraw personal water filter, firestarter, multi-tool, paracord, rain ponchos, light sticks, first aid kit, compass, fishing hooks and line, knife, insect spray, sunscreen, whistle, and a survival blanket. And, to justify the zombie hunter survival kit marketing, a baseball bat and a machete. “Okay, that looks pretty cool,” I grudgingly admitted.

“I’m getting one, too,” Coy said. “It includes an equipment vest Bear had specially made for the zombie hunts at the Fest.”

The hunts? That explained the pile of gear heaped on the floor between the two. A big pile. This was more than an impulse purchase of a survival kit. I pressed my lips together to hold back the laugh. “You two are dressing up like zombie hunters for the Fest?”

Randy held up three fingers. “Me and Coy and Judd.” He gestured toward the long counter where a black-shirted employee—Judd Siler—was giving an animated demonstration of proper grip and sighting to a rapt audience of teen boys. Judd wasn’t a bad-looking guy—decent teeth, tall and wiry, sandy hair in a military buzz-cut—but his arrogance tended to wear thin on me pretty quickly.

“You three,” I said. “Gee, sounds great.”

Randy grinned, unfazed by my lack of enthusiasm. “We got us a team together for tonight’s hunt,” he said. “We’re also signed up for two hunts tomorrow. You wanna join us? We got space for a fourth. It’s gonna be a blast, and we’re closing down Pillar’s Bar after we kill all the zombies tonight.”

I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Randy, I’ve seen you shoot. You couldn’t hit a broken-down bus with a target painted on its side.”

“We’ll see what you say when I got a kickass zombie body count.” He flashed me a Randy smile. “Come with us. You know we always have fun.”

Despite the personal squick factor of “zombie body count,” a tiny part of me couldn’t help but be intrigued. Randy’s usual idea of fun was hanging out at a car show or smoking pot around his fire pit. He liked zombie movies, but I never thought he’d get into it on this level. Then again, the entire damn town was getting into it. How could I say no to that kind of enthusiasm? It was all about having a good time.

“Can’t do tonight since I already have plans, plus I’m on call with the morgue,” I said. “But tomorrow might work. I’ll buzz you in the morning and let you know.” No way was I dressing up as a hunter, though. That hit a little too close to home. “What happens if a zombie bites you? Do all your hunting buddies take you out?”

“I ain’t gonna let no stinkin’ zombie anywhere near me.” Randy lifted a hand and pretended to shoot me. “Kapow! Right between the eyes!”

My stomach jerked into a knot as I forced a laugh and batted his hand away. “Or, in your case, twenty feet to the left.” Would he shoot me right between the eyes if he knew I was a real zombie?

Coy gave me a wink. “Why do you think we wanted Judd on our team? He’s a crack shot.”

“I ain’t that bad,” Randy said. “But you won’t know the truth if you don’t join us, Angel. This paintball stuff is a blast and don’t have much more kick than a BB gun.” His eyes lit up. “Bear’s letting people try the paintball guns in the alley out back.” Before I could respond, he slung an arm around my waist and propelled me toward the counter. I cast a desperate look back at Coy, but he gave me a helpless shrug.

“Hey, Judd,” Randy called out. “Angel wants to try out the paintball rifles.”

I didn’t give a crap about trying out rifles—paintball or real—but after one look at the excitement on Randy’s face, I didn’t have the heart to shut him down. Oh well, at least I had plenty of time left in my lunch break.

Judd gave a sharp nod. “Gotcha covered, bro.” He retrieved a paintball rifle from a shelf behind him, ducked through a gap in the counter then beckoned imperiously. “Come on, Angel,” he said as he headed for the back door. “I’ll show you how to hit the target, and if you manage to not shoot yourself or me, I just might teach you how to use a real gun someday.”

I planted my feet and glared big pointy daggers at Judd’s back, but Randy nudged me forward. “C’mon. He’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

“I’ll give him a damn rise,” I muttered but kept moving, only because I intended to show Judd how full of shit he was. It so happened that I had a fair amount of experience with paintball, thanks to the zombie Tribe. Not long after Hurricane Katrina, Pietro Ivanov had purchased two thousand acres of woods and wetlands. Though he maintained the property as a wildlife refuge, it was also the perfect secluded spot to conduct paramilitary-style training. Every other weekend since New York, I joined the Tribe security people and played paintball tactical scenarios.

Except that zombie paintball was a wee bit more hardcore than regular paintball. I suppressed a grin at the gruesome memory of the time Rachel I-Hate-Angel Delancey needed help removing a tree branch I’d driven clean through her torso. I probably shouldn’t have enjoyed skewering her as much as I did, but I really didn’t like her. Besides, it was her own darn fault. She’d missed her chance to nail me with a headshot—after peppering the rest of me with paintball rounds—so it was only fair that I retaliate realistically. It wasn’t as if a little impalement would’ve killed her or anything.

I didn’t particularly like Judd, either, but I’d be satisfied with making him eat his words.

Tactical Pants Man gave me a long look as I walked by him. He had incredible green eyes and a nice, rugged face that matched the rest of him. I had no idea why he was checking me out, especially since my Coroner’s Office shirt didn’t do much to show off my assets. Not that I had a whole lot of “assets” beneath the shirt. Still, I gave him a flirty smile, though as soon as I passed him I subtly checked to make sure my fly was zipped.

Yep, zipped. Good. I wouldn’t have to slink off and die of humiliation.