White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (White Trash Zombie 5)

“I’m alive, and you look like an angel, Angel,” Coy said with an uneven smile. “That’s all that matters.”

Randy scowled. “Judd went ballistic. I had a feeling he’d be against going to the cops, but I never expected him to go this far.” He jangled the chain.

“Judd was out of his damn head,” Coy put in, brow furrowing. He had a weirdly charming lisp and whistle to his words now, thanks to the broken tooth. “He was gonna kill us.”

“Asshole missed his chance,” I said. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Randy caught my wrist. “He was raving about real zombies,” he said. “Had this notion you was one. Said he had proof.”

“Yeah, he’s crazy.” I forced a laugh and pulled out of his grasp. “Be right back.”

I ran to my car then leaned my hands against the trunk and tried to rein in the panic that squeezed my chest. Judd knew. It hadn’t been a coincidence that he wrote my name on the notepad. Something in those files convinced him. I needed to get Seeger’s damn flash drive—and the copy Judd made—before he caused real trouble, then figure out what the hell made him think I was a real zombie.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Even if I got the drives, the original files would still be out there. Nothing I could do about that yet, but I could sure as hell deal with Judd.

And how much did Randy believe? Before New York, I told him I had a medical condition that was only manageable with an illegal drug. If he could get past the weird factor, he was sharp enough to figure out that “medical condition” equaled “zombie,” and “illegal drug” equaled “brains.” I’d have to play this one by ear and hope he was too stressed to think straight.

Slightly calmer, I rooted through my trunk until I found a found a can of compressed air that I’d bought to clean my keyboard at home and then kept forgetting to bring inside. Randy and Coy looked at me like I was insane when I turned the can upside down and sprayed freezing air on the chains, but their distrust shifted to outright awe when I smashed the tire iron on the frozen links and shattered them. Fuck yeah, science!

They each still had a section padlocked around their necks, but I didn’t give a shit about that right now. “It’s a fashion statement,” I told them, tone sharp, then hurried them up the trail, chains jangling. When we got to my car I ordered them to hunker down in the back, then I got us the ever-living hell out of there.

“Can we sit up yet?” Coy ventured once I was on the highway.

“No,” I snapped. “Randy, are the machete and bat wrapped up in anything?”

“Yeah, a couple of black garbage bags,” he said. “But you won’t have any trouble finding them. They’re right in the middle of the treehouse floor.”

“I’m not going to get them.” I pulled off the highway, came to a stop on the shoulder, then leveled a fierce look at the two men. “Now you can sit up.”

Chains clinked as they shifted upright. “What’s going on?” Randy asked, looking around in puzzlement. “Why’d you stop? Why aren’t you gonna get the weapons?”

“I stopped because there’s a gas station about a quarter mile up the road,” I said. “You two are going to walk your asses in there and call the fucking cops.” Distress flickered in their eyes, but I glared them down. “You’re going to tell them everything that happened without once mentioning my fucking name. You’re going to tell them where the weapons are and that Judd kidnapped you when you were about to turn yourselves in, and you’re going to tell them you escaped from the fishing camp because you found a can of compressed air under a cabinet and got all sorts of clever.” I paused, put every ounce of pissed-off-and-fed-the-fuck-up I had into my tone and expression. “And if you don’t walk to that gas station and call the cops and spill your guts—except for the parts that pertain to me—I will make you fucking wish you were still chained up in that goddamn place. Am I making myself absolutely clear?”

It was empty bluster on my part, but they must have understood that I needed to vent all the worry and fear for them that I’d kept pent up until now. They sighed in unison. “Yeah,” Coy said. “Should’ve listened to you last night.”

“No shit. Now get the hell out and have a nice walk.”

They slid out of the car, then Randy poked his head back in. “Thanks, Angel. You saved our asses.”

“Yeah, I did. Don’t you dare fuck up again.”

He gave me a sweet and lazy smile, closed the door then started limping with Coy toward the gas station. I watched them for about a minute then pulled back onto the highway and zoomed past.

Thirty minutes until Judd was expecting me to meet him. I had no desire to disappoint the prick.

Chapter 23

“Lock Three” was local slang for the area at the end of Hickory Horn Road by the Kreeger River’s third river-control lock. It was also a damn good place for a clandestine meeting, which raised my estimation of Judd’s smarts ever so slightly. Not only was Lock Three in the middle of nowhere with the nearest house at least two miles away, but this particular chunk of “nowhere” was at the ass end of the parish, where cell phone service and police presence were equally spotty.

I stopped where the road ended at a broad field by the river. Several unnamed dirt roads radiated off the field, along with over a dozen four-wheeler trails, creating more escape routes than you could shake a stick at.

The sun wasn’t due to set for another hour, but it was low enough to cast long shadows of pines acros

s the field like dark claws. This was a prime spot for teen hormones to rampage, and I was confident that more than a few parish residents had been conceived in this very field. Fortunately, it was still several hours shy of prime nookie time.

It’s not too late to call the Sheriff’s Office, my conscience whispered. With Randy and Coy most likely in custody by now, every cop in the parish would be on the lookout for Judd. All I had to do was find another pay phone and make an anonymous call.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. No, there wasn’t enough time for the Sheriff’s Office to mobilize and discreetly set up a trap. Not to mention, I needed the stupid flash drives. A whole lot of zombie lives could be affected by those files, and if Judd had the drives with him—which I sure hoped—the last thing I wanted was a bunch of redneck cops watching the videos. Especially since at least one of those videos convinced Judd I was a zombie. Besides, if all went according to plan, I’d be wrapping up Judd’s worthless butt like a Christmas present for Ben Roth and the Sheriff’s Office. I’d waited too long to tell Ben what I suspected, and this was the best way to fix all that. And avoid getting myself busted for interfering with an investigation.