White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (White Trash Zombie 5)

Judd was nowhere in sight, though my gut told me he was watching from the treeline. I was a few minutes late, thanks to a couple of vital errands. The first was a detour to Marcus’s house—which I still had a key to—where I borrowed his ballistic vest. It was at least ten sizes too big for me and easily the most uncomfortable thing I’d ever worn, but I needed every possible advantage I could scrape up. I’d also hoped to borrow a gun from Marcus, but he’d acquired a fancy new gun safe and wasn’t dumb enough to leave the combination written down anywhere. Damn it. I wasn’t thrilled about meeting Judd without firepower, but I had no other way to score a gun quickly. Then again, my parasite was already one hell of a weapon.

My second errand was to BigShopMart where I shelled out fifty bucks for Judd-conning supplies and a butcher knife that could fit up my jacket sleeve. Back in the car, and wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints, I bundled the newly acquired gardening machete and cheapo baseball bat into a couple of black garbage bags then wrapped them up tight with duct tape. Best case scenario was that he’d never touch the bundle. But, if he did, it had to feel like the right stuff.

Ideally, a third errand would have been to my storage unit to stock up on brains from the last of my freezer reserves. I only had three packets with me, but the side trip would have cost too much time. Forty minutes late would make Judd think I’d gone to the cops. But he’d wait it out for at least five. He wanted the murder weapons.

He also wanted me dead—hence the borrowed vest. At least, if I was him I’d want me dead. Loose ends, and all that. Judd would hopefully be operating on the assumption that Randy and Coy were still chained up in that cabin—two more loose ends to snip as soon as he took care of me. I was counting on the fact that he’d want to be sure I had the weapons and wouldn’t simply sniper me in the head from a few hundred yards away. After all, he wasn’t stupid. If he killed me and I’d left the weapons elsewhere, he’d be up shit creek.

All I needed was to get close enough for my zombie skills to matter. Knock his ass down a few times, get the damn flash drives from him, wrap him up in duct tape, then—anonymously—let the cops know where to find him.

Right. Easy. So why was my heart pounding a mile a minute?

I scarfed down two packets of brains. Time to get this show on the road.

As soon as the all-is-well brainy tingle set in, I drove to the middle of the field and stopped, doing my best to not look at all anxious as I scanned for any sign of Judd. The field was big enough that it was next to impossible to sneak up on anyone waiting near the center. Yet another reason why this was a good spot for a meeting of this sort.

About half a minute later, a dull blue car cruised slowly from one of the dirt roads. It wasn’t Judd’s pickup, but I knew it was him. He stopped about fifty feet from me, climbed out and stood behind his open door. I took up a similar pose behind my own car door and silently prayed that it and the dim light would hide that I had the bulky vest on under my jacket.

“You have the stuff?” he hollered, scowl visible even from this distance.

“Sure do,” I replied. “But I don’t see Randy or Coy in your car.”

“They’re not far from here,” he said. “As soon as I have the package in my hands, I’ll tell you where to find them.”

Lying sack of shit. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

Judd grinned, cocky. “That’s right.”

What an ass. But I was fine with letting him think he had the upper hand. For now. I opened the back door, slipped the butcher knife up my sleeve and scooped the garbage bag bundle off the seat.

“Bring it over here,” he ordered.

I clutched the bundle to my chest and walked toward him. I knew he had a gun—probably in a back-of-the-pants holster. He made no move to meet me halfway, but that didn’t matter. All I needed was to get within twenty feet of him before he reached for his gun. From that distance I’d be able to pour on the zombie speed and take him down before he could react. Forty feet, thirty. He watched me, tense. I kept my face expressionless.

He stepped from behind his car door when I reached the halfway point.

Shit. Still too far away! I tossed the bundle of decoy weapons aside, pulled the knife from my sleeve and charged him. But instead of reaching for his gun, Judd lifted the badass tactical crossbow he’d been holding out of sight behind the car door.

The vest won’t stop a crossbow bolt! Adrenaline punched through me at the horrid realization, but it didn’t come with the surge of zombie super-speed I really fucking needed. Goddamn V12. Panic robbed me of breath as I ran full out at slug-ass human speed. Judd should have been gasping on his back with my knee in his chest and the knife at his throat, but instead he raised the crossbow and sighted in a smooth and practiced motion.

Oh god. Not a headshot. Please.

The bolt punched me hard in the chest, followed by searing agony. The knife flew from my grasp, and I stumbled and fell hard to my hands and knees, then stared at the purple and gold fletching two inches from my jacket. It went through me, I thought in near-hysterical annoyance. Through the front panel of the vest, through my chest, and would have continued on out the back if it hadn’t smacked into the rear panel of the vest. Way easier for my parasite to deal with the injury without a bolt in the way, but how was I to know Judd would bring his friggin’ crossbow?

Blood bubbled into my mouth as I fought to get up. The pain dimmed slightly as my parasite trudged into action, and I willed it into higher gear. Any gear. If I didn’t get my shit together quick, Judd would be able to take me out with a head shot. My parasite would really have its work cut out for it then.

“Figured you’d pussy out and wear a vest,” Judd said with a nasty sneer. He retrieved the bundle of decoy weapons then tossed it and the crossbow into his car. Numb shock turned my limbs to lead when he pulled a gun and started toward me again.

He’s going to finish me off now. One in the head won’t kill me dead-dead, but only if someone shoves brains into me. No one’s here to do that. What if I end up at the morgue? Will my dad know what to do when he finds out? But Judd knows I’m a zombie. He’ll chop off my head and chuck it into the swamp.

No.

Fuck this prick. I lurched to my feet. Zombie speed or not, I wasn’t going down without a fight.

Judd’s eyes narrowed as he lifted the gun and fired. The bullet smacked into the vest like a giant fist, sending me sprawling and knocking what little breath I had from my lungs. The crossbow bolt grated against ribs, and fresh pain seared through me as even as I reeled in confusion. Judd knew I was wearing a vest, knew I was a zombie, so why shoot me in the chest instead of between the eyes? Not that I was complaining but, what the hell?

I sucked shallow breaths through gritted teeth and managed to roll to one side. Hunger clawed my belly as my parasite struggled to deal with the damage. Judd holstered his gun then yanked a set of handcuffs from a pocket. My thoughts moved sluggishly, refusing to make the connection, and I stared stupidly at him as he seized my left arm.

“You’re coming with me, you fucking monster-freak bitch,” he snarled as he snapped one cuff around my wrist.