White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (White Trash Zombie 5)

paved in crushed beer cans.”

I laughed. “We’re hicks with standards.”

“Damn straight.” He carefully looped an arm around my shoulders. “How ’bout I draw you a hot bath?”

“With bubbles?” I asked with a cheeky grin.

“The only way you’re gettin’ bubbles is if I put dish soap in there.”

“I’ll take it.”

Chapter 25

Jangly music cut through my sleep, pushy and obnoxious. I groped for my phone to shut off the V12 dose alarm then let out a long groan as the light streamed through the blinds and stabbed my eyes. My entire body was one gigantic ache, and my head pounded like the worst hangover ever. Thank god today’s Lundi Gras and a holiday.

This was the first headache I’d had since becoming a zombie, and I struggled to pull my thoughts together. I hadn’t meant to sleep so late, not with Judd on the loose with the flash drives. And I still needed to track down Dante Rosario. Judd’s call had interrupted that plan. Now half the morning was shot.

Squinting against the light, I dragged myself up and blearily pulled on clothing. My wound was healed over—one less thing to worry about—but I didn’t have the slightest idea where to start searching for Judd. He would have heard by now that Randy and Coy had gone to the cops, and was smart enough to stay away from his trailer and his usual haunts. Hell, he could already be halfway to Canada. On the plus side, with Randy and Coy spilling their guts to the cops, and Judd’s picture splashed all over the news, he had no reason to come after me.

I frowned as I buttoned my jeans. But he knew I was a zombie. He’d been trying to capture me, not kill me. So why had he run away? I backtracked through memory fogged by brain hunger. Handcuffs. A struggle and threats. Judd’s scream of horror. His blood in my mouth as—

“I bit him,” I murmured. A laugh started in my belly and worked its way out until I collapsed on the bed, tears streaming. Judd ran away like a little bitch because he thought he was going to turn into a zombie.

I wiped my eyes and grinned. He should be so lucky.

My amusement dribbled away when I stepped out of my front door. My car was parked—for lack of a better word—cockeyed and with one wheel in the flowerbed. A garden gnome lay smashed to bits except for one eye that stared accusingly up at me, and tire tracks revealed that I’d missed crashing into the porch by inches.

My head pounded as I scooped up the gnome pieces and chucked them into the trash bin. I had approximately zero memory of my arrival home, which I didn’t like one bit. But, hey, at least I hadn’t taken out the mailbox.

The V12 vial and capsules were right where I’d left them, in my lunchbox, but I didn’t draw up a dose. Instead, I called Dr. Nikas and proceeded to give him a semi-coherent account of the clusterfuck with Judd, the flash drives, and the whole fight at the lock, then told him about the awful hunger and my reasons for taking a double dose, and finally finished with everything I could remember about the V12 overdrive superpowers and how it affected the hunger and pain.

Dr. Nikas listened without interrupting until I trailed off. “I am truly relieved you made it through the ordeal,” he said. “Though I’m surprised by the headache. Philip only suffers them after a high dose, but then again his parasite is damaged in a way that yours is not.”

“I’ve taken as much as three doses in a day without any problems.” I lifted the vial and swirled the liquid. “Maybe the headache this time is because the doses were so close together?”

“It’s possible. I don’t—”

“Wait.” I stared at the vial, then scrabbled for the other two. “I . . . I think I took more than two doses. At least four are missing. How could I have taken four doses? I took one at the lock, and I stopped one time. Two doses. I remember—”

“Angel!” he said, calm but firm. “What size syringe did you use?”

“The size I always . . .” Memory of the chaotic stop on the side of the highway shifted into focus. “Oh god. I wasn’t thinking straight and drew up a full syringe. That’s a triple dose! And I’d already had a regular dose.” Shit. No wonder I felt hungover.

Dr. Nikas let out a long breath, and I imagined him rubbing his temples. “Any other side effects? More hallucinations? Changes in the dyslexia?”

I shifted to peer at myself in the rearview mirror. “I’m grey, almost to pre-rot,” I told him, fighting to remain clinical and not burst into tears. “No hallucinations, and I haven’t been reading much so I don’t know about the dyslexia. No sparkles since the big dose either, and that’s a first.” I rubbed my eyes. “How bad did I screw up?”

“I don’t know.” Not the words I wanted to hear from Dr. Nikas. “You’re the only normal zombie to have used V12.” He muttered to himself in Greek for a bit before continuing. “The V12 has a cumulative effect. Take no doses today. But continue to take the capsules. Return to the twice-daily half-dose regimen tomorrow. And don’t let yourself go hungry. Do you have brains?”

“I’m heading to my storage unit as soon as I hang up. I have enough for a few days.”

“Good. If you truly get into a bind, there’s a Tribe emergency stash at the swamp training ground. A case of eight ounce packets.” He gave me instructions on how to find it then added, “If you take any, let me know so they can be replaced.”

“I will. Thanks for everything.”

“It’s my true pleasure, Angel.” He paused. “In, ah, other news, you should know that Kristi Charish is in full swing negotiations with both Saberton and the Tribe.” While I listened in growing outrage, he explained how Kristi was trying to use herself as a hot commodity bargaining chip. It wasn’t a stupidly bad ploy, since both organizations needed her damn research expertise, even if she was a heartless psychopath. But it meant that everyone involved was now scrambling to gain advantage and protect themselves. Saberton had sent goons to Portland, and the Tribe had everyone available deployed in a variety of locations.

I thanked Dr. Nikas for the update and hung up. Time for me to get my ass in gear, stock up on brains, and do my part locally. I’d start by checking out Dante Rosario at the Zombie Fest. Lucky for me, between the Fest and zombie Mardi Gras, I could get away with the grey skin as makeup. Pleased with that solution, I fished black eyeliner from my purse and smudged it under my eyes. Even better.