White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (White Trash Zombie 5)

“Yeah, a picture sounds great,” I said. “Maybe outside—”

“Don’t be silly!” For a drunk chick, she sure moved fast. Before I could react, she flung an arm around my shoulders, yanked me close, and held up her cell phone. “Selfie time!”

The camera clicked. Rosario tossed the handcuffs to the ground and bolted for the door.

“Fuck!” He’d taken advantage of the Justine distraction to either pick the locks or use a hidden handcuff key. “Justine, I need to fetch my phone from my car so I can get my own picture! Be right back!” I tore out of Justine’s grasp and charged after Rosario, hoping to hell it would take her a minute to realize she could simply text me the selfie pic. Or better yet, forget the whole incident in her current inebriated state.

Outside, Rosario pelted along the side of the tent to the parked ATVs and began a frantic search for any with keys left in them. I tried to pour on the speed, but I was operating at pathetic and normal Angel-levels.

Rosario let out a cry of triumph and climbed onto an ATV decorated with reaching zombie arms made of chicken wire, duct tape, and painted papier-macˆhé.

“You know I won’t stop ’til I catch you!” I shouted as he started the engine.

“If you chase after me, you won’t find Bear in time,” he called over his shoulder then roared off, metallic purple streamers flapping behind him.

I stumbled to a gasping stop then turned as Nick ran up, mask off and his face contorted in worry.

“What did he mean?” Nick demanded. “In time for what? Where’s my dad?”

I reached toward him out of instinctive desire to give comfort, then stopped when he recoiled with instinctive need to stay away from the monster.

Swallowing my dismay, I pulled my hand back. “Bear’s not dead,” I told him. “Rosario’s not that cold-blooded.” But he was desperate—deep in a pit of lies and trying to climb out before the walls collapsed on him. Desperate enough to put Bear in a life-threatening situation. “Your dad is around here somewhere. Start looking.”

“What are you going to do?”

I bared my teeth. “I’m going to chase Rosario down and find out where your dad is even if I have to rip it out of him.”

For the first time since discovering the truth about me, Nick met my eyes without recoiling. “Do what you have to.”

I wanted so badly to take a precious second and hug him, but I didn’t. Instead I took off running. Not after Rosario, but around to the back of the tent and my car. Breathing hard, I threw myself into the driver’s seat and downed three packets of brains. But brain-boosted abilities alone wouldn’t be enough for this pursuit. I needed the mega-boost of a combat mod.

Warnings clamored through my head as I grabbed the syringe and vial of V12. Dosing myself on top of the grey-rot was downright stupid. But if I held back and Bear died, I’d never be able to live with myself. Not to mention, Rosario woul

d have time to act on his misguided whistle-blowing plans before the Tribe could stop him. I’d done a whole lot of stupid in my life. For once, maybe stupid was the right thing to do.

I drew a dose into the syringe, then drew up more. And more. A full syringe—three doses. I injected myself and drew another cc then hesitated. I’d taken four doses last night and gained zombie overdrive abilities.

But Rosario had a huge head start. Right now I needed to be a motherfucking superhero.

My hands shook as I drew yet another cc into the syringe. Five doses total. I’d worry about the consequences later.

I’m it. I’m the one who can do what needs to be done.

I shoved the needle in and slammed the plunger home, and was out of the car and moving as the first drops hit my system.

Chapter 33

MegaSuperZombiePowers. Holy fucking shit. Fatigue vanished, and every sense flared into ultrafocus. I knew Bear’s scent, but there were too many other people-scents around and not enough time to seek his out. Right now it was Rosario’s scent that I followed as it floated in twisted, teasing ribbons along the festival paths. The monster within urged me to run the prey down on foot, but I ignored it. Unlike the times when brain-hunger clawed and howled, I was still in full control of my mental faculties, and I had a better idea.

Parked behind a churro booth was an ATV parade float. Colored lights flashed within a basketball-sized plastic brain secured in front of the handlebars, while a man with salt-and-pepper hair strapped a bloody mannequin to the rack behind the seat with bright pink duct tape.

“I need to borrow your four wheeler,” I shouted as I ran up. “It’s an emergency!”

“What the hell?” Straightening, he brandished the duct tape like a weapon. “You can’t just . . .” He trailed off, face paling as he got a good look at me.

I plucked the duct tape from his limp fingers. “Thanks,” I said, turned and leaped nimbly into the seat then shoved the roll of tape up to my left bicep like a warrior queen’s armband. That was me, Zombie Redneck Warrior Queen.

“I’ll bring it right back!” I hollered as I sped off. With any luck, he might even believe me.