White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

Heather’s gaze went to the sprinkler above her, then dropped back to me. “No matter what it takes?” she asked, voice quiet but intense. “I can’t go back there.”

I knew exactly what she was asking me. I flicked my own glance at the sprinkler, which I realized probably housed a camera or something. “Whatever it takes,” I said. Somehow. Shit. I’d worked in the morgue for long enough to know the human weak spots, and I was pretty sure I knew how to kill someone quickly. But damn, could I kill someone I actually liked? And yes, I did like her, despite everything.

I looked back to her. “Why did you leave?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” she sighed.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She tried to lift a hand, but was brought up short by the restraints. A mixture of annoyance and resignation passed over her face before she began to speak again. “Late last Friday my zombie friend Garrett got called in for a check up, but never came back.” She exhaled. “I tend to not let things like that rest, and went looking for him early the next morning. I knew where he’d gone, so I figured that was the best place to start and got in without tripping the alarm, no problem.”

“At first, I thought it was exactly what I was expecting—a medical station—but there was a gas chromatograph-mass spectrometer, microscope, fume hood, and other equipment that made me think more of some sort of lab,” Heather explained. “I’d only been in a minute when I heard someone unlocking the door, and I ducked into a side room.” She hesitated and a look of revulsion mixed with anger came over her. “The room wasn’t empty. Garrett was there, strapped to an exam table, alive…and vivisected, with all sorts of monitors and tubes connected to him. He had duct tape over his mouth, and…” She swallowed. “And the look in his eyes. Oh my god.”

Fury welled within me, but I stayed silent.

“The door opened, and I barely had time to press myself against the far side of a cabinet and pray whoever it was wouldn’t look my way,” she said. “A man came in, took some blood and direct organ samples, messed with the monitors, all the while talking shit to Garrett about how he’d be there a long time, so he better get used to it. Said he’d be back in a while for more samples, then headed out.”

“Jesus,” I breathed.

“The whole thing set off something I’d never felt before,” she said with a shake of her head. “Beyond anger. It was still and focused and kind of scary. I fed Garrett brains until he, uh, could get himself back together and wouldn’t kill me for my own, unhooked and unstrapped him, then went and found the guy who’d been cutting on him.” She paused, mouth tightening. “By that time, I’d recognized him as Brent from research and development. But it didn’t matter that I knew him.” A haunted look came over her face. “I had every intention of killing him.”

“Wait. Brent Stewart!” I exclaimed. The movie set victim. “I knew there was more to that.”

She swallowed, nodded. “I followed him, looking for a place where I could make it seem like an accident. Once he got onto the school grounds and behind the trailers, I knew it wouldn’t get much better. I hit him hard in the head with a two by four, then pulled the scaffold pipe down to mask the blow.”

“You did a good job,” I told her. “It’s still classified as an accident.”

She lifted her eyes to mine. “I know. Pretty cold-blooded.”

I shrugged. I sure as hell couldn’t judge her. I’d have probably done the same damn thing if some asshole was torturing a friend. “What happened to Garrett?” I asked.

“He headed off with a bag of brain slices and a plan to go into hiding big time. Haven’t seen him since.” Sick anger flashed over her face. “Garrett worked hard as a driver. I know he didn’t have any idea what he was getting into when he signed on with Saberton. They promised him a regular supply of brains. Didn’t tell him what else they intended.”

My gut was tight with horror over the whole scenario, but I simply nodded.

“So I’d gotten an up close and personal look at what Saberton was doing with zombies, and I’d killed one of the research guys,” Heather continued, voice strained, “but they hadn’t figured out it was me. I wasn’t ready to jump ship yet, but I wanted to know more about my options. I went back to check out some Saberton confidentials on Mr. Ivanov’s organization. I got into the security feeds without any problems,” she said as if it was nothing. “But what I saw…” Her face paled.

“What was it?” I prompted.

Her eyes went to me. “The first video I pulled of any significance was of you, Angel,” she said to my utter surprise. “I saw everything Kristi Charish’s team did to you. Locking you in a cage, searching you.” She swallowed. “And what they made you do to Philip and Aaron.”

Numb, cold horror set in. Videos of all that are out where people can see them.

But Heather was still talking. “And there were more videos: with Philip, when he bit Tim Bell and Roland Westfeld, and with some other zombies later.” Tears came to her eyes. “With my mother and brother right there. Condoning all of it.”

I considered everything she’d told me. “What exactly did you do for Saberton?”

Heather twisted her head to wipe her eyes on her shoulder. “On the surface, I worked in the PR department and was a photographer for them,” she said. “In reality, I did industrial espionage. And I was good at it.” She said it as a statement of fact, no ego attached. “My grandfather had done espionage-type work for the military. He figured out early on that I loved it, so he taught me, doted on me, groomed me almost my whole life.” An odd sadness touched her eyes. “My mother didn’t seem to have any problem with it, encouraged it even. So at an early age, Nicole Saber’s daughter dropped out of memory, presumed off at boarding school, and I got to do what I loved. Pretty lucky, huh?”

I made a noncommittal grunt. In light of recent developments, I didn’t think she was feeling all that lucky.

“No one other than my grandfather, mother, brother, and a few insiders knew me as anything other than Heather Lucas, a nobody corporate photographer. And I guess it was all just a big game for me until…Kang. And then Garrett. And the vids.” Tears glimmered in her eyes again. “But it’s not a game.”

“No,” I said quietly. “It really isn’t.”

She sighed, expression haunted. “Yeah, can’t just call a do over. And now I know how dirty I am. Life really sucks sometimes.”

I gave a soft snort. “I know ‘suck.’ Trust me.”