White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

“Stabilizer.” He held up a heavily tremoring hand. “For this.”

I consciously resisted the urge to move to him, clasp his hand between mine to soothe him. Pursing my lips, I regarded him for a long, silent moment. “Dr. Charish did that to you?” I finally asked.

Giving a single nod, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

I took a very cautious step forward. “Do you need brains?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t open his eyes. “Yes,” he said in a cracked whisper, tinged with a desperation I didn’t think he intended to reveal.

“Stay here,” I told him. “I’ll be right back.” I didn’t wait for a response, simply hurried back inside and to the little fridge and my last bottle. Holy crap, but I really hoped I wasn’t making a godawful mistake. Every fiber of logic in me said to let him rot, literally. He’d been a complete ass to me since I’d turned him, and it was crazy to believe that as soon as I gave him the brains he wanted he wouldn’t do something ugly.

I grabbed the bottle, then headed out again. Philip had shifted to sit with his back against the wall, his head lowered, in that moment looking like anything but a badass zombie soldier. I unscrewed the bottle top and crouched by him.

“Here, drink this,” I said.

He lifted his head, pain flickering over his face as if the simple movement cost him tremendous effort. “I shouldn’t…be here,” he croaked, making no move to take the bottle.

Scowling, I plopped my ass down beside him. “You’re here now. Drink.”

After another few seconds of hesitation, he finally took the bottle from me and slugged down half the contents. A wave of confusion passed over his face as he lowered the bottle.

I had plenty of my own confusion going. My zombie-baby had been a complete and utter asshole, but there was also no denying that something was seriously wrong with him. There was no damn way he could’ve faked the level of anxiety and despair I’d seen in him earlier when he begged Dr. Charish for assistance. The urge to help him kept hammering at me, no matter how hard I tried to focus on the bad things he’d done, and would likely still try to do to me.

“Drink the rest,” I muttered.

His gaze skittered to mine, lines of pain deep in his face. “Have…more?”

I hesitated. No damn way was I telling him about my stash. “Not with me,” I hedged. “But you can have the rest of this.”

He remained still for another few seconds, as if running through his options, then lifted the bottle with both hands and drank another few gulps. He recapped it with a couple of inches of brain smoothie still in it and set it beside me. “Thank you.”

Well, that was a whole lot nicer than the “Fuck you” he’d given me down at the boat launch. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Why did you come here?” I didn’t think it was only to score some brains, even though he’d obviously needed them desperately.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said again, then drew a breath that verged on a sob. “Angel, it hurts.” A shudder wracked him. “Oh, god.”

I put a hand on his arm. “Philip, I can get you help,” I said quietly, suppressing a shiver at the stark pain in his voice. “Please. Let me—”

“No!” He drew in a sharp, noisy breath. “No,” he said again, shaking his head. “I can’t. You…no.”

Annoyance at the stoic bullshit flared. “Great, so stay fucked up,” I retorted. “You’re a goddamn idiot.”

Philip dropped his chin to his chest, shoulders shaking and breath coming as if weeping silently, though there were no tears.

“Damn it,” I muttered. Sighing, I slipped an arm around him and pulled his head to my shoulder. Stooooooopid parasite. It felt right, but what the hell was I doing?

To my surprise he seemed to ease, breathing becoming a bit more regular. “Shouldn’t be…here,” he murmured.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “You said that already. Now shut up about it.”

He closed his eyes, tremors easing more. I realized I was stroking his hair, though I didn’t remember lifting my hand to do so.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a moment.

For which part? I wanted to ask. There’d certainly been a lot of bad shit. But he was calm now, and I didn’t want him upset and unstable again.

“Yeah, well, you owe me a new jacket,” I muttered.

He lifted his head and looked into my face, eyes nowhere near as confused and pain-clouded as a few minutes earlier. “I have to go.”