White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

“Sure,” I said. “But drink the rest of the bottle first.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he shifted to sit fully back against the wall again. He picked up the bottle, looked at the remaining sludgy-brown liquid in it. “When can you get more?”

Was he asking because he wanted me to get him more? Or was he concerned that I’d have to go without?

I avoided a direct answer. “I’ll be okay. My people will take care of me,” I said, with the heavy implication that his people obviously didn’t. “Drink the rest.”

He gave a single tight nod, then nearly ripped the cap off before downing the remainder.

“Why were you dressed up as an extra for the movie?” I asked.

He rubbed at his eyes and set the bottle down. “Have to stay close to the subjects,” he muttered. “Easiest way.”

“Subjects? Of what?” I peered at him, eyes narrowed.

He blinked and looked over at me. “Shit,” he murmured, as if suddenly realizing he’d said too much. He gave his head a sharp shake. “Nothing. Forget I said it.” He paused. “I’m serious. You need to forget it.”

Yeah, like that was going to happen. His shoulder was warm against mine, and I didn’t want to lose the contact with him, but I also knew damn well he was super dangerous and working for people who didn’t have warm fuzzies for me. Reluctantly, I pulled away from him and stood.

“You’re better now,” I made myself say. “You need to leave.”

A barely audible moan escaped him as I moved away, but he pushed himself to his feet, gave a slight nod. “I’m going.”

I slapped down the urge to tell him I’d find a way to give him more help. “You owe me,” I told him instead. “I mean it. Don’t come back around here.”

A wave of what sure as hell looked like sadness passed over his face before his expression hardened. He straightened, looked down his nose at me. “I got what I wanted,” he said, then turned and headed off along the wall behind the hedge.

Confused, I watched him go, unable to shake the feeling I was missing something obvious.

Chapter 21

To my surprise, I managed to get back to sleep without any problem. Maybe my subconscious accepted that if Philip or any of his cronies were going to mess with me they’d had ample opportunity to do so when I followed him out. Or maybe I was simply tired as all hell. Either way, I slept like the dead until around eight in the morning, and only woke up then because another goddamn fire truck went by on the street outside.

A few more boxes of donated clothing had been brought by, and I managed to snag more stuff for my dad as well as a couple of t-shirts for myself. I even found cargo pants in my size, or rather in a teenage boy size that fit me well enough. After the clothing search I grabbed a quick shower in the girls’ locker room, silently grateful that my parasite would take care of any godawful foot fungus I caught from the grungy tile floors.

My dad was peering at a newspaper when I came back out. “Have you eaten this morning?” I asked him as I dragged a comb through my wet hair.

“Yeah. Some fancy cinnamon roll thing.”

“They have eggs and bacon too,” I told him. “You should try and eat some protein.” I tugged on shoes and socks. “I’m gonna see if I can get a ride in to work and then the phone store to get us new phones.” And the DMV. And probably the bank too, I thought. I needed a new debit card, and wanted to deposit the money he’d given me. Holy crap, but there was a lot to do. Good thing most of it was in semi-reasonable walking distance from downtown. Sure, I wanted to find out more about why Philip was pretending to be an extra and who the hell the “subjects” were he was talking about, but taking care of my dad and me had to take priority right now.

“You need anything while I’m gone?” I asked.

Dad shook his head, turned the page in his newspaper. “Don’t need shit.”

That’s when I saw it. A picture of Marcus at the bottom of the front page under all the stuff about the flood. And a headline that read, Heroic Rescue Saves Family of Three.

I snatched the paper away from my dad. “And when were you planning on telling me about this?” I asked, as I hurried to read the brief article.

“What? About that cop?”

“You should have said something,” I said with a scowl. He muttered something I decided to ignore while I focused on reading.

The article praised Marcus for diving into a flooded drainage canal to save a young family from certain death after their car went off the road shortly after dark. Unfortunately, it continued, the officer sustained a broken leg and had to be transported to the hospital for treatment.

I silently cursed the lack of details, but exhaled in relief. A broken leg was nothing but an inconvenience for a zombie. And most importantly, it explained why he hadn’t come by last night.

I hesitated, then thrust the paper back at my dad, gave him a hug. “It’s all gonna be okay,” I said. “We’re still alive and that’s what counts.”