White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

Dr. Nikas nodded slowly. “Before those two were so poorly converted, their view of zombies was likely much in line with Dr. Charish’s—occasionally useful second-class citizens.” His mouth tightened, and he shook his head. “Pietro will make the final decision on what happens to them based on my assessment. As for Philip, yes, I can help him to at least not be in continuous pain, and to curb the unnatural hunger. In time, I may discover a way to fully reverse the damage. Your blood will help.”

I considered all that in silence for a moment. The two men were seriously damaged. They didn’t seem to have the same degree of pain issues that Philip had, but they were unstable and bitey as hell. I definitely saw how dangerous it was to have them roaming around with such screwed up parasites. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like they’d converted any others into messed up zombies. Maybe the parasite was too damaged to spawn. But isn’t condemning them to death for being “too damaged” treating them like second class citizens and less than human?

There were no easy answers, that much was for sure.

I tugged a hand through my hair, then looked up at Dr. Nikas, brow furrowed. “Why did Philip calm down when I bit him?”

It was his turn to go quiet for a moment. “Technically he shouldn’t have,” he finally said.

That only confused me more. “What does that mean? I don’t even know why I did it. It just felt…right.”

Dr. Nikas drew a breath, hesitated, then shook his head and spread his hands. “It is a characteristic that should not manifest in a young zombie.”

I regarded him as steadily as I could. “And what does that mean?”

He met my eyes with one of those I’m-ancient-as-all-hell gazes that I’d received a time or two from Pietro. “It means that I have never seen a zombie less than five hundred years old with the instinct and ability to inflict a control bite.”

I gaped as I tried to get the implications of this tidbit of info to fit into my world view. First off, that meant there were zombies over five hundred years old, likely including Dr. Nikas. And Pietro. I’d known zombies had the potential to live a long time, but having an actual number from someone who no doubt knew the truth blew my mind.

But even that seemed minor compared to the fact that, somehow, little ol’ not-even-a-year-old zombie me was able to do some zombie judo hold that normally only Grand Poobah Zombies could do. What the hell did that mean for me?

Dr. Nikas pushed off the counter, gave me a sad little smile. “We can talk about this more later. If you’re still willing, I’ll have Jacques take your blood, and then Brian can drive you home.”

Home. Right. Wherever the hell that was. “Sure thing,” I replied numbly.

He gave me a small nod, then turned and left me alone with my roiling thoughts.

Chapter 25

I gave a pint of my blood to Jacques, accepted a packet of brains in return, then checked on Philip. He seemed to be sleeping comfortably, and the lines of pain in his face had smoothed out a bit. After twitching the blanket a bit higher over his shoulders, I looked over to the waiting Brian.

“Are you my ride?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he replied. “No rush.”

Kyle was resting quietly. Heather lay stretched out on the mattress beside him reading to him in a low voice from a book called Abaddon’s Gate with a big spaceship on the cover. They weren’t cuddling or anything, but I didn’t think Brian was thrilled about it anyway. A whisper of an expression that might have been jealousy touched his face but disappeared the instant he realized I was looking at him.

Ooooh, Brian really does like Heather! My inner third-grader cheered. But then I had to mask a grin. It was only fair to leave open the possibility that it was Kyle who Brian liked. Either way it seemed there might be some zombie soap opera brewing.

Still hiding a smile, I exited the lab with Brian close behind, headed to his Escalade and allowed him to hold the passenger door open for me, but only because he beat me there.

“To Marcus’s house?” Brian asked after he climbed into the driver’s seat, and it took me a minute to remember why the heck he wanted to drive me there instead of my own house.

“Oh, yeah, right,” I said. “My house is probably somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico by now.” And so now I’m gonna stay with Marcus. I held back a grimace. This had the potential to be awkward. After the attack at the boat launch I’d spent the night with him, but that had been the first time in ages. And now I was about to basically move in, for who the hell knew how long.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “You’ve had a devastating couple of days.”

“It sure hasn’t been the best week of my life,” I said then shook my head. “No, actually it was a pretty decent week, even with all of the Saberton crap. It was only a few hours on Friday morning that sucked sweaty balls.”

Brian let out a low snort. “That land you were living on, do you own it?”

“Well, my dad does, yeah,” I replied. “So it’d be stupid not to stay there.” I shook my head. “It was all right for ordinary flood levels. The spillway break was a once in a lifetime thing.” I winced. “At least I sure as hell hope so. Anyway, I’m hoping I can buy a trailer or something and put it there.”

“They have some pretty nice ones these days,” Brian offered. “And modular housing that doesn’t look like a trailer.”

“Even if I want to get a shitty one, I’m gonna have to borrow money.” I scowled. “Damn. This sucks. The only person in the world who might be willing to loan me money would maaaaaybe be Pietro, and…” I trailed off with a sigh.

Brian glanced over at me. “And?”