White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

“Shiiiiiiit,” Marcus breathed when I finished. “Uncle Pietro had all of that going on?” To my relief he seemed to accept the whole thing without question, even the parts that sounded batshit crazy.

“Yeah, it was a mess.” I rubbed at my eyes. The fatigue was starting to catch up with me. “I need to check on my dad.”

Marcus nodded. “He’s in the guest bedroom at the end of the hall.”

I left Marcus on the couch and headed that way. The door was open, and my dad sat in a comfy-looking recliner watching TV.

“Hey, Dad, you doing okay?” I asked. I searched for any hint of anger or his usual orneriness, but apparently having a plush recliner and a flat screen went a long way toward pacifying him.

He looked over, gave me a slight smile. “Hey, Angelkins. I’m doin’ fine.”

“So, um, everything’s cool between you and Marcus?”

His bony shoulders lifted in a shrug. “We had a few words.” He paused. “More than a few. But I’m sitting in his house, so that should tell you something.”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” I didn’t even want to think of what words had been exchanged. “Look, I’m gonna ask Pietro Ivanov if he’ll cosign a loan for me.”

He frowned. “Why the hell would someone like that help you out with a loan?” The frown shifted to a familiar scowl. “And, dammit, I don’t want to be sucking up to any Ivanovs.”

I leaned against the doorframe, crossed my arms over my chest. “You think a bank will hand over enough to put our lives back together?” I asked.

A grimace deepened the lines in his face. “No, you’re right. No chance with a bank.”

“I’m hoping Pietro will help since he’s, uh, like me and Marcus.”

“Shit!” His jaw actually dropped a little. “You mean he’s a—”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s the one who made Marcus…like him. A zombie.”

My dad let out a low whistle. “Jesus Christ.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “How many of, er, you lot are there?”

I had to stop and think about that. “I don’t really know, actually. I think there’s maybe a dozen or so in this area,” I hedged. I had a feeling there was a higher concentration around here because of Pietro’s operation and support. It surely couldn’t be as high everywhere. There simply wouldn’t be enough brains to feed everyone. Plus, if there were a whole lot of zombies spread out everywhere, it would be impossible to keep it hidden from the general public.

“That’s too damn weird,” he muttered. “Y’all have meetings or anything?”

I let out a bark of laughter at the thought. Zombies Anonymous? Hello, my name is Angel, and it’s been three weeks since I’ve shambled. “No,” I said, grinning. “At least none that I’ve been invited to.”

He merely snorted. “Don’t let the bastards leave you out, Angel. You’re better than any of them.”

A sudden jolt of worry went through me. “Uh, Dad, you know you can’t tell anyone about me being a zombie right? Or about Marcus or Pietro either.” Shit. I’d outed both of them without even thinking, and there wasn’t any good reason for doing it. I mean, I trusted my dad, but I needed to be more careful.

He laughed. “Like anyone would believe me?” But then he saw my anxious expression and sobered. “Won’t tell a soul, Angel. Wouldn’t do anything that might come back to bite you in the ass. Promise you that.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I moved to him, gave him a hug. He felt more solid than he had in a long time. He clung to me for a moment, then let me go. I quickly turned and left before either of us could get all weepy.

Marcus was still on the couch. I sat, then regarded him, brow furrowed. “So, how is this gonna work with me and my dad staying here?” I asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful, but…” I trailed off, not quite sure what else to say.

“Your dad is settled in the guest room just fine,” Marcus told me. “I have plenty of space.” He pushed a strand of hair back from my face. “This isn’t us ‘moving in together.’ I know you aren’t ready for that. We aren’t ready for that.”

Relief swept over me. I’d been dreading this conversation, totally uncertain how to lay out my misgivings without insulting him or screwing things up, and here he was being all understanding.

“I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can find me and my dad another place to live,” I said.

“It’s a three bedroom house.” He gave me a soft smile. “I promise I won’t pressure you.” Then he shook his head. “Or rather, I promise I’ll do my very best not to pressure you,” he amended. “I’m crazy about you, Angel. I can’t shut that down.”

I kissed him, smiled. “I’m crazy about you too. And I think I know why you sometimes get too overprotective.”

At his questioning look I proceeded to tell him about my theory of zombie-mama instinct with Philip. Marcus seemed a bit doubtful, and perhaps a teensy bit jealous when I spoke of Philip, but in the end he simply gave a serious nod.