White Trash Zombie Unchained (White Trash Zombie 6)

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While Brian and Rosario rearranged gear in the remaining flatboat to make room for everyone, Marcus dove down to the sunken boat and recovered the shotgun, tagger, darts, samples we’d collected, and the—thankfully waterproof—GPS. “We’ll come back later with a metal detector,” he said then muttered something about fucking expensive rifles.

The flatboat rode a bit low in the water once we all piled in, but Pierce insisted it was rated for six passengers. “And Angel plus the dog equals the weight of one person,” he added with a smirk.

We headed downstream for about a quarter mile then, at Marcus’s direction, took a medium-squiggle-sized channel to the west.

Not even five minutes later, Pierce lifted his head. “Boat.” His mouth thinned. “Wildlife and Fisheries.”

“Are you sure?” I asked with a touch of skepticism. Even tanked up on brains, I couldn’t hear anything but the usual swamp noises.

Ignoring me, Pierce guided our boat around a cypress tree and stopped behind a stand of tall grass. “Everyone get down and stay perfectly still,” he ordered then hopped out of the boat and into the waist-deep water.

I didn’t see how the clump of grass could possibly keep us from being seen, but I hunkered down with everyone else.

Pierce moved quickly, grabbing seemingly random tree branches and plants. Some he draped around the boat, and the rest he arranged between us and the channel. Apparently satisfied, he crouched in the water and watched. After a couple of minutes of waiting in silence, I picked up the noise of a boat motor, and not long after that, Agent Carbo and his partner cruised on by without a glance in our direction.

Pierce remained motionless for several minutes after they passed. Finally, he stood and waded to the boat.

“We’re good now,” he said as he climbed in.

“Damn, Pierce, you win the Hide and Seek trophy,” I said. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

He met my eyes, expression utterly devoid of humor. “The Vietnam War.”

Note to self: Don’t ask Pierce anything that even remotely resembles a personal question. Sheesh.

We rode the rest of the way back in near silence, watching and listening until we crossed Bayou Cher and were safely in Tribe territory. Only then did Pierce relax.

“Can we discuss the Saberton-sized e

lephant in the room now?” I asked. “Why were they there? How the fuck could they have known anything about that body and the gators?”

“They had to have found out about the shambler at the morgue,” Rachel said, expression murderous.

“They were collecting alligator samples, too,” Brian said. “I saw a container of beef lungs, and several large hooks on cables.”

Ugh. And being assholes about it. Hook and release was far more damaging to the gator than our method.

A muscle worked in Pierce’s jaw. “There’s no possible way the lab is bugged. It’s been swept numerous times, by different personnel and with different equipment. Everyone who enters or leaves is scanned. And everyone who stays there permanently has been scanned, repeatedly.”

“Even the dog?” Rachel asked.

“Even the dog.”

“The morgue?” I gave a helpless shrug. “There must be a bug somewhere in it. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Saberton could have heard us fighting off that shambler, and maybe even heard me when I called Dr. Nikas to tell him about it.” I frowned. “Wait, what if my phone is tapped?”

“We’ll check it,” Pierce said. “We’ll check everything.” He tugged a hand through his hair in a rare show of frustration. “I’ll arrange with Allen Prejean to have the morgue swept for listening devices.”

“I’ll borrow the bug scanner thingy and go over my house again.” I planned on checking the PlayBox for bugs as well, but I didn’t want to tell Pierce about the game console—yet—in case he decided to do something crazy, like blow it up the way the bomb squad did with suspicious packages.

“Good plan, Angel,” he said. “Get it from Raul when we return.”

With the subject exhausted, we fell silent, lost in thought. A hawk wheeled overhead, graceful against the bright, clear sky. Water rippled as a snake swam past, and a great blue heron stalked through the grass in search of prey. The swamp was beautiful and dangerous in any number of ways. Environment. Weather. Wildlife.

People.

My thoughts veered back to the diver. I’d killed people before, but never a woman. It shouldn’t have made a difference, but . . . it did. At least I knew without a doubt she was no innocent bystander. She’d shot Pierce and Rachel, then tried her best to take me out of the game.