White Trash Zombie Unchained (White Trash Zombie 6)

“If we’re both zombies you wouldn’t,” I shot back.

“Don’t you sass me, girl,” he said. “I’m trying to be all dramatic and shit, and you’re spoiling it.” He tsked under his breath, lifted a thumb to wipe away the tears that spilled down my cheeks. “I can’t explain it, baby. I just know it ain’t right for me. Look, knowing that I’m gonna die is what lets me appreciate bein’ alive. But what happened to you, gettin’ turned into what you are . . . well, it was a real gift, because god knows you deserved it. You didn’t get to live during your first twenty years. But I know you better’n anyone else out there. And now that you got the chance to really live, you’re gonna squeeze everything you can outta the rest of your life, whether it’s ten years or ten thousand.”

Sniffling, I swiped at my eyes. “Fine,” I said. “But you have to promise me that you’re going to take really good care of yourself from now on. Just because you’re mortal doesn’t mean you have to take a running start at death.”

“Sure thing, baby.” He patted my arm indulgently.

“I mean it.” I gave him a fierce look. “I want you to get regular checkups with the doctor, and quit smoking—for real—and eat better, and hell, I want you to start exercising. More than walking to the mailbox and back.”

His eyes glistened. “I’ll do it. For both of us.” He paused. “And mostly ’cause I’m pretty sure that if I don’t, you’ll turn me zombie out of spite.”

I managed a wobbly grin. “You’re goddamn right I will. And you’ll never hear the end of it. Forever.”

He wrapped his arms around me and heaved a sigh. “I guess I better get my ass into a gym.”

“They won’t know what hit them.” I gave him a long squeeze, memorizing everything about him for the millionth time, then released him. “Is it okay if I play the game for a while?” I was pretty sure Andrew expected me to play it.

“Hell, it’s yours, ain’t it? Just watch out for the weirdos.” He snorted. “There’s one feller who kept following me around. Asked me to join him for a drink in the tavern. But he slunk away when I told him to fuck the hell off.” He let out a snicker. “Guess he thought I was a lady.”

“Can’t hardly blame him. Look at that fur bikini—” My eyes snapped to the headset, and I gave myself a mental forehead smack. Of course! Weirdo guy had to be Andrew! People talked to each other in games all the time. I had no idea if people could eavesdrop on those conversations, but even if it was possible, there was no way anyone would think Andrew and I would communicate this way. “I’ll be careful,” I solemnly promised.

“Alrighty, then I’m going to head over to the Y and see if they can work with what I got.” He struck a muscle pose and made a show of kissing his puny bicep.

“Better take care of those guns,” I said, laughing.

He dropped a kiss onto my forehead then snatched up his keys. “Got .22s now, but I’ll have .50 calibers before you know it!” He strode out, singing Bat out of Hell at the top of his lungs.

Good thing Mrs. Grady across the street was going deaf.

Chapter 20

I waited for Dad’s truck to pull out of the driveway then made a pass with the bug scanner through the living room, kitchen, and hallway. It would be kind of awful to finally—hopefully—talk to Andrew in a—hopefully—secure setting, only to have the bad guys listen in.

Once I finished the house, I scanned the game console itself. Twice. Nothing. Excellent. I grabbed the headset and controller and plopped onto the floor.

Then got right back up again to find the directions on how to use the friggin’ controller. I soon located them between the sofa cushions, along with a crumpled dollar bill and an empty cigarette packet. Nothing toxic. If not for my dad’s housecleaning girlfriend, there could have been anything from petrified corn chips to dirty boxers down there. Go, Gina!

After a few minutes of reading instructions and fiddling with the controller, I unpaused the game and got the hang of walking Momzombique around.

A couple of beetle things scuttled past, but I ignored them and turned a slow circle, taking stock. “Crap,” I muttered. “I should’ve asked Dad what the weirdo looked like.”

People wandered about hawking various goods. Beggars begged, and shady figures skulked. I got the feeling they were part of the game and not other players. My hunch was confirmed after I deliberately walked into a man dressed like a baker, and his reaction was to give me a hearty greeting and say, “Baguette for you today, Swordbearer?”

r /> A red-haired man with bulging muscles lounged near the door of the Wayside Tavern. He wore shiny silver armor and flowing purple cloak, and didn’t look at all like the other “townspeople.” He was also facing in my direction.

A quick check of the instructions revealed how to talk to other players. I cleared my throat, adjusted the mic, then toggled the button. “So, uh, come here often?”

“About time you got here,” a voice that was definitely Andrew’s grumbled. The muscled fighter turned and strode down the street. “Follow me.”

I did so—after a couple of false starts and one instance of getting stuck in a corner and yet another peek at the instructions for how to climb steps. Eventually he led me into a ruined stone building and down into a cellar so convincingly squatty I ducked my head where I sat in my living room. A single guttering torch lit the room. On the wall opposite the stairs, a dark passageway loomed beyond the rusty bars of a gate. Distant screeches echoed in stereo.

“Are bugs going to come out of that?” I asked. I tried to point toward the barred gate but only succeeded in drawing my sword.

“I killed them already. I didn’t want to be disturbed once you finally showed up. I assume that was your father, earlier?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. This game is pretty cool. Did Saberton make it?”

“No,” he said, the withering look clear in his voice if not on his character’s face. “We don’t make video games. And even if we did, it would be too obvious for me to use it for this.”