White Trash Zombie Unchained (White Trash Zombie 6)

??attention’ is seldom kind to those who are different, much less a potential threat.”

“Sure, but there are huge advantages, too,” I said. “It’s a community that helps each other out. It’s a safe place, a ready supply of brains, and the latest in zombie health care.”

“I agree.” A light smile played about his mouth. “There are pros and cons. I have yet to decide which way the balance tips.”

I fell silent while various thoughts ticked over in my mind. Kang was over two thousand years old. Of all the amazing cities and communities around the world, why had he settled here, in Nowhere, Louisiana? Surely not because he was Pierce’s zombie-daddy.

“You’re here to keep an eye on Pietro and the Tribe!” I cried, pleased when Kang nodded. “Wait. The Tribe’s been around for hundreds of years, and you still haven’t decided whether or not it’s a good thing?”

“No. The Tribe as you know it has only been around for a couple of decades. Before then it was a small group of perhaps four or five. Often it was only Ariston and the man you currently know as Pierce. It was only when Francis Coleman became Pietro Ivanov and gained his holdings, investments, and influence that he was able to organize and expand—helped considerably by technological advances in communication and transportation.”

“Francis?” I snickered. “I can’t picture Pierce ever being a Francis.”

Kang smiled. “Francis was a decorated marine during the conflict in Vietnam.”

“Hold up.” I glared at him. “You mean the Vietnam War that happened in the twentieth century, right? Because you burned me once before, making me think you were talking about a recent war instead of an ancient one.”

This time he laughed. “Yes, in the twentieth century. He saved fourteen U.S. soldiers by taking out a Viet Cong ambush and then literally carrying the wounded men to safety. Quite the badass.”

I cocked my head. “Who was he before he was Francis?”

Kang pursed his lips in thought. “I believe he went by Clarence . . . Clarence Ambrewster.”

“Jesus, that’s worse than Francis.”

“Clarence was equally badass in World War I and World War II.”

I frowned. “He sure does love fighting.”

Kang’s expression shadowed. “He is skilled in the various arts of war, and as a zombie he is unusually suited for such a life. Throughout history, a good soldier has always been able to find a job.” He paused. “Not to mention, a battlefield is an excellent source of brains.”

I shifted to face him. “What does Pierce want from you? I mean, he’s been nuts over whatever it is, but obviously you don’t want to tell him.”

Kang sobered. “It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

He remained silent long enough for me to worry he might bolt to avoid spilling the beans.

“Have you ever heard of a zombie referred to as mature?” he finally asked.

“Actually, yes. Dr. Nikas told me about them. It’s how Pietro Ivanov became Pierce Gentry.”

“Yes, precisely. And you know it has very little to do with age, right?”

“I think I remember him saying that.”

“Good. That saves us a great deal of explanation.” He looked up as if deciding how to proceed. “And you’re probably aware that a mature zombie has a far higher level of abilities, such as heightened senses.”

I nodded. “Like how Pierce can smell lies, and how Dr. Nikas can taste what’s wrong with someone.”

“Right. A mature zombie has a greatly reduced the need for brains and gains the ability to reshape himself into the form of another by consuming their fresh brain, as you saw for yourself when Pietro became Pierce. Of course, we didn’t know the how of it—DNA reconfiguration—until a few decades ago when Ariston’s research unraveled that part of the mystery.” He took a deep breath and blew it out in a sigh. “Maturation is like an evolution, where host and parasite become one entity. Indistinguishable. And . . . a very long time ago, I figured out a way to trigger that evolution and force the zombie organism to quickly complete the process.”

“Pierce wants to know how to do it!” I said. “But I’m guessing you’re about to tell me why forcing it is a bad idea.”

His shoulders sagged, as if bearing the weight of two thousand years of existence. “I met Pierce—known then as Sulemain—over twelve hundred years ago. We became lovers, and a year or so later, I turned him. He—”

“Whoa!” My eyes widened. “Pierce is gay? Or I guess bi. Holy shit!”