White Trash Zombie Unchained (White Trash Zombie 6)

“Don’t come near . . . me. So hunnnnngry.” It came out in a wet growl.

“I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes, tops. Don’t hang up.”

I fumbled the phone onto speaker. Laid it by my head. Stared up at nothing. Went still to conserve energy. Sounds dull. Vision dull. Pain dull. Nick’s voiced droned on in a muffled blanket of comfort.

“Angel?”

“Didn’t . . . hang up,” I tried to say.

Light swept over me. And the scent of a human brain.

“I’m looking for you.” His voice issued from the phone and from nearby.

I lurched to my hands and knees. Snarled. Eyes fixed on the dark shape beyond the fence.

The light swung back. Rested on me. “Angel, I have the packets. You’re going to be okay.”

Saliva filled my mouth, spilled over. “You’re not. Stay . . . away.” I crawl-dragged forward. Collapsed as rotted flesh shredded from my hand.

“I

t’s too far to throw the packets.” He climbed the fence and dropped down on my side. “I can’t stay away, Angel. I won’t.”

I snarled, clawed at the ground to inch toward him. “Stay . . . back.” The words were barely words, burbling through wet throat rot.

The luscious brain crouched twenty feet away, set the flashlight on the ground, pointed at me. I reached toward him, flesh trailing in strings from my fingers.

Something landed in the dirt in front of me. Not braaains. I growled.

Another something splatted in the dirt near my hand. The scent washed over me. Not warm. Not fresh. But brrrraaaaaaiiins. I grabbed it up. Squeezed it into my mouth. Let out a howl when there was no more.

But another open packet of not-warm brains landed. I sucked them down. Senses cleared a bit. “Nick?” I croaked as I snatched the first packet from the ground and ripped the top off.

“I’m right here,” he said, voice calm and steady and soothing. He tossed another packet to me.

I scarfed down both packets before shifting to sit, bodily hauling my mangled leg in front of me. My leg below the break twisted to the right and angled off at forty-five degrees. Rot covered my fingers, but it was healing. Slowly.

Nick stood and approached.

I put up both hands. “Stay back! I . . . I’m . . . not whole yet.”

“Would you please shut the fuck up?” He dropped to one knee in front of me then, with a crunch of bone against bone, skillfully pulled and straightened my leg.

I breathed through my teeth and sent up thanks to the universe that the parasite still had the pain dampened. “How can you even stand to be around me? I’m . . . gross.”

Nick opened two packets at the same time and pressed them into my hands. “Angel, I swear to god, for someone so intelligent, you can be a real idiot sometimes.”

I busied myself with consuming the last of the brains. Felt the tingle in my leg as the break repaired itself. And the tingle in my face as rot I couldn’t see—but Nick could—healed. Finally, I said quietly, “You think I’m intelligent?”

“Yes! You’re sharp as a tack. You learned the morgue computer system in three days. I struggled with it for a week when I started. You beat the odds and got your GED. You’re in college now. You see things others miss. I could go on, but none of that’s important right now.”

I looked up at him. “What is?”

Nick’s eyes met mine. “Rotting is pretty disgusting. I’m not going to lie. But you know what? I don’t think you are disgusting. You still hang around me even though I poop. Pooping is pretty gross, right? I also fart, belch, and scratch my balls.” He gave me a crooked smile. “I pick at scabs. And sometimes I even pick my nose.”

I suddenly felt a billion times lighter. “But do you eat it?”

He winked. “There are no witnesses who could testify that I do.”