White Trash Zombie Unchained (White Trash Zombie 6)

“No. I . . . I’m ready t-to go.”

“Where—”

“I don’t want . . . t-to be c-cured. Please. P-please.”

My shoulders sagged as I realized what he meant. “Oh.”

“P-p-please.”

Brian had turned him zombie against his will and stolen death from him—a death Kyle yearned for. And last year, I’d promised him that, when the time came, I’d help him die.

It seemed a relatively easy promise to make back then, in the comfort of a posh New York hotel. But now I was faced with the reality.

“All right,” I said, words barely a squeak. “I need your gun.” It wasn’t easy to kill a zombie, but a few ways were permanent.

The tremors were beginning to ease, but I suspected that meant the toxin was starting to do its work. “Retention holster,” he slurred. “Twist right, tip forward and pull.”

Tears spilled over as I twisted and pulled in the right sequence to remove his gun from the holster.

His grip on my arm loosened, and his eyes struggled to focus on mine. Yet his face was smooth with soul-deep relief. He’d been ready for this for a long time. “Thank you . . . Angel.”

“Anytime, dude,” I said, trying for humor but choking on a sob.

“It’s been an honor . . . and pleasure to know you.” A soft smile touched his mouth, and then he rolled facedown and tucked his chin to his chest.

“The honor and pleasure has been all mine,” I gasped out past the tears. The gun was a Beretta M9—a model I was familiar with from training with him. I checked to make sure a round was chambered and the safety off, then pressed the muzzle to the base of his skull and looked away. “Goodbye, Kyle.”

I pulled the trigger.

The sound crashed through the corridor, and brought Billy at a run. “What the hell?” Though he didn’t reach for a weapon, he held himself loose and balanced, a ready stance like I’d seen in my jiu jitsu instructors. Billy knew how to handle himself.

I dropped the magazine and cleared the chamber, then set the gun beside Kyle’s body and lifted my hands away from my body. “Are you going to arrest me?”

He took a slow step forward. “Why did you shoot him?”

“Because I promised him I would.”

He searched my face. “I see.”

“Do you?” I said. “Because if you’re not going to arrest me, I need to chase down the bitch responsible for all of this.” The distant thwup-thwup of a helicopter reached us. Kristi’s extraction.

He nodded once. “Go do what you gotta do.”

“I appreciate it.” I activated my last combat mod and took off for the stairs, glancing into the microscope room as I passed. The computer stations were slagged wreckage. Sorsha was crumpled on the floor. Someone was huddled on the counter. The back wall was splattered with blood, and the gators were in a frenzy . . . feeding. On what—or who—I couldn’t tell.

I tore into the stairwell, vaulted the steps three at a time and burst out onto the roof, teeth bared in a snarl.

Kristi stood on the far side, shading her eyes toward a helicopter that was still several hundred yards away. She startled as the door slammed open against the outer wall then shot me a furious glare. “You lost,” she yelled. “Accept your fucking defeat already!”

“Like hell! Give me the motherfucking cure!”

She laughed, clearly enjoying the moment immensely. “Not until after your boyfriend is dead.”

“Then I’ll just have to take it from you!” I broke into a run even as gunfire spat from the helicopter door. Chips of concrete flew up around me, and a bullet whizzed by my ear. I kept my focus on my target and

picked up speed, ignoring the jolts of pain as two bullets found their target. I was still able to run, so they didn’t matter.

Her arrogant sneer crumbled as I rapidly closed the distance between us. Her eyes widened in mounting panic. She shifted her weight to evade even as I corrected for it.