How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (White Trash Zombie 4)

“What exactly is this going to do?” I asked.

“We are attempting to remind Philip’s parasite how to operate optimally by imprinting it on yours.”

I processed that. “Imprinting? Like ducklings?”

Dr. Nikas smiled. “In a manner of speaking. I’ll be stimulating both sets of parasites into a bit of a frenzy, and as yours copes, Philip’s will hopefully follow suit.” Dr. Nikas placed the empty syringes in a sharps disposal container. “How do you feel?”

“My teeth are buzzing,” I said with a grimace. “Like they’re full of bees.” It didn’t hurt, but it was mighty unpleasant.

“Mine too,” Philip said, his voice rough. “And my throat is getting scratchy.”

Dr. Nikas pursed his lips and moved back to the cookie tray, mumbled distractedly as he picked up a syringe with red contents, then shook his head and replaced it. His expression grew thoughtful but after a moment it cleared. He retrieved two syringes that contained what looked like chocolate pudding and passed one to Jacques. Apparently the consistency was pudding-like too, because the needle looked more like one of those turkey baster injector things. Except about twice as big.

Dr. Nikas crouched before me. “Lift your shirt, please?”

Wary, I lifted it to right below my boobs. Apparently that was high enough, because Dr. Nikas placed a cool hand on my stomach and set the needle about an inch above my belly button. “This might be a bit uncomfortable,” he said and then drove the needle into my gut.

A tiny yelp escaped me, and it was with some small relief that I felt Philip stiffen behind me as Jacques did the same pipe-to-the-gut move. It took at least a minute to inject the substance, during which I breathed in shallow pants against the pain. A bit uncomfortable, my ass. “Dr. Nikas, this sucks. I’ll stick with the buzzing teeth.”

“Give it a moment, Angel,” he murmured.

About ten seconds later the bee-teeth sensation faded. “That’s better,” I breathed. Unfortunately, rather than echoing my sigh of relief

Philip groaned and jerked against my back.

Monitor wires caught at me as I tried to twist to see what happened. Jacques slapped the intercom on the phone and shouted, “Reg!” to call in the other lab tech, then moved to us and wrapped an arm around Philip to keep him upright. Philip twitched and let out a shuddering cry. I swiveled the chair, not caring that clips and patches pulled off, and stared at Philip.

“Angel!” Dr. Nikas said with urgency. “Turn around. Stay still.”

I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not with the side of Philip’s face looking as if a billion ants crawled under the skin. In seconds, the flesh split as an ugly patch of rot formed and deepened, exposing bone and teeth. Zombie stench, distinctively heavier and sweeter than cadaver stink, rolled over me in a sickening wave. I stared, shocked. We’d had trouble during treatments before, but this—

Dr. Nikas took me firmly by the shoulders in an unexpectedly strong grip and turned me with the stool until I faced away from Philip again. He pressed me back until I could feel Philip jerking and shaking against me, and held me there.

“Angel, I need you to stay right here,” he said, voice calm and reassuring. “He’s going to be fine, but I need you to help me by remaining still and keeping in contact with him. It’s important. You have it?”

Gulping, I met his eyes and nodded. “I got it. Sorry,” I said. “That was seriously freaky.”

He squeezed my shoulders, then released me and turned away to work with the vials and syringes on the tray. Dr. Nikas always fixed things, but that didn’t keep my heart from trying to thump its way out of my chest. Philip gurgled and twitched, and I held my back against his. “You’re gonna be okay,” I said, as much to reassure myself as him.

A tall and angular man with close-cropped red hair slid to a stop in the doorway—Reg, his head swiveling this way and that as he took in the scene. Jacques barked out a couple of orders for an ice pack and “brain formula ninety-nine,” and Reg disappeared again.

My cheek started itching, and I fought the urge to scratch it—partly because I wasn’t supposed to move and mostly because of the fear it would be gross and rotten like Philip’s.

Dr. Nikas returned to us with three syringes in his hand then injected them, one after another, into Philip’s IV. I waited anxiously for them to work and let out a breath of relief when Philip relaxed about a minute later. Reg entered with the needed items in hand and passed the ice pack to Jacques.

“Philip, count backward from one hundred. Odd numbers only,” Dr. Nikas said.

“Ninety-nine, ninety-seven, ninety-five,” Philip responded, voice a little rough but steady.

“Good,” Dr. Nikas said. “Reg has brains for you with additives. Eat both packets and hold the ice pack on your jaw for about ten minutes, and you should feel much better.”

Calm and collected as though nothing happened, Jacques moved to me and began reattaching the wires I’d pulled loose. All in a day’s work. Reg efficiently tidied the counter top and straightened the remaining syringes, then departed as silently as a ninja. A zombie ninja.

“What happened?” I asked.

Dr. Nikas released a breath. “An overreaction by Philip’s parasite to the stimulation by your parasite,” he explained as he took a syringe from Jacques. “With the imprint link between you two, Philip’s parasite reflected the reaction of yours but, because of its damaged state, it responded inappropriately. That said, the whole episode helped me understand better how to assist his parasite to normalize.”

“You mean the whole face falling off thing was good?” I asked doubtfully.