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

The lie leaped to my lips, but I swallowed it back down and shook my head. “I couldn’t get any money from the ATM,” I told him, fighting down a wave of embarrassment. Damn it, harder to shake off those old ghosts than I thought. “I got a toothbrush and deodorant and a change of clothes, but that’s it.”

He bumped his shoulder lightly into mine. “That’ll get you by for now, right?” he asked, and I nodded. “We’ll be making a stop during the day tomorrow I’m sure. I can help you out.”

“Sure. Thanks. I mean, I’m sure it’s a computer glitch or something,” I hurried to add. Even though I knew Philip wouldn’t judge or look down at me, I didn’t want to add “can’t manage money” to the list of my obvious faults. “I’ll call the bank in the morning and get it straightened out.”

We finished our business and got everything loaded into the car. Naomi had the sense to buy a couple of cushy pillows, and I didn’t mind one bit borrowing one when she offered. I jammed it between me and the door, and sighed in relative comfort as Kyle got us going again and back on the interstate.

What a crazy-ass day. And here I was, on the way to New York City. Exciting and scary, yet after about ten minutes that faded into monotony. Since it was the middle of the night, the scenery sucked. Dark interstate, headlights and taillights, road signs, exits with gas stations and restaurants lit up like Christmas trees, and then more dark interstate.

I adjusted the pillow, closed my eyes, and let the hum of the tires lull me to sleep.

* * *

Philip’s raised voice jarred me from a weird dream about winning the lottery then having to hide on the perm shelf in a beauty supply store because a horde of six-armed insurance salesmen were after me.

“Not the next exit. Stop now!”

I opened my eyes and sat up, blinking to focus. Philip was leaning forward, speaking to Kyle, face twisted in concern.

“What’s wrong?” I peered out the window but saw only the same damn nighttime non-scenery. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as Kyle pulled onto the shoulder, and his worried eyes met mine in the rear view mirror.

Philip abruptly flung the door open on the non-traffic side of the car, then turned to me and jabbed the release on my seat belt. I barely had time for an Oh, no, not again before he seized my wrist and dragged me out. I yelped in pain as I stumbled and landed on my knees in the gravel. “Fucking shit, Philip! Stop!”

He paused, and for an instant I thought he’d obey me, but he simply spun back to snatch one of the small coolers of brains from the floorboard. As soon as he had it, he pulled me to my feet and took off at a jog toward the guardrail and the woods beyond. I clutched at his forearm to help me keep my balance and fought to dig my heels in, but my barely hundred pounds didn’t stand a chance of slowing him down.

“Do something!” I yelled back at the others, then saw that they weren’t exactly sitting back and observing. Kyle had the emergency flashers on and a tranq gun in his hand, while Naomi moved toward the trunk of the car.

“Too dangerous,” Philip said, voice taut and strained as he continued to drag me away from the car. “Too many cars. Too many people.”

“No! Philip, you have to stop,” I ordered, heart pounding. What if he didn’t snap out of it this time? How far would he go to “protect” me? “Listen to me. It’s more dangerous away from the others!”

If he heard me it sure as hell didn’t make a difference. Breathing hard and face flushed, he set the cooler down on the other side of the guardrail, bodily lifted me over, then gripped my wrist again before I could make a dash for it. He stepped over, grabbed the cooler, and once again set off toward the woods.

“Shit, stop! Goddammit!” I seized hold of his hair and tried to figure out how I could jump onto him and bite him the way I had during the mayhem at the movie shoot. Except it’d been summer then, and he hadn’t been wearing a jacket. Could I bite through that, or would I have to try to yank it aside?

Luckily, I didn’t have to find out. He let out a sudden low moan, stumbled, and went sprawling, taking me down with him. His hand went limp, and I pulled away from him and scrambled to my feet. My legs felt wobbly, as if I’d done a few hundred squats, and I sat back down. Probably a result of the stress and shock.

“Did you tranq him?” I asked Kyle as he loped up, though I didn’t see any darts sticking out of Philip’s back.

“No, he went down on his own,” Kyle replied, crouching as Philip rolled drunkenly to his back.

“Philip?” I put a hand on his shoulder as he blinked up at the sky. The anxiety was gone from his face at least, though now he looked as if he had the mother of all headaches. “Talk to me, damn it.”

“I’m okay,” Philip said. “Head hurts. You okay, Angel?” He tried to sit up and managed it with our help.

“I’m good,” I told him. “More worried about you right now.”

“It was the same as at your house and the spillway.” Dismay wound through his voice. “Like watching myself and having no control. Headache is worse this time though.” He looked around, as if realizing for the first time that we were all sitting in the grass on the side of the interstate. Naomi remained by the car, trunk open as if she was looking for something, but she kept glancing our way, and I didn’t miss the gun in her hand. “Damn. I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” I snapped. We needed to find Dr. Nikas more than ever. My legs were behaving now, so I stood and brushed myself off. “Let’s get out of here.”

Kyle and I helped Philip to his feet, and we returned to the car. Philip settled into the back seat with me again, and Kyle stuck the cooler on the floor between us.

“That was fun,” Naomi said as she settled in the front. Her eyes flicked from Philip to me and back, worried.

No one spoke as we resumed driving.

“Do you have any sort of warning before one of these fits comes on?” I finally asked after a few tension-filled miles. “Y’know, like how migraine sufferers sometimes see auras and stuff?”