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

Or not. A chill went through me as a strange piercing cry split the air. Philip. I caught a blur of movement as he descended on the nearest security guard, and I heard the thud as he slammed him hard into the wall. My peripheral vision told me the other guards had their guns out, but I had zero chance to do anything about it. As I pulled Andrew’s wrist, he did a neat twist that yanked me forward and nearly onto my face. Apparently the dude knew some moves. Goddammit.

“Braddock! Stop them!” Nicole yelled at the head security woman, even as I struggled to maintain balance and made a totally unsuccessful attempt to reverse Andrew’s move into an osoto gari. It looked more like I was dancing with him, which left me with my back fully exposed to Braddock, who had no need of Nicole’s suggestion. Braddock already had both guns trained on me, and I had a feeling the only reason I wasn’t already full of holes and tranq darts was because she was waiting for the instant where she could shoot me without risking hitting Andrew. Good thing for me the tranqs were pretty much instantly lethal for humans—like giving a kitten a dose meant for an elephant.

Braddock never got the chance to shoot me. Philip sprang from a crouch toward her, and though she tried her best to bring the gun around to do some good, she never had a prayer against that tanked up zombie speed. Philip caught her wrist and yanked her arm straight, then delivered a surgically precise blow to her elbow. The ugly sound of the dislocating joint mingled with Braddock’s sharp cry of pain, and the tranq gun t

umbled from her hand to land a couple of feet from me.

Andrew flinched at Braddock’s cry, which was all the distraction I needed. I drove my knee up hard into Andrew’s groin, and he obligingly crumpled to the floor. Screw jiu jitsu. Sometimes a girl had to fight dirty.

A gunshot slammed through the room. Philip staggered but kept hold of Braddock’s wrist. I scrambled on top of Andrew, clamped one hand on his throat and dug the fingers of the other hard against his belly.

“Nobody move, or I’ll rip his guts out!” I yelled, eyes on the guard who’d shot Philip. I even jabbed a bit at Andrew’s stomach as if I was about to make good on my threat, and he rewarded me with a convincing cry of pain and genuine fear. I was totally bluffing, of course. Sure, as tanked as I was I could easily gut him, but I figured my Ideal Plan B would probably work better if I didn’t play horror-show-macramé with his intestines.

Fortunately the bluff worked, and the guard slowly lowered his weapon. “Put both your guns on the floor!” I ordered, keeping my grip tight on Andrew’s throat as the guard slowly complied. I reached to snatch the fallen tranq gun with my other hand, even as my peripheral vision caught Nicole fleeing the room. So much for motherly love and protection.

Philip relieved Braddock of her other gun, then shoved her away. I had to hand it to the woman—she could keep her head in a crisis. Her face was white as a sheet, and her forearm dangled like a broken toy, but she kept enough focus to press a button on one of her radios and gasp out, “Code white,” right before Philip ripped the radio from her and hurled it against the wall.

I jammed the tranq gun into Andrew’s gut and released his throat. “You know you’re dead if my trigger finger twitches,” I told him as I shifted off of his chest.

Andrew gave a very small nod, eyes on the gun in my hand. Saberton had developed the high-powered zombie specific tranquilizer. He knew better than anyone how lethal it was for a human.

I quickly reassessed. The trade-a-hostage-for-Pietro plan didn’t look very solid at this point since Nicole Saber either valued keeping Pietro over her son’s safety, or else had a better plan in the works.

“You’re going to get us the hell out of here,” I growled at Andrew. “Now get your ass up.” I climbed to my feet, tranq gun on him. I felt good, clear headed, but the thrill of being tanked on brains had subsided to a mild buzz, burned off by the adrenaline-charged exertion and the healing of my bullet-grazed butt. I remained plenty fast and strong, but a part of me missed that sharp and awesome feeling. “I’m getting hungry,” I added, “so don’t try anything stupid.”

Andrew paled but didn’t freak. He stood, keeping his hands well away from his body. “I’ll walk you out,” he said. “No troubles.”

“Yeah, that’s a real good plan,” I said and hoped Naomi was listening. “Is that a real good plan?”

“Sounds good since I don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” Naomi said in my earpiece. “We’ll meet you at the service entrance in the parking garage.”

“Gotcha. Philip, you okay?”

“Angel, down!” he ordered.

Zombie reflexes still in high gear, I dropped into a crouch without even thinking, dragging Andrew with me. A fraction of a second later, Philip leaped over us and onto the guard he’d slammed into the wall earlier, wrenched a tranq gun from his hand and smacked his head into the floor hard enough to stun but not dent him.

Philip straightened as I did, then strode to the guard who’d dropped his weapons. Moving with brisk efficiency, he put the guard on the floor and ziptied his hands behind his back, then retrieved my gun from under the table and tucked it into my holster. “We’re good now,” he said with a satisfied nod.

Andrew’s mouth had dropped open at the entire display, and I grinned despite everything. Apparently he’d never seen tanked zombies in action. “How’s the bullet wound?” I asked Philip.

“Handled,” he said, patting the side pocket of his pants, which told me he’d already downed some brains.

“Excellent.” I gripped the back of Andrew’s collar. “Let’s get moving. Parking garage service entrance.”

Andrew’s throat bobbed. “This way,” he said as he moved toward the door, still carefully keeping his hands out to his sides. Philip fell in behind us, gun in one hand and a tranq gun in the other. Though we made it into the hallway without incident, I didn’t need zombie senses to know more guards lurked right around the corner. Andrew started toward the elevators, but I stopped him with a quick yank.

“Wait,” I said. “I’m not real happy about going in an elevator. Is there another way?”

“There are stairs a little farther down,” Andrew replied, words clipped.

“Stairs are good,” Naomi confirmed.

I glanced back to see Philip with his gun trained behind us. If I had to be on the bad guy side of a hostage situation, at least I was doing it with an experienced operative. “Okay, heading that way now.” I had Andrew as my human shield, but a big chunk of our safety depended on how much of a shit Nicole gave about the life of her son, and so far I wasn’t impressed by Mommie Dearest. I shook Andrew by the collar. “They’ll keep the way clear for you?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Andrew replied, though I caught the faint hesitation in his tone.

“I don’t know about that,” Naomi said.