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

I started to make a polite excuse, then realized he was right. I used to enjoy kicking back by the fire with nowhere to go, no one to answer to, and nothing but socializing on the agenda. But who had time for that these days? Me, I decided, after a quick mental review of what I needed to do, where I needed to go, and who I needed to see turned up nothing more urgent than wash my uniform for work in the morning. Why the hell did that bother me? I’d been busting my ass for the last week, so I should be happy that things were back to normal and my to-do list didn’t include smashing people’s heads or cutting holes in myself. And I was, I told myself. Happy.

“That’d be cool,” I said.

His smile broadened with pleased surprise. “Allrighty. You grab blankets for the chairs, and I’ll go get the sausage.”

And as easy as that, we slipped back into an old and comfortable routine. I knew where the blankets were, and I took care of getting the chairs unfolded by the pit and the blankets spread over them. Randy’s dad had used a fifty-five gallon drum to burn trash in this spot for a couple of decades, but four years back Randy had moved the trash barrel over behind the garage and put in a brick and cement pit, a yard across, in its place. A wood fire crackled under a rebar grate now, sending up sparks with each pop, and citronella torches burned in a perimeter to keep the mosquitoes at bay—not that they bothered me anymore. The whole setup sure as hell wasn’t anything fancy, but it was . . . comfortable. Casual. The pit was for relaxing, kicking back with friends to enjoy a nice evening. And getting high—though of course that couldn’t be part of it anymore now that I was a zombie.

Randy came around the trailer with the sausage, got it on the grill then settled in with me while the sausage hissed and spat. The aroma of cooking meat filled the air, and pleasant nostalgia helped ease the last bits of stress. The owl hooted again, and frogs chorused from the swamp nearby. I drank Diet Coke while Randy drank beer, and we joked and chatted and caught up on stupid shit. No stress to be badass or smart or clever. Only the stars overhead and the fire in front of us.

I lit a second cigarette and savored it as much as the hot sausage, even with the mild dulling of my senses. It was a little like a buzz, in its own weird way—a filter between me and the world. Randy was kicked back in his chair, mellow and relaxed after the food and a couple of joints. I suddenly envied him that. I hadn’t really relaxed since I became a zombie—until now, though I was still nowher

e near the almost-boneless state Randy was at. There were times when getting a little mellow was nice, though of course, the usual options to get to that state wouldn’t work for me anymore.

Yet now I knew there were options for zombies, like that awesome sedative Dr. Nikas had made up. I definitely needed to get me some of that shit. And brains—not so much for getting mellow, but being fully tanked was better than a hit of Adderall.

And that SuperMod. That shit was—

“It’s getting cold out here with the fire down,” Randy said, breaking into my thoughts. The fire was mere embers now, to my surprise. Maybe I’d been more mellow than I thought. “Wanna head in?” he continued. “Or do you need to go?”

For an instant I seriously considered staying. Not to get back together with Randy or anything stupid like that, but simply to keep hold of this no-stress sensation. But as soon as I started thinking about it, the sensation faded. Plus I had to be at work early tomorrow. Back to the grind. Yeah, I loved my job, but it was still a job.

“I’m sorry, but I need to get going,” I said with true regret. “Can’t be late to work after being gone for so long.”

He hauled himself out of the chair and yawned. “That’s cool. Your car’s unlocked. Key’s in it.”

I started to ask him where he got a key for it, then figured it was better not to. “This has been nice,” I said instead, standing and reaching for the blanket to fold it. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s been good,” he agreed with a sleepy smile, and with that he turned and headed away from the pit and to his trailer, leaving behind blankets, chairs, paper plates, and utensils.

Some things hadn’t changed at all. Laughing under my breath, I chucked the paper plates into the pit, folded blankets, then poured the remains of the beer and Diet Coke onto the embers to douse them. The rest he could clean up for himself.

As promised, the key was in the car, and it started with a smooth purr it never had before. I suspected he’d done more than simply replace the alternator. Probably a full tune-up, knowing him.

I dug a handful of brain chips out of the bag in my purse, munched them down as I pulled out of his driveway, and by the time I reached the highway I’d balanced out the mild damage done by the cigarettes. Still, I kept eating the chips, and not because I was hungry for either food or brains. I didn’t want to be mellow anymore. Now I simply wanted to feel alive and awake, to get back that terrific feeling that came with being overbrained.

No way would I get that from a bag of brain chips, though. I had some stash at home, but not enough to tank me to the gills the way I wanted. I dug my hand into the bag in a search for the last crumbs of chips. Tomorrow I could go to my storage unit and get more brains out. Of course, by tomorrow I probably wouldn’t feel this way, and I’d—

My fingers knocked against something hard and cold in the bottom of my purse. The last syringe of the SuperMod. Dr. Nikas hadn’t asked for it back, and I hadn’t mentioned that I still had it. Never know when that sort of thing could come in handy, right? But of course we were back home now, which meant I didn’t really need to save it. There were plenty of real mods at the lab, and this was just a kitchen version.

I found myself at the boat launch, though it was nowhere near my house. Mod in one hand. Pen knife in my other. The mod was safe to use. I knew that. Safe, because I’d used it twice before, and Dr. Nikas knew what he was doing.

I only had the one. This was a one time thing.

Stop thinking so much.

Make the cut.

Make the cut and stick in the syringe.

Make the cut and stick in the syringe and press the plunger.

3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

A shudder then a chill then the best feeling.

Lean back and close eyes. Best feeling ever.

Yeah.