He seemed surprised by my strength. Maybe he hadn’t dealt with female zombies before? But he recovered quickly. “Get off me, you crazy bitch!”
“I’m not crazy!” I snarled. Baring my teeth, I drew my hand back and punched him hard—backing it with plenty of zombie-strength.
His jaw broke with an extremely satisfying crunch followed by his gurgle of pain. Grinning with far too much satisfaction, I pushed up off him, then stomped hard on his hand.
“Okay, maybe a little crazy,” I muttered. “And payback is definitely a bitch.”
I turned away as Heather ran up, baton in her right hand dripping with what sure as hell looked like blood. For a second I almost felt sorry for Tim.
Nah, not even a second.
Her eyes flicked around, taking it all in: the dead guy with his head smashed open, Saberton Dude down and moaning, Kyle down and very still, and Philip with a dart protruding from his side—most certainly not down—looking even more pissed off and crazy, and now moving toward the extras.
“Here,” I said, and tossed her the tranq gun. “But don’t shoot Philip with it. It’ll make him worse.” I didn’t wait for a reply. I yanked a bag from my pocket and gulped down some more brains, then ran after Philip and literally shoved the half-full bag into his face. He gave a weird hissing howl, grabbed the bag in hands still crooked like claws. He sucked the contents down and let the empty bag fall, but to my dismay the animal-crazed look still filled his eyes. He lurched toward the extras again and let out another scream-cry.
New fervor erupted in the crowd, and screams of non-zombies made my blood run cold. This was turning into total mayhem, and I knew I needed to do something to stop it, but what? My instinct shrieked at me to move, to act. Now.
Great! Sure! I snarled at it. Tell me what to do and I will!
Philip made a lunge toward the cheerleader zombie, but I grabbed at his arm and used as much zombie-strength as I could to swing him toward me. Eyes wild, he raised a hand to strike me, tension in every fiber of his body. Yet to my surprise—and deep relief—he held the strike, face contorted and body quivering as though fighting with himself.
With an animal snarl of my own, I seized his shoulders, leaped up to wrap my arms and legs around him, and then sank my teeth into the big muscle at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
That, my instinct crooned. Do that.
My breath hissed around my teeth as I latched onto him like a tick on a hound dog. I had no urge to tear or maul like when I’d turned him into a zombie. Just bite and hold. That was all.
Philip staggered back and made a strangled noise, but made no attempt to throw me off, though it would’ve been easy enough for him to do, strong as he was. He shook like a dog shedding water, and I bit harder. I heard a low growl and was surprised to realize I was the one making it.
Philip sank slowly to his knees, breath coming in low shuddering gasps. I kept my arms and legs wrapped tightly around him and teeth clamped down hard while I watched the movement around us.
Brian approached with a tranq gun in one hand and a regular gun in the other. He hesitated, indecision in his eyes as he took in what I was doing to Philip. Apparently this wasn’t any sort of normal operating procedure when trying to subdue a crazed zombie. It was working though, no denying that. And Brian obviously came to the same conclusion, for in the next breath he turned away and began issuing quiet orders to the two people behind him—Rachel and Dan, the two zombies who’d cleaned up the mess after the highway fight with Heather.
The wails and cries of the fake zombies ceased, leaving a backdrop of shouts, crying, and general standard uproar from the normals. In my peripheral vision I saw the poor extras milling slowly about in confusion or sinking to sit or sprawl on the ground. Some frantically pulled at their prosthetic makeup while others spewed their lunch. Philip continued to calm in my bite-hold, though he still breathed in short, shuddering breaths.
“Heather, situation,” Brian snapped, eyes returning to Philip and me, tranq gun pointed in our general direction. My eyes went to the gun. A low throbbing growl came from my throat as I snarled at Brian around the bite.
He blinked and lowered the gun, questions still crowding thick and close behind his eyes.
“Kyle got tranqed,” Heather said from somewhere behind me. “One target zombie down, tranqed. The other down and injured.” A touch of satisfaction tinged her voice. Roland was the first one, tranqed by Saberton Dude. But the “other” was Tim. I had no doubt she’d found a way to break him enough that he couldn’t get up and cause trouble. “Got a dead Saberton man there and another down with broken face and hand, and the extras are still a bit crazy but more coherent now,” she added.
Brian gave a sharp nod. “Good. Keep the Saberton man down until we’re ready to withdraw,” he said, then paused as though considering. “And make sure he gets a good look at you.”
Now, that was interesting. Brian obviously wanted Heather’s brother to know for sure she was working with us. I’d have to ponder the reasons for that later.
“Dan,” Brian continued, “get Kyle to the van, and then you and Rachel see if you can secure the other two downed zombies. Minimal risk. Our priority is here.” He gave a chin nod toward Philip and me, then frowned at the distant sound of sirens. “Quickly.”
A shudder went through Philip, but I sensed that it was from agony rather than the out-of-control frenzy state of earlier.
“Oh god…oh god…kill me.” The words tumbled out of him in cracked and pain-filled sounds. “No more…please.”
My low growl shifted to a trilling hum. Very carefully and cautiously, I eased the pressure on the bite. Brian took a step closer and crouched.
“Angel,” he said quietly. “We need to leave before the authorities arrive. Do you think you can get him to my vehicle?”
I gave a slight nod, then released the bite completely and began to lick the wound. I knew it should have been weird and gross as all hell, but it wasn’t. It was right. I tried not to think too much about that.
A moaning sob caught in Philip’s throat. “Done…can’t take it anymore…kill me.”