“I’ve been hungry before,” I said softly, looking out at the window. Pine trees and horse farms flicked by as we drove. We seemed to be taking mostly back highways, which made for nicer scenery. “It scared the hell out of me,” I continued. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I pushed away the image of the baseball bat splitting open the Saberton man’s head.
Brian took a deep breath and released it slowly. “An ever present danger for us.” He paused. “Mr. Ivanov told me you had an unpleasant encounter last night.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, fun times with Philip and a couple of his pals.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said with a shake of his head. “It must have been quite traumatic.”
I glanced his way. “Look, I really appreciate all the courtesy stuff, but is there any way you could just call me Angel?” I gave him an apologetic smile. “The ma’am thing sorta feels, well, weird. Sorry.”
“No problem with that at all, Angel,” Brian replied, slight smile touching his mouth.
I let out a small sigh of relief. “Thanks. And yeah, it was traumatic, but at the same time it was hardly anything compared to some of the other crap I’ve been through. Pissed me off more than anything.” I made a sour face. “Now isn’t that some shit? That getting tackled and held down while someone steals my blood isn’t the worst thing to happen to me by far.”
“More than your share in a very short time,” he replied.
“Not quite sure what that says about me,” I replied with a low snort. Shit magnet. That’s what it says.
“Well, you’ve handled yourself well every time,” he said. “I’ll give you credit for that. The incident on Highway 1790 was damned impressive.”
A warm flush of pride went through me. “Thanks. But speaking of that, is Heather doing all right?”
He seemed to consider the question carefully before answering. “Yes.”
That wasn’t exactly a super-reassuring response. “She’s really all right?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “I mean, I know she was working for the other side.”
“Dr. Nikas has treated her arm and head,” Brian stated, features composed in the professional mask. “She’s healing fine.”
“And then what? What’s gonna happen to her?”
“I don’t know yet,” he replied.
There was a hitch in his voice that unsettled me. “What would she have to do, or prove to you, to get y’all to—” I paused, not quite sure how to say it. “To keep y’all from doing bad stuff to her.”
He didn’t flinch at the accusation that Heather faced a very real threat of “enhanced interrogation.” Yet worry flashed across his face, briefly cracking the professional façade. “I don’t know,” he said, and to my surprise he seemed to wilt a smidge. “She’s a difficult case.”
“She was unhappy enough with Saberton to risk everything to leave them,” I reminded him. My own worry grew. “Is she at the lab? Will I be able to see her?”
He hesitated. I braced myself to be told it wasn’t possible, and so it was with real surprise that I heard him say, “I’ll see if I can arrange it.”
“Thanks,” I said, relieved that it wasn’t a flat out No. I glanced over at him. “How long have you been a zombie?”
“A little over fifteen years,” he replied, quickly enough that it sounded like he was glad for the change in subject.
I controlled the desire to ask him how old he was. He looked like he was late thirties or maybe early forties, so did that mean he was that old when he was turned? Did a zombie stay the same physical age they were at when turned, or did the body “stabilize” at some optimum age? Was Pietro actually in his sixties when he became a zombie? And if that was the case, what would happen with a little kid who was turned?
One of these days I would run out of questions about zombies. Sure. “I guess you kinda have the hang of all this then, huh?”
Brian’s shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “For the most part. Fortunately, I’m in a situation where the people I work with know what I am.” He paused as he made a turn onto a narrow highway. “Having people around who understand makes it easier.”
“I bet it does,” I said, then winced as I thought of the scene with my dad this morning. “God, my dad would freak if he found out. I can’t even imagine.” It would be ugly. And messy. And I didn’t want to think about that too much. We had enough issues between us without bringing up my weird “medical condition.”
“It’s hard to get past the ingrained prejudice,” Brian said, eyes firmly on the road ahead of us. “A lot of people can only see the monster, and those situations seldom end well.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Always have to be careful about revealing your nature. It can backfire even when you think they’re sure to accept it.”
“Well, we are monsters,” I said with a small sigh. “Hard to sugarcoat that.”
Brian gave a sober nod and didn’t argue the point.
There wasn’t much more conversation after that. I sat back, listened to classic rock, and watched the scenery go by.