How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (15 page)

The feel of the car slowing down woke me. I opened my eyes to see dawn turning the eastern sky purple and a shift in scenery as we took an exit. Sitting up, I hastily swiped a hand across my face in case I'd drooled. “Where are we?”

Philip gave me a smile. “About an hour past Birmingham. We're stopping for breakfast. Waffle Shack okay with you?”

“Yeah, I can handle that,” I replied. I'd have to order off the dollar menu, but with any luck that would hold me until I had a chance to call the bank and figure out the deal with my account. Past Birmingham. A flutter went through my gut. Before this, the farthest I'd ever been from home was Talladega, twenty minutes east of Birmingham. Every mile we drove took me beyond that old record. Scary and exciting all at once, but thinking about the distance reminded me of something else I needed to do. “Crap, does anyone see a pay phone? I need to call my dad and let him know I'm okay.”

Kyle looked at me in the rear view mirror. “It's best not to have any contact.”

The smile I gave him was stiff. “Yeah. That's not an option,” I replied. “I'm not going to let my dad think I've just fucking disappeared.”

To my relief Kyle gave me a slight nod, then drove past the Waffle Shack and to a gas station where a pay phone stood at the back of the parking lot.

“You can't tell him where we're going,” Naomi warned as Kyle parked. “The less he knows, the better.”

“Uh huh,” I said, pretending to be distracted by the search for quarters in my purse.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she retorted.

I looked up and gave her a reassuring smile. “Means I heard you,” I said. “It's cool. I understand.” Didn't mean I would
obey
her.

Kyle rolled down his window as I got out. “Remember,” he said with his typical calm tone, “it's easier to convince someone you don't know anything when you really
don't
know anything than when you try to hide it.”

Damn it, he had a good point. I nodded once, then jogged over to the phone. My dad wouldn't be awake yet, but I could wait another four hours and still not have any guarantee he'd be up, much less awake.

I hung up after the third ring to keep it from going to voicemail and wasting my quarters. It would take a few tries to wake him up anyway. I knew that from long experience. Second try and two rings earned me a “Mmmmf” that sounded like him.

“Hey, Dad, sorry to wake you so early,” I said. “I called to let you know I'm going out of town for a few days.”

“Angel? Wha . . . ?” I heard rustling that sounded like him sitting up in bed. “Why? Where?”

“Some of the people with my
medical condition
are missing,” I said. “I have to go to, um, another city to look for them.”

“Another city? What, New Orleans?” More rustling. “I don't understand.”

“No, farther away. A lot farther.” I grimaced. The car was on the other side of the lot, and I knew that even a tanked zombie wouldn't be able to hear the conversation, but Kyle's warning still resonated through me. “I can't really say where I'm going, Dad. It's safer for you that way.”

“Safer? Ah, shit.” The sleep was gone from his voice now. “What about your job?”

I smiled at that. He was so proud that I'd held a job for a whole year, and he knew how much it mattered to me, even beyond having the access to brains. “I'm calling work next to take vacation time,” I told him. “It's cool. I got plenty of time saved up. I'm gonna tell them that I'm visiting a sick aunt in—” I thought quickly. “In Denver. A sick aunt in Denver.”

“A sick aunt,” he repeated. “In Denver. You expect people to believe that?”

“They will if you back me up,” I said with a touch of exasperation. “Look, it's just gonna be a few days. Maybe a week at most.” Godalmighty, I hoped it wouldn't take more than that. “Dad, the same people who took me that time have some other zombies now.”

“Shit. Why d'ya have to get mixed up with all of that again?”

I sighed. “Because if these zombies disappear, then the whole group will probably fall apart, or at least be really weakened. Plus, if the bad company wins, then all the zombies are screwed. Whaddya think will happen if they start outing us? You think the rednecks around there will look at me with loving kindness?”

“Well, I—” My dad began, then paused. The sound of a woman's murmured voice in the background sent a jolting shock through me. A second later I heard the distinct sound of the mouthpiece being covered, and my dad speaking, muffled. Then another rustling as he uncovered it again. “Sorry,” he began.

“Dad,” I interrupted, while I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “Is someone with you?” Damn it all, I'd been spilling my guts about zombies. What the hell had I said? How much could be heard? “Who is it? Who's with you?”

“Hang on.”

More muffled sounds, then the closing of a door. Sounded like he'd left the room.

“Um, yeah, there's someone here,” he said, actually sounding a bit sheepish. “It's Tammy. The lady I went out with last night.”

“Did she hear what I told you?” I demanded, heart pounding. “Dad, no one else can know about this stuff!”

“Shit, Angel, I'm not stupid!” he growled. “She didn't hear nothin'.”

“Sorry.” I grimaced. “It's just—” I blinked, as a second horrible thing occurred to me. “Wait, did you
sleep
with her?”

“Not a whole lot of sleeping,” he said slyly.

“Oh my GOD, Dad! On the first date?”

His dry laughter didn't improve my mood.

“Whatever,” I grumbled. “Shit. We'll talk about this when I get back. I gotta go.”

“You be careful, Angelkins,” he said. “And you better call me back soon.”

“I will,” I replied. “Love you.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Love you too.”

I made my goodbyes and hung up then shuddered. I knew it was cliché to be squicked out by a parent having sex, but Ugh! Doing my best to push away all thoughts of
anything
related to my dad's sex life, I dropped the last of my quarters into the phone and dialed Allen Prejean's number. This was
not
going to be a fun call, especially since I knew I was probably waking him up as well.

But I was wrong. When I hung up, I not only had Allen's approval without hassle for the time off, but his best wishes for my aunt—even though he hadn't yet had his first cup of coffee. How weird was that?

Too weird, I decided as I walked back to the others. But I'd take it.

Only three other cars were in the Waffle Shack parking lot, which meant we pretty much had our pick of the tables. I didn't even try to take the seat by the wall, and simply accepted that if terrorists stormed the restaurant at six a.m. on a Thursday, I'd be dead meat. I was okay with that.

The waitress came by to take our orders. I kept my focus on the dollar menu and what cash I had left, and when it was my turn I ordered coffee and a Waffle Shack Snack, whatever the hell that was.

Philip nudged my foot under the table. I gave him an
It's cool
look.

“That's all you're having?” Naomi asked with a tilt of her head as the waitress left. “The food looks really good.”

Yeah, like back in high school when Miriam Carter and a couple of her friends showed up in the lunchroom with bags of burgers and fries from Bayou Burger and told me I could have some for a dollar. She
knew
how good those burgers smelled, and she
knew
I didn't have a dollar. That particular incident ended with me shoving my bologna sandwich in Miriam's face. Probably best if I didn't try that with Naomi.

“I couldn't get money from the ATM,” I told her, trying hard not to sound as defensive as I felt. “As soon as the banks open I'll call and see what the deal is.”
Shit. I should've asked my dad if he'd taken money out.

She rolled her eyes and waved to get the waitress's attention. “Get what you want. We'll sort it out later. It'll probably be hours before we stop again.”

I stared at her. “Did you just fucking roll your eyes at my money problems?” The waitress started our way, but I waved her off again.

Naomi looked sharply back at me. “I rolled my eyes at you
not eating
because of something we can sort out later.”

Stung, I grabbed for the menu again. “Fine. Whatever.” Okay, maybe I was a bit in the wrong, but damn it, so was she. Wasn't she? I didn't know what the protocol was for shit like this. My travel experience was zilch, right along with my friends-with-money experience and my how-to-embark-on-a-secret-mission experience.

“What the hell is wrong?” Naomi asked, a hair shy of demanding. Kyle and Philip exchanged glances but remained silent, obviously way too smart to get in the middle of this.

The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene—or more of a scene. With a jerk of my head toward the door, I stood and walked out, only realizing after I exited the restaurant that if she didn't follow me I'd end up looking like a jackass.
More
of a jackass.

I walked to the car and leaned against it, and a few seconds later Naomi exited and crossed the parking lot toward me, though I wasn't sure if I should be relieved. She stopped a few feet away and gave me an expectant look. Hell, I wasn't sure how to explain all the shit going through my head.

Here goes nothing.
“I know you don't mean it,” I said, “but when you act as if my money problems are bullshit it makes me feel like you think I'm trying to get attention or that I'm making a big deal out of nothing. It's
not
nothing to me.”

She blinked in surprise, then frowned. “Hold on one damn minute,” she replied. “I never said or implied your money problems are bullshit. However, it's a solvable problem in the moment, and I don't get why you have to do shit like not eat to prove whatever point you're trying to prove.” She folded her arms over her chest and glowered. “I get it that the ATM didn't work for you. What I don't get is the rest of it. What's your grand plan if the bank doesn't get it sorted out? Not eat for the whole trip? Be a martyr scraping by on a dinner roll while the rest of us have steak? You think any of us are going to feel good about that? I got you covered, but why can't you put your pride on the back burner for one minute?”

“It's not
pride
,” I shot back, throat tight, but then I shook my head. “Shit. Maybe it is. When you don't have anything else, sometimes pride is all that's left. When you wear the same pair of jeans to school for a week all you can do is try and hold your head up when the girls are whispering behind your back. I just . . .” I trailed off and sighed. I didn't even know anymore what point I was trying to make.

“I'm not making comments behind your back,” Naomi insisted, “and I sure as hell didn't mean to make you feel bad. There's tons of other stuff going on I
can't
control, but this is something I can actually help with.”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and kicked at the asphalt. “I'm not trying to be a martyr.”

She nodded. “All right, we're clear that I'm not one of the high school girls, and that you don't want to be a martyr.” She angled her head. “What can we do to fix this? You need to eat. And we all need more clothing and supplies. That's part of the mission.”

I folded my arms in a mirror of her pose. “Could you stop getting annoyed with me when I ask to do something like mailing the phone, or stopping at an ATM? Cause you kind of have been, and it makes me not want to mention shit like ‘Oh, hey, I have two bucks to spend on breakfast.'”

“The phone thing annoyed me,” she admitted. “But I got over it after you said your piece.”

Sure didn't act like you got over it
, I thought, but she wasn't finished speaking.

“And, it wasn't asking about the ATM that annoyed me,” she continued. “It was refusing an easier alternative, and pushing it when it wasn't necessary and when we weren't planning a stop. It didn't matter much in that particular situation, but jeez.”

My frustration rose. Pushing it? I'd asked once, and Kyle had okayed it. “Look, maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm in way over my head,” I said. “I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and I know damn well the only reason y'all are bringing me along is because you
have
to, for Philip. So maybe when I do something wrong or that you think is fucked up you could, I dunno, cut me some slack, since I don't have training and experience and all that?”

She looked chagrined at that, and I knew it was at least partly because I'd hit the nail on the head about why I was coming along in the first place. “That's
not
the only reason you're along, but whatever,” she said. “I'll do my best. But you also need to ditch the stubbornness about accepting help.”

I still wasn't sure she understood the point I was trying to make, but it wasn't worth fighting about anymore. Plus, I was getting hungry.

“Fine,” I said. “But if you roll your eyes at me again, I get to smack you.” I smiled to show I was teasing. Mostly.

“I smack back,” she warned with an answering smile.

“Yeah, but I heal faster,” I pointed out. “C'mon, enough of this shit. Let's get waffles.”

“Hang on,” she said, expression abruptly serious. “So there's no confusion between us, a few meals and some clothes doesn't touch what I owe you.”

It took me a second to figure out what she meant.
Oh, yeah, that whole saving her from Saberton baddies as well as helping Brian find a reason to avoid having to kill her outright.
I sure as hell didn't do any of that so she'd owe me, but I understood where she was coming from. Still, I made a point of rolling my eyes at her. “You don't owe me shit.”