How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (36 page)

“The warehouse is through there, then the parking garage,” Pierce murmured, but worry creased his forehead.

“Surely Nicole is out of guards by now?”

“There are still a couple of the Special Team I haven't seen yet,” he said, and I realized he'd probably taken great care to memorize the features of every guard he encountered in the holding area. The dark flare of anger in his expression told me he'd paid especially close attention to any who were particularly cruel.

“Are you okay with me leaving that guy tied up back there?” I asked.

Pierce looked past me as if able to see around the corner to where the guard lay. “I wouldn't have left him alive if he'd been one of the more memorable ones,” he said. “Though I will say he got off light with the broken nose and a few minutes of terror.”

Relief flickered through me. The whole cold-blooded killer thing weighed heavily enough on what little soul I had left. It would've sucked to have my one little mercy taken away. “Is that why you didn't kill the Braddock lady?”

“Thea Braddock is the head of Saberton security but does no direct work with the Special Team's duties,” he told me. “She has no final authority over them, and I fully believe she didn't know what went on behind those closed doors. She's a decent person who's on the wrong side.”

Decent. That was a good word.

“Come on,” he said. “I don't smell anyone out there, but we need to make a move.”

Together we eased forward, extending every sense we had. Yet as soon as we passed through the double doors and into the warehouse, we stopped and exchanged a worried look.

“It wasn't locked,” I said. “They know we have to come this way. They
want
us to come this way.”

His expression darkened as he nodded, but he helped me get the dumpster rolling again, and we continued to the exit. At the door he tested the knob, jaw clenching as it turned easily.
Unlocked. Shit.
He opened the door a crack then scented and listened before pushing it open a foot wider. The van was still there, backed up to the loading dock. The garage was empty and silent, but a sharp edge seemed to vibrate the air.

“It's too quiet,” I murmured.

“It's that bitch's last chance to keep us from escaping,” he growled. “This garage is a deathtrap. A sniper or two with tranq rifles could likely take us both down.” Frustration churned in his eyes as he formed and discarded plans.

I glanced back to make sure no one was sneaking up on us from behind, and something shifted in my pocket as I moved. The phone. Wouldn't do much good to call for help. We didn't exactly have a cavalry standing by—

Sucking in a breath, I shot a hand out to grab Pierce's arm. “Close the door,” I said, quivering in excitement. “I have an idea.”

He complied, eyebrows lowering as I pulled the phone out. “Correction,” I said with a grin. “I have an
awesome
idea.” With gleeful determination I selected all the naughty pics I could find and texted the lot to Philip with an accompanying message:

I fidgeted until the phone
dinged
to indicate the pics all went through, then called Nicole a.k.a “CEOILF.” It connected after one ring, but no one spoke on the other end. Didn't matter. I had puh-lenty to say.

“Nikki!” I cried. “Hang on, sweetums, I have some neat stuff to send you. I know you're gonna want to take a look at this. Maybe you should have it blown up and framed to hang over the fireplace.” I found and sent my absolute favorite pic of the lot—a truly artistic shot that showed Nicole's face
and
her naked nethers. “Turns out Pierce was a real photobug! And, wow, your hooha looks terrific, even after twins! Did you have a C-section? And, I
have
to know, do you do that anal bleaching stuff?”

Her sharp gasp told me the instant the photo arrived on her screen.

“This one's definitely my favorite,” I prattled on, “but the one where you're bent over your desk with the Manhattan skyline in the background is a close second. That's pure
art!
” I paused for a couple of seconds to let it all sink in. “Now here's the deal, Nikki, sweetie. Because I'm
nice,
I haven't sent these to one of those spring-break-titties websites yet. Ooh! I wonder if there's a ‘CEOs Gone Wild' website?”

She made an inarticulate noise, but I pressed right on. “However, because I'm not
stupid,
I already sent the whole darn package to a buddy of mine—all the pics Pierce took, the pics you sent him, along with the cute sexting you two did back and forth.
And
I told my buddy that if he didn't hear from me in fifteen minutes with my super special ‘I'm Okay' code phrase, he was to spread these lovely gems far and wide on every website and news feed that he could find.”

“You . . . you . . .”

“I know you have some nasty shit planned for us in the garage, you fucking bitch.” My voice was hard and sharp now, all trace of humor gone. “Unless you want to be the laughingstock of the entire goddamn world, I suggest you tell your people to stand the fuck down. Oh, and if anything's been done to the van, it better get undone. Y'got me?”

Her breath came in short panicked gasps. Seemed I'd found her weak spot. “No one will stop you,” she choked out. “Get out. Get
out
. Leave my son.”

Pierce tilted his head, smile widening as the sound of scuffling and muted shouts came from beyond the metal door.

“Not until we're completely clear,” I told her. “Then we'll let him go.”

“Get out!” Fury and terror resonated in her voice. “Get out.
Get out!
GET OUT!
”

I disconnected while she was in mid shriek. So much for her calm calculating crap. Pierce leaned against the doors, body shaking with silent laughter, despite our predicament.

“I think she wants us to get out,” I said with a grin.

Still chuckling, he eased the door open again, even as a door slammed on the other side of the garage. The air no longer held that sharp edge. “Wait here,” he ordered. Gun in hand, he loped to the cargo van, made a quick circuit around it that I figured was to check for explosives, then jumped up to the loading dock and pulled the van's rear doors open.

As soon as he gestured to me I shoved the bin his way, and in no time at all we had it loaded up and the doors closed. I stayed in the back while Pierce took the driver's seat and got the van going.

“We're out and clear,” he announced less than half a minute later.

“Hot fucking damn,” I breathed. Shifting to my knees, I swung the lid of the bin open. “How's everyone doing?”

Kyle lifted his head, expression grim, and his hand pressed to Andrew's belly. “Some worse than . . . others.”

“Hurts,” Andrew gasped, breathing in short sips. “Oh, god.”

“Shit. Help me get him out,” I said before remembering that none of the zombies were at full strength by a long shot. Still, Kyle and Marcus managed to give enough push to help me get Andrew out and lay him down on the van floor without too much jarring. My eyes met Marcus's, totally relieved to see him moving and aware, but I barely had time for a smile before a choked cry of pain from Andrew pulled my attention.

“Jesus, you're pale,” I muttered, lifting his shirt to peer at the little bullet wound. Barely any blood surrounded the pea-sized hole, but when I put my hand on his abdomen it was hard.

“I'm dying,” Andrew gasped, fear and pain twisting his features. “Oh, god. Hurts.”

He
is
dying
, I realized with sick dread. “P-Pierce!” I called out, barely catching myself from saying Pietro. “Andrew's in really bad shape. I think he's bleeding internally. We need to get him to a hospital!”

Pierce glanced quickly back, cursed. “I'll call Dr. Nikas.”

“He needs surgery,” I insisted as he dialed. “Like, right now.”

To my dismay, he shook his head. “Even if we could get him to an ER in time, we wouldn't take him. We
can't
.”

“Why the hell not?” I demanded, dismayed. “Can't we, well, dump him and take off?” I shot Andrew an apologetic look, but he wasn't exactly paying attention to me.

Pierce's eyes briefly met mine in the rear view mirror. “Gunshot wounds are investigated, Angel,” he said, regret mingling with firm decision. “We can't risk any law enforcement involvement.” He lifted the phone to his ear. “You heard?” he said into it. “It's Andrew Saber, on the verge. Here's Angel.”

I seized the phone. “Dr. Nikas. Tell me what to do!”

“Angel, send me a picture of the wound and location. Quickly,” Dr. Nikas added. “He is still conscious?”

Hands trembling, I snapped two pics and sent them. “Yeah, he's conscious, but not by much. Pale, cold, and clammy. He's starting to lose it.”

“And his abdomen is hard?”

“Like a rock.” Damn it, I was getting a very bad feeling.

His soft sigh sent my bad feeling spiraling higher. “There's nothing medically to be done except surgery,” he said gently, “and if you are still in the van it is probably too late for that. I'm so sorry, Angel.”

“Oh.” I swallowed past a thick knot in my throat. “Okay. Th-thanks, Dr. Nikas.” Numbly, I handed the phone back to Pierce.

Kyle dragged himself up and over the side of the bin and landed in a naked, crumpled pile beside it.

Andrew gasped in a breath, flailed a hand out to clutch weakly at my arm. “Help . . . Dying.” A sob turned into a cough, and panic filled his eyes. “No. Please . . .” His arm fell away, and his eyes rolled back.

Shit. I grabbed his shoulders. “Andrew! Listen to me. I can save you. You know I can.” Godalmighty, I sure hoped I could. It wasn't always a sure thing, as I knew all too well. “But I won't—I won't do that if you don't want me to.”

His eyes fluttered, but he managed to focus on me. “Oh, god.” In that moment I didn't know if his fear of death could overcome the terror of becoming one of us, becoming a monster. “Y-yes.” His voice was weaker, words slurring.

“Yes?” I gave him another little shake. “Yes, what? I need to know, Andrew! I need to know for sure!”

“Yes . . . bite.” The last word died away, but it was enough. At least I hoped so. I looked over at Kyle. He understood what I needed from him, the confirmation and reassurance. His nod was slight, yet it was enough. Holy fuck, but I hoped this worked, for Naomi's sake as well as Andrew's. No time to gather my nerve any more.

Leaning down, I sunk my teeth hard into the muscle at the side of Andrew's neck. He jerked, but only barely, and his cry of pain was little more than a wheeze.
Please let this work. Please please
, I silently begged as I bit harder. I'd know soon enough if it would. When I'd turned Philip, instinct took over within a minute, guiding my body to do the damage necessary to transfer the parasite. Yet when I tried to turn another “volunteer” the next day, no instinct rose to lead me, and the man died.

My fingers dug into Andrew's shoulders as I bit and gnawed. He wasn't struggling anymore—unconscious by now, and close to death. I thought I heard Dr. Nikas's voice, distant and tinny on the phone, calling my name, but I didn't dare let my focus shift from Andrew, from the blood in my mouth and the scent of him.

Hunger rose in a wave like a cresting orgasm, a driving, snarling need to rend and rip and tear at the flesh beneath me. An eerie growl leapt from my throat as my teeth ripped and my fingers tore. Beneath the violence I wept in relief.
It's working.

I gave myself up to the instinct, only dimly aware of the others in the van with me. Finally, I paused, lifted my head and bared my teeth. Blood dripped from my chin onto the ravaged body of Andrew beneath me.

The growl throbbed within me.
“Braaains.”

Someone shoved a hunk of brains into my hand. Kyle, maybe. Didn't matter. Instinct shifted me to the next stage, and I chewed the brains and spat them into the seeping wounds. Chew, bite, spit, repeat. He wasn't dead yet. I sensed the flickering spark of life on a level I couldn't explain. Yet he didn't wake, and the wounds didn't close. Chew, bite, spit, repeat.

More brains were pushed into my hand as soon as I needed them. The van stopped, and the back doors opened. Chew, bite, spit, repeat. I heard Philip's voice but couldn't focus on the words. Chew, bite, spit, repeat, wake up, Andrew, come on, goddammit, chew, bite, spit, repeat. Pierce spoke to the others, then he and Philip pulled the bin out, giving me more room.
Wake up, Andrew, come on, goddammit, chew, bite, spit, repeat.

Someone, another zombie, sat near me and laid a hand on Andrew's shoulder. I lifted my head, teeth bared and a growl in my throat. Pierce gave an answering growl, but I didn't sense that he wanted to take my spawn from me. Spit-hissing, I returned to biting and braining. I
thought
that some of the wounds were starting to close, but so much more slowly than with Philip. Yet with only the one experience to draw on I had no idea if this was going wrong.

“Angel.” The voice cut through to me as Philip's hadn't.

Nostrils flaring, I looked up to see Pierce spit something into his hand and hold it out for me. Brains. Pre-chewed. My human side had no problem registering that this was beyond disgusting, but my parasite didn't give a shit. My hand darted out and scooped the mush up, shoved it into my mouth, then I bit and spit some more. Maybe some spores or whatever from a mature zombie would get things kickstarted in ol' Andy.

The cycle shifted to
scoop, chew, bite, spit, repeat
, while I did my damndest to avoid thinking about how this was the weirdest possible way to swap spit with another person. And it was
Pietro
, which made it even weirder, except that Pietro was Pierce now, and wasn't some sixtyish older guy anymore. It didn't help that Pierce Gentry had been an asshole. I still had a hard time getting that out of my head.