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

“Everything set for Dr. Charish's transfer?” Brian asked her, and I realized he was referring to the mental health breaks that Dr. Nikas insisted be provided for Kristi. Pietro would've been fine with Kristi chained to a lab station and locked in a cell at night, but that shit wouldn't fly with Dr. Nikas. At his insistence, and despite Pietro's grumbling, Kristi was allowed to spend two days every few weeks at one of Pietro's remote hunting lodges.

Rachel shot a quick and disapproving glance my way as if she really didn't want to say anything with me in the room. I kept my smile on my face and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Who the hell did she think I'd blab to?

“We're good to go,” she told Brian. “Simon is driving Chris and Dr. Charish, then the other two on her guard rotation will meet them at the lodge after the security meeting.” She passed him a paper. “Here's the full schedule.”

Brian looked over the schedule then passed it back to her. “You're aware that Mr. Ivanov will be heading up there as well?” She replied with an affirmative, and he glanced at his watch. “Everything looks good then. I'll see you in about half an hour for the meeting.”

Rachel gave a crisp nod and threw one last disapproving glance my way before sweeping out.

I made my best
Bite Me
face at her back. “I can't get over how warm and fuzzy she is to me. The constant adoration is getting a little embarrassing.”

Brian stifled a laugh. “She's opinionated but efficient as hell and damn good at what she does.” He abruptly stood, eyes on the doorway. A few seconds later a scowling Pietro stepped in. Damn, Brian either had a super-senses mod working or was seriously tanked on brains. I hadn't heard, seen, or smelled whatever Brian had. But in the next instant I remembered the dude had a wicked sense of smell. Like,
crazy
good—he could even tell by scent alone if someone was lying.

“Any changes, sir?” Brian asked Pietro.

Pietro shook his head. Whatever the chat with Dr. Nikas had been about, it hadn't left him in a sunny mood. “I'll meet with Kristi at the lodge as usual, then go out to dinner with Ari. I'll call you after I leave Kristi, as we need to discuss some matters.”

“Yes, sir. I'll be clear of the security meeting before you leave the lodge.” Brian checked his watch again. “Speaking of which, I should get going unless you have anything else for me, sir.”

Pietro responded with a vague wave of dismissal. Brian gave him a respectful nod, shot a quick smile my way, then departed.

Pietro wiped the frown from his face as he shifted his focus to me. “Angel, we didn't have a chance to speak earlier,” he said. “Ari tells me you're doing very well here at the lab. Is it something you want to continue with?”

“Yeah, totally!” I replied, doing my best not to grin like an idiot at the praise from Dr. Nikas.

“Good. We'll talk in a few days about making your position here more permanent, though in an arrangement that will fit in around your morgue work.”

“That would be awesome,” I said fervently, though I clearly heard the unspoken reminder that I was allowed to work at the lab only because Pietro allowed it. I worked for
him,
not Dr. Nikas, and he didn't want me to forget that. “And, um, I'm going to be taking a couple of college classes next term. Is it okay to work my schedule around that too?”

He raised his eyebrows. “That's excellent, Angel. We'll certainly discuss that as well.”

“I really appreciate it,” I said in relief, meaning every word. Not only did I enjoy the hell out of the work, but I also had a fairly hefty loan from Pietro to pay off. When my dad and I lost everything in the flood after the spillway collapsed, we only recovered because I was able to borrow money from Pietro to buy a new place, along with cars, clothes, and all the other shit that comes in handy when dealing with Life.

“You're welcome,” Pietro said with a slight nod as if I'd said exactly what I was supposed to say. “I'll call.” And with that he turned and headed out.

I wandered back to the central hub of the lab to see if Dr. Nikas was ready for me, but found it unoccupied and quiet other than the soft ping of one of the workstations with an analysis in progress. This domed circular room formed the heart of the complex, with several corridors and doors going off in different directions, and thick sliding glass security doors that led toward the exit. Fancy equipment lined the walls, and a semi-circular island in the middle of the room held even more machines and computer workstations.

Not more than half a minute later, Dr. Nikas stepped out of the hallway that led to his office, looking somewhat harried. I had a strong feeling he'd waited for Pietro to leave first.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He blew out a breath. “Forgive me. He gets to me sometimes,” he said, then shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. My full focus is now on you and Philip and the parasite-balancing procedure I wish to attempt.”

“If this is a bad time to, er, balance my parasite we can always do it tomorrow,” I said.

“It isn't a bad time.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “Philip will be here any minute, and he needs this,” he added. “I have a few things to get ready, but I won't keep you two waiting long.”

“It's cool.” I held up my phone. “I brought a book.” Well, an audiobook. My reading speed was somewhere between garden-slug-slow and oh-my-god-glaciers-are-faster, but thanks to the local library's audio lending program I was gradually catching up on all sorts of books that were “should” reads, as well as a good number that were just plain fun.

“Excellent,” Dr. Nikas murmured as he turned to leave, though I wasn't sure he actually heard me. Already he had the familiar unfocused look in his eyes that told me he was sorting through a new research problem.

I dropped into a chair at one of the computer workstations, stuck my earbuds in and settled down with the book—a purely fun one, and a few minutes later Philip Reinhardt entered through the glass doors. He had a smile on his face but also a heaviness in his step as though the movement took effort. Philip was a good looking guy, with blond hair cut close above a ruggedly handsome face, but his blue eyes revealed the pain he tried to hide. I hit pause on the book and yanked my earbuds out.

“Hey, Zombie Mama,” he said with a grin. “Ready for another day of excitement?” He rubbed his arm. “Jacques just stuck me about a dozen times. I think half of them were just for fun.”

“I feel ya! He got me earlier. I'm starting to think he's more vampire than zombie.” I rubbed at the itchy place on my arm.

“A vampire zombie.” He laughed softly. “Now that would be a rough life. He'd need blood
and
brains.”

“Well, Jacques is in the right place for it.” I gave Philip a thoughtful look and made a point of stroking my chin. “Coincidence? Hmmm . . . got a stake handy?”

“I could probably find a pencil around here, but if the parasite heals the stake wound, it could get ugly.” He did his own thoughtful chin-stroke. “You'd need a stake to the heart and a bullet to the brainstem at the same time.”

“You've thought about this.”

He gave me an innocent smile. “Who wouldn't?”

“Most normal people?” I suggested.

“That counts us out.”

I couldn't argue with that.

Together we headed into the treatment room to wait for Dr. Nikas. Power lights glowed on several of the devices on the counter, and Dr. Nikas's odd shorthand covered half the whiteboard on the wall beside the cabinets. A near-empty glass of sparkling grape juice beside a stack of computer print outs told me he'd already been working in here this morning.

The procedure chair looked like a cross between a recliner and a torture device, but I plopped into it anyway. Its position gave the best view of the awesome mural that covered the entire far wall—a scene of a rolling grassy meadow and a distant mountain with brilliant blue sky above. Philip leaned against the exam table, and I surreptitiously studied him. Adjusting to life as a zombie wasn't a breeze under the best conditions, and his had been pure crap. His parasite was damaged from the bad fake brains Kristi had fed him shortly after he was turned, and as a result he suffered excruciating chronic pain, muscle spasms, and other unpleasant symptoms—a mess of afflictions we simply called the Plague. Much of that had been brought under control or was improving with the treatments, but he still wasn't anywhere near a hundred percent.

“Your color is better,” I remarked. “But you look worn out.”

He nodded, unoffended by the observation. “My sleep has been off, and the leg pain hasn't let up,” he admitted, “but otherwise it's been a decent week.” He snorted and quirked a faint smile. “I puked my guts out after the last treatment, but luckily it didn't last long. I'm all for no puking this time.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, that sucks. I wish there was more I could do.”

“I'm not complaining,” he assured me. “I promise. Without you helping I doubt I'd have made it this long.”

“Gotta take care of my zombie baby,” I said with a smile that masked a persistent sick fear. After eating the bad brains Philip had turned two of the Saberton guards into zombies, and both had died within three months of being captured by Pietro's people, despite Dr. Nikas's best efforts to save them. My blood helped in treatments for Philip, but I still worried. What if the treatments stopped working? What if my blood stopped making a difference?

I took a deep breath and tried to focus my worry into anger at the one who'd done this to him. None of this would have happened without Kristi Fucking Charish.

Philip's gaze went to the door as it opened, and he pushed off the exam table. Speak of the devil. “Good morning, Kristi,” he said with a pleasant smile to the slim, auburn-haired woman who entered.

She gave a slightly tremulous smile in return and kept her eyes away from me as she moved closer to Philip. “You're waiting for the new treatment?” she asked, reaching toward him as if for reassurance.

He took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “We are indeed.” He glanced toward the door again as Rachel entered, then he returned his attention to Kristi. “This must be an outing day,” he noted.

“Outing weekend,” Rachel stated, tone brisk but pleasant enough with Philip. “Chris will be leaving with Dr. Charish in a few minutes, but she wanted to see you first.”

Philip gave a low chuckle and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind Kristi's ear. “Of course you did.”

I watched in stony silence. Philip had no reason to like Kristi, and every reason to hate her fucking guts. Yet they sure as hell looked buddy-buddy.

No, not like buddies
, I decided. More like . . . a master and his dog. I didn't have the warm fuzzies for Kristi either, but this docile version seriously creeped me out. I'd seen her like this before and had assumed she was medicated, but now I realized that wasn't likely. After all, Pietro kept her alive because she was useful and clever, and she wouldn't be either if she was drugged to the gills.

A man with bright green eyes and about a billion freckles stepped into the doorway and leaned against the frame. “Philip, you're hogging all the beautiful women,” he said with an infectious grin. Chris Peterson, another member of the security team.

“Can you blame me?” Philip replied. Kristi turned and gave Chris a bright and genuine smile.

“Not one bit!” Chris stuffed his hands into the pockets of a faded leather bomber-style jacket and gave me a nod and Kristi a quick wink, but the smile he turned on Rachel had a lot more heat behind it. To my surprise her expression softened, and she responded with a look that could only be described as
sultry
. Hot damn, tough as nails Rachel wanted to get nailed?

A laugh tried to escape me, and I jerked my attention back to Chris. He wasn't
handsome
, but he was kind and funny and light-hearted. Nothing at all like Rachel—but maybe that's what she liked about him? He kept himself in good shape, and though he wasn't Mr. Suit And Tie like Brian, he dressed well. Today he had on a dark red oxford-style shirt and pressed khaki pants, and of course the awesome leather jacket. He shifted, and I noticed a pair of aviator sunglasses tucked into the front pocket of his shirt.

“Do you fly?” I asked. “Or do you just like the accessories?” I abruptly realized that my second question could be taken as a bit snide. “Crap, I mean—”

Chris simply laughed and held up his hand to stop me from digging myself any deeper. “Both!” he declared. “Been flying for close to twenty years. I actually had to stop about eight years back. Developed Type 1 diabetes, and they grounded me.” What seemed like grief briefly shadowed his eyes, and I realized that being unable to fly must have been a devastating loss. Then he brightened again. “I got back in the air as soon as possible after I was turned, trust me.”

“That's so cool,” I said fervently, ridiculously pleased that the zombie thing had given that back to him. “I've never been in a plane,” I confessed.

“Yeah?” He cocked his head. “I'll take you up sometime. I fly a couple of times a week.” He shifted his gaze back to Rachel. “You ready to go up with me yet?” he asked her, the double meaning practically screaming through the room.

Briefly flustered, she dropped her eyes to the papers in her hand and began to shuffle needlessly through them. “I, um, would need to check my schedule.” She cleared her throat and recovered her bearing, straightening her shoulders. “Is your driver ready? You need to get going soon.”

He pushed off the door frame. “Simon has the car ready and waiting.”

Rachel nodded. “I'll probably be up there later this evening for a security check.”

Security check, my ass
, I thought with ridiculous glee.