Angel Crawford #2: Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues (31 page)

The wind shifted, sending clouds of acrid smoke over me, but for the moment I welcomed it. At least the smoke drowned out the smell of everyone’s brains, which meant I might actually stand a chance of controlling the hunger for a while longer. I decided not to think about what I was going to do after I got away from here. I didn’t have the faintest damn clue.

Another car pulled up just as I was about to climb the rest of the way up. I hunched down, waiting, then stiffened as the driver got out.

Pietro Fucking Ivanov.

I seized a rock, but before I could carry out my not-very-well-thought-out plan of “run at him while screaming like a maniac and then bash his head in a lot over and over” Marcus exited the passenger side, staring in naked horror at the burning factory. My shock doubled as Ed climbed out of the back seat.

Wow. Apparently a lot had happened while I was gone.

I staggered up over the low wall, hoping that none of the firemen or police were looking toward the river. “Marcus,” I croaked, but there was too much noise. Scowling, I pitched the fist-sized rock still in my hand at Pietro. It missed by several feet, but it did hit his windshield, making a marvelous spiderweb of cracks. All three men turned in unison.

“Hi, boys,” I rasped. “Miss me?”

Marcus ran to me, scooped me up in his arms before I could do more than twitch, then hurried back to the car as Pietro pulled the back door open.

“God almighty, Angel,” Marcus said, sliding in with me and then clutching me close. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Here,” Ed said, thrusting a blanket at Marcus. “Wrap her in this.”

I lifted my head to look at Pietro as Marcus tugged the blanket around me. His eyes met mine and his face crumpled.

“Angel, I swear I didn’t know that this…” Pietro gestured vaguely in the direction of the factory. “Any of this…I had no idea. I swear.”

I opened my mouth to tell him he was full of shit, to tell him I knew he’d thrown me under the bus, but all that came out was, “Braaiinns.”

Yeah, I was kinda hungry.

Pietro handed me a brain smoothie and then we got the hell out of there. A roadblock had been set up, but Pietro showed the deputy something in his wallet, and was waved on through without any further questions.

I finished the first smoothie and was still in pretty lousy shape, but the other two zombies had apparently
planned for the possibility of a high need for brains and had a cooler packed full of smoothies and baggies. The hunger started to fade by the time I finished the third smoothie, but it took me downing two baggies of straight-up brains before I felt even close to “okay.” Damn good thing that Pietro owned some funeral homes.

“We need to talk,” I finally said, relieved that my voice was normal again. “Especially, you, Pietro.” I glared at the back of his head while he drove. “But first we need to go to NuQuesCor.”

“No problem, Angel,” Marcus said. He still had an arm around me which I didn’t mind one bit. “What’s at the lab?”

“Heads,” I said. Ed stiffened and flushed. “I don’t know how many—if any—are still there, but I want to get them back.”

Marcus exhaled and didn’t argue. Not that I expected him to. “It’ll take about fifteen minutes to get there.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Pietro said, pulling out his cell phone.

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean? If any of the heads are there, I want them back.”

“And you’ll get them,” he replied, dialing a number. “But you’re looking to break in and take them back by whatever means necessary, right?”

I scowled. “Pretty much. I’m a little tired of playing nice.”

He put the phone to his ear. “Dominica five-oh-four.” A pause. “NuQuesCor in Colomb, Louisiana. Retrieval of any human heads matching the victims of the decapitation murders that occurred in St. Edwards Parish in the
last four months. Most likely from the labs of Dr. Sofia Baldwin or Dr. Kristi Charish.” Another pause. “One hour.” He clicked off and set the phone down. “Do you mind if we try it my way first?” he asked me.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I muttered, leveling a black glare at the back of his head.

“Fair enough,” he replied. “Why don’t we allow Angel to get cleaned up, and then we can say everything that needs to be said over coffee.”

When Pietro said he wanted to give me a chance to clean up I figured we’d stop at a convenience store where I could wash the worst of the grime off in the bathroom and then buy a vastly oversized shirt that I could wear as a dress until I could get home. It’s what I’d have done.

That, however, was not how Pietro Ivanov handled such situations. No, instead he rented a room at the only Hilton in St. Edwards parish, handed me the key card, and informed me that if I wanted a shower I should go on up, and that he would obtain clothing for me.

I stared at him for a few seconds, then silently took the card, went on up to the room, and took the hottest shower of my entire life.

He must have made another one of those mysterious phone calls while I was scrubbing blood and river grime off me, because, laid out on the bed when I emerged was a selection of clothing, various toiletries, and even an assortment
of makeup—in my damn color palette even. And, finally, a note on the bed that said that the others were down in the hotel café and to please join them when I was ready. I was tempted to take my damn sweet time, but I knew that this whole mess was far from over, and everyone needed to know what was going on.

In the end it took the four of us talking it out to piece together just how the hell everything had gone down.

First, I found out how Ed came to be there with Marcus and Pietro. It was simple, really. After Ed got my dad to his little safe house in the woods, he went straight to Pietro and said, “You fucking owe me.” And, yes, he used those exact words. To his credit, Pietro did agree that yes, he did fucking owe Ed.

I held back on saying the same damn thing to Pietro. I could tell by the way he looked and acted around me that he was fully aware of that fact. It simply remained to be seen how much he’d truly known about, and what he intended to do about it. And what I intended to do about it, for that matter.

I told them what had happened to me, how I’d been forced to turn Philip into a zombie and how the sweet-faced Aaron had died. Told them how Ed’s plan had paid off, and how I’d escaped. Also told them what I’d seen—Philip rotting far faster than he should have, and the two guards who’d appeared to be turned by just a couple of bites. And, finally, told them that Kristi and her pet pseudo-zombies had escaped and were now dust in the wind.

No one looked happy about any of that.

As for the rest, Pietro explained that Dr. Charish had
been good friends with the Quinns as well as being Dr. Quinn’s partner in their neurology practice. After the pair had died, Kristi Charish had taken possession of all of Dr. Quinn’s notes and research, some of which dealt with theories of how a “zombie” parasite could operate. Curious as to why on earth Dr. Quinn would have been pursuing such a subject, she broke into the Quinn’s residence before their possessions could be packed up, and stole or copied as many notes and papers as she could find. Among the stolen papers was a notebook of rambling entries written by Ed’s dad, and under any other circumstance, Dr. Charish would have likely dismissed it as a rather amateurish attempt at writing fiction. But paired with everything else she found, as well as the circumstances of their death…

Pietro gave a heavy sigh. “Kristi is not a stupid woman. She initiated a romance with me, and eventually ‘discovered’ that the zombies were real.”

“Which she’d suspected the whole time,” Marcus said, frowning. “That was merely a way for her to confirm and get the inside scoop.”

“Precisely,” Pietro said, mouth turned down in a grave curve. “And even when the romance fizzled, she made sure to remain close to me. We were friends, or so I foolishly believed.”

“Why didn’t you have Dr. Charish do the fake brain research?” I asked him. “Why Sofia?”

A sardonic smile touched his mouth. “I did. But none of Kristi’s attempts worked, and I eventually banned any further experimentation on any of the zombies within our faction.”

“And this was before I came along,” I said, super
sweetly, “so you didn’t have a convenient zombie you wanted to get rid of to throw her way.”

He flushed, shoulders slumping. “I swear to you, I thought the worst that might happen would be that you’d feel sick.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said. I didn’t buy that for a second, because otherwise why not allow any of his other zombies to be guinea pigs? But I wasn’t going to pursue it right now. I had other shit to take care of first. “Please, go on,” I told him.

He didn’t look at me, which was probably a very good idea on his part. “Sofia was a brilliant girl,” he continued, “and came up with a protocol that would allow her to test her formulations without risking any ‘living’ zombies. About six months ago, she told me she was close to a breakthrough. I’m confident that, given a bit more time, she would have perfected it. She was meticulous. Did not wish to cut any corners or take undue risks.”

“Six months ago was when I started getting mystery packages in the mail,” Ed said, expression bleak.

“Exactly,” I said. “I think that the darling Dr. Kristi Charish has had plans for the zombies for quite some time. But it all depended on being able to develop a dependable and plentiful food source.”

“You mean making super soldiers?” Ed asked. “She’d worked on enough government grants to know who to go to with her idea. But, of course, first she had to prove she wasn’t totally full of shit.”

I leaned forward, tapped the table. “I bet she told them she had something that worked. She jumped the gun, and then got impatient when Sofia was taking her sweet time. So she copied Sofia’s research, got Ed to grab
some zombie heads for her to experiment on, and told the government dweebs she was good to go.”

It was Ed’s turn to flush in shame, but I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dude. She’s a world-class manipulator.”

“I know,” he said in a low voice. “But I’ll never forget how close I came to killing the two of you.”

“Just means you have to buy my beer until the end of time,” Marcus said with a grin.

Ed laughed weakly. “Sounds more than fair.”

“But why did she want only the heads and not the whole zombie?” I asked.

“She didn’t have the funding, support, or facility to house captive zombies,” Pietro stated. “To store heads, all she needed was a cooler. And, at the time, the heads—and brains—were all she required for her research.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Makes sense.” I cocked my head. “But we can’t forget that the darling Doctor Charish is on the loose now and god-only-knows where with live zombies of her own.”

“I have many connections,” Pietro stated. “She will not slip my net.”

“Oh, really?” I retorted. “She worked under your nose for how long? Pardon me if I don’t trust your ‘net.’”

Pietro grimaced and didn’t respond. Ha! Point to Angel.

“Okay,” I said. “So she got the heads and regrew at least one zombie that we know of using the fake brains.” I looked at Marcus. “By the way, dude, I think it’s insanely cool that it’s possible to do that.”

“I never knew it was,” he admitted. “It’s probably never been tried before because of the huge amount of brains it no doubt takes.”

That was a good point. It had taken quite a few brains to heal me up from a number of injuries that were only mildly life-threatening.

“And yes,” Marcus continued, “you apparently were right, and Zeke
was
trying to escape from the lab. But the fake brains screwed him up somehow, and he didn’t grow back properly.”

I grinned. “Now was that so hard? You need to accept I’m right a lot quicker in the future.”

He chuckled and gave me a squeeze. “I’ll do my best.”

Pietro cleared his throat awkwardly. “It was not long after this that Kristi came to me, again asking for a…volunteer.”

I scowled. “I still don’t understand why she felt the need to come to you for this. Why didn’t she simply go out and kidnap the first zombie she could find? I mean, why did she need your permission? She was already way over the line, right?”

Pietro was silent for a moment. “I am very old,” he finally said. He looked up at Marcus. “Far older than you suspect, I am certain,” he told Marcus. His gaze shifted to me for a fraction of a second, but in that instant it was as if he dropped a veil. Suddenly I could feel the immense weight of years and experiences and accumulated triumphs and grief. Then he looked away and the sensation was gone.

This dude has been a zombie a helluva lot longer than thirty years
, I realized.

“Over the years I have been careful to cultivate influence,” he continued. “Kristi was right to be wary of my anger, and I’m certain that she was careful not to ‘cross the line,’ so to speak, until she was positioned with influence that she hopes can match mine.”

I kept the icy look on my face and didn’t respond.

He let out a soft sigh. “Yet having experience and influence has not saved me from doing some colossally foolish things.” He met my eyes again, but I didn’t get the “holy crap, he’s been around a long time” vibe this time, to my relief.

“I behaved utterly heinously to you,” he said. Then his mouth twisted in a grimace. “Marcus has expressed his displeasure quite vehemently.” He paused. “
Quite
vehemently. But he has stated that his forgiveness of me is entirely conditional on you, and whether you can accept my apology.”

Well, whaddya know. Marcus was letting me control my own damn life. I slid a look toward him, but he was doing that stony-impossible-to-read face thing. He was so damn cute when he did that.

“I’m a lot like my dad,” I said to Pietro. “I can hold a grudge like nobody’s business. And as much as it would be great and awesome for everyone to forgive each other, and we all have a big group-fucking-hug, I can’t tell you I forgive you until I actually feel it and believe that you really do regret what happened and that you’re not just blowing smoke up my ass.”