White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (29 page)

“Exposing Saberton in the manner he intended would have ruined us.”

I bit back an annoyed
No shit, Sherlock
, and instead said, “Yes, his methods sucked, and he was twisted up by Kristi, but his heart was in the right place. I bet he could be a valuable ally given the right handling.”

“Angel, every human who knows our secret increases our risk of exposure,” Pierce said, as if addressing a child. “Even those with good intentions. Rosario is a perfect example.”

“Pierce, that kind of thinking is obsolete.” I wasn't
trying
to mimic his patronizing tone. “Zombies have survived by hiding for, what, centuries? But the world is different now.”

“And I will adapt our methods to the changing world.”

I tossed up my hands in frustration. “You're stuck in a rut! You still think that hiding is the only option.”

Pierce snorted. “What's your alternative? Send out a press release that zombies are people, too?”

“Hey, why not? News flash, Pierce. We
are
people, too.” I leaned toward him. “Saberton's success depends on us
wanting
to stay hidden. They can do whatever the hell they want because no one knows about us.”

His mouth thinned. “The general populace won't be—”

“It doesn't
matter
,” I said. “We live in a world full of instant updates and video and selfies and twenty-four-hour news. Exposure is
inevitable
. So why in god's name aren't we planning for it instead of scrambling for the few available hiding places like a bunch of roaches? More to the point, why are we waiting to be outed—in what's sure to be a negative light—rather than spinning it in a way that benefits us?”

Pierce's scowl had grown steadily darker as I ranted, but I mentally crossed fingers that some of his pissedness was at himself for not considering my points. He could be a real asshole, but there was no way he'd have survived this long by being closed-minded. I hoped.

Dr. Nikas spoke up. “With the African compounds, we can greatly decrease dependence on brains within a matter of weeks. It is a starting point for a less negative reception.”

Pierce looked like a cornered tiger. “Ari, our history speaks for what happens when we're exposed.”

A shadow passed through Dr. Nikas's eyes, but his voice remained firm and calm. “And it is nothing I care to endure again. If there was ever a moment for a new approach, this is it.”

“We're victims as long as we see ourselves as victims,” I said. “Coming out of hiding isn't going to be pretty, no matter how it comes about. Instead of thinking of Rosario and the other people who know about us as liabilities, maybe we should think about how to live openly in a world full of allies and enemies.” I shook my head. “Pierce, we need to build a network of human allies before we get caught with our pants down. You can't protect the Tribe all on your own anymore.”

That hit a nerve. Pierce ground his teeth and looked as if he wanted to hit something. “You've started your own little network already.”

“Yup. And those allies saved my ass
and
the Tribe's.” I lifted one hand and mimed dropping a mic. “Boom.”

He fell silent. The anger in his face slowly leached away. “I'll consider your argument,” he finally said, “and we will assess Rosario as a potential
ally
.”

I decided to take that as a win. Or at least not an outright loss.

Dr. Nikas slid an approving look my way before setting his tablet aside. “Kang is at optimal temperature,” he announced.

•   •   •

Dr. Nikas reached into the tank and cut away the gauze that covered Kang's face. I rolled closer for a better view. Kang was grey, but he wasn't sunken and wrinkly like he'd been when Jacques and I wrapped him. Now he looked like he was sleeping. In pink snot.

Pierce watched with pursed lips. “He will wake?”

“With the new formula it is indeed a possibility rather than an outright ‘no'.” Dr. Nikas stepped back and wiped snot from his hands with a towel. “Jacques, set the first stage voltage.”

Beside me, Jacques adjusted the voltage. I peered expectantly into the tank. And continued to peer as absolutely nothing happened.

“EEG unchanged and chaotic,” Jacques said. “Heart rate ten. Sixteen. Eighteen.” He paused. “Holding steady at eighteen.”

Dr. Nikas tweaked settings and peered at the EEG. “Increase to second stage.”

Déjà vu. This was all the stuff I'd heard when I was in the tank.

“His eyes are open!” I squealed in a rush of ridiculous excitement and didn't even care that I sounded silly. Hell, if it wasn't for me, Kang wouldn't be here in the lab all regrown. Maybe from now on he'd listen to me when I told him a serial killer was chopping zombie heads off.

“Heart rate twenty-six. Thirty-two. EEG fluctuating.”

“Hey, Kang,” I said, loud and clear. “You're doing great.”

“Save the cheerleading, Angel,” Pierce snapped. “He can't hear you.”

“Bullshit.” I glared at Pierce. “You've never been in slug snot, so you don't know what the hell you're talking about. When my eyes opened, I heard everything, all this voltage and heart rate stuff, even though I couldn't move.” I pushed to my feet, supporting myself on the edge of the tank as I leaned over. “Hey, Kang.” I waved. “You're going to be okay, I promise. I've been where you are, so I'm guessing you can hear me fine but can't talk, and I know that shit's scary as hell. You had a bit of an accident, but you're getting healed up. If you don't wake all the way up this time, they'll put you back under to cook a bit more.” I grinned. “But don't worry. You'll wake up for real in no time at all.”

Kang's eyelids fluttered, and his eyes met mine.

“Heart rate spiking,” Jacques said. “Fifty. Fifty-eight. Sixty-two.”

Dr. Nikas nodded once. “Take him to zero.”

“No!” Pierce pivoted toward Dr. Nikas. “Do
not
return him to stasis.”

Dr. Nikas bristled. “Not doing so could cause irreparable damage. We are considerably ahead of sched—”

“Bring him back,” Pierce said through gritted teeth. “Do it.”

Jacques cut an uncertain glance at Pierce. “Seventy. Seventy-two. Seventy-eight!”

I collapsed into the wheelchair heavily enough to send it rolling back toward Jacques.

Dr. Nikas stepped between the tank and Pierce. “No,” he said. “I will
not
do it.”

Jacques was the picture of consternation, but I wasn't. The instant I heard the “No” from Dr. Nikas, I snaked my arm behind Jacques and shut down the voltage. “You said zero, right?” I asked Dr. Nikas with the utmost innocence.

Dr. Nikas looked at me with surprise that shifted quickly to admiration. “Yes, Angel. Zero.”

Pierce gave a cry of angry frustration. “Turn it back on!”

“It's over,” Dr. Nikas said with considerable force as Jacques scrambled to adjust other settings. “Even if I believed it to be a wise course of action, I can't revive him again today.” He moved to the door and opened it. “Now, I have work to attend to that requires my expertise. I'm sure you do as well. I'll call you later.” He held the door open and waited.

Pierce swept a dark scowl over the room before stalking out, jaw clenched tight.

“What was
that
all about?” I asked the instant the door closed. “What's important enough to risk Kang's life after all the work you've put in to get him to this point?”

Dr. Nikas sighed. “Through Allen, you captured some of the information Pierce wants. But he has a long history with Kang.”

Huh. Interesting. Pierce was downright desperate to get Kang to talk. Ages ago, Kang had told me he was only seven when his parents died in the Korean War. That put him in the general vicinity of seventy-ish. But Pierce was
hundreds
of years old. How long a history could they possibly have? Or maybe it was simply a matter of perspective?

“Well, thanks for letting me be here for Kang's wakeup call,” I said then smiled wryly. “Especially since I doubt Pierce will let me come to the next one.”

“It is not Pierce's decision to make,” Dr. Nikas said crisply, but then his expression warmed. “I am pleased you were here. I had no idea you experienced awareness before full waking. The EEG indicated otherwise. I very much wish to discuss it with you once other urgent matters are dealt with.”

He gave my hand a squeeze, then had Jacques wheel me to a room that could have been a parlor in a grand estate. Rich colors, elegant trim, and bookshelves everywhere. Ranged around the room were several comfy chairs, and near the center was an antique coffee table and a plush couch that begged to be napped upon. No ambiance immersion system screen in here, but in its place the room had the most realistic fake fireplace I'd ever seen.

A plate of brainy finger food rested on the coffee table beside a slim laptop bearing a note in Dr. Nikas's neat print that read “for your use.”

I grinned. Who was I to argue? Especially when I was dying to catch up on the events of the outside world.

I checked my email—both personal and work—then sent messages to my professors, telling them I'd been diagnosed with mono and that I'd have to telecommute for a week or so. So far I hadn't missed any classes, thanks to the grand tradition of Louisiana schools' closing for the entire week of Mardi Gras. But I had a feeling I was going to miss my biology lab tomorrow.

Once I finished all of the being-responsible crap, I skimmed the local news to see if the world had decided to end during my slug snot adventure.

The world was still out there, with a familiar face reporting the details: Brennan Masters, the TV reporter I'd loaned a towel to at the Grayson Seeger murder scene so he could clean mud off his shoes. And now he had a follow-up report on that same murder. I clicked on the video from the evening before Mardi Gras and watched Masters announce the then-breaking news. Coy Bates had turned himself in for the murder of Grayson Seeger, and authorities had issued a warrant for the arrest of Judd Siler, whose whereabouts were currently unknown.

To my relief, a quick check through later videos turned up no mention of Randy. This murder was lurid enough that the news would have definitely reported if he'd been arrested on related charges. He'd come out of the crazy mess with a good scare and nothing more serious, which probably wasn't perfect justice but worked well enough for me. Randy had simply been trying to help a friend. Stupidly.

My body informed me that I damn well needed to take advantage of the very nap-worthy couch, and I didn't argue. After a two-hour test drive that earned the couch high marks, I went back online and proceeded to amuse myself with silly pictures of cats.

I was
awwww
ing over a video of a kitten being tickled when my phone beeped with a text message.

From Nick.

Allen said you'll be off work for a week. Derrel and I are covering half your shifts. You owe me. I have your masks. Hope you're feeling better.

I read it three more times, and my smile grew bigger and bigger and bigger. The message was matter-of-fact, with no frills and a tiny sprinkle of Nick the Prick, but that wasn't important. He'd taken a step to communicate directly, which meant he hadn't backed completely away.

“Baby?” My dad stood in the doorway, face twisting with the effort to keep from crying.

“Daddy!” A flood of sheer happiness rushed through me at the sight of him. I set the laptop aside and pushed to my feet, and then he was running to catch me in a fierce hug before I could fall over.

“Oh god, Angelkins.” His voice shook, but his arms were firm and strong as he held me close. “You're back. I got you back.”

I clung to him as we both sobbed on each other, then eventually he eased me to sit as gently as if I was made of glass. When he settled beside me, I snuggled against his side and released a long contented breath. He curved his arm around me to hold me close, and we sat like that in rich quiet, dad and daughter.

“There's something I need to tell you,” I said, breaking the silence at last, but when I looked up at his face I saw expectation instead of question. “You already know, don't you.”

“Angelkins, I been knowing for a while somethin' was up, but I never could figger out what the hell kinda drug you could be taking.” His voice caught. “Oh, baby. I was trying so hard not to fuck it all up like I done way back before you helped me get sober. Thought I'd screwed the pooch the night of the movie when I got in your face 'bout it.”

I gave him a watery smile. “Well, you were right.” I leaned into him again, drew warmth as I told him what happened in New York—not the super gory details, but enough to explain about the mods and why Dr. Nikas had to make them. And why I ended up having to use them.

A fire came into his eyes, and he shot to his feet with a speed I didn't think he possessed. “Now you just wait a goddamn minute!” he snapped, glaring fiercely. “Those zombie sons of bitches got you hooked and let you run wild with this shit? Is that what got you into this mess where you done fell apart? Ari sure kept that part real quiet. Who the fuck do they think they are? You tell me who the goddamn chief of this circus is so I can give the prick a piece of my mind. It's goddamn bullshit! They ain't gonna treat a Crawford like—”

“Dad!” I barely got the word out between the tears and laughter. “It's okay, I promise.” An image swam into my head of my dad chewing out Pierce, and I dissolved into giggles again. “Oh my god,” I gasped. “You didn't let me finish.”

He beetled his brows at me, harrumphed, then plopped back onto the couch. “Fine. You finish. But I'm tellin' you, I'm ready to kick some zombie butt.”

That brought on another round of laughter, earning me an exasperated toss of his hands in the air. I wiped my eyes and threw my arms around him. “You don't have to go kick any zombie butt,” I said. “Except maybe mine.” With that, I launched into the rest of it, about my work at the lab, the V12 and the skimming, and getting caught. Told him how Dr. Nikas helped me in every possible way, then I did my best to explain why I took the megadose on Mardi Gras day.