My Life as a White Trash Zombie

could. We could push harder, far beyond what the usual person could tolerate. Yeah, it burned us up faster. But a brain a day keeps the rotting away, I thought with a slight shudder.

I stood back while Derrel shared my observations with the detective. Abadie scowled and peered at the underside of the tractor, then muttered something vile. I almost felt sorry for him. Handling an accidental death was a walk in the park next to dealing with a possible homicide. The procedures didn’t change much, but the attention to detail went several notches up. And if he hadn’t been a dickwad I probably would’ve felt sorry for him. As it was, I allowed myself a perverse sense of satisfaction. Hey, I never claimed to be an angel.

I ended up cooling my heels for another half an hour while the area was processed in more depth by the crime scene tech, but eventually I got the signal from Derrel that I could start putting Mr. Harris into the bag.

Now was my chance to see how much brain was left in the skull, even though my zombie super senses were already telling me the answer. I carefully pulled aside a segment of skull while getting the body into the bag— completely unsurprised to see that there was no brain left inside. And there wasn’t that much on the ground. Certainly not enough to fill a skull.

Suddenly the short distance between Mr. Harris’s mansion and the trailer park didn’t seem so funny. And the place where I had my wreck was only about five miles from here.

There was a zombie on the hunt in this area. And I had a damn good idea who it was.

As soon as I had the body loaded up and in the van, I called Scott Funeral Home and asked for Kang, breathing a sigh of relief when he came on the line.

“It’s Angel, from the morgue,” I said. “I really need to talk to you.”

He was silent for several seconds. “Uh huh. Are you in a bind?”

“Yeah, but not the kind you’re thinking.” He probably thought I was low on brains and needed to bum some off him. “No, I need to talk to you about someone else in our, um, social club.”

I could hear him give a soft snort—whether of laughter or annoyance, I couldn’t tell. “All right. I get off at three today. Where would you like to meet?”

I thought fast. “Um, how about Double Ds?”

“I’ll see you there,” he said and hung up.

I scowled at my phone. “You’re an asshole, Kang,” I muttered. Unfortunately, he was an asshole I needed. Too bad I had way too many of those in my life already.

Chapter 22

Double Ds was actually the Double Dime Diner, but no one bothered to call it that, even though the nickname made it sound like a strip club. Or maybe because of that. I arrived at about a quarter ’til three, which not only allowed me to pick a table that was well away from the few other people there, but also gave me plenty of time to agonize and worry until Kang arrived. Not that I hadn’t already been doing plenty of that.

The waitress came by, and I ordered hot chocolate. It wasn’t cold outside or anything, but hot chocolate was one of my comfort foods. When it arrived I wrapped my hands around the mug and sipped slowly, forcing myself to relax as the warmth and chocolate worked their magic. At least comfort food was still comforting.

Kang walked in about five minutes after the hour. The smile on his face faded as he walked up to me. I guess my worry was showing, even though I was trying to be all casual.

“What’s the dish, Angel?” he asked as he pulled a chair out and plopped down into it.

Even though there was no one else anywhere near us, I leaned forward and kept my voice low. “I’ve picked up three bodies in the last week that were missing brains. Hell, one was missing his whole damn head.” I quickly explained the circumstances, somewhat gratified when his expression darkened with worry. At least I wasn’t being completely out-the-box paranoid. “Do you think maybe there’s umm . . . a rogue zombie killing people?” I asked, feeling a bit silly with the “rogue” thing.

But Kang merely gave a slow nod and shoved his hair out of his eyes, grimacing. “It definitely sounds like a possibility.” Then he let out a string of curses that made my eyebrows go up. “Sorry,” he said, “but shit like that makes it tough on all of us.”

I hesitated. “You know about the wreck I had, right?” He nodded, which didn’t surprise me. Everyone knew about the damn wreck. “Well, it was caused by Zeke Lyons, who used to work at—”

“Billings,” he said with a nod. “I know him. Stupid stubborn ass.” His eyes narrowed in anger. “He was trying to get the body in your van?”

I nodded. “And possibly more, I think. I mean, he didn’t know I was a zombie until after he’d caused the wreck.” Then I snorted. “Hell, I didn’t even know I was a zombie until then. That was the first time I’d ever seen another one.” I fought back a shiver at the memory—the sick horror that I might become like that some day. Rotted. Desperate.

“I ended up giving him some of the stash I had with me,” I went on, swallowing back the lingering unease. “He came by the morgue, and I gave him more, but,” I grimaced, “he was a bit of a dick, and he hasn’t been back since.”

“You don’t need to fucking give your stash away, Angel,” he told me. “Zeke knows he can buy from me.”

“With what? He doesn’t have a job anymore, remember?”

Kang’s lip curled. “He should have thought of that before he screwed up the job he had.” He shrugged. “But even so, I’d be willing to work something out with him.”

I spread my hands on the table, gave a slight nod. “That’s cool. Zeke said he was set up, that he didn’t steal anything.” Were you the one who cost him his job? I thought. I didn’t want to come out and say it, though. I wasn’t quite ready to piss Kang off.

He snorted. “Of course. The guilty man is never really guilty. He was lucky they only fired him.”

“Well, maybe whoever’s doing this is someone new,” I suggested. “I mean, if I hadn’t been given this morgue job, I don’t know what I would have done.”

The scowl stayed on Kang’s face as he leaned back. “And that’s exactly why there aren’t many zombies. You don’t make one just for shits and giggles, because the next thing you know you have dozens of them, desperate for brains. And brains are pretty hard to come by without causing a fuss, as you know.”

My mouth felt dry. “So, how bad does it get? The hunger, I mean. Would any of us be driven to kill to get brains?”

I could see that Kang wanted to deny it, but I’d already seen the wince of discomfort. “It can get bad,” he admitted. “And the hungrier you get, the less control you have. You’re not . . . you’re not you.”

“Have you—” I clamped my lips shut on the question. “Never mind. I’m sorry.”

He exhaled a long slow breath and didn’t answer. That told me more than I wanted to know. It could happen to me. If I got hungry enough, I wouldn’t simply die. I’d become a monster first.

“Is there anything that can be done?” I asked, fumbling for anything to say to get past this horrific topic. “I mean, about this, um, rogue. Whoever it is.”

Kang looked up, and it seemed to take him a couple of seconds to focus on me, as if I was drawing him out of a terrible place. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t exactly have a directory of the local zombies.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Let’s hope that whoever it is sticks to killing losers and old farts.”

A flare of anger coiled in my belly. “Wait. That’s it? Sit back and hope he doesn’t kill anyone important? Kang, that’s bullshit.”

“What the hell do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know! You’re the expert here. You said yourself that this sort of thing could draw unwanted attention to us.”

“So would making a big stink about deaths that are completely unrelated in every other way. There’s no link except for the missing brains, and that’s easy enough to explain away.” His face twisted into a sneer. “Go on, I dare you to go to the police. Tell them that these people were all killed by the same person.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I said dully. I hated him right now, but I also hated the fact that he was right.

He stood, then leaned forward and put his hands on the table. “There’s nothing we can do, Angel. Sometimes