My Life as a White Trash Zombie

Or rather, I didn’t have a choice that I was willing to take.

Yet.

I ended up blowing about eighty bucks at a hotel in Tucker Point which got me a room with clean sheets and a toilet with no stains. I didn’t need anything fancy or exotic. I only needed a safe, quiet place where I could spend the next twelve hours or so doing as little as possible. No need to burn up any more brains than absolutely necessary. With that in mind I indulged in a long, hot bath, watched TV for a few hours, and then fell asleep.

When I woke up it took me nearly a minute to figure out where I was. It didn’t help that I could feel my movements becoming more sluggish and uncoordinated. The smell was starting to kick in too. Great, so I couldn’t smell anything else, but I sure as hell could smell myself.

I clenched my teeth against the coiling of hunger and headed down to the free continental breakfast that the hotel offered. Maybe if I could really fill up on regular food it would slow the rotting a bit.

There were a few other people in the lobby, but I did my best to keep my distance from them—not only to keep anyone from noticing my smell, but also because I was becoming more and more aware of the scent of brains in living people.

And it was beginning to seriously freak me the hell out.

Scarfing down a bagel managed to still one hunger, but did nothing for the one that snarled for something I didn’t have. How bad would it be if I had to go several more days like this? My gut tightened into a knot at the thought. I didn’t even want to consider that possibility. Already I craved sensation. I wanted to feel and taste properly again. I wanted music to have a tune. I wanted—desperately—to feel alive again.

I can see how someone could go rogue, the thought whispered to me, and the sudden understanding left me cold.

Chapter 29

I headed in to the morgue early, hoping to god that another body had been brought in while I was off. I checked the log as soon as I got in and nearly wilted in relief at the sight of an autopsy scheduled for the day. Sixty-three-year-old white female. This would get me through the weekend. All I needed was one brain. Next week I could start building my stash up again, once I figured out where the hell I was going to live.

Turning away from the log, I paused at the sight of a small paper bag with a sticky note with my name on it. What the hell? Picking up the note, I quickly read the overly neat script.

Hey, Angel—found this watch when I was cleaning up. Figured it was yours. If it’s not, you might as well keep it since it probably belonged to a corpse, and they won’t need it anymore. Ha Ha. Nick.

I tipped the watch out into my hand and turned it over. Oh, Nick . . . you are so busted. This was a brand new watch. It wasn’t anything super fancy or expensive, but I figured he’d probably spent about thirty dollars on it. He’d taken it out of the package and removed the price tag, but forgotten to pull the little tab to start the battery.

Guilt flashed through me at the fact that I hadn’t really lost my watch at all . . . but. Wow. This completely floored me. Of course I couldn’t possibly tell him now that I’d “found” my watch or anything like that. He’d done this cool thing and gone out of his way to keep me from thinking he’d bought a watch for me. But why? Was the whole “prick” thing simply a front? Well, no matter the reason, I wasn’t going to ruin the moment for him.

I must have stood there looking down at the watch in my hand for a solid minute, with a goofy smile on my face and a warm fuzzy purring in my middle. How the hell was I supposed to think of him as Nick the Prick any more?

I quickly pulled the little tab and set it, then slipped my old watch off and the new one on.

Despite my ravenous hunger I hummed to myself as I readied the cutting room. Had all the instruments out and placed all nice and pretty, the floor and table cleaned as much as they could be cleaned. By the time Dr. Leblanc came into the morgue, I even had the body of a Miss Twyla Faciane laid out on the table, ready to go. Moreover, the scent of the morgue covered up my own less-than-fresh scent. Or so I hoped.

The doc gave me a bemused smile as he pulled on his smock and saw me at the ready. “I think I may start to worry about you, Angel,” he said with a dry chuckle. At my baffled expression he gave me a kind smile. “Not many are as eager to dig into a dead body.”

I flushed. Shit, what if he thought I was some kinda weirdo? I mean, I was, but not in the way he was probably thinking.

“Sorry,” I said. “I mean, I’m just trying to do a good job. . . .” I trailed off into a mumble and winced. Now I sounded like a suckup.

“Relax, Angel,” he said with a wink. “I can see that you want to do well. It’s nice to see a strong work ethic.”

I could feel my face heating again and made myself busy with straightening the instruments while he made notes on his clipboard. Now I felt like a heel since my eagerness had more to do with the hunger clawing at me than any desire to be a super-employee. Not that I didn’t want to do a good job, ’cause actually I really did kinda like it when the doc gave me one of those approving smiles. Yeah, I was like an eager puppy. Give me a smile and a pat on the head, and I was good to go.

I went through the motions of the autopsy, moving as quickly as I could while concentrating hard on not dropping anything. The sooner this autopsy was over, the sooner the bag would be in the cooler, and the sooner I could stop feeling like my stomach was about to leap out of my body and go on a rampage through the town.

As soon as Dr. Leblanc gave me the nod, I propped Miz Faciane’s head up on the block and separated her hair. I made the cut quickly, doing my best to not cut too much of the lady’s hair. It was impossible to not cut through some of it, but I didn’t want her to be half bald in the casket. I managed to nick my own finger in my haste, though. The blood that slowly welled up was thick and dark, and I quickly grabbed another glove and jammed it on over the first before Dr. Leblanc could notice.

On the upside, I was getting better at peeling the scalp back and was able to do it without taking half the damn day. And the bone saw didn’t feel like it was going to shake my arm off. Look at me, actually getting the hang of this silly job.

I pulled the top of the skull off and couldn’t resist taking a deep breath as the aroma of the brain filled the air. Not too much longer. . . .

A chill washed over me as I looked at the brain. No. No. This can’t be happening.

I took a steadying breath. “Hey, Dr. Leblanc,” I said, using every ounce of control I had to keep my voice sounding normal and casual, and not at all terrified and sick. Because this brain didn’t look right, and I had a bad feeling that it wasn’t good news for me. “I think there’s something wrong with this brain.”

He stepped over, peered at the brain, let out a soft sigh. “Well, that explains it. What you’re looking at is a tumor.”

Shit. Could I eat that? Probably not. But surely I could eat around it. I was famished enough to give it a try. All I needed was a couple of bites.

Dr. Leblanc was speaking and his words didn’t fully register at first. “Wait, what?” I asked, hoping I’d misheard.

“Save the brain,” he said, gesturing with his scalpel to the skull. “There are some large plastic tubs in the specimen room. Grab one of those and fill it halfway with formalin, then put the brain in there. I haven’t seen a tumor like that in a long time, and I’ll want to examine it more thoroughly later on.”

He turned back to his work on the body, a good thing since I knew I was staring at him in horror. I couldn’t eat a brain after it had been stored in formalin. The poison of the preservative would more than counter any benefit I’d get from the brain itself. And he’d notice for sure if I cut any of it off. I could feel tears of frustration starting behind my eyes, and I quickly spun and headed to the specimen room before he could see and wonder what the hell was wrong with me. Shit. Shit! Today was Friday. There were no other bodies in the