How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (13 page)

After what had to be ten minutes Kyle muttered, “Clear.”

Philip released my arm, and I shot to my feet. “Snake,” I gulped.

Luckily, Philip didn't laugh at my reaction. Good thing, since I'd have decked him like Carol Ann, zombie baby or not. Or at least tried to. Okay, maybe just thought about it really hard.

“Which way?” he asked.

Fighting the deep desire to make a bunch of noise to chase off any lurking snakes, I turned and headed away from the dirt road and toward the thick darker darkness ahead that I knew was the woods. I had a panicked minute when I couldn't locate the game trail, but finally found the dead tree that marked it. Philip pulled out a keychain LED light and clicked it to red as we started working our way through the brush and trees and sticker bushes. At long last, lights glimmered through the trees, and in another hundred feet the trail opened out onto a road.

“We lost them, so that's good,” Naomi remarked. “On the other hand, after that jaunt through the brambles, I have thorns in unmentionable places.”

I grinned. “I'm not helping you with those.” I pointed to a rusted mailbox about fifty feet down the road. Beyond it the road turned to gravel. “That's Randy's driveway.” I brushed at mud and dirt and finally gave up. I couldn't see what I was doing anyway.

“We'll wait here,” Kyle said.

“Yeah, I think he'd freak if all four of us trooped up to his door.”

Naomi gave me a worried look. “Be careful.”

I had a feeling she was more worried about my mental well-being than the physical. “I will,” I replied, then jogged to Randy's driveway.

Randy began learning everything there was to know about cars about the time he was old enough to hold a wrench. His mama had run off not long after he was born, and his dad practically raised him in the garage. They worked together until a few years ago when his dad met a lady and moved to Houston. After Randy and I broke up I finally climbed out of the pit of denial I'd been in during most of my time with him, and accepted that much of Randy's business wasn't exactly on the legal end of things.

Right now that didn't really bother me one bit. Hell, only a few months earlier I'd bashed a guy's head in with a baseball bat. I didn't have any room to talk.

My steps slowed as I reached the end of Randy's drive. The gate itself probably hadn't been closed in twenty years and hung crooked and corroded against the barb wire fence. A dilapidated, corrugated-metal garage, held together by rust and wishful thinking, stood beside a huge oak tree. A yellow bug light over the garage door made it impossible to determine the colors of the three fixer-upper cars parked in front of it. Lights inside the trailer and the faint thump of music told me Randy was home, and likely in a Carol Ann-free zone, since only his Charger was parked by the door. He didn't like being on the hook to give someone a ride back to their car in the morning.

He's expecting me
, I reminded myself. He wasn't stupid enough to have Carol Ann here when he knew I was coming by. Randy might be totally fine with watching two women fight in a bar, but he didn't like a lot of drama in his own place.

I climbed the three steps and knocked. He opened the door a few seconds later and peered at me through the screen. “What happened to you?”

“Car trouble,” I said, keeping my eyes on his face so that I wouldn't have to look down and see the oh-so-sexy view of his old, dingy tighty-whities—the only clothing he had on at the moment. And, knowing Randy, I couldn't even chalk it up to some sort of sad attempt at a come on. It was
completely
normal for him to come home and strip down to underwear.

He pushed open the screen door. “C'mon in and get cleaned up.”

“Thanks.” I stepped in and took a look around. Not much had changed in the year since I'd last been here. The game system had been upgraded, and the recliner looked brand new, but the rest was as familiar as home. The smell of pot and cigarettes and bacon grease hung in the air. A bong sat on the TV stand beside the big screen, and the remnants of a couple of joints lay in the ashtray on the coffee table. “I just need a wet washcloth,” I told him, looking down at my jeans and shirt—both wet and muddy from lying in the marsh. “Not sure how much good it'll do, but worth a try.”

“Sure thing.” He stepped to the kitchen, pulled a washcloth from a drawer and wet it, then wrung it out and handed it to me. “Where's your car?” he asked as I started wiping the mud off my knees. “Stuck or broke down?”

“Um, well
my
car is parked down the street from Top Cow because I couldn't get it to start earlier today.” I worked at cleaning off the worst of the gunk but gave up on getting the ground in stuff. “I was in a different car tonight that sort of got stuck.” Sighing, I swiped at my shirt. “It's kind of why I wanted to talk to you. I need to borrow a car.”

Randy didn't have any education past high school, but he wasn't stupid. “You mean that's what you came to Pillar's for?” Hurt flickered across his face. “To get a car from me?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. Crap. Now I felt like a heel. “I'm sorry for misleading you. A couple of friends of mine are in some really deep trouble, and I, uh, need a car that can't be traced to me.” I met his eyes. “I know we didn't break up on the best of terms, but I . . . I hope you don't still hate me.”

He reached for a pack of cigarettes. “Well, ain't that some shit.”

Grimacing, I rinsed out the washcloth then set it on the counter. “I'm sorry. If you want me to go, I will.”

Randy lit the cigarette, took a drag from it. “Who are these friends of yours? And what kind of trouble?”

“Not sure you'd believe me if I told you.”

He picked a stained coffee cup off the counter and tapped ash into it. “Why don't you try me.”

I remained still for a moment while I ran down my options, possible lies, what portions of the truth I could tell. In a weird way I missed the simplicity of my old life. No big secrets that could destroy other people's lives. Simple goals.

More like
no
goals
, I reminded myself. Wanting more out of life was hard work but worth it. “You can't tell
anyone
,” I finally said.

His brows drew together. “Shit. What kind of trouble you got yourself into?”

“Swear to me you won't repeat anything I tell you tonight,” I said. “I mean not one fucking word to anyone. I'm not exaggerating when I say my life depends on it.”

He took a pull off the cigarette then held it out for me. “You know I can keep my mouth shut.”

I took the cig and thought about that for a few seconds. Despite his many other faults, he wasn't one to blab secrets.

Well, this would be interesting. I took a drag, not even minding that it would use up brains. “Okay. So, I have this
medical
condition, and I have to take a certain kind of supplement about once a week or I get really messed up,” I began. “Problem is that this supplement is illegal, but there's an organization of people who all need this same kind of supplement, and we all work together to get it. But there's also this big corporation who wants to control it and study what it does to us, because some of the stuff about this certain medical condition is kind of good, as long as we get the supplement. I mean, like, we don't really get sick the usual way anymore.” God this was all kinds of fucked up, but I was in too deep to stop now. Taking a deep breath, I plowed on. “And now the big corporation has kidnapped the head of our, um, group, as well as the main scientist who studies this medical condition. And if we don't get them back we're all pretty much fucked.” I took another drag and handed it back to him.

“Damn.” He took the cig, frowned. “You know that sounds crazy, right?”

I gave him a crooked smile. “I toldja you wouldn't believe me.”

“Funny thing is, it's too crazy to be made up.” The frown stayed on his face. “You know I'm not one for calling the cops, but kidnapping sounds like a big deal.”

“Yeah, well, there's that whole
illegal supplement
part of it,” I pointed out. “If we call the cops, these guys are in even bigger trouble.” Cripes, it sounded like I was working with a cartel. Then again, in some ways I was. Just not the kind of drugs Randy expected.

“Makes sense.” He put the cigarette to his lips, then lowered it. He looked suspiciously at it and then to me. “How do I know I haven't caught this shit from you?”

“Doesn't work that way,” I told him. “Promise. I mean, it's not contagious just by being around someone or fucking them. It's pretty rare.”

Apparently satisfied, he sucked on the cigarette then headed to the hallway. “Y'know, since you're done with that cop, it'd be all right if you hung out here again some.” He stopped in front of the dryer, picked a t-shirt and a pair of shorts out of the pile atop it and tugged them on.

I couldn't keep the slight smile off my face. “I appreciate the offer. I'm gonna try being single for a while though. I really haven't been since I was a teenager.”

He didn't respond to that, simply walked back to the living room and tamped the cig out in the ashtray on the coffee table. “Let's go find you a car.” He dug a ring of keys out of the sofa cushions then headed out the door. I followed, relieved.

He paused to flick a switch at the end of his trailer then continued on. A floodlight above the garage flared on, drowning out the yellow of the bug light. Faded brown paint peeled on the big sliding door.

“What kinda car you need?” he asked over his shoulder as he fiddled with the lock on the garage door.

“I need something big enough for four people, that can get us to . . . Chicago.” I caught myself barely in time from giving away our real destination. I trusted Randy, but there were limits to every trust.

He wheeled around, surprise and worry on his face. “Goddamn, Angel. What the hell you gonna do with yourself in a city like that?”

The worry I'd been holding back finally rose up in a smothering wave. “I dunno,” I said, slumping. “Stick close to the people I'm with, I guess. Jesus, Randy, I'm scared out of my fucking mind.” I could talk to him about this, I realized. “I've never been that far from home before. New Orleans is the biggest city I've ever been to, which isn't saying a whole lot.”

He slid the garage door open with a screech of tired metal. “These people you're with, they got your back?”

“Yeah, they do,” I said without hesitation. “They're totally cool.” But then I sighed. “I don't know how much help I'll be though. They pretty much
have
to bring me along because of another guy's, er, health condition.” I shook my head. “Hard to explain, but I definitely feel like a fifth wheel.” I tried to laugh it off, but it came out weak and humorless.

Randy turned to face me. “You'll be okay, Angel,” he said with utter conviction. “You always are.” One side of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “Just take some of that good ol' Louisiana coonass mojo with you, and those city folk won't know what hit 'em.” He pivoted and flicked a light on inside the garage, while I stood there gaping at the completely unexpected show of support.

“This one ain't pretty but it runs good,” he continued as he pulled a cloth off a dark green Ford Taurus sedan with a long dented scrape down the driver's side. “Rebuilt engine and new tranny. It'll get you up north.”

I quickly wiped my eyes before he could see my sniveling, then stepped up to examine the car. “That's perfect.” I slanted a quick look at him. “It's not hot, is it?”

“Nah. This one's cool. You won't get in trouble driving it.” His eyes ducked away, obviously remembering the time I drove a car that
wasn't
cool, thanks to him, and got busted for possession of stolen property. “Guy gave it to me couple months ago in exchange for work I did on his truck and other car. Wasn't nothing but a piece of scrap to him. It's legit. Promise. I was gonna get it painted and then sell it.” He unwound a key off the ring and handed it to me.

“It might be at least a week before I get it back to you,” I said as I took it.

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It was just gonna be sitting out here anyway.”

I held the key tightly in my hand and gave him a smile. “Randy, thanks for not holding a grudge against me.”

“We had some good times.” He shrugged again.

He missed me, I realized. He didn't know how to say it, but there it was. And I missed him too, in a weird way. Not in a let's-get-back-together kind of way. At all. No way. But it was silly to think I could simply turn off a whole chapter of my life and stick it in a drawer to never even think of it again. For better or for worse, my time with him helped make me who I was.

And, even though I knew getting back together with him was impossible on any number of levels, I found myself missing some of the closeness we'd shared. Hell, date someone for four years and you fucking get to know them.

“Yeah, we did have some good times.” I shoved the key into my pocket, then didn't know what to do or say.

“I guess this is it.” He shifted his weight. “You wanna take a few joints for the road?”

I hesitated. “Can't. Sorry. My condition gets a lot worse if I do stuff like that.” It was a flat-out lie. Pot burned up less brains than cigarettes, but that wasn't the goddamn point. Thanks to my parasite keeping my system squeaky clean, I could smoke a whole joint and not get even the teensiest hint of a high. Truth was, I didn't want the joints around because they'd only remind me of how fucked up I used to be. Besides, what was the point of having them if they didn't do shit?

“Damn. That sucks,” he said, making an appropriately sympathetic face.

“I'm used to it.” I knew I needed to leave, but I couldn't let go of the sense that we had unfinished business between us. Being with him had been a seriously unhealthy rut for me. It bugged me that he couldn't—or wouldn't—get out of the rut as well. “Hey, I passed my GED a couple weeks ago,” I blurted. “Finally got that high school diploma.”

“Well, I'll be damned.” A slow smile touched his mouth. “Never seemed you gave a shit about that.”

“I didn't give a shit about anything.” I shook my head. “I didn't see any reason to. I mean, my life was a fuckup from top to bottom.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “It's weird but getting, um, sick was what finally made me realize I could do more with my life.”

“You sure look good,” Randy said, voice warm. “Don't look sick at all.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but you don't want to see me if I haven't had the supplement in a while.” I glanced at my watch, surprised at how late it was. “Shit. I gotta go. I'm sorry.”

“Me too.” He lifted a hand to my cheek, stroked his thumb over it, then let his hand drop. “Guess I'll see you when I see you.”

I stepped forward and gave him a light kiss. He tasted like beer and nicotine, smelled faintly of motor oil and whatever cologne he'd worn to the bar. Familiar and oddly pleasant.

He returned it just as lightly, then I turned away, got into the car, and left.

The others stepped out of the woods as I left the gravel of Randy's driveway. I gave up the driver's seat to Kyle then joined Naomi in the back.

“Took a long time,” Philip said as he took shotgun.