Read White Trash Zombie Apocalypse Online

Authors: Diana Rowland

Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #Urban, #General

White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (2 page)

BOOK: White Trash Zombie Apocalypse
7.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“So whatcha got?” I asked.

A grimace flashed over his face. “Freak accident. Support pole on some scaffolding fell as our Mr. Brent Stewart was walking by, and he got beaned right in the skull.” He gestured with his head toward a cluster of trailers and headed that way. I followed, towing the stretcher in my wake as we passed through the trailer area, then toward a sidewalk that ran in front of a stucco building at the back of the school grounds.

Near the corner of the building, the body of a white, middle-aged man lay sprawled face down on the ground beside a structure of pipes and plywood about twenty feet long and at least that tall. Part of a set, I realized, upon seeing the painted façade—a cleverly rendered perspective of one side of the school but looking far nicer than the school appeared in reality. A two-inch diameter pipe lay beside the man, along the length of his body and with a few feet to spare. Blood and hair clung to it in a pattern that perfectly and morbidly matched the large dent in the back of his skull.

“Well, hell.” I wrinkled my nose at the mess the pole had made of his head, then peered back up at the set piece. Now I saw the twisted clamp near the top.

“Yeah,” Derrel said with a shake of his head. “Looks like he was in the totally wrong place. The clamp broke, the pole fell, and
smack
. Probably never felt a thing. Not even time for an
oh shit
.”

I made an appropriately sympathetic wince. A part of me thought that was probably a good way to go—never feeling a thing and never knowing. Yet at the same time, he never had a chance to say goodbye to his family and friends, even in his head. Death was really goddamn unfair sometimes.

I crouched by the body, taking it all in, then looked around. We were behind a half dozen trailers, probably for makeup and such, and away from the general activity I’d encountered near the street. A few crew members carrying fake body parts passed us as though nothing had happened and headed toward the high school, and several extras in fresh-from-the-grave clothing but no makeup clustered at the back of the furthest trailer, casting anxious glances our way.

“A zombie movie,” I muttered. “That’s too weird.”

Derrel nodded. “Shambling, braaains, the whole thing,” he replied, holding back a chuckle. Laughing and joking weren’t considered cool on a death scene. “Saw a segment on the news about it last night.
High School Zombie Apocalypse!!
” he said, showing as much smile as he dared. “With
two
exclamations points!”

“Too weird,” I repeated with a roll of my eyes as I pulled on gloves. This certainly wasn’t the first time a movie had been filmed in the area, but as far as I knew it was the first one with zombies, and my first time anywhere near the action. In the past few years Louisiana had been dubbed “Hollywood South” because of the growing film industry in the state. Movies and TV shows filmed here benefited from generous tax credits and were great for the local economy. And it was always a kick to see local sights show up on the big screen. It somehow made the people here feel as if they were really part of something bigger.

I retrieved a sheet from the stretcher and wrapped up the poor guy’s sadly smushed head. Though I’d eaten
brains only a few hours earlier, I still had to use a good dose of willpower to keep from giving in to the delicious scent and digging a glob of brain out of the cracks in the skull to stuff into my mouth. That would
probably
go over even worse than laughing.

Close to ten months as a morgue tech/van driver for the St. Edwards Parish Coroner’s Office, and I actually felt like I knew what I was doing. That was also the same length of time that I’d been a zombie, but I had a feeling it would take me a lot longer to really get a handle on that lifestyle.

I’d been an unemployed, pill head loser—with “felon” and “high school dropout” to pad out my resume—when I woke up in the ER after a night of drinking and drugs. Even though I had a fairly clear memory of being horribly injured in a car accident, I didn’t have a mark on me—or a stitch of clothing, for that matter. Waiting for me had been a six-pack of weird brown, sludgy drinks, and an anonymous note about a job waiting for me at the Coroner’s Office, along with the threat of jail time if I didn’t take the job. Took me a few weeks to figure out the truth: that not only would I rot and fall apart if I didn’t eat brains, but also that if I hadn’t been turned into a zombie the night of the accident, I would’ve died on the spot from the combination of drug overdose and injuries.

Though I’d only taken the job with the Coroner’s Office because it was better than going to jail, I quickly grew to enjoy it, and not simply because it gave me easy access to the brains I needed. It was interesting, challenging without being a pain in the ass, and paid better than any job I’d ever had. Ever. Plus, I had some pretty awesome coworkers.

With Derrel’s help I got the dead guy wrestled into the body bag and onto the stretcher. Once I had him in the van and the doors closed, I decided to take a few
minutes to gawk some more at the movie stuff. What the hell. It wasn’t every day I had the chance to see something like this.

I locked the van, then crossed the street to get a better view as a stunt zombie practiced a fall from a third story window to the airbag cushion below. Further down the street several zombie extras mauled an actor in a cop uniform, then backed up and started over, repeatedly.
Gotta get those shambling horde subtleties down for the camera
. I smiled and shook my head. Though I’d watched several zombie movies and TV episodes after I was turned, I couldn’t manage much love for most of them since the majority were about escaping from or killing mindless zombies. Needless to say, I had a hard time getting into that sort of thing.

A white van marked “Midnight Productions” pulled up to the curb, and a too-perky red-haired guy wearing an electric blue track suit climbed out of the passenger side carrying a clipboard and plastic grocery bag. He tooted a whistle then proceeded to call names and pass out white-wrappered snack bars to the extras who came out of the woodwork. Roll call and check marks on the clipboard. I figured some fine print contract clause said the movie people had to provide mid-morning protein or granola or some crap like that.

Hell, maybe I can go hungry a few days and get cast as an extra
, I thought with amusement. It was beside the point that if I was falling apart enough to
look
like a zombie, I’d be so hungry I’d crack open the head of the first person who walked by in order to get my fill of braaaaiiiiins. Now
that
would be a realistic movie.

Only a few months ago I’d learned that it was a parasite that made a real zombie a zombie, and that parasite depended on brains to survive. Along with survival, it used brains to keep its host, like me, alive and in top physical condition in order to be a strong, ideal home.
Without enough of the food it needed—human brains and the prions within them—the primary need took over, breaking down and using host tissue in a way that closely resembled corpse rot. A hungry zombie looked and behaved a helluva lot like the stereotype and would do anything to get brains.

Hungry Zombie: instant movie extra with a Really Bad Attitude.

“I missed breakfast and now I’ve lost my appetite for lunch.”

I looked over at the speaker to see Detective Ben Roth sweep a gaze over the faux-zombie action, a grimace of distaste twisting his features. He’d shaved off his scraggly mustache a couple of weeks ago, and I still wasn’t used to it, though I definitely thought it had been the right decision. Ben was a homicide detective with the St. Edwards Parish Sheriff’s office, and even though Mr. Brent Stewart’s death was most likely the accident it appeared to be, procedure stated that a detective still had to investigate.

I liked working with Ben on scenes—he was friendly, easy-going, and took his job seriously without being uptight. Working with his partner, Mike Abadie, wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. Abadie and I had pretty much agreed to disagree on, well, just about everything.

“What, rotting flesh doesn’t get your appetite going?” I teased.

Ben gave a mock shudder. “I can’t get into the zombie thing. Freaks me out.”

That surprised me. Tall and stocky, he didn’t look like someone who’d be easy to freak out. “But I’ve seen you on gory and disgusting crime scenes, and you never even bat an eyelash.”

“I never said it made sense,” he replied with a laugh. “It’s like those horrible lifelike dolls. I know they’re fake, but they still give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Well, lifelike dolls
are
creepy as hell,” I agreed.

“My niece has one of those,” he said, shuddering again. “I’ll take a fake zombie over that plastic monstrosity.” Then he shook his head. “Hell, I’ll take a
real
zombie over that thing.”

I laughed, though I knew he had no idea why I found it so funny. He opened his mouth to speak then frowned as a breeze brought a scattering of rain drops.

“I think that was a warning shot from the coming weather,” he said. “Or maybe a sign I need to get started on my paperwork.” With a parting smile, he turned and headed back to his unmarked car.

The drizzle stopped as quickly as it had begun, but I knew Ben was right. The black clouds to the west rolled steadily closer. Heading back across the street, I pulled out my phone and started texting,
Did you know a zombie movie was being filmed here?
to my cop not-quite boyfriend and fellow zombie, Marcus.

At least that’s what I tried to do. I barely had “Did you know” thumbed in when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye—a helluva lot of very fast movement headed straight for me in the form of a dark silver pickup. The useless thought flashed through my head that nobody should be driving over five miles an hour beyond the barricade, and a glimpse of the driver’s pissed, distracted face told me he didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t tanked up enough with brains to have zombie super speed, and spent a precious split second coming to that conclusion.

This is really gonna hurt
, I thought as my body finally shifted into get-the-hell-out-of-the-way mode far too late.

I reflexively braced for the impact of the truck, but something else slammed into me from the side, tackling me out of the path of the oncoming vehicle and to the pavement. My right shoulder popped with a sharp pain
as I landed hard with about two hundred pounds of someone on top of me. Distantly, I heard a screech of tires and the crunch of metal as Mr. Scowly’s joyride abruptly ended.

For an instant, I assumed Derrel had been the one to save my butt from becoming a temporary speed bump, except that he was closer to three hundred pounds and would have squished little old me like a bug on a windshield.

I shifted to see who my savior was and froze. Blue eyes set in a rugged face framed with short blond hair. I’d never forget those eyes, that face.
Ever
.

It was Philip, the soldier I’d been forced to turn into a zombie six months ago when creepy Dr. Kristi Charish held me captive in her secret lab. Part of her super-zombie-soldier “Zoldiers” project. The last time I’d seen him was when I attempted to escape through duct work, the day after I turned him. He’d hauled me out and thrown me about a dozen feet. He’d been strong even for a zombie. And he had
looked
like a movie zombie then, one eye clouded over, his ear hanging off, and lips cracked away from his teeth, coupled with the unmistakable rotting zombie stench. That had been really Bad News since he’d eaten plenty of brains the day before and shouldn’t have rotted that quickly. I’d spent the last half year wondering what the hell had gone wrong with him. More of Dr. Charish’s messed up experiments, no doubt.

I took in the sight of him in a flash. He looked a lot better now, almost normal except for a faint grey cast to his skin.

“Philip,” I managed to gasp out, right before he scrambled up and off me. I clutched at him, but my fingers closed on air as he turned and sprinted away. Before I could do more than sit up, he ducked between two trailers and was gone.

What. The. Hell.

Chapter 2

“Angel!”

That was Derrel. I struggled to my feet, biting back the hiss of pain as I moved my shoulder. Something was seriously messed up with it, but the pain faded, replaced by a dull stab of hunger—and not for regular food. Yep, definitely broken or torn up somehow.

Derrel’s face was a mask of shock and concern as he helped steady me, thankfully on my good side. “Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, with a wince. I hated to do the cliché thing and ask what the hell happened, but…“What the hell happened?” My gaze swept the area, taking in the activity around the out-of-control-pickup-meets-parked-car mess down the street, but I was more interested in seeing if I could catch a glimpse of Philip anywhere. No sign of him, but I did see a tall blond woman on the other side of the street pointing a nice-looking camera at me and obviously taking pictures. I guess it
had
been a pretty spectacular moment.

I looked back to Derrel. “Did you see who knocked me out of the way?”

“I only saw the back of his head,” Derrel said with a frown. “Dunno why he took off like that. Dude saved your life.” His brows drew together in a dark glower. “I’d have been seriously pissed if that stupid driver had creamed you.”

“Aw, I almost think you like me,” I teased, managing a shaky smile.

Derrel snorted. “Paperwork. Oh my god, the paperwork,” he replied, but his eyes shone with relief that I was all right.

I looked around for my phone, saw it about a dozen feet away, apparently still in one piece. And still working, I found to my relief. The screen had a bit of fuzz to it, but a hard shake took care of that.

“You sure you’re okay?” Derrel asked, hovering over me like a mother hen. A very large and intimidating mother hen.

I nodded and did my best not to do anything that would require me to move my right arm. That shoulder was trashed. “I’m good. Promise.” I gave him a quick tight smile. “Lemme get something out of the van real quick.”

BOOK: White Trash Zombie Apocalypse
7.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Wolf Point by Edward Falco
The Ways of the Dead by Neely Tucker
The Cursed Man by Keith Rommel
Finding Kat by McMahen, Elizabeth
A Royal Craving by Elaine White
Only with You by Lauren Layne