Diana Rowland - How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back

At the corner Naomi dropped to a normally paced walk, then gripped my arm to pull me close and make sure I slowed down as well.

“Don’t look back,” she warned, somewhat breathless as we proceeded down the sidewalk. She pulled her phone out and did something, and when I heard the click of the camera I realized she’d taken a picture behind us. “Philip and Kyle are going the other direction,” she told me. “No sign of pursuit, but we need to do some traveling before we head back to the hotel.”

“To make sure we aren’t being followed?”

“Right.” She flashed me a slight smile. “You’re getting the hang of this espionage shit.”

I snorted. “Hey, illegal activity is kind of my thing, You know?”

She snorted right back at me, turned a corner and ducked down another street, then broke into a run again. I kept up with her, and this time was ready for the abrupt shift to a walk when we reached a larger avenue.

“They’re in a drawer,” I said as I settled into an amble beside her.

She did a quick scan of the traffic then motioned for us to cross the street. “What’s in a drawer?”

“Pictures of you,” I said. “Tons of them, all the way back to when y’all were babies.” I gave her a sidelong glance. “You never told me you and Andrew were twins.”

Naomi shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and quickened her pace slightly. “Who wants to be twins with an asshole?”

I stayed right beside her. “He wasn’t always an asshole, was he?” I asked. “I mean, there were some really cool pics of you two when you were younger. Hell, even when y’all were teens, you looked really close.”

“A lot can happen in ten years.” Expression tight, she glanced both ways before jaywalking toward the subway station. “Andrew made his choices, I made mine, and that’s that.”

And what about Kyle and his Saberton personnel photo? What kind of choices did he make? The memory surfaced of Chris dead with K Y scrawled in the dirt. Had we all been thoroughly played? I felt queasy at the thought. It didn’t help that I felt ready to burst with the need to talk to someone about it, but no way could it be with Naomi. She was too close to both Saberton and Kyle to see clearly. I needed to get Philip’s take on the whole thing.

I stuck right by Naomi’s side as we descended the subway stairs, and I even managed to swipe the MetroCard the right way on the first try. Only a couple of other people were on the platform waiting for the train, but we walked farther down to be sure we were alone and to give us a better chance of seeing anyone coming after us.

“Those were Saberton men at the apartment,” I said as soon as I knew we wouldn’t be overheard. “How the hell did they know we were there?”

Her forehead wrinkled with worry. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s surveillance I wasn’t aware of.” She grimaced and shook her head. “But I can’t see Andrew putting up with that in his own place.”

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot!” I said and smacked my forehead. “I think something’s going to happen to Jane.”

“Why? What did you find?”

I yanked my phone out and pulled up the picture of the invitation. “This.”

Her expression grew more serious as she peered at the tiny picture. “Damn. He sure as heck has some sort of interest in her. When is that?”

“Tomorrow, eight p.m.”

From down the tunnel we heard the roar of the approaching train. “Let’s get our asses back to the hotel nice and safe,” Naomi said. “Then we can figure out what to do.”

Getting back to the hotel “nice and safe” took a couple of hours by the time we rode the subway, changed trains, took a bus, two different taxis, and then the subway again before hiking five blocks. The whole time I couldn’t get the image of Kyle’s mugshot out of my head, but when we finally reached the hotel I figured if anyone tailing us still had us in their sights they fucking deserved to catch us, and I’d invite them in for some damn drinks.

Philip and Kyle were already there when we made it to the room, but only by about fifteen minutes, according to them. I grunted a tired greeting, then gave Philip a head nudge to follow me into the bedroom.

I closed the door as soon as he entered, poised and ready to tell him about the picture of Kyle, but the words caught in my throat when he turned, and I got a look at his face. He’d had tons of practice hiding pain, but I knew the signs. Deep furrows between his brows, his mouth drawn down a bit on the right side, and the slight squint to his eyes.

“What’s going on with you?” I asked instead.

He stripped off his shirt. “This.” He gingerly lifted his arm to show me his side, and corpse stench wafted over me. Mottled skin surrounded a large patch of oozing rot and exposed ribs. “The thigh is just as bad,” he said, expression grim, “and my arm is close to unusable.”

“Shit,” I breathed as I put my hand over the matching place on my side. No, not matching. It was in the same location, but my imprint-mirrored rot was little more than a spongy patch. Gross, but not gross . I peered at his side in dismay. “It’s getting worse.”

“It is,” he confirmed. “And today the pain started. Not the rot itself, but the areas around it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Plus a killer headache came on about an hour ago and won’t go away. A bad one. Goddamn MegaPlague.”

Shit. It had to be bad for him to call it bad. “Eat some brains,” I ordered. “Drink some coffee. And lots of water.”

“I’ve been drowning in water,” he said. “And Kyle’s leaving now to pick up some pizza he ordered. We’ll put brains on that.” He blew a breath out. “It’s like little needles inside my head. I’ve never had anything like it before.”

“Then lie down,” I said, firmly pointing to the bed. “It can’t hurt.” At least I hoped not. This whole Plague thing was so weird, I honestly had no clue what would help or hurt, especially now that it was MegaPlague.

He sat on the edge of the bed, then carefully reclined and draped his arm across his eyes. “Damn, Angel. This is bad. I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” I told him gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry you’re going through all this crap.” No way would I ask him about Kyle now. Another hour or two wouldn’t make a difference. “Rest. You need it.”

“You eat my pizza, and I’ll get revenge.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I solemnly assured him. “Mostly because you always have those nasty bell pepper things on yours.”

“Kyle muttered something about getting all cheese to keep it simple.”

“Kyle is a very wise man.”

He snorted. “Is that what you call it?” His eyes closed, but the skin around them remained tight with discomfort.

“I’m sure there are other words.”

Philip mumbled something in response. I stretched out on the bed with a couple of feet between us, closed my eyes and tried to shut out the gnawing worry about Kyle and Jane and Philip and everything else.

At some point I must have succeeded, because the sound of the front door woke me from a doze. A few seconds later I heard Kyle say, “Food.”

Rubbing my eyes, I got up and went out to the main room to see Kyle setting two large pizza boxes on the table. Naomi wasn’t there, but the bathroom door was closed, and I heard the shower running.

“Hey. Cool. Thanks,” I said.

He gave me a small smile. “Anytime. No bell peppers, right?”

“Yeah, nasty stuff,” I said, surprised and pleased that he remembered my dislike of them. Or . . . maybe it was all part of the insider game. Know your players.