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

Brian’s hand curled into a fist against my back. I bit the inside of my cheek, quivering with rage.

A small frown crossed Andrew’s face. “I hope my mother is taking care not to do irreparable damage. They’re useless as test subjects if they become unstable, like Philip Reinhardt.”

I held back a growl with effort. Fuck you too, Andy.

“Bring out whatever brains we have left,” Pierce ordered. “We’re going to need to get them into shape to move.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the guard stepped out of my thin field of vision, Pierce dropped a quick glance down and gave us a very slight Not Yet head shake. I fought to look limp and tranqed, and focused on running through the plan in my head. At Brian’s signal I was to leap out with him right behind me, then he’d get through the door, mod up, and kick some serious ass. The effect of the mods didn’t last very long, so activating it before the time was right would only waste it.

The bald guard returned with a Ziploc freezer bag, presumably containing brains. He handed it to Pierce then turned at the sound of the entrance door swinging open.

“Yes, ma’am.” It was the head of security, Thea Braddock, and it sounded as if she was talking on the phone. “I’d just gone off duty when I heard. I came back to check it out.” A pause. “Crawford and Archer, or so I’ve just been told, ma’am,” she continued. “I’ll call you back as soon as I know more.”

Shit shit shit shit. She was on the phone with Nicole Fucking Saber.

Approaching footsteps. “Good to have you back safe and sound, Mr. Saber,” Braddock said, sounding genuinely pleased that he’d returned. “Gentry? You’re the one who got him back?”

Pierce offered a tight-lipped smile. Having Braddock show up complicated things that much more. “Yes, ma’am. And took down these two as well,” he said, flicking fingers toward us. “Lost Reinhardt and Comtesse though.”

Braddock peered into the bin and gave a low whistle of appreciation. She wore an emerald green hoody, a bag strap over one shoulder, and a hospital-blue sling supporting the arm Philip had injured. “Solid work, Gentry,” she said. “I need to call Ms. Saber back and let her know it’s confirmed. She’s on her way in now.”

“Leave off calling her for the moment, please, Thea,” Andrew put in quickly. “With Pietro Ivanov in the wind, we can’t risk staying in New York. This section wasn’t meant to be anything more than a temporary holding place for specimens.” He made a noise of aggravation. “I’m shocked the other two haven’t escaped as well, considering how quickly this floor was refitted for this purpose. We’re moving the lot to the airport for transfer to Dallas. No one escapes from there.”

Braddock looked briefly pained. “Yes, sir. I understand your concerns regarding the security of this section, but I don’t know if Ms. Saber will support that decision.”

“She won’t,” Andrew said tightly. “But it’s the right move in order to maintain security. I’ll make sure she understands.”

Pierce turned away, murmured to Baldy to open the door beside us.

“Yes, sir,” Braddock said. “However, I still need to call her with an update.”

She wrinkled her nose as a choking wave of rot smell poured out of the open door. A gurgling yowl and the rattling of chains followed it.

Marcus! I stiffened, and only Brian’s hand tight on the back of my jacket kept me from leaping up to see him. Braddock’s gaze went beyond Andrew and into the room. She took a half step back, face suddenly ashen, and for a second I thought she was going to hurl. Had she never seen Saberton’s loving care of zombies?

“Of course I understand she needs to be told,” Andrew was saying. “I’m making the call to Dallas to coordinate transport, but it’s easier on everyone for me to wait and tell my mother face to face. You know that.”

Yes, please, get Nicole in my grasp again , I seethed.

But Braddock wasn’t listening to Andrew anymore. She stared into the room, her entire focus locked on its rotting occupant.

“Braddock!” Andrew snapped to get her attention. “Why are you down here anyway? You shouldn’t be in this far.” It was obvious he wasn’t at all happy that Thea Braddock was witness to what happened behind these closed doors.

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir,” she replied, voice taut. “I had to come down when I heard the report that you were back.”

“You know my mother,” he said. “You do understand that it’s best I inform her of this move in person, yes?”

She didn’t immediately answer. Her gaze tracked from the doorway, down to Brian and me, then back to Andrew. “Yes, sir. I do,” she finally said. The unspoken “but” hung between them. She had questions. Her instincts told her something was seriously off. Maybe she was wondering why Pierce or Andrew hadn’t called ahead to let them know they were coming in with prisoners. Or maybe Pierce’s mannerisms didn’t match the Pierce Gentry she knew. Whatever it was, the seed of suspicion was getting a whole lot of fertilizer.

“I respect your opinion, sir,” Braddock said as she took a step back and out of my view. “But it’s my duty to notify Ms. Saber.” I heard the soft beep of a phone.

I didn’t need Brian’s quick double-hand squeeze to let me know it was time to move. Baring my teeth in a snarl, I surged up and vaulted out, though far less gracefully than I’d hoped, which turned my dash to Marcus’s door into more of a stagger. Brian was right on my heels, but none of us had considered the instability of the bin. Brian’s weight had stabilized it for my exit, but he didn’t have that advantage. The instant he came over the side the whole thing tipped to throw him off balance, then slammed back to the floor as his weight shifted off it.

Brian recovered in a zombie-speed flash, but Braddock had solid instincts and damn good reflexes. She had her gun half out of her purse even as the dumpster slammed back down. No doubt realizing Brian was the bigger threat—and apparently well aware it was pointless to tell a zombie, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”—she brought bag and all to bear on him and fired twice.

I yelped and ducked as the sound of the gunshots slammed through the corridor. Brian staggered back against the wall as both rounds hit him center chest. Fortunately for him, that was the best place to get hit, considering his body armor, though I had to give an instant of mad respect for Braddock’s shooting skill, especially with the purse in the way.

“Angel! Take care of Marcus!” Pierce tossed me the bag of brains, and the instant it left his hands he pulled a knife, spun, and sliced Baldy’s throat open in a spray of blood.

As I caught the bag, the guard gurgled, clutched at his throat, and crumpled. Braddock got off another shot that seared a line across Pierce’s shoulder, but he retaliated with zombie speed and stepped into a vicious side kick directly on her injured arm. She let out a choked cry as she crashed back into a partially open door then tumbled out of sight into an unlit room.

Down the corridor past Brian, the first guard grabbed his tranq gun and pointed it our way. I heard a dart skitter off the wall as I turned toward Marcus’s open cell door. The guard fired again, and I distantly heard the thuk sound of a dart hitting flesh and Brian’s grunt of pain. On my other side, as if from far away, I heard Andrew curse then saw him bolt toward the opposite end of the corridor and the exit door. But the instant I took in the sight of Marcus everything else seemed to retreat.

Marcus stood chained to the wall like a storybook ogre—naked, shackles at wrists, ankles, neck, and another chain wrapped around his waist. His arms were bent at odd angles and seemed to have too many joints. Rotted flesh peeled away from bones where the chains bit into him, and black blood dripped from a deep gash in his thigh. His breath came in ugly, wet rattles, and drool streamed from the corner of his mouth to string over his chest.