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

“Thank you, Brian,” I said with a smile, then returned my attention to Andrew. “Please, help yourself. The grilled ones are really awesome.”

Andrew locked his gaze on the plate like a dog staring at a bone behind a window. He licked his lips then came back to himself with a start as he realized what he was doing. Quickly swallowing, he shook his head firmly. “No, thank you.”

I picked up one of the grilled pieces and took a small bite. “Pro tip: If you run too low on brains it’s harder to think straight.” I licked my fingers and tried to be dainty about it. “Probably smart to have a snack before any sort of negotiation.” I waved toward the plate again in a help-yourself move, then finished off the piece in my hand.

Unable to resist the smell any longer, he moved forward and took a slice, then one more before stepping back. His hands shook slightly as he stuffed a piece into his mouth, relief and despair shining in his eyes.

Taking a napkin and wiping my fingers, I waited for him to finish the two slices before I spoke again. “I usually budget a brain a week for basic maintenance and to keep from smelling like a corpse.” I laughed softly. “I’m thinking you don’t want bits falling off in the board room.”

He looked appropriately horrified. “A brain . . . a week.” He dipped his head in a reluctant nod.

“You’ll want to have a stash of more on hand, though,” I continued, “in the event of injury or unexpected exertion. Or sex.” I grinned. “Trust me, you definitely want to have a bit of a snack before sex.”

Andrew made a gasp-choke sound in the back of his throat and turned sixteen shades of red.

“Allrighty then, we’re looking at a brain a week,” I plunged on, mostly because I was afraid if I didn’t keep talking I’d bust out laughing at the shock on his face. “And probably, hmm, three or four brains up front as well for a stash. Does that sound right to you?”

His mouth worked soundlessly.

“That’s a good start, ma’am,” Brian put in helpfully.

I turned my head to give him a bright smile. “Thank you, Brian.” He really did look intimidating as all hell standing there behind me. I could get used to this. Returning my attention to Andrew, I put on a slight wince. “I’m sorry, I’m sitting here blathering on and assuming that you want to get your brains from us. You got someplace else you can get ’em?”

He was trapped and he knew it. No way could he get brains from whatever source the lab used since there was too much chance he could be found out. Perhaps he could locate an alternate supplier at some point, but for now—and probably the next few months—he was well and truly stuck.

He cleared his throat, resignation settling on him like a lead blanket. “No, I don’t.”

Though I did a mental fist pump and happy dance, I kept my face as serene as possible. “Very well.” I paused and kept my eyes on him for several seconds while I let the silence hang in the air. “What do you offer in exchange?”

Even though he had to have known it would come down to this, he was still off-balance enough from everything else that he couldn’t hold back the small shoulder slump of defeat.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice hollow.

“Information. Influence. You’ll be in a very good position to provide both upon your, ah, triumphant and heroic return to Saberton.”

Now Andrew found his footing. He lifted his chin and set his jaw in determination. “No. I refuse to do anything that will be detrimental to my company.”

Crap. Wrong tack. Let’s try that again. “I didn’t ask you to,” I said as smoothly as possible. Setting both feet on the floor, I leaned forward. “Andrew, I’m not asking you to betray your family or your,” I mentally scrambled for the word, “your legacy.” Don’t blow it, Angel. You’re in the home stretch! “But you’re in a pretty unique position now, and I kind of hope it’ll give you a better idea of what it’s like to live as a zombie and the challenges we face.” I rested my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands lightly together. “Hell, I dunno. Maybe you could suggest policy and—” Shit, what was another word for influence? That was a hot-button word for him. “—guide decisions in a way that can help us out. Or at least not harm us.”

He frowned, but at the moment it seemed more like a thoughtful frown than an I will fuck these assholes over first chance frown.

“And if you’re not able to do any of that,” I continued, “a simple heads up that shit’s coming down would sure be pretty damn cool and likely make you some friends on this end.” I shrugged. “Personally, I’m betting that you can rebuild Saberton to where it doesn’t need to rely on atrocities to compete.”

Andrew’s gaze returned to the plate of brains. “That is not unreasonable.”

“I think we’d make better allies than enemies,” I said.

He gave a noncommittal chin lift that told me he didn’t particularly agree with me. Then again, I knew before we started that he wasn’t going to fall into our arms and be our Best Friend and Awesome Ally overnight, if ever. Baby steps, and all that.

I took a dehydrated brain chip and used it to gesture to the plate and bowl. “Have some more,” I said. “No charge, no strings. I promise. You’ll feel better, trust me.” I watched as he moved forward to scoop up two more grillers and a handful of chips. “Do you have any questions? I know how confusing it was for me when I was a new zombie.”

He shook his head as he gulped down another slice. “No. I have access to . . . information,” he said, though he had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable.

“Right. That zombie research y’all have been doing.” I gave a knowing nod. “You’ll probably find out it’s not all accurate. I mean, lab conditions aren’t anything like the real world, y’know.” My voice hardened. “You get your shit together and dump the Dallas lab bastards and Kristi Charish, and maybe we can look at that longevity research as a joint project.” I paused as he nearly choked on a chip. “Yeah. We know about that.”

He shifted his feet, clearly not liking the direction of the conversation, though I caught a flicker of interest in his eyes. “This has been fascinating,” he said sourly, “but there’s a board meeting tomorrow I need to prepare for.”

Brian leaned forward to adjust the items on the plate and murmured names to me.

“I understand,” I told Andrew. “We’ll be in touch to arrange secure and discreet delivery of the brains.” I stood and smoothed my skirt. “That said, it would be a really great show of faith on your part if you could give as much information as you can about the two drivers and the security guard who were taken along with Pietro and Dr. Charish: Simon Sirtis, Felicia Godwin, and Lawrence Hawkins. They’re in Dallas, right?”

Andrew’s lips pressed thin, and he gave a curt nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome.” I lifted my chin. “Since you’re almost in charge of Saberton, I’m sure you’re aware that the movie extras your people experimented on are dying. We’re taking steps to prevent more stupidly pointless deaths. I’m sure Saberton is as well, hmm?”

His eyes widened, and the color dropped from his face. “I didn’t know.”

“Seems to happen a lot,” I said with a low snort. “That shit would piss me right the fuck off if I was in your position.” I shrugged. “Who knows, maybe your mother will fill you in. She has such a great track record with that.” I gestured to the door. “There’s a car waiting out front to take you back home, and a briefcase by the door with a week’s supply of brain smoothies. We’ll be in touch about more.”