Diana Rowland - My Life as a White Trash Zombie

But he was perfectly willing to murder his best friend.

“Go. Run,” I snarled. “I don’t ever want to see you again. And if you kill any more zombies, I’ll hunt you down and eat you. Then I’ll kill you.” Heh. I cracked myself up sometimes.

He made a strange sort of gibbering noise, then spun and took off running toward the woods. He stumbled a couple of times, but scrabbled up and kept going. After a couple of minutes the sounds of him crashing through the underbrush faded away. I hoped he fell into a few patches of poison ivy along the way. Followed by a sticker bush. Then maybe a wasp’s nest.

A low gurgle came from Marcus, and I abandoned my brief desire to chase Ed down. I hurried over and crouched beside him. His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to be seeing anything.

“Wow, babe, you’re a mess,” I muttered. I knew what he needed. Unfortunately, I’d downed all the backup brains I had on me in my big showdown with Ed the Zombie Hunter.

I did a quick and frenzied search through the cab of the truck and then through Marcus’s pockets, but failed to turn up keys to the truck. Aggravating. They were probably still in Ed’s pocket.

Whatever. I was still strong as shit and fast as well. And it was only about a quarter mile to the car.

I turned to the moaning Marcus. “Okay, big guy, up you go!” Grabbing his wrist, I pulled him upright. He swayed and would have fallen if not for my hold on him. Worry sliced through me. How much damage had the bullet done? If I gave him brains, would everything in his head grow back to what it had been before he was shot? Or would he be a… vegetable zombie?

I couldn’t think about that right now. I slung him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, got a solid grip on his wrists, wrapped my other arm around his legs, and took off running.

Marcus was a fairly solid pile of muscle, I quickly discovered. I wasn’t doing as much gazelle-cheetah this time—more like rampaging water buffalo. I was pretty high on brains, but carrying Mr. Two Hundred Pounds If He’s An Ounce had me fading right about the time the car came into sight. I staggered the last few steps and let him slide off my shoulders onto the ground, barely keeping his head from cracking down hard.

Hunger growled at me as I yanked open the back door of my car and popped the cooler open. I grabbed the most-thawed bag I could find, fighting back the desire to feed myself first. Ripping the bag open, I scooped out a handful and carefully dribbled it into Marcus’s mouth—not too difficult since he was all slack-jawed and drooling.

But apparently even a brain-damaged zombie still knew what to do. He gulped them down, and I quickly slopped another handful into his mouth, watching the bullet hole in his head for any sign that it was closing. I continued to hand-shovel brains into his mouth while he made low grunting noises and swallowed down everything I gave him.

I thought I could see the edges of the bullet hole begin to close as I tore open the second bag. By the time I was halfway through, the hole had definitely healed over. More encouraging was the fact that his eyes were beginning to lose the vacant stare. At least I hoped so and that it wasn’t merely my wishful thinking.

I was nearly through feeding him a third bag when he suddenly seized my wrist. “Angel,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re okay?”

I nearly laughed in hysterical relief. He was still Marcus—and I’d been the one to save us both. Never would have thought that would happen. “Yeah. I’m cool. You still hungry?”

He struggled up to a sitting position, then leaned up against the car. “Fuck, yes. But I can hold on if you don’t have any more.”

I pulled two more bags out, handed one to him with a grin. “Eat up. I kinda hit the mother lode recently.”

I leaned up against the car next to him while we ate. A strange and comfortable silence descended.

“Did you kill Ed?” Marcus asked after a while. His tone was as conversational as if he’d been asking me if I’d found the car keys, but I could see aching regret in his eyes.

“No,” I replied. “I… wanted to. But not because I wanted to keep him from killing anyone else, or for revenge. I mean, I did , but—“

“You wanted to kill him for his brains,” he said.

I winced. “Yeah. And I think I would have if you hadn’t started moving.” I swallowed the hard knot in my throat. “It, um, kinda freaks me out.”

He surprised me by taking my hand. “But you didn’t. You have control of this.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I didn’t feel like I had control of this. Even now I could feel the urge to do whatever it took to get back to feeling so wonderfully high.

“You’re not a killer,” he continued. “You’re not a bad person at all.”

I gave him a weak smile. His hand was nice and warm in mine. He certainly wasn’t dead anymore. I liked the feel of it.

“Why did you change me?” I asked, meeting his eyes. “Why me ?”

He gave my hand a squeeze. “Well, it’s not like I’d planned it ahead of time. But I always thought you got screwed by life in general. You had so much to overcome. And when I came up on that wreck and saw you,” he let out a heavy breath, “I figured I’d give you a second chance.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” Again, what was I supposed to say to that? Okay, so at least it wasn’t a random “I’ll-turn-her-into-a-zombie-whether-she-likes-it-or-not” sort of thing. He did save my life.

He cleared his throat. “And in case you think it was purely a pity thing, I, uh, also think you’re damn cute.”

I regarded him for several seconds. “Was it a Bride-of-Frankenstein type of thing? The monster wanted a monster girlfriend?”

His eyes widened in shock, and it was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

“No!” he exclaimed. “Oh, god, no. I never would have turned you for that. I swear! But you were dying, and that cocksucker had drugged you—”

“Marcus, it’s cool,” I said, grinning. “Look, dying was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He visibly relaxed. “Okay. Yeah. Good. I mean, not good that you had to die, but, you know.”

“How long have you been one?” I asked. “I mean, Ed said the two of you had been friends since you were kids.” Then I scowled. “And yet he was still ready to kill you.”

He let out a soft sigh. “Yeah, Ed and I grew up together. About six years ago Ed and my uncle and I went out hunting, and we came across a family of raccoons. I was a dumbass and tried to catch one and got bit.”

I frowned. “I don’t get it. You became a zombie ’cause you got bit by a raccoon?”

A grim smile crossed his face. “No, I got rabies. Turns out that raccoons and bats are the big carriers of rabies in the U.S. And unless you get the shots within the first couple of days after a bite, it’s pretty much one hundred percent fatal. Once symptoms start appearing, it’s too late.”

“Rabies. Are you fucking serious?”

“Completely!”

I blinked. “Wow. I had no idea. That’s so weird. So, who turned you?”

“My Uncle Pietro. He felt responsible even though I was the dumbshit.” He gave a small smile. “One of his businesses is a funeral home down in Thibodeaux. He keeps me well-supplied with brains.”

“Wow,” I said again. I took a few seconds to digest everything he’d said. “There’s one thing I don’t understand.” Marcus looked at me expectantly, and I gave him my best suspicious look. “Why the hell was I naked when the ambulance showed up?”

“The blood,” he stated, completely seriously. “Your clothes were torn and covered in blood—both yours and the driver’s.” He surprised me then by giving an embarrassed wince. “I undressed you and, uh, dunked you in the bayou to get the blood off. Then took you as far away as I could so no one would connect you with the accident.” He grimaced. “It was stupid coincidence that I decided to ‘find’ you on the same road where a murder victim would be found at about the same time.”