Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues

He gave me a grin. “Damn, Angel, when are you going to put some meat on your bones?”



“When you make me a sandwich, bitch,” I retorted as I worked to get my pulse under control.



He snorted. “It wouldn’t help. I’ve seen you eat. You must have the metabolism of a goddamn hummingbird.” He grinned and patted the spare tire at his waist. “I’m more of a penguin myself. But, hey, this penguin can bench his bodyweight and pass the departmental PT test with flying colors.”



“And eat an entire muffaletta in one sitting,” I added.



“I excel at the important things!”



“Yeah, well, I’d kill to have something resembling curves,” I said, patting my nonexistent ass. The main reason I could stuff my face all I wanted was because, as far as I knew, I couldn’t get fat. And not because of an amazing metabolism, either. Okay, that was probably part of it, but some of it was due to the fact that I wasn’t—technically—alive.



He chuckled and dropped his hand, but then his expression grew more sober. “I guess you’ve heard about Ed?” he asked.



“Marcus told me earlier this week.” I did my best to keep my expression neutral with maybe a touch of “damn that’s fucked up” in it.



Ben blew out his breath. “I guess I should be glad that we have such a strong lead on who the murderer is, but it doesn’t do us much good with him still in the wind.”



I gave a cautious nod. “You think maybe he’s in the area?”



“Nah. I think he’s long gone.” He grimaced. “Marcus is taking it hard though.”



My gaze drifted to where the deputy stood on the other side of the long room. Marcus Ivanov looked like he’d stepped from the pages of an ad for “Hot Russian Men!” if such an ad existed. Dark hair and eyes, tall with just the right amount of muscle and barely an ounce of spare fat. But beyond the awesome good looks, right now he looked like one would expect a man to look who’d recently found out that his best friend was most likely one of the most notorious serial killers this area had ever experienced: shattered, maintaining a tough façade, determined to get through the whole ordeal with the help of his friends and coworkers.



I had to hide a smile. Deputy Marcus Ivanov deserved an Oscar for the performance he was giving.



Two weeks ago Marcus’s best friend, Ed Quinn, had disappeared during their annual hunting trip. At least that’s the story Marcus had given the authorities when the two of us returned to town. The reality was quite a bit harsher. Ed was a zombie hunter who’d been methodically hunting down zombies and chopping their heads off. After discovering that Marcus and I were also zombies, he’d tried to kill us as well. I’d saved Marcus’s life and defeated Ed…and then gave Ed a choice: he could run, or I could eat him. Well, eat his brain. And I probably wouldn’t have actually killed him and eaten any part of him, but Ed hadn’t known that.



Needless to say, he’d decided to run. Marcus and I did our best to make it look like the two men had become separated in the woods, and then we returned to civilization and dutifully reported Ed missing. It probably hadn’t been the best possible plan, but it was the best we’d been able to come up with considering the circumstances.



The one part of it that we’d both hated was the fact that a search party would have to be organized, and we’d have to play along with it while money and resources were spent on a pointless search. But at the last minute providence smiled upon us. Before the first man-hour could be wasted tromping through the woods, activity was discovered on Ed’s credit cards. Moreover, surveillance video clearly showed him at a local sporting goods store purchasing camping and hunting equipment as well as an eyebrow-lifting amount of ammunition.



At that point the entire thing had been viewed as out of character for Ed, but the authorities had no choice but to simply shrug and chalk it up to a possible early mid-life crisis. After all, there was nothing illegal about a grown man suddenly deciding to go on an extended camping or hunting trip. But a few days ago an anonymous caller tipped off the cops that Ed was responsible for the recent series of decapitation murders. Within no time at all search warrants were obtained, and incriminating evidence in the form of bloodied clothing was found in his apartment.



But the real mystery was that Marcus had sworn up, down, and sideways that he hadn’t called in the tip. And I certainly hadn’t. So who the heck could have known Ed was the killer? And, more importantly, did they know that the victims were zombies?



“It’s tough for Marcus,” I told Ben. “He’s known Ed most of his life. I just hope Ed is really gone.” I gave a shudder that I didn’t have to fake.



Ben scowled. “Yeah, well I want to catch him before he does it again.” He muttered a curse. “It fucking kills me that he was under our noses this entire time.”



I didn’t trust myself to speak so I simply gave him a sympathetic grimace as guilt curled through me. I’d let him go. And I wasn’t so convinced Ed was long gone. I’d scared him off, but I found it hard to believe that he would have picked up and relocated, leaving two “monsters” like Marcus and me to roam free.



Despite my reluctance I found myself looking over toward the cadaver dog and handler who’d been called in to help locate the source of the dead body smell. The petite woman was still sitting on the steps to the foreman’s office, her dog sitting patiently at her feet. Part of me wanted to avoid talking to her at all costs, but I knew that was the coward’s way out. And while I was really damn good at being a coward, I was trying hard to change my ways. Besides, this woman sure as hell didn’t deserve to be shunned by me or anyone else simply because she was Ed’s girlfriend, and I knew she was having a tough enough time of it as it was.



Forcing a friendly smile onto my face, I made my way over to Marianne. The sun was low enough in the sky to paint a broad swath of the floor in jagged shadows as it filtered through broken and grime-streaked windows, and I had to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun off the river as I approached.



She looked up as I neared, eyes wary and haunted.



“Hey, Marianne,” I said. “Hey, Kudzu,” I said to the dog as I scratched its head. It gave me what had to be a puzzled look. Kudzu was a cadaver dog, and I had a feeling I confused the hell out of it. I smelled dead, yet I kept moving around.



“Hi, Angel,” the dark-haired woman replied, wariness fading slightly.



“How you holding up?”



“Shitty,” she said with a wavering smile. “But at least they seem to be done questioning me.”



I gave a grimace of sympathy. “Yeah, Marcus had to go through that as well.” It only made sense that, as soon as Ed was established as a suspect, the people closest to him should be grilled in case there was anything they could add to the investigation and search for him. I could only imagine that it was even harder for Marianne since they surely had to wonder if she’d been involved in any way. But apparently she’d requested to take polygraphs and voice stress analysis or whatever the heck was used nowadays in order to prove her innocence, and it had been enough to clear her of any suspicion.



Personally, I was relieved that she didn’t seem to be involved. I didn’t know her all that well, but from what I’d seen she seemed to be a genuinely nice person. It was bad enough that I’d been snowed by Ed. If Marianne had also turned out to be a zombie killer I’d have been seriously pissed.



A loud crash made us both jump. I spun to see that the workmen had peeled up an entire section of flooring and tossed it aside. “Time for me to get back to work,” I said. On impulse I leaned in and gave her a quick hug. “Hang in there. Shit gets better.”



She seemed shocked at first, then relaxed and returned the hug. When I released her she gave me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Angel. Maybe we can do lunch or something sometime…?”



“I’d like that,” I replied, only lying a little. I’d feel much better about hanging out with her once I knew for certain Ed wasn’t lurking somewhere close.



Squaring my shoulders, I made my way back to help separate the corpse from the wreckage. At least I had the legendary iron stomach going for me.



Chapter 3



By the time we got the body extricated and into the body bag, the evening sun was busily painting the sky over the highway in brilliant shades of orange and yellow while also making it hard as hell to see to drive. As I got closer to Tucker Point, election signs became more frequent for everything from school board to state senator, including several for the parish coroner, Dr. Duplessis, AKA my boss. Elections were still a few months off, but politics were a spectator sport in Louisiana, and quite a few candidates started campaigning well before qualifying even opened. I’d heard whispers that the coroner might actually face some competition in the next election, but even though it was doubtful there was anyone who could pose a real threat to Dr. Duplessis, he wasn’t taking any chances.



I heard my phone buzz with a text message, but I waited until I could pull into the parking lot of an XpressMart to read it. I wasn’t worried about dying in a car wreck, but I sure as hell didn’t want to do the same to anyone else.



In the past months I’d developed a much higher appreciation for the value of life.



It was from Derrel. No rest for the wicked. Just got a call re another death—accidental fall at NuQuesCor Lab. Meet me at front gate.



Well, it wasn’t the first time I’d gone from one death scene straight to another. I knew from experience that I could fit four bodies in the back of the van, though it wasn’t pretty. I texted back an “OK”, then pulled the GPS off the dash and stuck in the address he’d sent. Hunger nudged at me again, but I was pretty sure this was hunger for real food. At least part of it was, and satisfying that much would help keep the brain-hunger at bay—at least for a few hours.



This whole “controlling my urges” thing wasn’t as easy as it sounded.



I killed the engine of the van and hurried inside the convenience store. The girl behind the counter looked about my age, maybe twenty-three at the most, pale-skinned, with hair that looked like it suffered from a distinct lack of shampoo use. She lifted her head as I came in, gave me a vacant look before returning her attention to her phone. A brief wave of sympathy went through me. I’d done more than my share of shit jobs like that. And while there were lots of people who wouldn’t see my current job as a step up, I knew there was no comparison.