My Life as a White Trash Zombie

The thought made me giggle in a silly, almost hysterical way. Maybe I needed to start making recipes for brains. Something more than throwing some tomato soup or coffee in. And maybe there was something that could be done for brains that were decomposing and liquefying. Brain soup? Vichyssoise? I didn’t know if decomposing brains still had the enzyme, or whatever the hell it was, that zombies needed, but at some point I’d probably have to try it. What was the worst that could happen? I’d die?



I snickered again as I pulled around to the back of the funeral home. There was only one car parked there. I hoped and assumed it was Kang’s. I hadn’t even considered that other people could be working at this time—simply assumed that had to be why he wanted me to come by this late, after everyone else was gone. Hell, I hadn’t been thinking about much at all, trying to rely on stupid instinct. And right now my instinct wanted me to club passing joggers down and scoop their brains out.



I should have come to Kang sooner, I realized. I was desperate now, and he’d see it. He’d ask for anything, and I’d give it to him. Already my skin felt as if it was about to slip off my bones.



Fuck it. Lesson learned. I was getting a lot of those lately.



I rapped on the back door, waited, mentally rehearsing what I was going to say. Or rather, trying to mentally rehearse. It was kinda tough to do since I had no idea what I wanted to say.



I rapped again, tried the handle. To my relief it was unlocked. I sure as hell didn’t want to turn around and leave. I didn’t have anywhere else to go at this point.



“Hey, Kang?” I called tentatively as I stepped in. He’d better have the brains here for me. I’d fight him for them if I had to.



I suddenly realized that my hands were tightened into fists. I forced myself to unclench them. Kang would come through for me. I knew that much. He’d charge me through the nose, but he’d come through for me.



I got a faint whiff of brains as I came down the hall, but it was mixed with an undercurrent of something I couldn’t immediately pin down. I entered the embalming room and wrinkled my nose. I knew what that other scent was now. There was a body on the table that had apparently recently been embalmed. When a body came straight to the funeral home the brains stayed nice and safe in the skull. They weren’t conveniently sliced up and put in a bag, ready for the taking. But I could barely smell brains in this body, which made me think that most of them had already been removed.



How does Kang get the brains out? I suddenly wondered, frowning down at the body. I didn’t see any sign that he’d drilled a hole in the skull. It would be easy enough to fill something like that in with wax or putty or something, but then there’d be the risk that someone else might notice. Maybe through the nose? Wasn’t that how the Egyptians did it? Now I was curious.



“Kang?” I called again. I moved through the embalming room, surrounded by the low hum of the cooler. I frowned as another odor cut through the faint scent of brains. Coppery and. . . .



Blood. A sliver of fear wormed through me. That had to be a lot of blood for it to get through my dulled senses.



I came around the corner and let out an involuntary scream that would have done any horror movie teenage camper proud. Gasping raggedly for breath, I shuffled backwards, away from the headless corpse and the broad dark pool surrounding it. He hasn’t been dead long, an oddly rational part of my mind informed me. The blood didn’t look like it had coagulated much, and still dripped from the stump of neck in large, slow plops. Not even an hour, probably.



That’s Kang, a more freaked-out part of my mind shrieked. That’s Kang.



Someone was definitely hunting zombies. There was no way I could deny it now.



I backed away as panic and horror closed my throat. Where am I going to get brains? I thought, instantly shamed and miserable that I was so concerned with myself at this moment.



What if the cops thought I did this? That was probably a bigger concern right now. I needed to get the hell out of here. Wipe down the doorknobs for fingerprints.



Oh, Angel, you are so fucked.



I couldn’t stay and call the cops. I knew that. Not with me falling apart and smelling like this. I knew that running away from the scene would only make me look guilty as fucking hell if anyone ever knew I was here, but I didn’t see that I had a choice. Besides, no one would really think that I managed to do this, right? I mean, for fuck’s sake, he outweighed me by at least fifty pounds. At the worst I’d get in trouble for not reporting it, and I could claim that I was afraid the killer was still nearby.



Oh, god . . . . That thought nearly sent me into a blind panic. I reached for the wall, took several heaving breaths to keep from freaking out. No, stop. I needed to try and think like someone with a fucking ounce of intelligence.



But, god, I was so hungry.



Taking a shaking breath, I straightened. He’d told me to meet him here. Surely that meant he had brains to give me.



I spun and returned to the embalming room. I’d seen gloves in a box on the wall. I quickly snagged a pair and pulled them on, tugged another pair on over those. I’d seen something on one of my nifty crime shows where the cops had recovered prints even though the perp had worn latex gloves. I had no idea if that was true but I didn’t see any reason to risk it.



Moving as quickly as I could, I searched for anything that looked like it might contain brains—cooler, refrigerator, anything. I could feel a clock ticking in the back of my head, telling me I’d already been there too long, and I needed to get the hell out.Kang had been convinced no one knew he was a zombie, but he’d been wrong. Hell, everyone who bought brains from him had to know, right? And the only one who knew I was one was Kang . . . and whoever made me, I reluctantly reminded myself. But whoever was doing this must have had some way of discovering that Zeke and Pizza Guy and Sweet Bayou Road dude were zombies. And maybe the reason my zombie-daddy never contacted me was because he’d been whacked by this killer.



Panic rose as I searched everywhere I could think of and still couldn’t find any brains. I’ve been here too long, I told myself, nearly sobbing at the realization that I was going to have to leave empty-handed.



Maybe he hadn’t planned on giving me any. I forced myself to consider the thought. But the whole brain thing was his business, which meant he had to have some saved up somewhere, right? Maybe they were at his house—wherever the fuck that was.



I made myself go back into the hallway, somehow avoiding stepping in the pool of blood while I tugged Kang’s wallet out of his back pocket. I memorized the address on his license and replaced his wallet. I just had to hope the address was current.



Grabbing a towel, I hurriedly wiped down every surface I could have possibly touched before I’d pulled on the gloves. I cautiously peeked out the back door to make sure no one was nearby, walked oh-so casually to my car, pulse slamming in near panic the entire distance. There wasn’t another soul around—I was so hungry that if any living human had been within fifty yards I’d have been able to smell them. Great, one more zombie super power—I was a goddamn life detector when I was hungry enough.



I dropped the towel into the back seat, peeled off the gloves, got the hell out of there. I drove in random directions for about fifteen minutes, gritting my teeth against the awareness of brains all around me. I finally ducked behind a grocery store and tossed the gloves and the towel into a dumpster.



I drove away, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as the hunger thrashed and growled. A glance at myself in the rear view mirror sent a chill through me. Skin was peeling off my forehead, and my complexion had a greenish-grey cast. My left eye was starting to cloud over, which explained why I was having some trouble seeing out of it. Thank god it was dusk. Somehow I’d completely lost the flesh off the pinky and ring fingers on my right hand. Probably when I’d pulled the gloves off.



Brains. The thought consumed me. I drove hunched down in the seat to keep anyone from seeing me, operating the car on instinct more than anything. Luckily I was familiar with Kang’s neighborhood. I wasn’t sure I had the mental focus right now to be able to read a map.



Slowing at a corner, I watched as an elderly woman pulled a wheeled cart of groceries down the sidewalk. She’d be easy to take down. Probably couldn’t run or anything. I could break her neck before she could make much noise, drag her into that backyard. There was no one else nearby right now. I could bust her skull open with a brick or one of those stones bordering the flowerbed. God, it would taste like heaven.



The honk from behind me jerked me back to myself. My gaze shot to the rear view mirror to see a Lexus and a glowering man behind the steering wheel. To my shock I realized that I’d opened my door. Oh god . . . I was about to do it. I was going to attack that woman.



The man behind me honked again. I hurriedly slammed my door shut and stomped on the gas, terror and panic briefly overwhelming the hunger. Get to Kang’s house, I repeated to myself, clinging to that thought like a lifeline. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t give the hunger a reason to take over. This was how a zombie went rogue. Now I understood. With terrifying clarity, I understood.



I managed to maintain enough self-preservation to park on the next street over instead of pulling into Kang’s driveway. Tugging my jacket down over my rotting hands, I stepped out of the car. There were a few people in the area, but no one outside. Hopefully no one was looking out a window. Walking as casually as I could, I ducked between the houses. A ditch separated Kang’s backyard from that of the house behind his, but daylight was almost gone and there were trees which would give me some cover.



I paused before covering the distance to his back door, took a deep breath, scenting. No one in the house as far as I could tell. No one in the adjacent houses either. A couple of houses down there was a man in his backyard having a smoke behind a privacy fence.



“Get to Kang’s,” I muttered, forcing myself forward instead of toward the man in his backyard. I’d never had anything resembling willpower before now. Never been able to convince myself to stop taking the pills, or keep a job, or clean up my house. But I was going to fucking break my willpower in right now. I won’t become a monster. I can’t.