White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

“It must suck having to wear a cast,” I said.



Marcus nodded. “Yeah. Everything went fine until the car shifted and caught my leg,” he said as we settled onto the couch. “Fortunately Uncle Pietro has a doctor lined up for us to take care of hospital red tape. Can’t get out of having an injury, but it keeps too many questions from being asked.”



Now that was pretty damn useful. There was a lot I still didn’t know about the workings of the zombie subculture, but Pietro sure seemed to have his fingers in a lot of it. Then again, if he’d been around for centuries or so, it made sense that he’d have made plans for stuff like that.



“Well, I’m glad you’re in one piece and saved that family,” I told him with a kiss.



He returned it enthusiastically as we settled on the couch, but before we could get too distracted I paused the general naughtiness and proceeded to give him a rundown of the events of the past few days. The firefighter on Highway 1790, Philip undercover, Saberton and their shenanigans, the movie extras as test subjects, Philip freaking out and the resulting mayhem on the movie set, Dr. Charish and her fuckups. I didn’t hold anything back, though I was well aware how outlandish some of it seemed. I figured that if Pietro didn’t want Marcus to know all of it, that was his own damn problem, and he should have warned me.



“Shiiiiiiit,” Marcus breathed when I finished. “Uncle Pietro had all of that going on?” To my relief he seemed to accept the whole thing without question, even the parts that sounded batshit crazy.



“Yeah, it was a mess.” I rubbed at my eyes. The fatigue was starting to catch up with me. “I need to check on my dad.”



Marcus nodded. “He’s in the guest bedroom at the end of the hall.”



I left Marcus on the couch and headed that way. The door was open, and my dad sat in a comfy-looking recliner watching TV.



“Hey, Dad, you doing okay?” I asked. I searched for any hint of anger or his usual orneriness, but apparently having a plush recliner and a flat screen went a long way toward pacifying him.



He looked over, gave me a slight smile. “Hey, Angelkins. I’m doin’ fine.”



“So, um, everything’s cool between you and Marcus?”



His bony shoulders lifted in a shrug. “We had a few words.” He paused. “More than a few. But I’m sitting in his house, so that should tell you something.”



“Yeah, I guess it does.” I didn’t even want to think of what words had been exchanged. “Look, I’m gonna ask Pietro Ivanov if he’ll cosign a loan for me.”



He frowned. “Why the hell would someone like that help you out with a loan?” The frown shifted to a familiar scowl. “And, dammit, I don’t want to be sucking up to any Ivanovs.”



I leaned against the doorframe, crossed my arms over my chest. “You think a bank will hand over enough to put our lives back together?” I asked.



A grimace deepened the lines in his face. “No, you’re right. No chance with a bank.”



“I’m hoping Pietro will help since he’s, uh, like me and Marcus.”



“Shit!” His jaw actually dropped a little. “You mean he’s a—”



“Yeah,” I said. “He’s the one who made Marcus…like him. A zombie.”



My dad let out a low whistle. “Jesus Christ.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “How many of, er, you lot are there?”



I had to stop and think about that. “I don’t really know, actually. I think there’s maybe a dozen or so in this area,” I hedged. I had a feeling there was a higher concentration around here because of Pietro’s operation and support. It surely couldn’t be as high everywhere. There simply wouldn’t be enough brains to feed everyone. Plus, if there were a whole lot of zombies spread out everywhere, it would be impossible to keep it hidden from the general public.



“That’s too damn weird,” he muttered. “Y’all have meetings or anything?”



I let out a bark of laughter at the thought. Zombies Anonymous? Hello, my name is Angel, and it’s been three weeks since I’ve shambled. “No,” I said, grinning. “At least none that I’ve been invited to.”



He merely snorted. “Don’t let the bastards leave you out, Angel. You’re better than any of them.”



A sudden jolt of worry went through me. “Uh, Dad, you know you can’t tell anyone about me being a zombie right? Or about Marcus or Pietro either.” Shit. I’d outed both of them without even thinking, and there wasn’t any good reason for doing it. I mean, I trusted my dad, but I needed to be more careful.



He laughed. “Like anyone would believe me?” But then he saw my anxious expression and sobered. “Won’t tell a soul, Angel. Wouldn’t do anything that might come back to bite you in the ass. Promise you that.”



“Thanks, Dad.” I moved to him, gave him a hug. He felt more solid than he had in a long time. He clung to me for a moment, then let me go. I quickly turned and left before either of us could get all weepy.



Marcus was still on the couch. I sat, then regarded him, brow furrowed. “So, how is this gonna work with me and my dad staying here?” I asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful, but…” I trailed off, not quite sure what else to say.



“Your dad is settled in the guest room just fine,” Marcus told me. “I have plenty of space.” He pushed a strand of hair back from my face. “This isn’t us ‘moving in together.’ I know you aren’t ready for that. We aren’t ready for that.”



Relief swept over me. I’d been dreading this conversation, totally uncertain how to lay out my misgivings without insulting him or screwing things up, and here he was being all understanding.



“I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can find me and my dad another place to live,” I said.



“It’s a three bedroom house.” He gave me a soft smile. “I promise I won’t pressure you.” Then he shook his head. “Or rather, I promise I’ll do my very best not to pressure you,” he amended. “I’m crazy about you, Angel. I can’t shut that down.”



I kissed him, smiled. “I’m crazy about you too. And I think I know why you sometimes get too overprotective.”



At his questioning look I proceeded to tell him about my theory of zombie-mama instinct with Philip. Marcus seemed a bit doubtful, and perhaps a teensy bit jealous when I spoke of Philip, but in the end he simply gave a serious nod.



“As much as I’d love to let the parasite take full responsibility, I’m not sure I can,” he said to my surprise. He gave me an uneasy smile. “It couldn’t have influenced my one-sided decision to turn you, since I wasn’t your zombie-daddy yet. And the heavy-handed shit of blackmailing you into taking the job at the morgue? Yeah, the instinct might have had a role, but it was probably more just me being a superior dick and giving you a great Teaching Moment.” Then he took a deep breath, met my eyes. “And even if all the stuff later was because of some kind of instinct…God, Angel, you’ve come so far in the past year. I know it’s stupid and wrong to treat you like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You deserve better than that, and I promise I’ll try my damndest to throttle it back, whether it’s instinct or simple dickishness on my part.”



I believed him. “And I promise I’ll give you many chances to do so.” I smiled, gave his hand a squeeze. “I need to meet with your uncle to ask him about cosigning a loan for me,” I said, then extended a big horking olive branch by adding, “Would you call him for me?”



Marcus kissed me, a lovely, lingering kiss. “No. You should call him,” he said, handing the entire olive tree back to me.



And so I did. Pietro seemed unsurprised by my desire for a meeting, and I suspected that Brian had already given him a heads up. After a polite inquiry about how I was doing post zombie-mayhem, he told me he’d send a car for me at ten the next morning.



With that taken care of, I snuggled up against Marcus. “I really like you a lot.”



He slipped an arm around me. “Is there a ‘but’ coming?”



“Nope. No buts,” I said. “I’m too exhausted to deal with buts.” I frowned. “That sounds weird.”



“Yes, it does,” he said, laughing. “All you need to do right now is rest.”



My eyes closed. Now that I’d stopped moving and knew my dad was all right, the fatigue swept in with crushing force. “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Rest would be cool.”



I heard Marcus ask me something, but I was already well on my way to sleep, and apparently he didn’t need the answer badly enough to wake me up.



* * *



Sometime later, I woke in a bed that wasn’t my own and wasn’t Marcus’s either. A clock nearby told me it was 1:14 in the morning, and a few more seconds of semi-coherent thinking informed me that I was on a futon in Marcus’s office.



I smiled into the darkness. He wasn’t pressuring me. I got up, headed down the hallway to Marcus’s room and crawled under the covers to snuggle with him.



He woke, blinked at me. “Angel?” he asked in a voice thick with sleep. “You okay?”



“More than okay,” I told him. “Now shut up and hold me.”



And he did.



Chapter 26



I half expected some awkwardness in the morning, but Marcus was already cooking eggs when I woke up and shambled into the kitchen. He had on shorts, his cast, and nothing else, and he looked seriously hot.



He gave me a smile. “I’m making zombelets. Want one?”



“Uh, zombelets?” Then my brain kicked into gear. “Oh, zombie-omelet? Eggs and brains?”



“That’s right!” he replied, chuckling. At my approving nod he pulled another plate out of the cabinet, then slid a portion of the contents of the pan onto it, and pushed the plate and a fork my way.