White Trash Zombie Gone Wild Read Free

the baggie open and half the cerebellum stuffed into my mouth. Blood and cranial fluid dribbled down my chin, and my eyes rolled back in pure bliss. The texture and taste of that particular section of the brain was too good for words. Once I swallowed that mouthful down, I noshed on the left parietal lobe then reluctantly tucked the rest back into my lunch box.
    A year and a half ago, I woke up in the ER after a supposed overdose and without a scratch on me, yet with the vivid memory of being horribly injured in a car crash. I soon discovered that an anonymous benefactor—Marcus—had arranged a job for me as a morgue tech with the Coroner’s Office. I’d been harvesting brains out of body bags to feed my zombie needs ever since, but this was the first time I’d come so close to being caught.
    But Allen
didn’t
catch me
, I reminded myself as I wiped brain gook off my face and checked my teeth in the mirror. He wouldn’t have let me leave on my lunch break if he had. So what if he wanted to see me in his office? Everything was okay. Most likely, he was going to pull an asswipe move and change my shifts and days off for the billionth time. No biggie.
    Then why was my heart still thumping like a rabbit in a sack?
    The lunch box remained open. My last vial of V12 modifier rested beside the baggie of brains. Unlike regular drugs, V12 was a kick butt pharmaceutical specifically formulated to work
with
the zombie parasite rather than be neutralized by it. I knew too damn much about regular drugs—especially the not-so-good kind. I’d been a pill-popping loser until I was turned into a zombie. All of a sudden those drugs had stopped working on me and, just like that, my addictions disappeared.
    The V12 mod was different, of course. I’d discovered its benefits a few months back, after all the godawful shit I went through during the rescue mission in New York. V12 was the one thing that kept me from turning into a complete basket case and, as a mega-super bonus, it countered a good portion of my dyslexia. I was currently struggling through Biology 101 and Basic English Composition, and I needed all the help I could get.
    I peered at the milliliter of colorless liquid left in the vial. One cc. One full dose, which I needed to save to help me study tonight, especially since midterms were in a couple of weeks.
    But I was supposed to meet with Allen after my lunch break, and I didn’t need to be looking guilty and freaked out for that. Calm. Chill. Like ice. That’s how I needed to be.
    I opened the glove box and dug out a 3cc syringe—a special one with a coating on the needle that kept my parasite from trying to heal the cells around it.
    I grabbed the vial then paused. Last dose, but I could obtain more soon enough. My shift at the morgue today ended at two, and my second job at the zombie R&D lab had a flexible schedule. I could squeeze in a few hours at the lab today and load up on enough V12 to get me through another two weeks. I’d do only a half-dose right now, enough to take the edge off my nerves. The rest would be a reserve in case I didn’t make it to the lab today. Yeah, that worked.
    Satisfied, I drew half of the remaining mod into the syringe, pinched my side and jabbed the short needle under my skin. With a sigh of anticipation, I pressed the plunger then pulled the syringe free.
    Fifteen seconds.
    I dropped it into a plastic bottle to join three other used syringes and returned the vial with its half-dose to my lunch box.
    Ten seconds
.
    Later I’d dispose of the used syringes deep in the medical waste bin at the morgue, but for now I chucked them back into the glove box.
    Five seconds
.
    I closed my lunch box and leaned back.
    Three . . . two . . . one.
    Delicious warmth spread through me like a smile. The sun shone brighter. My lips tingled. Diamonds glittered on the dash and sparkles tickled my nose. Laughing, I put the car in gear and