White Trash Zombie Gone Wild

Description

Horror meets humorous urban fantasy in the fifth book in the White Trash Zombie series • Winner of the 2012 Best Urban Fantasy Protagonist by the RT Awards

Angel Crawford has buried her loser past and is cruising along in undead high gear—that is, until a murder-by-decapitation sends her on a hazardous detour. As Angel hunts for the killer, she uncovers a scheme that would expose zombies to the public and destroy the life she’s built, and she’s determined not to rest until she finds out who’s behind it.
 
Soon she’s neck-deep in lies, redneck intrigue, zombie hunters, and rot-sniffing cadaver dogs. It’s up to her to unravel the truth and snuff out the conspiracy before the existence of zombies makes headline news and she’s outed as a monster.
 
But Angel hasn’t quite escaped the pill-popping ghosts of her past—not with an illicit zombie pharmaceutical at her fingertips. Good thing she’s absolutely sure she can handle the drug’s unpredictable side effects and still take down the bad guys…or maybe she’s only one bad choice away from being dead meat—for real this time.
 
Angel knows a thing or two about kicking ass, but now the ass she needs to kick might be her own.Praise for the White Trash Zombie series:

“Rowland is a hilarious writer, and her White Trash Zombie series shines in a crowded genre.” —USA Today
 
“An incredibly fun series, and a breath of fresh air in an increasingly crowded field…. While there’s no denying that the basic premise is fascinating and entertaining, the real draw here is Angel’s personal journey of growth and self-discovery.” —Tor.com

“Uber-talented Rowland takes a break from her Demon series to produce a wonderful story with a zombie heroine who is endearing and engaging. This unique twist on a coming-of-age story explores a young woman’s journey toward self-acceptance in the face of long odds. Throw in the need for brains and a nasty serial killer and presto—you have the recipe for a terrific read!” —RT Book Reviews
 
“An intriguing mystery and a hilarious mix of the horrific and mundane aspects of zombie life open a promising new series from Rowland…. Humor and gore are balanced by surprisingly touching moments as Angel tries to turn her (un)life around.” —Publishers Weekly

“Rowland’s delightful novel jumps genre lines with a little something for everyone—mystery, horror, humor, and even a smattering of romance. Not to be missed—all that’s required is a high tolerance for gray matter. For true zombiephiles, of course, that’s a no brainer.” —Library Journal

“Blending very mild horror, humor and mystery, I was hooked from the start. Both urban fantasy and zombie fans will enjoy this highly entertaining novel. Full of suspense, drama, and several surprising twists, this is one zombie story I couldn’t get enough of.” —Sci Fi Chick

“Angel will make you laugh out loud, and she will also make you come close to losing your lunch. After all, these are creatures that suck down pureed brains for a pick-me-up…. Angel is a distinct character, and she has grown through the series.” —Kings River Life Magazine

“Equally gross and heartwarming, disgusting and riveting, My Life as a White Trash Zombie is a clever read. If you like to see a flawed heroine pull herself back up, and can handle visceral imagery, it’s a brilliant book. Fans of Carolyn Crane, Stacia Kane and Allison Pang will dig on this one. Big time.” —Vampirebookclub.netDiana Rowland has lived her entire life below the Mason-Dixon line. She has worked as a bartender, a blackjack dealer, a pit boss, a street cop, a detective, a computer forensics specialist, a crime scene investigator, and a morgue assistant, which means that she’s seen more than her share of what humans can do to each other and to themselves. She won the marksmanship award in her Police Academy class, has a black belt in Hapkido, and has handled numerous dead bodies in various states of decomposition. She presently lives in southern Louisiana with her husband and her daughter where she is deeply grateful for the existence of air conditioning. A master of urban fantasy, she’s the author of the Demon series and the White Trash Zombie series. She can be contacted via her website, dianarowland.com, or on Twitter at @dianarowland.Chapter 1

Blood and fat greased the thick needle as I fought to work it through the slab of flesh. I’d closed up hundreds of bodies after autopsies, and could usually sew up the Y-incision in nothing flat. But of course the day I had plans for lunch, the corpse had a beer gut the size of a keg.

“Omentum,” I said through gritted teeth, pulling the string through. “That’s what all the lard in this dude’s gut is called.”

Derrel Cusimano looked up from his clipboard, wide mouth curving into a smile. “Look at you with all your college biology smarts.”

“Yeah, well, Mr. Granger’s omentum has too much mo-mentum,” I grumbled, earning me a laugh. A linebacker for LSU turned death investigator, Derrel had been my partner for most of my time with the Coroner’s Office. We weren’t permanent partners anymore, thanks to my ever-changing work schedule, but we still made one hell of a pair—short, skinny, white girl with bleached blonde hair, and a hugely muscled, bald, black guy who was easily the most compassionate person I’d ever met.

The faint scent of Mr. Granger’s brain teased me from the bag of organs between his knees. A rush of saliva filled my mouth, and my hands trembled. The smell of baking bread was as appetizing as dog shit compared to the delicious aroma of a fresh human brain. And hoo boy, I needed that brain. Now. “I thought you were leaving for lunch ten minutes ago.”

“Leaving for the day,” Derrel corrected as he scribbled notes. “Checking my last report now. I’m off ’til Tuesday.”

The needle slipped against the slick flesh, drove into my gloved middle finger and ripped through the side. I clamped down on a yelp of pain and yanked it free, then shot a look at Derrel. To my undying relief, he was focused on his report and hadn’t noticed a thing. Needle sticks were bad news, and no way did I want to deal with the paperwork and tests and other crap.

Especially since I had nothing to worry about. Not with my zombie parasite on internal cleanup duty. But the injury twisted my brain-hunger a notch tighter. Shit. I couldn’t forage for that particular sustenance until Derrel left. At the rate he was going, he’d still be here tomorrow. 

The blood from my finger and the body mingled as I continued to wrestle with needle and string. “You’re almost done though, right?”

Derrel gave me a knowing look over the clipboard. “You trying to get rid of me?”

I batted my eyelashes. “Would I do that?” My stomach made an obnoxious gurgle.

Derrel chuckled. “Sounds like someone skipped breakfast. I can finish sewing him up if you want to head out for lunch.”

“No!” I cleared my throat, annoyed at how nervous I sounded. “I mean, no. I’m on call tonight, so I’m taking a long lunch then cutting out of here early. Don’t let me hold you up from your days off.” I struggled to get the damn needle through for the next stitch. “I have this under control.”

Derrel hung the clipboard on its hook and tugged on gloves. “I can see that.”

Cripes. He was never going to leave. The scent of his warm, live brain wafted over me as he stepped close. Didn’t he know I was starving? I focused on the needle.

Derrel held the dead guy’s impressive belly together so I could stitch. “You going tonight?”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. For the past month, zombies and movies had dominated conversations all over St. Edwards Parish, even crowding out the juicy scandal involving the Chief of Police and a box of ferrets back on Valentine’s Day. The movie High School Zombie Apocalypse!! had been filmed here in Tucker Point, and its nationwide release was this very weekend. A few hundred locals had made it into the movie in bit parts or as extras, and I couldn’t think of a single person who didn’t have plans to go see it, if only to watch the scene where the mayor—played by the actual mayor of Tucker Point—ended up covered in blood and zombie splatter. 

And tonight Tucker Point was home to a big red carpet premiere, complete with celebrities and all sorts of other cool stuff.

“Yep, I’m going with Marcus.” Three more stitches and I’d be done. Then I could get away from Derrel and his brain before I—

“You two back together?”

In my head, I let out a primal scream of frustration at his refusal to leave. Outwardly, I faked a casual shrug. “Nah, but we’re still friends. It’s nice having someone to talk to. We’re both going through a lot of changes right now, with me starting college and him taking over his Uncle Pietro’s business.” I didn’t mention that business also involved Marcus becoming the public head of our zombie Tribe.

“Uh huh,” Derrel said with a dubious twist of his mouth. “As long as it stays ‘nice’ and he doesn’t try and run your life again because he thinks he knows what’s best for you.”

I smiled as I made the last stitch. “You have the best brain ever.”

Derrel let out a booming laugh. “Angel Crawford, I think that’s the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Crap. So much for think before you speak. My stomach gave an almighty gurgle loud enough to wake the dead. I clamped a forearm over my belly. “Oh, jeez.”

He clapped me on the back then steadied me as I staggered. “Let’s get Mr. Granger into the cooler so you can go feed yourself.”

Sigh. The guy was a seriously nice pain in my ass. He was thinking burgers. I was thinking brains. Didn’t help one bit that all the effort to get the body bagged, on the gurney, and rolled into the cooler fired Derrel up like a brain-scented plug-in air freshener.

I breathed easier once we were out of the close confines of the cooler. “I can handle it from here,” I told him. “Go have fun.” I disposed of my gloves and protective gear, then hurried to wash my hands before Derrel could spy the blood on my finger. My parasite had done its job and stopped the bleeding, but I needed brains now for it to finish the healing.

Derrel tossed his gloves into the medical waste can. “I’ll be hiding out at home.” With that he smushed me against his massive chest in a hug—and immersed me in brain scent.

A low growl escaped before I could clamp down on it. Oh god, Derrel, please leave before I eat you!

“Call me if you need anything,” he said, releasing me.

“Will do,” I choked out and covered my dismay by pretending to push my nose back into place. He chuckled then grabbed his jacket and departed, leaving me alone in the morgue.

My hunger thrashed like a bobcat in a trap, yowling at me to chase Derrel down before my meal could escape. I tightened my hands into fists and breathed through clenched teeth until the monster within me settled. Now that Derrel was finally gone, I’d give it what it wanted.

I held my breath and listened for any hint of another living soul in the morgue. 

The drip of the sink in the cutting room. The low hum of the cooler behind me. But no voices or footsteps. Not even the tiniest fart. I relaxed and exhaled, slipped back inside the cooler and tugged the heavy door closed. The cold air lifted goosebumps along my arms, and an underlying stench tickled the back of my throat—blood and rot and antiseptic. The morgue cooler had shelf space for ten bodies, but at the moment the only resident was the one on the gurney Derrel and I had rolled in here a few minutes ago.

Blood pounded in my ears, and a chill swept through me that had nothing to do with temperature. Even though I’d raided corpses more times than I could count, the fear-of-discovery adrenaline rush still hit me every single time.

“Get it done and get out, Angel,” I muttered as I gave the zipper a tug. It slithered open to once again reveal Noah Granger, dull eyes half-closed and lips parted. White male, fifty-nine years old, dead of a heart attack—confirmed by the clot that Dr. Leblanc had found in his left anterior descending coronary artery.

Sucked for Noah, but good for me. The faulty heart rested in the clear plastic bag between his knees along with his kidneys, liver, lungs—and the brain I was after.

My mouth watered as I unknotted the bag. I snatched a chunk of frontal lobe and shoved it into my mouth. It slid down my throat with the consistency of a raw oyster but tasted a thousand times better. A warm tingle like life itself rippled through me. The tear in my finger closed, healing without a trace, and I breathed a sigh of deep pleasure. A second brain chunk settled the hunger enough that I wouldn’t try to eat the next person I ran into.

It used to freak me out that human brains tasted so damn good, but I got over that in no time. The guilt was harder to shrug off, but the unpleasant truth was that I needed to eat human brains to stay alive and in one piece. Moping about it was nothing more than a waste of time and energy. At least I wasn’t killing people for brains.

Not unless they tried to kill me first.

I scooped the rest of the brain pieces into a plastic freezer baggie then retied the organ bag and tucked it back between Mr. Granger’s knees. Hunger urged me to scarf down another chunk, but my tattered self-control told the hunger to sit its ass down and wait until I was in a safer place. That settled, I sealed the baggie nice and tight then wiped a dribble of bloody yuck off its side.

The clunk of the cooler door handle sent my heart spasming like an electrified frog. I whirled to face the doorway, jerked the baggie behind me and shoved it into the back of my pants even as the Chief Investigator—my supervisor—stepped in.

“Allen!” I forced out a laugh and put on my best I’m-so-innocent face. “You, uh, scared the crap out of me.”

He regarded me for an endless second then frowned at the body. Holy shit, was I ever glad I’d already closed the organ bag.

Allen flicked his eyes back to me. “What are you doing, Angel?”

“I was double-checking that all the property had been logged.” I tried for an easy smile but it felt more like a freaked-out grimace. I’d rehearsed clever lies for this sort of thing a hundred times, and here I’d managed to blurt out the worst one to use on Allen. Ever since an incident last year involving missing property, Allen checked and logged each case personally. Shitfuckgoddamn.

Mouth tightening, Allen stepped to the gurney. I shifted away to give him space, and the baggie slipped down the back of my pants to the bottom of my scrawny butt. I froze as I envisioned the baggie sliding down my pant leg to flop onto the floor. That would be epic.

Allen pulled the zipper open all the way to Mr. Granger’s feet. With his attention off me, I arched my lower back to stick my butt out, trapping the baggie between my pants and the crack of my ass, then edged back against a steel cadaver shelf until the baggie squished, pinned in place. Except now I was equally trapped, since I couldn’t move without risking the baggie going plop. I also couldn’t lean back and chill, since all I needed to make the day perfect would be for the bag to bust open and spill brain splooge down my legs. I doubted Allen would believe I was having the Worst Period Ever.

“Did you find anything amiss?” Allen asked.

My pulse stumbled. “With the, uh, property?”

“That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, no, I didn’t find anything. Looks like everything got inventoried.” God almighty, I hoped nothing had been left on the body. I’d been so focused on the brains, Mr. Granger could’ve been wearing the Hope Diamond as a nose ring, and I wouldn’t have noticed.

Allen’s eyes lingered on the organ bag, and my gut did a somersault. If he noticed the missing brains, I’d be fired and charged with . . . hell, I didn’t know what I’d be charged with, but I had no doubt that stealing organs was illegal. And I knew that Chief Asshole Allen Prejean would demand full prosecution. The pathologist, Dr. Leblanc, had my back for most on-the-job issues, but I couldn’t see him stepping in to save me on this one. What was the punishment for corpse desecration anyway?

Damn it, why hadn’t I made absolutely sure everyone was gone from the whole back of the building before doing something so risky? Hey, maybe for my next trick I could munch on a brain in the break room and hope no one noticed. Moron.

Allen zipped the body bag without checking the organs. My heart finally descended from my throat. 

“I need to see you in my office after lunch,” he said, words crashing over me like a wave of ice water.

“Is something wrong?” I squeaked out.

“We’ll talk about it then.” He shoved the cooler door open and exited.

I stayed where I was, breathing shallowly and certain that if I moved I’d fall over. No way. No way could he have any clue what I was really up to. No way could this be the worst case scenario. No. Way. None of my coworkers knew I was a zombie, and that was mighty fine with me. Allen probably wanted to see me for some stupid work thing. Yeah. That’s all it was. That’s all it could possibly be. Not a thing to worry about. I pulled the baggie out of the crack of my ass, slipped it into the thigh pocket of my cargo pants then staggered out.US

Additional information

Weight	6.8 oz
Dimensions	0.8500 × 4.1600 × 6.7300 in
Series	White Trash Zombie
Imprint	DAW
Format	General Trade
ISBN-13	09780756408237
ISBN-10	0756408237
Author	Diana Rowland
Audience	General / adult
BISAC	FIC009010, FIC009050
Subjects	paranormal fantasy, fantasy fiction, FIC009050, Louisiana, Fantasy novel, fiction books, books fiction, fantasy book, fantasy novels, science fiction and fantasy, white trash, brains, Diana Rowland, White Trash Zombie series, White Trash Zombie, Angel Crawford, zombie fiction, White Trash Zombie Gone Wild, humor, horror, fiction, mystery, vampires, paranormal, supernatural, fantasy, FIC009010, Ghosts, murder, novels, fantasy books for adults, paranormal romance, urban fantasy, fantasy books, zombies