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Laughing, I took the boots from him. “That’s so perfect.”
Dad let out a whistle. “Damn, those fuckers are butt-ugly.”
“They’re so ugly, they’re awesome.”
“Just like me,” he said. “Go on. Get yourself ready for the movie. You don’t wanna keep Mr. Highfalutin waiting.”
“Marcus bailed. I snagged his ticket, so go get your ass changed.”
His face lit up as if I’d told him he’d won the lottery. “No shit?”
“No shit. Get moving. All the cool movie premiere stuff starts in less than an hour.”
“Dibs on the bathroom!” he cried out and scrambled that way. I could have beat him there, but I let him have the victory. Maybe this day wouldn’t end up as awful as it had started.
Chapter 8
The population of St. Edwards Parish included a variety of ethnic groups, income levels, religions, political views, and sexual orientations, but one thing everyone agreed on was that the Royale Cinema in Tucker Point was hands down the best movie theater in the entire parish. Best popcorn, nicest seats, cleanest bathrooms, and biggest screens, it was damn near the only place I’d go see a movie anymore now that I could afford the extra fifty-cents it cost compared with the Multiplex Six. The last time I’d been to the Royale was when that movie came out about a chick who had kinky sex with a hot billionaire and then they teamed up to save the world from giant robots, then had more kinky sex. I didn’t watch it—preferring a shoot-em-up car chase action movie instead—but I swear to god every woman in the parish apart from me was at the theater to see it. Twice.
Tonight the theater was closed to all but the two hundred and fifty premiere ticketholders, which made my job of keeping an eye out for suspicious stuff easier. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I’d know it when I saw it. I hoped.
Two searchlights swept the sky, and Mr. and Mrs. Paul and Julie Wood from the Tucker Point Sentinel News snapped pictures as the local version of paparazzi. Gigantic posters for High School Zombie Apocalypse!! draped the building on either side of the entrance, and red carpet covered a chunk of the parking lot. To add to the fun, zombies moaned and reached for people from behind the velvet ropes, turning the walk into an absurd and awesome gauntlet. Dad glared at the zombies until we reached the end, but pulled a smile as a pert blonde with impressive breasts handed us each a numbered fake finger bone.
“Hang on to that,” the woman chirped. “There’ll be a drawing before the movie starts for all sorts of nifty prizes!”
“So, what makes a prize nifty?” I murmured to my dad as we moved on.
“Nifty means it’s something you’ll toss in the garbage in a few months ’cause it takes up space and ain’t worth shit.” He gave me a knowing nod. “You’ll see.”
I laughed and hooked my arm through his. People milled and conversed. A lot of local big wigs were here, no doubt taking advantage of the chance to network and call in favors and make promises. Champagne flowed, but Dad took a soda. I gave his arm a squinch, proud of him for staying off the booze.
A wall display proclaimed Coming Soon! Zombies Are Among Us!! The documentary THEY don’t want you to see. Then, in smaller lettering: Ten minutes that will change everything you thought you knew. Beneath the words, a smiling woman in scrubs stood beside a patient’s bed. I had to hand it to the studio. They were milking this silliness for all it was worth. When we moved on, the new angle showed the woman rotted and horrific. I took a step back. Normal. Forward. Zombie-riffic. Okay, that was cool.
Stationed around and through the crowd were at least a dozen men and women in bright blue shirts with SECURITY stenciled across the back. Justine Chu, one of the stars of the movie, signed autographs at a table near the theater door. Asian-American and damn pretty, she had sharp eyes and a quick smile, and appeared to enjoy interacting with the fans.
I spied a familiar figure stepping onto the red carpet—a good-looking man with honey-blond hair and a strong bearing. Andrew Saber, a high-ranking muckety-muck at Saberton Corporation and the son of CEO Nicole Saber. The company was one of the financial backers of the movie, which explained his presence here.
But he was also a zombie. My zombie baby, in fact. Andrew had been on the brink of death after getting shot during the Saberton raid in New York, and I’d offered him a chance to survive. I often wondered if he regretted his decision. He was a covert zombie in a company that did fucked up things to zombies. Dying might’ve been easier.
We weren’t exactly enemies, but we weren’t allies either. His eyes met mine, and the tension crackled between us. I had a thing or two I wanted to say to him. But not here. Not where it could put my dad in the spotlight.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A chill snuck through me when I checked the display.
We need to talk. From Dr. Nikas.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket. Shoved the ache and worry from my mind.
“Everyone’s dressed up as sumthin,” my dad remarked, lifting his chin toward a gaggle of people who were helping run the event. “The workers and movie people. Every one of ’em’s in a costume.” He grinned, clearly delighted. “It’s a hoot.”
“A hoot,” I echoed. “Who the heck says ‘hoot’? Besides, that lady in the pink suit isn’t in costume.”
“I say ‘hoot,’ and yeah, she is.” He gave me a smug smile. “She’s dressed up like the school principal.”
I rolled my eyes. “C’mon, Dad. How on earth could you know what the school principal looks like?”
Amusement danced across his face. “I been watchin’ the trailers and behind the scenes stuff online for months now. They even got Twitter and Instagram for the movie. Couple weeks back they posted a Vine of the principal whacking a zombie.”
I stared at him in astonishment. “I don’t believe this. My redneck dad has more internet savvy than I do.”
