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“All’s fair in a zombie war,” the announcer told the people lined up across the stage. “Feel free to try and distract the Marquise. Dance or holler or stand on your head, but no touching her.” His gaze swept the audience. “All y’all can help, too. Remember, everybody wins if she gets it wrong!”
The participants and audience started enough whooping, hollering, and gyrating to rival the antics of Saints fans when their team played the Falcons. Rosario and the Marquise de Saber paced in front of the participants. She didn’t so much as twitch an ear in reaction to anyone, but I had a feeling Rosario hadn’t given her the command to seek yet. He knew what he was doing. Playing it up big for the crowd. Building the suspense. At the perfect moment, he tapped his thigh in what I suspected was the signal for the dog to do her thing. She made one pass down the line, sniffing. Then she came back, halted in front of a teenage boy and dropped to her belly, ears perked and eyes riveted on the box in his hands.
Rosario called the dog off, and an assistant unlocked all of the boxes. One by one, the contestants opened their empty boxes, leaving the boy until last. He opened his box to reveal a fake zombie hand, to an uproar of applause and cheers. The announcer lifted it and waggled it at the crowd. I had little doubt that there was a bit of dead human hidden in that hand for the Marquise to scent. Not all that shocking considering that cadaver dogs were trained with donated cadaver tissue.
“There you have it, folks. Give a big round of applause to Dante and the Marquise de Saber. Catch their demos twice every day of the Zombie Fest. Bring your friends!”
Rosario waved at the crowd. The dog lifted her paw, too, eliciting a round of laughter and applause and waving back. The Marquise’s ears perked as the breeze shifted, and she looked my way. Shit. I was a little on the rotten side due to the V12. Not enough for people to notice, but plenty of stench for a cadaver dog. I stepped back, but not before Rosario met my eyes. It was only for an instant, until I let the crowd swallow me, but cold settled in my belly. A Saberton-sponsored guy with a cadaver dog. Even though it was obvious the pair did a lot of demos, and Tucker Point might simply be one stop on the tour, I didn’t trust anything that connected Saberton and zombies. I’d keep
my Angel-sense sharp around this guy.
“Your donation to support training of service dogs is greatly appreciated,” the announcer continued. “Cash, check, or card! And remember, Saberton Corporation will match your donation two to one. You heard that right! For every dollar you give, the dogs get three!”
Because Saberton is so kind and fucking charitable.
But enough of that shit. Time to put it behind me and get on with finding the guys.
• • •
After following the signs to the Hunting Grounds—and hitching a ride on a passing four-wheeler—I found the Three Dumbass Amigos in their zombie hunter outfits near a pair of stately oak trees. They had their heads together, engaged in discussion intense enough that they didn’t notice me walk up.
“HI, GUYS!” I said, nice and loud, tickled when all three startled and made various Jesus fuck, Angel! type of exclamations.
Randy recovered first and gave me a sour look. “Thought you weren’t coming out with us.” He flicked my VIP badge on its lanyard. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
Was that jealousy? I flicked his earlobe in return. “Oh, you mean my girlfriend Justine Chu? She’s getting her picture taken with the other VIPs.”
Randy stared at me for a second then snorted and gave my shoulder a light shove. “Almost had me going there.”
Judd took a swig from a bottle of ginger ale, scowled. “Randy, c’mon. We gotta get our shit together.” He gave me a tight smile lacking any hint of friendliness. “Sorry, sweetcakes. We have work to do.”
“That’s cool!” I chirped. “I don’t have anything else going on. Happy to tag along and help out.”
Coy gulped, eyes wide. “Nah, it’s for hunters only. You said you didn’t want to hunt, and uh, you even came as a zombie.” He gestured frantically at my makeup and clothing.
“Oh! No, I’m really a hunter,” I said. “See, I dressed up as a zombie to make the other zombies less suspicious. It’s like wearing camouflage.” No way was I giving in that easily. “Okay, it’s settled then. Let’s roll!”
Judd’s face reddened. “Hang on, we don’t have you registered, which means you can’t go on the hunt with us.” He shot a Do Something glare in Randy’s direction. “Right?”
Randy jammed a hand through his hair. “You two go get set up,” he told Judd and Coy. “I’ll take care of this.” After a brief hesitation, the men moved off. Randy turned to me. “Look, Angel, forget the hunt. I didn’t register you.”
I acted hurt. “What the hell, man? Are you really bent out of shape because a coworker gave me a VIP pass?”
“You’re the one who told me you weren’t gonna come out with me this afternoon,” he shot back. “Don’t blame me.”
“I was still dealing with my shitty morning when I said that. A five a.m. call to pick up a dude with his head chopped off tends to throw me off my rhythm.”
“I’m supposed to know you changed your mind? That’s bullshit, Angel.”
If this was a real argument, he’d have a point. “Okay, well, I changed it.” I softened my voice. “Can’t you put my name down for the team?”
He glanced at the retreating Judd and Coy. “They won’t let me,” he said. “The, uh, registration people.”
Right. I knew who he meant. “Could you at least try?” I jiggled my VIP badge. “I betcha this will get me in.”
Randy looked down at the badge as if it was a horrible truth—which it likely was. His shoulders slumped. “Sure. Let’s go see what that thing can do.”
Giving a great impression of a man heading to his execution, he walked with me to the registration table. Once there, I was delighted to learn that Randy had in fact included me when he’d turned in the team members, which meant I was already signed up. All I had to do was fill out a couple of forms and sign the release and waiver of liability. Take that and shove it up your ass, Judd.
