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I listened again to make sure I’d heard it right. That was Andrew’s bodyguard, Thea Braddock, calling from a pay phone. Trouble must have rolled down about Andrew being a zombie, probably because Rosario—or even Andrew’s other security guy, Tom Snyder—notified Nicole Saber that Marla indicated on Andrew at the Fest. However it happened, the fallout was serious enough that Andrew felt the need to activate his exit strategy. I played the voicemail a third time to be sure I understood her hidden message. Snyder wanted to take him to Nicole but Thea put a stop to that. Andrew was okay and safe, and Braddock was “home”—with Saberton—which told me she’d pulled the whole thing off in a way that didn’t raise suspicion. And if I was a gambling girl, I’d bet that Ms. Eagle Eye Braddock had known Andrew was a zombie long before this shit came down.
Thank all the little pink gods, because now Andrew’s safety was one worry off my plate. He was still in a crappy situation, but at least—for the moment—it was stable.
My first call was to my dad to tell him I was okay and that he needed to stay put for a bit longer. To my surprise he didn’t argue or whine, and after a quick exchange of “love you”s, I hung up before his mood shifted. After that, I called the lab and got Jacques, then filled him in on Rosario and Bear. But when I told him about the Judd situation, I heard his shocked gasp.
“Dr. Nikas will want you to come in to be checked,” he said, agitated.
“I will,” I promised. “But if I don’t deal with Bear and Rosario, it may not matter. We need that flash drive, and we need to plug the leaks.” With that, I told him where I left Judd’s head and brain and how many brain packets I took, then made a quick goodbye and hung up before he could get Dr. Nikas, who I knew would tell me to come to the lab. I wouldn’t be able to put him off anywhere near as easily.
But, right now, it was time to go on a Bear hunt.
Chapter 31
The weather was lovely and perfect, which meant the streets of New Orleans were guaranteed to be packed to bursting with Mardi Gras day revelers. Normally a small parade of pickups and four-wheelers rolled through Tucker Point on Mardi Gras morning, but this year the Zombie Fest was hosting parades and shows and all sorts of cool stuff for a Fat Tuesday special event: Laissez le bons cerveaux roulent. Or, in English: Let the good brains roll.
As a result, Tucker Point was a ghost town.
Worked for me. The empty streets simply meant there was no one to get in my way.
The Bear’s Den was closed for the holiday, but a check of the alley revealed Bear’s truck parked by the back door. Bingo.
Four more brain packets had my senses crackling with life, but even the over-tanking didn’t change the condition of my face. Still grey with the nasty rot spot on my cheek, and my gauze pads were all somewhere in the swamp. My breath shuddered as I stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror and willed the rot to heal. The Fest ended this evening, which would also be the end of my “zombie makeup” excuse. Then again, I had plenty of sick leave saved up since my parasite kept me healthy. I could do some inpatient time with Dr. Nikas at the lab and get fixed up.
But if I couldn’t find the flash drive and eliminate the immediate threat of exposure to me and the Tribe, there might not be a lab to go to.
After parking half a block down the street, I grabbed the tire iron from my car trunk then strode down the alley. My pulse quickened as I neared the back door. I wasn’t going up against some random asshole here. Bear’s entire existence centered on disaster preparedness and hardcore survival. I didn’t have the “preparedness” bit down the same way, but I was the queen bitch of fighting for survival.
A security camera over the door covered about thirty feet of the alley approach. The instant I hit the surveillance perimeter I poured on super zombie speed in case Bear was near the monitor. Leaping mid-stride, I whacked the camera with the tire iron and sent it skittering down the alley, then whirled and jammed the pry bar end between door and frame, and wrenched hard. The door looked damn solid, and for an instant I thought the tire iron would break. Instead, I nearly sprawled on my ass when the unlocked door popped wide open, sending the tire iron flying down the alley and into a dumpster.
Well, that sure made things easier, even though I’d lost my weapon. No way Bear hadn’t heard the whacking and jamming and wrenching, but at this point I was committed. I charged into the dark store and slung around a hallway corner. Light spilled from an open doorway near the end of the hall. I sprinted toward it, leaped and pushed off the opposite wall to propel myself into an office the size of my living room.
Gun in hand, Bear was only a couple of yards from the door. The slow spin of the chair behind the desk told me he’d been sitting there working on his laptop when he heard the noise, and I spared an instant to be impressed at the speed of his reaction. Even the sight of a flying Angel coming at him didn’t catch him off guard. He fired from the hip and would have hit me if I’d been an inch wider in the gut.
Not that it made a difference, except that I wasn’t quite as pissed when I plowed into him. He staggered back but stayed on his feet. I slammed a fist into his forearm, wr
enched the gun from his spasming hand, then slung it across the room with enough force to send it through the drywall.
Bear knew how to fight. The instant the gun left his hand, he went for a knife on his belt, snapped it open and shoved it toward my gut. But my zombie reflexes were still singing happily. My hand clamped onto his wrist before the blade went in more than an inch.
“You’re not playing very nice, Bear,” I snarled as I pulled free and sent the blade flying. “I just want to have a little chat, and here you’re being an asshole.”
Jaw tight, he snapped out a punch. I ducked it, then grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and slammed him against the wall. “What the fuck were you planning to do with me after Judd brought me in?” I yelled.
I lifted him several inches off the floor. He let out a shocked yelp and grabbed my forearms. “What in god’s name are you talking about?”
I dropped him but kept my grip tight in his shirt and my expression fierce. He didn’t need to know that I couldn’t have held him up another second. The dude was big and solid, but my superpower display had been enough to pause his efforts to kill me. For the moment, at least. The look in his eyes was wary respect, not defeat.
“Judd told me the deal,” I said, letting a growl bleed into my words. “If he turned me over to you, dead or alive, you’d help him get a new identity and escape the cops.”
As I spoke, his expression went from incredulous to furious. “He’s a goddamn liar and an idiot. A new identity? How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
“Judd obviously thought you had a way,” I said. “And why wouldn’t you help a member of your survivalist group?”
“Judd’s not a member!” Bear snarled. “He’s a hothead who only looks out for himself. That reckless, self-indulgent crap doesn’t fly in my community.”
“Yeah, you’re a real saint.” A saint who was also up to some shit. I didn’t see a flash drive in the laptop, but I hadn’t missed that Bear never once questioned why Judd would think I was worth capturing. Sneering, I released him and stepped back. “And you’re so level-headed you gave your own son a black eye because he didn’t toe your line. Is that how you fly?”
Face reddening, he lifted a fist. “You stay the fuck away from my son. I know what you are.”
