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“Whew.” I managed a smile. “Okay, so Judd didn’t bite Douglas Horton. But an alligator did. I took most of Judd’s brain, but left his body out in the swamp. Could a gator turn zombie from eating Judd?”
He spread his hands. “Occam’s razor.”
“Wait, I know that! The easiest explanation is most likely the right one?”
“Indeed. The more assumptions you have to make, the more unlikely an explanation is. The easiest explanation in this scenario is that an alligator consumed Judd’s remains and then transmitted the infection to the hapless
Mr. Horton. The alligator itself could have turned zombie, or a variation thereof.”
“That’s possible?”
“With a normal parasite, no. But there’s nothing normal about this shambler infection. I shudder to think of this dreadful mutation passing to animals. Until contrary evidence surfaces, I will hold onto the hope the alligator was simply an unafflicted means of transmission.”
“A vector. Like mosquitoes and malaria.”
“Precisely.”
“Search parties are still looking for the other hunter,” I said. “And those alligators are out there.” I shifted, worry rising. “What if a whole bunch of gators chowed down on Judd? What if there’s an army of zombie-making gators out there. We need to find them!”
“That is being discussed,” he said, exuding calm. “But there are quite a few alligators in those swamps. Pierce believes it would be a futile search unless we have a way to identify them.”
“What does Marcus think?” Marcus was the publicly recognized head of the Tribe, though Pierce-Pietro still secretly held the real power. However, Pierce couldn’t openly contest Marcus without blowing his cover. If Saberton ever found out that certain zombies had unique and heightened abilities, such as changing physical form, they wouldn’t stop until every mature zombie had been hunted down and locked in a lab for heinous experimentation.
“Marcus agrees with Pierce,” Dr. Nikas said, “though he is more open to the idea of at least making an onsite assessment in the swamp.”
“I can work with that,” I said sweetly, triggering a quiet snort from Dr. Nikas. “Alligators don’t usually go looking for trouble, and tend to avoid people tromping through their territory. We’d be searching for aggressive gators. And the other hunter, too. I don’t know what condition he’s in, but if he’s a shambler, we don’t want him attacking whoever finds him.”
“Agreed, but the—”
I sucked in a breath. “I think I know how to find the hunter. And maybe the gators as well.” I scratched Marla’s ears. “She knows what zombies smell like!”
Dr. Nikas winced. “Yes, she does. But she’s been living with us for nearly a month and has most likely gone noseblind.”
“Oh.” I slumped and considered for a moment. “But Judd and Douglas were mutant zombies. And Douglas’s brain smelled funny when I sniffed it at the morgue. What if it’s distinctive enough for Marla to zero in on it?”
Dr. Nikas pursed his lips in thought. “Interesting. We have the samples and could test the theory with Dante Rosario’s help.” He met my eyes and gave me a conspiratorial wink. “And if your theory pans out, we’ll take your idea to Marcus.”
• • •
I’d met Dante Rosario a week or so before Mardi Gras, when he was involved in a number of anti-zombie plots dreamed up by Dr. Kristi Charish. After a variety of hijinks and disasters, I managed to stop him from revealing zombies as monsters to the world, but during the resulting four-wheeler chase through the woods, he’d crashed and been critically injured. He’d also crashed emotionally when he finally finally realized Kristi had ruthlessly duped him, thrown him under the bus, and laid the blame for everything on his shoulders.
After quite a bit of discussion—and with my very insistent input—the Tribe inner circle had agreed that Rosario could be a valuable ally and asset, and gave him protection. Even better, Rosario was Marla’s handler, which meant we got a sweet package deal.
Dr. Nikas and I soon found him doing careful stretching and calisthenics in the weight room. Rosario had been in peak physical condition before his injury, and with the help of surgery to stabilize the mess of his ribs, followed by kickass physical therapy, he was almost fully recovered.
Unfortunately, determining whether Marla could indicate on the shambler samples was a shitload tougher than I expected. First we had to get past Rosario’s “Are you crazy? You expect me to train her on a new scent in just a few minutes?” Once we convinced him to at least try, it ended up taking nearly three hours for Marla to recognize the shambler tissue’s distinct scent and another three for her to consistently indicate on it. Even then we had to put up with Rosario’s dire warnings as to how it couldn’t possibly be reliable with so little training and that this sort of thing usually took weeks. It wasn’t until Dr. Nikas told Rosario his position with the Tribe was safe even if Marla failed to find the shambler scent that I realized the source of his anxiety: If the Tribe cut ties with Rosario, Saberton would take him out in a permanent fashion at the first opportunity.
Convincing Marcus to organize a gator hunt was a far easier hurdle. He agreed with Dr. Nikas that, for the safety of the Tribe and the public, a search should be mounted for the other hunter and any infected alligators. He then surprised me with praise for the insight into gator behavior and the idea to use Marla.
“I hated the thought of doing nothing,” Marcus said. “But Pierce—” He stopped and smiled tightly. “Using Marla gives us an edge, however slight. Chances are low we’ll find anything. But chances are zero if we don’t make an attempt.” He glanced at the clock and frowned in thought. “Early in the morning will be best. That’ll give us time to make arrangements. Plus we need to return no later than noon to allow Angel to get to work at the morgue.”
I blinked. “You know my work schedule?”
“And your school schedule.” As I fumbled for a reply, he chuckled. “I’m not psychic, Angel. You gave all of that info to Dr. Nikas to schedule your shifts here, and I just happened see it this afternoon when I was going over payroll and scheduling.”
“Stalker,” I teased, but I was impressed. “You said ‘we.’ Are you coming, too?”
“That’s right,” Marcus said with a determined set to his jaw. “I’m ready to get out into the field and do something real.”
