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I snatched gloves and followed Nick. Together we hefted the body bag from the gurney onto the metal autopsy table.
“Douglas Horton,” Ben said, flipping open his notebook. “A hunter whose boat overturned sometime early yesterday. Search and rescue found the body this morning and are still looking for his buddy.” His expression soured. “Lifejackets were in the boat. Fat lot of good they did there.”
“You don’t think it was a murder?” I asked. “Maybe his buddy whacked him and took off.”
Ben’s eyes crinkled. “I’m not ruling anything out yet. That said, the boat definitely hit a log and overturned. Plus, if his buddy did decide to murder him, he picked a lousy spot to do it. He wouldn’t get far in the swamp without a boat of his own.”
“Maybe he had an accomplice,” I offered. “Someone who put the log in the way and waited nearby in a second boat, and the murderer whacked Douglas and then jumped out of the boat before it hit the log . . . Okay, yeah, it’s a stretch.”
“Yes, it is,” Ben said. “But I like the way you think.”
Allen stepped in, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Leblanc wants us to get our boy here opened up to save time. Nick, why don’t you take care of the pics.”
“Gotcha.” Nick unzipped the bag then retreated as an eye-watering stench of shit and rot flowed out. Within the bag lay the corpse of a pasty white middle-aged man with skinny legs and an impressive beer gut. Part of a beer gut, at least. A sizable chunk was gone from the left side, exposing mangled bowels—the source of most of the stink. Ugly punctures covered his thighs, and the meat had been stripped from his right arm, shoulder to elbow, the bone marred by deep scrapes. “Jesus,” he muttered and moved off to retrieve the camera.
Ben’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and grimaced. “Hate to leave the shit-fest here, but an FBI agent I’ve been working with wants to meet up. Allen, if you could forward the report to me when it’s done, I’d appreciate it.”
“Will do,” Allen replied.
I stomped down the urge to ask if his meeting was with Special Agent Sorsha Aberdeen and if it had anything to do with the roadblock this morning. Now wasn’t the time or place.
Ben departed, and I returned to my perusal of the corpse. “Propeller didn’t do that damage,” I said with a frown. “Those are bite mar
ks.”
Allen leaned close. “Yep. Alligator. At least two of ’em.” He pointed to a distinct bite. “See, this one has a snaggle-tooth in the front. The one beside it doesn’t. My guess is Mr. Horton drowned after the boat flipped and was then feasted upon.”
“How d’ya know a gator didn’t drown him?” I asked with a frown. “Isn’t that how they kill their prey?”
He twitched a shoulder up in a shrug. “Gators aren’t usually aggressive enough to go after a full-grown man.”
“Maybe the gator had a buddy who told him he was big and bad enough to take down a pot-bellied hunter too cocky to wear a life jacket.”
Allen rolled his eyes. “Fine. There’s a dastardly duo of man-eating gators lurking in the swamps of St. Edwards Parish.” He waggled his fingers at me. “Go get your gear on. Some of us have shit to do.”
I stuck my tongue out at him but headed to the prep room with a spring in my step, humming under my breath as I grabbed a gown and apron from the supply cabinet. I felt like I was back home. Made sense considering it was my home in a lot of ways. I’d held this job for over a year and a half, ever since Marcus Ivanov saved me from dying by turning me into a zombie. He’d arranged for this job and informed me—anonymously—that I had to take it, or I’d go to prison. Where I would die. Dramatic, but it worked. I’d hauled my head out of my ass, got my shit together enough to keep the job, and along the way discovered I was a zombie and liked—needed—to eat brains.
But the job turned out to be more than a buffet. This was where I’d learned how to be a grownup. Responsible even. I made friends. Real friends who didn’t hang out with me only to score pills or pot.
A shout of alarm from the cutting room jerked me out of my reverie. Nick.
I dashed in then stumbled to a stop as my brain struggled to process the scene. The body of Douglas Horton was on the floor. He fell off the table, I thought then stared in horror as Douglas staggered to his feet, right arm dangling uselessly, and small intestines trailing. But . . . he’s dead!
Douglas lurched toward Nick.
“No!” I ran full out and tackled Douglas as hard as my skinny little ass could manage. The guy wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but I had enough momentum to send us both crashing into a steel storage cabinet.
Douglas gave a wet, warbling moan that raised the hairs at the nape of my neck then clamped his good hand onto my upper arm. I yelped in surprise, even more surprised when my body remembered a fragment of jiu jitsu and twisted against the grip to free myself.
“Angel, move!”
I stumbled aside just in time as Allen and Nick jammed the rolling table against Douglas to pin him against the cabinet. The dead man let out another eerie wail, shoved at the table, then swiped his arm out. Nick jerked his head back and managed to merely get clipped on the jaw instead of walloped. He hissed a curse but held his ground beside Allen. But it was clear they wouldn’t be able to keep Douglas pinned much longer.
“Heads up!” I snatched the fire extinguisher from the wall then swung it at Dougie’s skull as hard as I could. Except he was over a foot taller than me, and with the table in the way, I only managed to graze his shoulder and smash the extinguisher into the cabinet, leaving an impressive dent. To add insult to injury, the rebound ripped the fire extinguisher from my hands and sent it sailing across the room.
However, my masterful shoulder graze had riled Douglas up. He let out a spluttering roar and overturned the table, knocking Allen and Nick off balance, then took a lumbering step in my direction, hand reaching toward me like a claw.
I was cornered, and I wasn’t brained up enough to have super-zombie powers. Sure, I could take a lot of damage but, dammit, I’d just recovered from being in pieces. No way was I going through that again.
