White Trash Zombie Gone Wild by Diana Rowland

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.
    â€œEveryone’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.”
    â€œA hoot,” I echoed. “Who the heck says ‘hoot’? Besides, that lady in the pink suit isn’t in costume.”
    â€œI 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.”
    He cackled in triumph.
    Smiling, I watched the production company people with new eyes. The majority were zombified, with varying degrees of rot, but even though I obviously wasn’t as much of an expert on the movie as my dad, I’d seen the trailers enough times to pick out half a dozen characters. They all seemed to be having fun, too, which was cool. That or they were faking it
really
well.
    Except for one zombified dark-haired guy with seriously cool shoes—high tops with zombie pinup girls painted along the sides. He paced and fidgeted and kept glancing over his shoulder as if the bogeyman might pounce on him at any second. How could anyone be in a bad mood with shoes like that? He edged up to one of the security people, leaned close and spoke low. The security guy gave a crisp nod, then Zombie Shoe Guy moved on to another security person and did the same thing. And again, with every blue-shirt out front.
    Ooooh boy, that had my zombie-sense tingling. What had him spooked? Whether it was real-zombie related or not, I wanted to know.
    â€œHey, Dad,” I said, “I need to go take care of something real quick. Will you be okay without me for a sec?”
    â€œI’m a big boy, Angelkins,” he grumbled. “I can handle myself just fine. Next you’ll be wanting to tie a balloon to my ass so you can find me if I get lost.”
    Laughing, I handed him my numbered finger bone. “Fine. I’ll only be a couple of minutes, but if I win a nifty prize you can collect it for me.”
    â€œBetter be real damn nifty,” he said with a snort, but he tucked the bone into his shirt pocket.
    I kept an eye on Zombie Shoe Guy as I slipped through the crowd, and after a moment I realized he was heading for Justine Chu’s table. Being short and skinny didn’t have a lot of advantages, but getting through a crowd fast sure was one of them. By the time he made it to Justine, I’d already staked out a spot a few feet from her table where I pretended to gawk at a display that was nothing more than a picture of a judge with the title
Zombies Are Among Us!!
splashed above it.
    Justine glanced over at my guy as he slipped behind her table, then leaned in as he bent down and spoke close to her ear. Even with my brain-enhanced hearing, it was tough to hear much over the buzz of the crowd, but adding in a bit of amateur lip-reading helped me get a few snatches.
    â€œ. . . tell your security . . . on their toes . . . watch yourself . . .”
    She drew back and gave