Gross and nasty.
Madaug didn’t respond to his question as he continued to fret.
Out of the crowd, one loud voice suddenly drowned the others out. “I’m tel ing you people, it’s a zombie attack. Z to the O to the M to the B to the I, E. Zombie. Open your eyes, people, before it’s too late and he eats someone else. Any of you could be next on the Zombie Apocalypse Menu. Heed my words and stock up on ammo! I got a new shipment coming in today!”
Nick knew that voice. He just wasn’t used to hearing it this early in the day.
Big Bubba Burdette, the owner of the Triple B store.
Wow, and Bubba hadn’t burst into flames by getting up this early in the morning. Who knew? He’d have sworn the man was half vampire.
Standing wel over six feet tal , Bubba was an interesting mix of redneck and Goth. Case in point, he had on a Dawn of the Dead T-shirt with a red flannel shirt pul ed on over it. His baggy jeans were complemented by a nice pair of black Doc Martens that were decorated with red skul s. With short black hair and a goatee, Bubba was terrifying to behold. But the minute he opened his mouth and that thick Southern drawl came out, he looked less like a threat and more like a giant fluffy panda bear.
At least so long as you didn’t interrupt his watching Oprah in the afternoon. Bubba said anyone dumb enough to do that deserved to have his entrails spil ed.
And that thick drawl made most people underestimate a man whose IQ was off the charts. In fact, Bubba had graduated at the top of his class from MIT with degrees in both computer science and robotics. Now, he owned the Triple B—a gun and computer store where you could hire Bubba to hack anything in the world, legal or otherwise, and if that didn’t work, he’d shoot it for you just to put it out of your misery.
The reporters left Bubba as they tried to interview more students.
Bubba spat a bit of his chewing tobacco onto the pavement. “That’s right, troglodytes, ignore the only one who knows what’s going on. The only one who knows how to save your putrid, insignificant lives. Go back to your media-induced comas where you believe al the crap spieled by greedy politicians who control you with il -conceived lies and consumer-driven distractions.”
“Aren’t those consumer-driven distractions what keep you in business, Bubba?” Nick asked as he approached him.
Bubba narrowed his dark brown eyes on Nick with disgust.
“Don’t sass me, Nick. I’m not a morning person and I might take my il mood out on you.”
“Yeah, I know. So what are you doing up at this hour, anyway?”
“Haven’t slept. Got a cal from Fingerman at oh dawn thirty tel ing me there were zombies on the loose and that he needed reinforcement. So I grabbed my gun and we went hunting in the bayou.” Normal people might find this conversation odd, but then al conversations with Bubba were odd, and zombie hunting was just another service he offered at his store.
“Mark get eaten?”
“Nah, the little wuss fel asleep on the way back to the store.
He’s cuddled up in the front seat like an infant girl, sucking his thumb and holding his jacket tucked under him like a pil ow.
Don’t know what I’m going to do with him.” Nick opened his mouth to make another comment when he realized that conversations had stopped. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Turning his head, he saw Brian being led out of the school in handcuffs.
Except for the blood marring his letterman’s jacket, he looked normal. Completely. Total y. Normal. Yeah, his skin was a little pale and his eyes sunken like he hadn’t slept wel . But other than that …
No one could tel he’d tried to eat his best friend.
Brian slowed as he neared the captain of the team. Their gazes locked in such a way that it seemed like they were communicating without speaking.
The cops shoved him forward.
Brian kept his gaze on the captain until he was forced into the police car.
Nick looked at Bubba. “Is it just me or was that weird?” Bubba gave him a drol stare. “Is there any part of this day that hasn’t been weird, boy?”
Good point.
“So what do you think caused this?” Nick asked.
Bubba scratched his head. “That I’m trying to figure out.
Normal zombie attacks—”
That made Nick wonder what would qualify as an ab normal attack.
“—are done by dead people brought back from their graves. They’re under the control of their masters and attack humans to get a taste of blood. But this … the kid wasn’t dead yet. Makes no sense to me.”
“Maybe someone spiked his Wheaties?”
Bubba shook his head. “Wel , there is some chemicals what can give a human zombie-like symptoms. But none of them make a person eat another one. Maybe it’s some bioterrorism test being run by the government. Don’t be drinking no tap water or seafood until I do some testing.” Nick grinned. “I don’t normal y drink my seafood, Bubba, but—”