Free Angel Crawford #2: Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues by Diana Rowland

unfortunately—the whole prospect of meeting his uncle was more than enough to distract me.
    “Would you please calm down?” Marcus abruptly said after we were well on our way.
    I stopped jiggling my leg, clamped my hands together, and gave Marcus an overly wide smile. “I’m calm. Totally calm. Like ice.”
    He reached over to give my hand a squeeze. “Angel. It’s going to be fine. I promise. My uncle’s pretty damn cool.” He smiled. “He puts up with me, doesn’t he?”
    I snorted. “Yeah, like that’s hard.” I glanced his way. “So, is he your dad’s brother or your mom’s? What’s the rest of your family like?”
    “He’s my dad’s older brother—both adopted. The rest of my family is great. Mom, Dad, my sister, and before you ask, no, they don’t know I’m a zombie. My uncle’s the only one who knows.”
    “A sister? Younger or older?”
    “Older,” he replied. “By about ten years. She works up in Boston.” He smiled proudly. “She’s brilliant. Masters in Modern Lit and going for her Ph.D.”
    “Have you thought…” I stopped, tried to figure out how to ask what I wanted to ask without killing the mood. “Never mind.”
    “What?”
    I grimaced. “Um, well, this has been on my mind ever since I found out how old Kang was.” Kang had been a mortuary worker at Scott Funeral Home, and was the first zombie to give me some pointers for how to exist in my undead state. He’d looked like he was in his early twenties, but had actually been closer to eighty—that is, until Ed killed him and chopped off his head.
    A shadow passed over Marcus’s face, and I instantly regretted bringing the subject up. “You’re wondering how I’m going to someday fake my death and start over somewhere else?” he asked.
    “Well, jeez, it sounds so depressing when you say it like that.”
    He let out a breathless laugh. “I have thought about it…and my answer is, ‘I don’t know.’ I figure I’m probably all right for another ten, maybe fifteen years before I have to start wearing makeup or dying my hair grey or something to look older. That’s what my uncle does.”
    “How old is he?”
    Marcus pursed his lips in thought. “Sixty-ish, I guess? Something like that. He said he got turned about thirty years ago, and so far he’s managed to get by with hair dye and a little bit of makeup that makes it look like he has more wrinkles than he has.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I’m not going to make any decisions about what I’m going to do any time soon.”
    “Makes sense. Sorry.”
    “Don’t be sorry, Angel.” The smile he gave me was tinged with sadness. “You’re still getting used to all of this. I’ve had six years to adjust.”
    I sat back and watched the scenery of forest, swamp, and small towns go by as I thought about what he’d said. How long would it take me to adjust? And what did that even mean? Was I still essentially human, but with a weird disease? Or had I been changed so thoroughly that I was something else entirely now?
    “Are you ever mad at me for doing what I did?” he asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, turning you into a zombie.”
    “Seriously?” I asked. “Hon’, I’d be dead, remember?”
    “I know, but—”
    “Stop it,” I said, cutting him off. “No, I’m not mad. It’s never even occurred to me to be mad. It’s not just thatI’d be dead, but look at me—I have a job, and I’m not a complete fucking loser anymore.”
    “You were never a loser,” he said.
    I let out a rude snort. “Now you’re just spewing bullshit. Trust me, I was. I’d given up and didn’t give a shit.”
    “You’re not one anymore,” he said.
    “I damn well try at least.” And that really was the biggest change, I realized. I cared about my “loserness” and did what I could to fix it. Some things could never be fixed, though, only lived down. I was a convicted felon, my dad was an alcoholic, and my mom had gone to prison for child abuse and then committed