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“Wait,” Randy said. “How bad was this wreck? Why didn’t you call me?”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t bad at all. I mean, yeah, the van went on its side, but I was wearing my seat belt. It’s no big deal.” I didn’t answer his second question. I had no idea why I hadn’t called him. It hadn’t even occurred to me. He’s my boyfriend, isn’t he? “I didn’t want to worry you,” I finally said in an echo of my response to my dad. It was just as lame this time, too.
“Didja get fired?”
“Nope. It wasn’t my fault. Some dickwad pulled a tree out into the highway, and I hit it.”
“Hunh. That sucks.” He popped open his beer, then glanced at the Coke in my hand. “You’re not drinking?”
“Nah. I’m on call.” I wasn’t, but it was a damn good excuse.
He gave me a withering look. “Yeah, like one beer’s gonna make a difference.”
I resisted the urge to sigh. “C’mon, don’t hassle me. I had the wreck only a few days ago. I can’t get into any more trouble.”
“You’re really serious about this job, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said, picking at the label on the Coke bottle. “It’s a good job. I’m trying not to fuck it up, y’know?”
“Leave her alone, Randy,” Clive said with a wink to me. “She’s being good. She has a sweet gig and doesn’t want to blow it.”
The way he said it was odd, as if he was trying to share some inside joke with me. If so, I didn’t get it, and I didn’t feel like getting it, so I let it slide.
“Just as long as she doesn’t turn into some sort of Goody Two-shoes,” Randy muttered. He must have seen the hurt expression on my face because he leaned over to kiss me on the forehead. “I’m kidding, Angel. I know you’re cool.”
Now I understood. Or at least I thought I did. He was afraid that if I stopped with the drugs and the booze, I’d be on him to stop, too. “Yeah, I’m cool. C’mon, now, put one of the movies in.” I handed him the one on top without even looking to see which one it was. I didn’t care. I simply wanted this weird conversation to end.
I thought he was going to say something else, but to my relief he simply turned away and stuck the DVD into the player. I plopped down onto the couch, leaving room for Randy in the middle, then did my best to tune the world out and learn about zombies.>He started pushing the stretcher toward the door. “You’re a zombie,” he said, tone flat and curt. “You eat brains. What more do you need to know?”
I stared at him in shock for a split second, then scrambled to get between him and the door. “Seriously?” The word practically exploded from me as I planted my hands on the other end of the stretcher and stopped him. “Could you please turn off the dick mode for a few seconds? I’ve already said that I’m not going to cut you out. Don’t make me regret that!”
He glowered at me. “Fine,” he finally said. “But make it quick. I need to get back.”
I bit back a smartass retort. “You said you distribute brains. Surely that means you know who the other zombies in the area are, right?”
“Only a few,” he said with a shrug. “And trust me, none of the ones I know would be likely to have turned you. Too secretive, too scared of discovery. Most zombies don’t want anyone to know about them.” His mouth twisted. “Hell, most are pretty damn lazy. You burn fewer brains if you sit on the couch all day watching TV.”
I blinked. I hadn’t thought about it like that. A vision of a fat, redneck zombie sitting on his couch watching football and eating brains instead of popcorn swam up in my head, and I had to resist the urge to burst out laughing.
“And the ones I provide to, who aren’t lazy fucks,” he continued, “are either people who work only to make enough money to buy the brains they need, or people who don’t want to get their hands dirty and can afford to pay for delivery.”
“I suppose animal brains don’t do the trick?” I asked.
Kang gave a dry laugh. “We’d probably have a lot more zombies if that was true. But no, human brains are the only kind that give us what we need. And, in case you were wondering, zombie brains are no good either.” He shrugged. “This is why it’s not good to have too many of us in one place. Brains aren’t exactly easy to come by, and the last thing any of us needs is attention drawn to ourselves.”
A chill walked down my back as I tried to process that last statement, but he gave the stretcher a jerk, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Can we please do the twenty questions bullshit another time?” he said with a cocky sneer. “I need to get back to my job.”
Even though I knew I had a million more questions for him, I couldn’t put anything into words at that moment. I released the stretcher and stepped aside. He was out the door in the next instant, while my thoughts tumbled in an uncoordinated, frustrated loop.
Chapter 15
As annoyed as I was at Kang and his no-more-info-for-you bullshit, the entire incident had clued me in to several hugely important facts. I was a zombie. I wasn’t crazy—or rather, not any more than I already was. There were other zombies around. And someone made me a zombie on purpose.
Which means I don’t need Kang, I thought smugly as I finished cleaning up the morgue and getting everything set out for the next shift. I can find me another zombie who’ll tell me what the hell is going on. Pompous jerk. Screw Kang. I didn’t need his help.
But that brought up the big question: How the hell could I tell if someone was a zombie? I didn’t know Kang was one until he told me. I’d known that Zeke was, but only because it was pretty damn obvious. In other words, probably the only way I’d be able to tell would be if someone was low on brains and starting to smell.
