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Kang let out a low chuckle. “Yes I can, and I am.”
I frowned at him in doubt. “Oh, really? How old are you?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a rude question?”
“Give me a break. C’mon, fess up. How old are you?”
“I was seven years old when I lost my parents during the Korean War.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.” I struggled to remember the brief smattering of history I’d actually studied, but couldn’t think of when the Korean War was to save my life. There was still stuff about Korea in the news, so maybe it was only twenty years ago or so? I didn’t want to say anything, though, for fear of looking like a complete dumbass. “Okay, well, um, anyway, don’t worry about the brains. I won’t screw you. But can you please answer some questions for me?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll do my best.”
“How often do I need to eat brains? I mean, I feel hungry all the time.”
“If you do a lot and are active, you need brains more often,” he said. “In other words, you won’t ever see a zombie exercise. Under normal circumstances you’ll be fine if you eat about a third to half a brain every other day. After a few days without, though, things start to go bad pretty quickly, like a downhill slide. So, if you’re in a job where you have to be fairly physically active, like yours, you’re going to need to eat more often. But,” he said with a gesture at the morgue cooler, “at least you have access to brains.”
“When there are brains to be had,” I pointed out.
“People die all the time, Angel. That’s one thing you can be sure of.”
Sure, but would they die soon enough to satisfy my hunger?
“Okay, next question,” I said. “It’s a virus? Is there a treatment for it?”
He shrugged. “No idea. Virus. Parasite. I don’t know. Maybe a treatment or cure is being worked on. But as far as I know, it’s been around for centuries.”
I pondered that for a few seconds. A parasite . . . what, like a tapeworm? That was too damn creepy. And disgusting. “Okay, well, what about, um, relations.”
He gave me a blank look. “Excuse me?”
I gave a frustrated sigh. “Can we have sex?”
The skin around his eyes crinkled. “Well, we barely know each other, but I’m game.”
“Shit! No. Arrgh!” I could feel my face heating. “You know what I mean.” I scowled at him as he laughed, though a second later I was laughing too. “Okay, I deserved that. I mean, can we—zombies—have sex?”
He grinned. “Yes. But be sure to feed beforehand. It’s much better that way. Plus, you don’t want to risk having bits fall off.”
I shuddered. “Okay, that’s disgusting.”
“It reminds me of an old joke: What did the zombie say to the whore?”
I looked at him blankly. “Um . . . what?”
He winked. “Keep the tip.”
After Kang left, I pulled the internet up on the computer and did a search on the Korean War, then stared at the screen in shock when I saw the dates. 1950-1953. Holy Shit. Kang’s an old man. Had he been surviving by working in funeral homes this entire time?
But he still looks like he’s in his twenties, I thought with growing amazement. Then I sighed. If I’d realized how old he was I would have asked him if he looked young because of the zombie stuff. And how long he’d actually been a zombie. “Don’t be a fool. Stay in school,” I muttered to myself.
Fortunately my job offered plenty to distract me from thinking about my general ignorance. I went out on a pickup of a bum who’d been found dead under a bridge, and then of some lady who’d managed to gas herself in her bathroom by combining bleach and ammonia. I shamelessly grabbed lunch at a drive-thru on my way back to the morgue and scarfed down a burger to satisfy my far-less annoying food hunger, while managing to completely forget the fact that I had two dead bodies in the back of the van.
By the time I made it back to the morgue and got everything put away and entered into the computer, it was close to the end of my shift. Nick would be showing up in the next twenty minutes or so, and the morgue was as spotless as I knew how to make it. I’d remembered to throw the trash from lunch out, but I knew from experience that I should probably check to make sure everything in the van was where it needed to be. Nick was an arrogant pain, and if I’d somehow dropped a single french fry, I’d never hear the end of it.
I stuffed my key card into the front pocket of my jeans and exited out the back door. The door clanged shut behind me as a sickly familiar smell washed over me. I spun around as a jab of adrenaline sent me into high alert. It only took me a second to see the figure crouched in the shadow of the wall, like a lion about to pounce.
But this time I wasn’t injured and alone. And I wasn’t hungry at all.
