“Well, you do sound remarkably well-spoken for a zombie,” Nate agreed, and then his voice grew more serious. “Honestly, though, Brad, he said you were pretty sick. Are you alright?”
Everyone kept fucking asking him that. Brad tamped down on the small, stupid part of him that went warm and happy that Ray had been worried enough about him to track down the LT.
“Allow me to translate for you,” Brad said calmly, and then realized he didn’t actually have a good Ray-to-normal-people-English explanation prepared. ‘Well, sir, you see, I’m apparently a werewolf.’ Right. That’d go over like a fucking Scud. “I was ill,” he said slowly. “But it was a twenty-four hour bug that happened to… coincide with my being in a spectacularly inefficient barfight, during which I was, ah. Bitten by our opponent.”
“Bitten?”
“Hence Corporal Person’s theory about the undead,” Brad offered. He wasn’t touching the sex part.
“Well. I suppose I can follow that far, but I confess I’m still confused about the sex aspect of a ‘sex zombie virus.’”
Motherfucker. Nate was such an unbelievable asshole sometimes.