“Oh no, it wouldn't be a novel.” Harold smiled, then frowned. “Oh, I see what you mean. You wouldn't want to be the zombie I experiment on. That's fair enough. There must be other zombies like you.”
“All of whom would be self-aware.” Dill's speech was becoming more coherent as the damage to his larynx healed. His eyelids softened enough for him to open them and he raised his arm the few inches the charred flesh would allow. “I'm glad my nerve endings don't transmit pain. I'd be in agony. If I was still human I'd be dead.”
“But instead you're already dead. That was lucky.” Harold pushed the straw between Dill's yellowing teeth and squeezed. The zombie swallowed more easily this time.
“I suppose you're right.” Harold removed the empty bag and sat back. His suit was ruined, he'd have to get changed before they headed out again. It wouldn't do to battle the forces of darkness in a dirty suit. Nephilim leather could only stand so much before it stopped regenerating and it was unable to actually clean itself without external help. It was a good job he had spares.
The air peeled back and disgorged Devious. He paused and dragged through a Tupperware container of what looked to be raw gravy. “Jasfoup sends his regards, sir, and says he'll stay in the tunnels until you arrive, but would you make it at your earliest convenience and the place gives him the willies.”
“Thanks Devious. Is that what I think it is?”
“Puréed body parts, sir, yes. It's what you asked for. The ghosts in the hospital weren't too pleased to see me do this, I can tell you.”
“I suppose not, especially if you've puréed people they knew.” Harold yawned. Right. I need an hour's shut-eye before we head out again. Will you feed the zombie?”
Harold had been previously unaware imps could grimace.