‘Can’t say I’ve ever eaten monkey before,’ I go.
This so-called kitchen is the size of a storage closet. Mrs Chang isn’t interested in conversation as she seals me in the kitchen with the small stiff animal bodies I’m expected to turn into supper – after skinning them.
Behind her, Mrs Ballard aims an unending arrow at me. It’s long and sharp enough it could pin Mrs Chang’s body to mine and leave feathers sticking out of my chest.
‘Guys, can I just, like, ask you a question–like, what do you guys do to stop getting infected from the monkeys?’
‘You’re not infecting anybody. Back to work, Shepherd. You’re not getting out of cleaning those things.’
‘Nah, but like, people get viruses from bushmeat all the time? It said on the little information paper-thingy that came with the Marburg virus
