by Josiah Upton
The Hybrid nods slowly, the hint of a smile on his gray, blue-veined face. He points to the large numbers on the front of his clothes. “I'm 1759,” he says, then looks all around him, making sure no one is listening, before leaning closer. “Ezra.”
“Zaul,” I respond, my own eyes scanning for listening officers.
“Nice to meet you, Zaul. So, where were you before this?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, you come in here, talking like a pro, so it's obviously been a while since you turned Hybrid. A couple years?”
I open to answer, but freeze myself. I've only just arrived, and I have no idea who this Ezra really is. And while he does seem of higher intelligence than the frenzy of Hybrids feeding at the Meat Pipes, that doesn't mean I can trust him. I doubt I can trust anybody in here. I keep my mouth shut.
“Were you on the run, out on your own? Or did you transfer from another facility?”
My fists clench. It feels like my former double life, though I don't have it anymore, is being pried into and dissected by this stranger. I don't like it. The Mortetine sends a small white flash through me.
“That's not right,” he continues, not sensing my irritation. “You have a last name, so you didn't wake up on your own. I'm going to take a guess, that you've spent years cooped up in the back of an abandoned 18-wheeler... no, down in a basement. Your folks didn't have enough money for guardianship, so they spent what they did have to hide you, protecting you from the world outside...”
I can't take any more of his investigation. My hands find the cloth on his shoulders and bring him close to my face. This Hybrid may not be in danger of my Hunger, but the Rage is just as strong as before, despite the Mortetine doing its best to calm me. My eyes flit over to the containment officers standing around the perimeter of the Common. They're looking our direction, but aren't making any moves. Krecker said one of the rules was not to kill each other, but he didn't say anything about hurting. I could attack him and no one would stop me.
“Enough!” I bark at Ezra, my breath coming out heavy. “Just stop talking!”
“Easy!” Ezra says, hands up in the air. “Take it easy! I didn't mean to rile you up. It's just a little game I like to play, especially with the Brains.”
“Brains?” I ask, my teeth still bared.
“Brains,” Ezra repeats. “You know, Hybrids that can think sharply, hold an intelligent conversation? Ones that can restrain themselves, like you're doing right now, in the middle of dinnertime? Ones like you and me.”
My fingers let go of Ezra's clothing, and I take a step back. I've never had someone liken themselves to me. Or at least, the real me. “How many are there?”
“That question isn't so easy to answer,” Ezra says, clenching his lips in thought. “It isn't black and white. You can start out at the bottom, like 1543 over there. Muck.” He points over my shoulder, and I see the Hybrid that's scooping up the mush off the floor. A sort of blissful, blank expression forms across his wet lips in between gulps. “Most of these guys were probably just average before they died. Maybe some were a little smart. But I get the feeling Muck was kinda slow to begin with, even as a human. He didn't give himself the name Muck, he just got it because of the sounds he makes when he eats. I'm not even sure he knows we're talking about him when we say 'Muck'.
“And then it goes up from there. Some of the others at the bottom try to communicate, but usually only with grunts. Guess that's why they call us Uggers. Most everyone can talk, but just a few words, like hungry, you, hello, hungry, more, hungry, mine, eat, hungry... They can form them into small sentences. Basic stuff. And a few more are borderline, like Walt and Rich.”
I follow the direction of Ezra's finger, and find two Hybrids standing around a Meat Pipe, passing a hose back and forth. After each turn, they smile and slap each other on the back. I can't hear them, but whoever isn't eating at the moment is moving his lips a lot, causing a reaction in the other. The numbers on their clothes read 1298 and 1299. They've been here a while.
“I wasn't around back then, but their numbers suggest they arrived at the exact same time,” Ezra explains, echoing my own thoughts. “They say they're brothers. They're good guys, but they don't always understand everything you say to them, even if they pretend to. And they like to joke a lot.”
“Joke?” I ask, my eyes roaming around the dark and dismal facility that traps us. “What is there to joke about in here?”
“You'll find something,” he answers. “You have to.”
I view the chaotic feeding scene one moment longer, before returning my gaze to Ezra. “I understand the intelligence varies in here, but that's not what I meant. How many of these... these Brains... are there? And what makes you call someone like me one of the Brains?”
Ezra smiles. “Well, I guess being a Brain is an official designation, so technically you're not one until you're in the Brains Club.”
“Club...” I say quietly, unable to hear myself over the racket of dinnertime in the Common. “Krecker mentioned something about a club, about how he thought I might be in it. Is that what he was talking about?”
“Yeah. The real name is the Higher-Functioning Hybrid Reanimate Echelon, but HFHRE wasn't very catchy. Rich came up with the Brains Club. Sort of fitting, don't you think?” he says with a chuckle. “To answer your question, there's six members in the Club. If you join, that would make seven. And you should hope that you do, because being a member of the Club has its privileges.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“For starters, there's the food. While these sorry suckers are gulping down meat-mush from the Pipes, the Club gets the solid stuff. Beef, lamb, pork...” A sort of glaze comes over Ezra's eyes as he talks about the buffet. I can feel my own Prisoner rumbling from within, praying I will be so fortunate to partake. “Anyway, that's why I'm waiting to eat.”
A loud guffaw catches both our attention, and I see the brothers Walt and Rich using the Food Pipe hose to spray Muck, drenching him in the thick puree. He doesn't realize he's the object of their amusement, he only opens his mouth to catch the mush. The brothers laugh louder, then go back to taking turns eating.
“Like I said,” Ezra explains. “They're borderline. And I think they're just too hungry to resist. If Hybrids like them are in the Club, I have no doubt you'll get in. You just need to get your recommendation from Ortega, then the request is processed over at the APA Headquarters.”
“Ortega?” I gasp, my heart seizing in my chest. “Caesar?”
“No!” Ezra hisses, looking around himself again, as if someone were listening. The officers are still standing motionless around the Common's yellow line, completely indifferent to our conversation. “I meant his father, Robert Ortega, the head of the Facility.” He pauses, lowering his voice further. “We don't talk about Caesar. No one does. If he or his men hear you're talking about him, he'll make sure you suffer.”
“Why?” I ask, though I can already imagine Caesar would make any Hybrid suffer for the smallest of reasons.
“Caesar's paranoid, always has been. He hates Hybrids, and treats us lower than maggots. I guess because he's so cruel, he thinks we're all on the brink of attacking him and his men. He sees any talk about him as conspiracy to rise against, or something...” Ezra stops, squinting his white eyes, looking at me with suspicion. “You just came to the facility, and he isn't even here today. How do you know him?”
Once again, he's starting to pry. Though we've been talking for some time, I still don't know him. I still can't trust him with the story of my life before, with the fact that I've already crossed paths with Caesar, and how he still poses a threat to Genny. “I overheard Krecker saying something about him. He sounds like someone you shouldn't mess with.”
“You shouldn't,” Ezra says, still eyeing me with caution.
The shrill buzzing returns, and dinnertime is over. Some Hybrids are still squeezing on the hoses, howling in frustration when the food refuses to come out. But
most abandon the Meat Pipes and spread out across the Common, closing around me, putting me back in the teeming mass that was here when I first arrived. An overwhelming stench of the meat-mush approaches from behind, and I move just in time to avoid Muck as he shambles rigidly by. He's still licking his fingers, oblivious to his soiled appearance, or the Hybrids that he forces out of his way.
“You said he was at the bottom, for intelligence,” I say, my eyes following Muck through the crowd. “Who's at the top? You?”
“Me?” Ezra asks, grinning. “Hell no. It's Quinn. The top of the Brains Club, I guess you could say. Really smart”
“And where is he?”
“Quinn's a 'she', not a 'he'. And she’s over in the Female Common, on the other side of the Facility.”
I nod slowly, then suddenly realize what I just heard. “There's Hybrid girls in the Brains Club?”
“I'd say Quinn is more of a Hybrid woman than a girl. She's been here for about fifty years. And yes, there are females in the Club. Like I said, membership has its privileges.”
Ezra smiles, and puts a hand on my shoulder. Since it's undead flesh, I don't feel compelled to grab it and take a bite. I'm not exactly sure what he means, having females in this Club of his as being a privilege, but a few scenarios run through my mind, and I doubt that Caesar or his underling officers would allow such things.
While the Mortetine numbs away the muscular tension that this slight nagging of Lust brings about, a loud crackling buzzes overhead, and a voice is heard. “Number 1822, move to the yellow line. Number 1822.”
“Looks like it's time for your evaluation,” Ezra says, patting my shoulder once more. That's one pat too many. “Good luck, 1822.”
I shrug off the hand of the overly-sociable Ezra, wondering if this brief exchange has made him my friend – or rather, if it makes him think he is my friend – and move toward the outer edge of the Common. I'm not sure what to expect for this evaluation, but I'll be happy to escape the crowded square. Even if it means moving away from the safety of my own kind, and towards the human meat that my Prisoner wants so viciously.
On my way I pass one of the blue boxes that Krecker mentioned, which hold the Mortetine I am required to take. Considering I'm going to be around humans, it wouldn't hurt to take some extra medicinal precaution. On top of the box is a red button, and on the side is a hand-sized hole. Simple enough. When I press the button, a tinny voice speaks from the box's speaker. “A safe Hybrid is a happy Hybrid.” Two pills drop into the hole, and they're down my throat a few seconds later.
At the yellow line is Krecker, waiting for me. I was hoping I wouldn't have to see him for a while.
“Number 1822,” he says, his body stiff with a hand on his belt remote. “Because of your Corridor test results, your amount of restraint, and your overall level of intelligence, you are a candidate for potential placement in the Higher-Functioning Hybrid Reanimate Echelon. Do you wish to participate in evaluation for placement?”
I open my mouth, but don't get the chance to answer.
“Shut it, 1822. You're going no matter what you say, it's just a formality. Get your pathetic, disgusting ass on this side of the line. Now.”
I hesitate, looking at the yellow perimeter, my fingers running over the cool steel of my collar. The images of those Hybrids writhing in agony are still in my brain. “What about the shock?”
Krecker smiles, holding up the remote. “Very good, 1822. I didn't say Simon Says.” While I ponder who this “Simon” is, Krecker begins punching numbers into his remote, talking to his fellow officers over his shoulder. “I told you, he's a shoo-in for the Club...”
But before he can finish, another shrill buzzer sounds, and all the light in the room disappears, swallowing us in darkness. Something loud and terrible thunders through the Common, a rhythmic cacophony that repeats, assaulting my ears. I think it's music. The instruments are fast and distorted, accompanied by low human vocals that sound closer to growling than singing.
Lights begin to strobe from overhead. Behind me the other Hybrids are reacting to the music and blinking lights, covering their ears, shrinking away from the yellow perimeter of the Common in fear. It's as if they've experienced this many times, and know something terrible is about to happen. I can't make out much of what the screaming voice is saying, but I can hear the word “UGGER!” shouted at regular intervals. I haven't heard music like this since I was at...
Caesar's house.
The door on the wall swings open, bright light creating a silhouette of a man standing tall. I can smell him from here, and all my muscles tense up. No amount of Mortetine can calm me at this point.
Caesar, dressed in full containment uniform, marches into the Common with purpose. In his hand is a remote, which he brings up to his mouth. “Turn the lights on!” he screams, his voice echoing out from the speakers. The lights come back on. “Kill the music!” He stands for a moment, waiting for silence, but the noise continues. “I said KILL THE MUSIC!”
It finally stops, and the ensuing silence is almost deafening. Not even the Hybrids are making a sound. And then his eyes connect with mine, a fire burning brightly in them. I notice the faint bruising on his cheek, where Genny punched him just before I was taken away. I can't help but smile at it.
This must set him off. His stern face is overcome with pure hatred as he stalks toward me, pushing his fellow officers out of the way, until his toes are just inches from the wide yellow line. We lock stares, and for once in my Hybrid life, I believe the violent thoughts running through my mind are matched by the one I'm looking at.
“Evening, Uggers,” Caesar says into his remote. “I want you to listen up. Are you listening?” A low chorus of grunts and moans rises from the crowd behind me. “I said... ARE YOU LISTENING, YOU WORTHLESS SACKS OF FILTH?!?”
The grunts of fearful assent return, louder this time. Whatever Caesar is doing to instill compliance in a facility full of violent, flesh-hungry creatures, it's working. He turns and marches up and down the yellow line, then stops to point a finger my direction. It's so close, I could grab it and pull him into the Common without being shocked. But the small army of officers with belt remotes and rifles behind him extinguishes that thought quickly. I can't make a move and he knows it.
“We have a new guest in the house,” Caesar says, his finger still pointed at me. “How ‘bout you freaks show this new Ugger some hospitality? Everybody say hello to Number 1822!”
A reluctant greeting is offered up from all those behind me.
“Good!” Caesar says with a sadistic smile on his face. “Because that is the last time any of you will say a word to Number 1822. If me, or any of my men, catch one of you sorry shits talking to 1822, that's a Shock 'n' Lock. If anyone feeds 1822, gets him some pills, or helps him in any way... that's a Shock 'n' Lock. If anyone so much as touches, or even looks at 1822...”
Caesar holds the remote out towards the Common, and an uncoordinated murmur of something resembling Shock 'n' Lock sounds off.
“And if I find out that anyone – anyone – has made friends with Number 1822 here...” He pauses, his blood-shot eyes looking out over the Common. He pulls a pistol from his belt, holding it up for all to see. “That's a bullet in the head. Is that understood, Uggers?”
Groans.
“I can't hear you!”
Grunts.
“Make some noise, you godless animals!”
The Hybrids behind me erupt into a frenzy of shouts, and Caesar releases the remote to his belt, his eyes dead-set on me. “Get your ass on this side of the line, Freak. Now.”
“No,” is all I can manage. I'm not sure if my reservations are from the threat of a shock, or what Caesar might do to me once I'm over there. I can't believe I am so wary of a single human.
“Want me to buzz him, Boss?” Krecker asks, his finger on the button of his remote.
“No,” Caesar says, handing his pistol behind him. “I'll just get him out myself. Hit the music.”
&
nbsp; The noise resumes, and now Caesar is over the line. An unarmed human, inside an area densely packed with creatures that hate him and want to eat him. But their hatred and Hunger do not match their fear, because not one Hybrid is making any moves towards him. The only one making moves is Caesar, as he swings his fist wildly through the air, landing his knuckles into my side. The pain doesn’t register much, but the blow knocks me back a few feet.
I was wrong about Caesar. I'd known he was unhinged and dangerous before, a psychotic man fueled by drugs and dreams of ending Hybrid Reanimates forever. But I had no idea how far he would actually go. I had no idea just how insanely fearless he was. Suddenly, the terror that this man must impose on all who enter this facility, is now felt by me.
The only thing that can snuff out that fear is the Rage inside me. I let it build, and then I let it loose. I'm now on the offense, charging at Caesar, my fingers reaching for his throat. I have every intention of squeezing the life out of him. But he's too fast, too jumpy. I miss, and he strikes me on the back of my head with his elbow, causing me to stumble, and then fall over the yellow line.
The shocks begin, on and off, a never-ending cycle of torture. And in between each shock, Caesar kicks me in the side as hard as he can, trying his best to break my ribs. “You keep your mouth shut, Zaul!”
Buzz, kick.
“You keep your mouth shut, or you're gonna suffer!”
Buzz, kick.
“Genny's gonna suffer!”
Buzz, kick.
“Everybody!”
Chapter 6
Genny
The old public bus squeaks and groans as it comes to a rest, stopping just across from Pueblo High. After today, I was planning on never coming back to this place. And now that I'm here, I don't exactly know what I'm going to do, even though I had a forty-five-minute ride to come up with a plan. I just know I have to act fast. From the story Zaul told me, Gibbs has locked himself inside the school office, with two bloody corpses and an unconscious Dalton to keep him company. I need to get to him before the cops or the APA discover this.