by Josiah Upton
“Neutralize?” I ask.
“Security is Mr. Rigg's top priority. We've had attacks in the past, including from people claiming to be interested in the Foundation. Don't worry – if you're here for the reason you say you are, you'll be just fine.” Another man in a suit emerges from the open door, a lanky old man, but with sharp eyes. I remember him from the night of the Patriot Burning. The only thing different about him is that his shock collar remote is missing. “This is Thomas. If you understand and accept everything I've just said, follow him.”
As promised, Dalton and I are pushed through metal detectors, and searched. I haven't done this routine since my dad brought me up to the APA headquarters to show off his lab. I'm still not sure how much of a security threat a ten-year-old girl posed to a state-of-the-art government facility.
They also empty and catalogue my handbag, along with Dalton's sack of cash. Some time was wasted when he insisted counting the money stacks, almost certain he saw a security guard pocket one.
After our pictures are taken and visitor badges printed, Thomas brings us to a set of double doors, with the words “CAUTION: UNRESTRAINED HYBRID REANIMATES BEYOND THIS POINT” in bold red letters across them. It'd be impossible for Dalton and I to not see the warning, but Thomas points to it anyway.
“On the other side of these doors, you will come in contact with the members of our foundation. All are properly medicated, and are in constant, daily interaction with humans, both male and female. Your presence will not alarm them, and you have no reason to be alarmed yourself. But if you are uncomfortable with this, I can take you down one of our back hallways, which is only used by our human staff.”
“Okay,” Dalton says, clapping his hands together. “Which way is that?” I shoot him a dirty look. “What?” he asks, then sighs. “Fine.”
“Unrestrained,” I read, curious. “What about those shock collar things?”
“Unnecessary tools of severe domination and submission,” Thomas says. “Our members only wear those when attending public functions, as required by the APA. In here, our methods of safety and cooperation are a joint effort by both staff and members. We've never had an incident yet, and don't plan to have one any time soon. Therefore, we believe such inhumane measures are not needed.”
“And maybe I believe differently,” Dalton offers cynically with arms crossed. Though I really wish he'd just keep his mouth shut, the thought of walking into a room of Hybrids without fail-safes in place is a little unsettling for me as well. But I tell myself I'm more open-minded than him, even if I'm lacking a little in the bravery department.
Thomas smiles. “I understand your skepticism. But I strongly suggest you experience the foundation for yourself – meet some of the members, see the living conditions firsthand. If your loved one is accepted into the Hybrid Welfare Guardianship program, in here is where visitation will occur.”
“Loved one,” Dalton says with a sharp chuckle. “Yeah, right...”
I elbow him in the ribs. “We'll be just fine. Please, lead the way.”
I take a deep breath as Thomas scans an access key and opens the doors. The first thing I notice is the smell. It isn't gross or offensive, but is distinctly different. Almost like a strong citrus aroma, like a truckload of lemons or limes, and a little something extra added. Now I understand why Zaul always wore so much cologne.
The room we enter is large, what I might expect for the common room of a nursing home, or maybe a psychiatric institute. But instead of the elderly, or crazies in straitjackets, there's twenty or so hairless, gray-skinned individuals going about their business. A handful of them are gathered around a bright screen, watching colorful cartoons. A few are sitting at a table, playing a card game. Many of the members look up at Dalton and I when we enter. Some smile, others intentionally ignore us. None of them are racing our way to hurt or consume us.
“This is where most of our safety-certified members spend their time, though all of them are free to go back and forth to their own rooms as they please.”
“Safety-certified?” I ask. “What does that mean?”
“A designation by the APA, for those they deem controlled enough to attend public functions. Though we consider none of our members violent or dangerous, some have a more...” He pauses, turning to face us. “...exhausting effort in maintaining self-restraint. They still have all the rights the others do, but are not allowed in this room during visitation hours. And they can still receive visitors, but by appointment only. In a separate, more supervised setting.”
We pass a few Hybrids standing by a window, looking out into the bright sky. Part of the view is obscured by thick bars on the outside. Sensing my thoughts, Thomas leads us toward the window. Dalton hangs back, not wanting to get too close, and looking over his shoulder every few seconds. I want to hit him again, but I also remember the last time he was around unrestrained Hybrids. He was almost eaten alive. Maybe he deserves more credit than I've been giving him. Just a little.
“These bars aren't here to keep them in,” Thomas says, smiling as he faces a female Hybrid. I can't help but see her as myself in the future. “Our members rarely express any desire to leave. If you come closer, you'll see what my friends here are looking at.” I approach, and see the angry mob still shouting, still spitting. “The bars are to keep others out.”
Something bumps into me from behind, and it's Dalton. He's using one arm to shield me, and the other held out against a Hybrid that's a few feet away. “What are you doing?” I ask. The approaching member gives no indication of attacking. In fact, he's smiling, and holding out a plate with baked goods. “Oh my God, calm down! He's just trying to give you some cookies!”
“Yes,” Thomas says. “That's Herb, our resident welcome wagon. He always takes it upon himself to show hospitality to our visitors. And he's quite the baker.”
“Cookie?” Herb asks, his voice low and scratchy.
“Uh, no thank you,” Dalton says, still backing up into me. His touch is really making my skin crawl at the moment.
The Hybrid doesn't listen, but insistently presses the plate forward. “Cookie?”
“Just take the damn cookie,” I say.
“No!” Dalton barks. Herb doesn't relent. Dalton slaps the plate to the ground, ceramic shards and cookie crumbs flying all directions. “Back up! I said that's close enough, Ugger!”
Shit.
All Hybrids look our direction. My eyes lock onto Herb, the closest one. He isn't poised to attack, but the look in his eyes makes it clear it's taking everything he's got to hold back the Rage. Now multiply that by the twenty unrestrained Hybrids staring at a handful of humans in a closed room, and it's enough to jolt my heart. No amount of open-mindedness, not even my love for a boy who shares their physical affliction, can take away the terror.
“Apologize,” Thomas whispers. “Apologize.”
“What?” Dalton asks.
I want to smack him right in the back of his block head. “Just do it!” I hiss.
“S-sorry,” Dalton says to the Hybrids, his voice trembling. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.” He kneels down slowly, hands in the air, and picks up a cookie crumb, placing it in his mouth. In the tense silence of the room, his exaggerated chews are really loud, followed by an even louder swallow. “Mmmm, delicious...”
Herb strains to put a smile on his face, but the Rage is still there, so the mixed result is more terrifying than before. Thomas puts his hands on our shoulders. “Come with me. Now.”
Chapter 16
Genny
Thomas escorts us through another set of double doors on the other side of the room. Once they close, he reels around, and he somehow seems more enraged than the Hybrids we just left behind. “What was that?!?” he asks, one hand on his waist, with the other pointing back at the doors.
“You tell me!” Dalton spits. “One minute we're getting the tour, and the next we're getting looked at like a three course meal!”
“Our members were doing ju
st fine,” Thomas says, “before you decided to use the U-word.”
“What, Ugger?” Dalton asks.
Thomas gets in his face. “You use that word one more time in this building, and I'll have you arrested for trespassing. Most of those members out there are transfers from a containment facility. You know how often that word was screamed at them, usually followed by a shock from their collar?”
“We're sorry,” I say, stepping in between them. I can't let this opportunity to rescue Zaul get destroyed by Dalton's ignorant pigheadedness. “It won't happen again.”
Thomas takes a step back, crossing his arms. “Tell me right now what you two are doing here – and it better be the truth – before I have you thrown out.”
“Look, we really are here for the program,” I insist. “My friend here is just a... a recovering idiot, that's all.” Dalton huffs, and I put my hand up to quell him. “He wants to repay a debt. His life was saved by an unregistered Hybrid, a friend of mine who is now in the Colorado Territorial Containment Facility.”
“Zaul Jarreux,” a voice says from behind us. I have heard it before. I turn around, and see an elderly man in a suit, his skin gray and hairless. Benjamin Rigg. He calmly puts his blue-veined hand on our escort's shoulder. “Don't worry, Thomas, it's quite alright.”
“How do you know about Zaul?” I ask.
Rigg smiles, more with his dead-white eyes than his mouth. “Part curiosity, part reading the local newspaper. And I was at the Pueblo Patriot Burning, right outside the school where the incident occurred.”
“I was there, too,” I say. It was a really long day that I wish to forget.
“And weren't you present as well, Mr. Harris?” Rigg says, turning to Dalton. “If I remember correctly, you burst out into the assembly, screaming like you had just escaped death.” He points at Dalton’s open mouth. “I see you got your teeth back.”
Dalton shuts his gaping maw. “Paid for by the school district.”
Benjamin Rigg smiles, eyes the bag of cash briefly, then starts walking down the hall and gestures for us to follow. “When I reviewed your security check-in, your name sounded familiar. Local Student Narrowly Escapes Hybrid Attack With His Life! was the front page headline. In the next section, another read Unregistered Hybrid Turned In By Brave APA Agent. Of course, the connection between the two stories was downplayed, and the fact that the Unregistered Hybrid saved the Local Student was completely omitted.”
We come to the end of the hall, where an office door bearing Rigg's name stands. He turns to me. “And judging by your last name, Ms. Grest, you are the daughter of the Brave APA Agent, who now has enough money for your guardianship fees, whenever it is you will need to pay them.”
Shivers roll up my spine, and I feel light-headed. Actually, nauseated. “How...”
“As I said, curiosity, and reading the local newspaper. The world is too small for all this to not be connected. And you better believe that if I've pieced all this together, the APA has. Probably moments after it all occurred. The only reason they haven't done anything about it is because you either told them a rather convincing story, or they don't see you as a threat. Yet.” Rigg opens the office door, and gestures for us to enter. “Please.”
The room is simple, almost minimalist. No shelves or cabinets, only two chairs in front of his desk. I'm not sure if I even had any expectations for what a Hybrid's office would look like. I doubt the notion ever entered into my mind before now. Dalton and I take a seat, and I notice he's gripping his bag of money tightly, probably thinking this is where the exchange would take place. I hope he's not having second thoughts.
Rigg eases into his chair, and Thomas stands behind, his hands clasped in front of himself. “Would you like anything to drink, Mr. Rigg?”
Benjamin turns rigidly in his chair to look up. “'Mr. Rigg'?” he asks with a chuckle. “You can drop the act, Thomas. This isn't a press event.” The human frowns slightly, and relaxes his posture. Rigg returns his attention to us. “Thomas is not only a valuable employee of this foundation, but also my personal guardian, and my brother.”
“Brother?” Dalton asks, leaning forward in his chair. I brace myself for whatever idiotic thing will come out of his mouth next. “Like, adopted brother?”
“No,” Rigg says. “Unfortunately, I'm related to this sorry meat-sack.” Thomas smiles, gripping Benjamin's shoulder tightly. “Many years ago, our family went camping up near Pikes Peak. A roaming Hybrid attacked my brother and I, and our father stopped him with a hunting knife before he could do too much damage. But his saliva had already gotten into our bloodstream.”
Thomas pulls back his shirt cuff, revealing a scar about the size of a set of teeth on his forearm. “We were infected with the Hubrens. Thomas had already passed puberty, so he was safe from transformation. But I was little younger. A couple years go by, and you get this.” Rigg's smile broadens, lifting his hands to his Hybrid face. “At least, that's the story he told me. I don't remember any of that.”
“I left out the part where I threw you in between me and the Hybrid, to save my own skin,” Thomas jokes, and the two share a hearty laugh. They seem to take such a violent and terrifying event rather lightly, even if it was several years ago.
“Anyway, as we were speaking earlier,” Rigg says, regaining his composure. His brother goes back to standing still and emotionless. “I have guessed, more or less, what your friend Zaul did in that school on October 31st. But I am much more interested in what he could do for our foundation, if indeed you decide to sponsor his Welfare Guardianship.”
“Um, what?” I ask, not sure if I heard him correctly. “What Zaul can do for the foundation?”
“Yes,” Rigg says. “I believe Zaul may be the key to our next step of progress. You were there, at the Patriot Burning. You saw the slide show that teacher displayed. Those Hybrid attacks are well-documented and, unfortunately, true. When the public thinks of things like containment or guardianship, those are the images that come to mind. But they are only a fraction of the story.”
He stands up and walks stiffly to his door, pointing down the hallway. “I have a room full of peaceful Hybrids, with different backgrounds and levels of intelligence, who have never hurt anyone since their transformation. And there are many other Hybrid Houses across the country that have just the same. I could use that fact to counter this century-long trend of animalization.” He lowers his hand, walking back to his desk. “But my critics would say that they're exceptions to the rule. Placed in a well-regulated, isolated system, and that I'm only showing them what I want them to see. But then...”
“But then you have Zaul,” I finish for him. I'm starting to know where this is going, and I'm not sure if I like it. They plan to make Zaul a pawn in their game for public support. I'm all for the foundation's commitment to awareness and change, but this feels like political manipulation. I came here to save Zaul from the facility, not make him the poster boy for Rigg's legacy.
“Then you have Zaul,” Rigg echoes with a smile, easing down into his seat. “Living out in the open with no shock collar, no agent pointing a gun at him. He attends school for two months, relying only on medication and his own determination, and doesn't once attack a human.”
“Well, actually...” Dalton begins.
“Quiet,” I say, holding up a finger to shush him. “Now's not the time to fish for sympathy over getting hit in the face repeatedly. Let him finish.”
“And then,” Rigg continues, “Zaul not only saves a student from death by a Hybrid teacher, but he resists his own urges and walks away, when he could have easily given in. That's not just a Hybrid success story. That's a Hybrid hero story.”
“Except there's a problem,” Dalton says. “Yeah, Zaul went for two months without taking a bite, but that psycho Hybrid teacher Jensen did it for six years, before he snapped and almost ate me. Might not want to broadcast Zaul's clean, disguised living. People might group them together.”
I look to him, amazed that he ca
n engage in the conversation that long without yelling or hitting someone. His smile indicates he's impressed as well, but notices I'm watching him and wipes it from his face. He shakes his head, slouching in his leather chair. “And I'm not so sure about that 'hero' part...”
“Too true, Mr. Harris, such comparisons could be drawn,” Rigg says thoughtfully. “That element could be replaced by something else.” He turns to me. “Perhaps him sacrificing his freedom to secure the future of his human friend. That could show a Hybrid's ability to care, to act with others in mind.”
My muscles tense. That is what happened, but that's not the story my father and I painted in our interviews with the APA. “Uh, Zaul didn't turn himself in, my dad made the call. Saying that he's responsible for his own capture implies that he collaborated with my father... which he didn't.”
Rigg's hairless eyebrows raise. He looks to Thomas, then back to me. “Ms. Grest, in case you didn't realize, we are not the APA. You don't need to cover for anyone here. We only want the best possible picture to present, once Zaul is accepted into the Hybrid Welfare Guardianship program.”
I bite my thumbnail, looking around the office as my leg bounces up and down nervously. “I just want Zaul out of containment. We have the money. I didn’t ask for all the extra stuff.”
“Your money won't be necessary,” Benjamin says. Dalton looks up, and his grip on the cash bag loosens. “I've been considering Zaul's actions of that day, before you two even showed up here. Weighing the benefits of adding him to our membership, I believe having the Foundation cover the fees for his Welfare Guardianship is beyond worth what we will get in return, in terms of support, changed minds, and changed hearts. All I need is cooperation, from the both of you, in publicly sponsoring him into the program, and supporting the image that we wish for him to bring to our foundation.”