Sons of Sludge (Postmortem Anomalies Book 1)

by Josiah Upton

  “On the first day of school, you argued with Mr. Neal over what he was teaching. What do you know about The End? About Reanimates and Hybrids?”

  She closes the comic book in front of her, exhaling slowly as she leans back on her palms. “Well, I may have overplayed my confidence a little on what I know. In fact, my only source is my dad, and even he isn't 100% on everything.”

  “But he works with the APA,” I say, “researching for a cure to the Hubrens. If anyone has access to what really happened in this country, it would be somebody like him.”

  “True,” she agrees. “But even his resources are limited. He only has clearance to whatever directly affects his research, which might be restricted or falsified to begin with. And if he were to start snooping around his agency, start asking questions, his superiors would become very suspicious of him. Most of the time he isn't even comfortable sharing his theories with me, afraid of me knowing too much.”

  “Knowing too much?” I ask.

  “Yeah. As if the information, even if it's regarded by most as paranoid conspiracies, will put me at risk. So, running my mouth about it – as I often do – is a big no-no. You can imagine how upset he was when he found out why I got sent to the office...”

  I asked her a simple question, and she hasn't answered it in any way. I can't deny that my Rage is slightly provoked by this annoyance. Before it escalates any further, I take a deep breath, let the Mortetine work me over, then interrupt. “But your father isn't here right now, is he?”

  Genny's mouth, left open after being stopped mid-sentence, slowly turns into a nervous smile. She shakes her head. The feeling comes back as our eyes lock for a moment longer, arousing ridiculous thoughts of physical contact again. I need to get that distraction back.

  “So,” I continue, straining as I force my creaking body into an upright position. “What really happened a hundred years ago?”

  Chapter 31

  Genny breathes deep, clasping her hands in front of her, trying to sort everything out in her mind before speaking.

  “Okay. According to my dad, the original Reanimate virus was not spread by a single infected patient set loose in New York City. And it wasn't engineered by our enemies as an act of terrorism, either. Instead, it was actually created within our borders, by people that worked for our government. He's not exactly sure what happened, but he thinks we blamed it on someone else to cover up for our mistake. Like, something we were doing went really wrong.”

  “Oh,” I say, “like what happened with the Hubrens virus?”

  “Well, no,” she answers. “And that's where things get very interesting. Once, while doing some research for the Hubrens, he stumbled across some classified transcriptions dating back to around The End. What he found in them implied that the Hybrid virus wasn't the result of Gerald Hubrens's deranged experiments, but was in fact manufactured by someone else. On purpose.”

  “On purpose?” I ask, confused. “By who?”

  Genny leans forward, squinting her eyes and lowering her voice to a whisper, as if someone were listening in right now. “The APA.”

  The Agency of Postmortem Anomalies, the one branch of government tasked with capturing and containing Hybrid Reanimates, and developing a cure for the virus that creates them, turns out to be the very people who made it come to be in the first place... and on purpose? It doesn't sound real. It can't be true.

  “Why?” I utter in disbelief, more to myself than her. “What would the point be?”

  “I don't know. And neither does my dad. He tried to look into it more, but the next day, the room where he found those transcriptions was cleared out. Empty. That's when he started to worry about snooping around, and knowing too much.”

  “But if the APA created the virus on purpose,” I continue, trying to make sense of it all, “then why do they still have a department researching a cure for it?”

  “I don't know that, either,” she offers, throwing her hands up in the air. “Maybe it's just another cover-up. If they make people believe that they're trying to fix the problem, no one will suspect they caused it in the first place. But if that's the case, then the whole story about Gerald Hubrens, his son Joseph, even the heroics of Jorge Ortega that Caesar idolizes so much – it's all a big lie.

  “And, if my dad's department is just for show, it would explain why staffing and funds have been cut so much. His workspace and resources only take up a fraction of that building down there. There's giant rooms that he's never seen the inside of because he doesn't have clearance to them. Whole floors blocked off, even. Whatever is going on in those areas, the ones in charge won't even let many of their own employees see it. Makes you wonder...”

  Wonder, indeed. Before I ventured out past these basement walls, I never gave much thought to what exactly made me the creature I am today, and what the point of it all was. But now, with the government falsely blaming the horrific demise of almost an entire continent on someone else to cover up its own mistakes, and the deliberate manufacturing of a virus that creates a despised race of half-human, half-undead monsters, it seems that me and my kind are at the heart of a conspiracy on a national level.

  “How could such big secrets be kept from so many?” I ask.

  “The same way you keep your secret safe,” Genny says, an eyebrow raised. “With misdirection, suppression and deception. One way is the altering of records. My father says that long ago, way before The End, most records were kept on paper. But then technology advanced, and everything moved to electronic storage and communication, on something called the 'Internet'.”

  “I've heard that word,” I say, “in my books and magazines. A way for two people to share the same thing at once, even if they're across the world from each other. Like telephones, but much more complicated. I've never seen it since I've been outside, though. What happened to it?”

  “The End happened,” Genny says, standing up. “When the first Reanimates came, we lost our electricity, and the ability to communicate with each other and the rest of the world. Mr. Neal would tell you our enemies did that too, but I don't think so. The Internet was where all our records were, and where we could find out the truth about what happened. So they got rid of it. We closed our borders, isolated ourselves, and those in charge created a new history.”

  Genny walks over to a stack of books next to the comics and picks one up, flipping through its pages. “That's why I was so headstrong about textbooks that first day. They never printed them again, but instead created the National Curriculum, now the only source of information. With no other records available, they can change the story however they want to, whenever they want to, and have people like Mr. Neal teach it to the rest of us. Anyone who challenges that won't be tolerated. In some cases, such people are never seen or heard from again.”

  This makes me think about Cheeseface, Mr. Jensen. About The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and how the fear of its parallels to my secret identity made me speak up about its approval. My effort to keep us from reading the book was in vain, and had I known the severity of defying the National Curriculum, I might have kept my mouth shut. Luckily for Mr. Jensen, he is still seen and heard from, everyday in my English class. However, now I'll be making extra sure not to invoke the authority of the National Curriculum again.

  Genny drops the book on the stack it came from, and walks back to where I'm sitting. “Anyway, that's everything I know about True Reanimate History, one-oh-one. Well, at least the important stuff. Does that satisfy you?”

  Yes, and no, I think, nodding my head absently. The discussion successfully provided the distraction I was looking for, the foolish thoughts of kissing a human no longer dancing in my mind. Surprisingly, though, what Genny said ended up really interesting me, and now I want to know more. More about The End, about the original Reanimates, what part they played in the creation of Hybrids like myself, and what the APA is doing behind those closed doors.

  Before I get too lost in thought, Genny walks over and lightly
kicks me in the leg. At first I'm confused, maybe even a little angered, but the smile on her face tells me she's just being playful. “Okay, my turn now. I want you to walk me through an average morning in the life of Zaul Jarreux.”

  That can't be too bad.

  I rise from the floor and move over to my bed. “This is where I sleep. I don't have one of those alarm clock things, Gibbs just calls down to wake me up. On the weekends it's usually around seven a.m., but on school days it's five.”

  “Five?” Genny asks, her eyes wide. “That's gotta suck.”

  I'm not sure what suction has to do with my morning routine, but judging by her expression, she must think five a.m. is very early. “It takes a long time to get ready. There's a lot someone with my condition must do before going out in public.”

  “Like what? What do you do after you wake up?”

  She seems very eager to learn how I live. Is it because I'm her friend, or just out of curiosity for the unknown? Whatever the case, I'm enjoying the positive attention. It's something still rather unusual for me to receive. But when I consider the next step in my morning routine, the good feelings are replaced with anxiety over describing one of my favorite parts of the day, the time when I partially satisfy my Prisoner's most primal desire.

  “Next, I eat breakfast,” I mention, quickly walking past the refrigerator towards the shower. “And then I...”

  “Can I see?”

  I pause, my back to her. “See what?” I ask, though I know exactly what she's talking about.

  “What you eat. You said it was pigs, right? Do you keep it in this fridge?” She points a finger in its direction, taking a few steps towards it.

  “Don't open that!” I yell frantically, stalking over to plant myself in between her and my treasure chest of meat. With my wig and makeup on, she can at least pretend I'm a normal human being. But once she sees the contents of that fridge, there's no denying my true nature. I place my hand firmly on the cool surface of the door. “You don't want to see that. It's not pretty.”

  “Too bad,” she says. “You already picked which topic was off-limits for you. And besides, I've eaten pork before.”

  “It isn't just some bacon and chops in there,” I warn, though I step aside, letting her make the decision. I have the feeling I'm going to regret it. My gaze drops to the ground. “It might be better if we just move on. I don't want to disgust you.”

  “Please,” she says, walking up to the refrigerator and pulling on its door handle. “You think just because I'm a girl that I... oh.”

  Genny's nose wrinkles, her hand covering her mouth as she views my inventory: plastic bins full of pork liver, intestines, heart, lungs and stomach. Skin, fat, flesh, brains. All of it raw and bloody. But I think the most disturbing sight for her must be the pig head on a plate, seeming to stare at her with its one remaining eye. The right side of the face has been chewed off, my teeth marks littering its skin, which looks so similar to a human's. She takes it all in for a moment longer, before shutting the refrigerator door.

  “You're horrified,” I say quietly, feeling so stupid and ashamed for letting her see this. Letting her realize just how vile, how inhuman I really am. I'm sure that now she'll run out of my basement, and leave me alone again. This time for good.

  But she doesn't. She turns from the refrigerator to me, and to my surprise there isn't a look of utter revulsion on her face. She takes her hand in mine. “I'm not horrified, Zaul.”

  “You should be.”

  “I'm not,” she emphasizes. “This Prisoner that you talk about, he would like nothing more than to have human flesh inside that fridge, right? But there isn't any. Everyday, you have the opportunity to give in to what he wants, and you don't. Even if it means taking pills that make you feel sick, or choking down pig remains, you do what it takes to keep him locked up. You refuse to become the monster that he wants you to embrace. If anything, that makes you more human than you realize. As human as I would want any friend to be.”

  The look in her eyes tells me that everything she has just said, she believes. Though it makes absolutely no sense, this human sees me for exactly what I am, my abominable nature in all of its monstrosity, but still chooses to have me in her life. She actually wants me in her life. I haven't gotten that from my parents, or from Gibbs. And something deep inside tells me I won't get it from anyone else. I will never find someone like this again. Never.

  And even if I can never pursue that feeling of excitement from her again – those curious fantasies of kissing, the sensation of her body next to mine – the most important thing in my existence is keeping her in it. Without Genny, this wretched second life doesn't make any sense, and isn't worth living. Whether she's a human or a Hybrid, I cannot lose her. I won't.

  “You can't die,” I say desperately, and impulsively, surprised that the words came from my own mouth. But they're the truth. I squeeze her hand tighter, and she grimaces slightly, so I relax a little. But I don't let go. “Things have been so dark and cold for so long, but you've given me warmth and light.”

  “Zaul,” she says, a nervous smile on her face, laced with confusion and concern. “I don't know what you mean...”

  “You can't die,” I repeat. “I can't lose you. You're all I have.”

  “Well, what do you want me to say?” she chokes, her eyes welling up with moisture. “What can I do, Zaul? Do you think I want to leave you all alone? Do you think I want to die?”

  “But you'll come back. I know you will.”

  “And then what?” she cries, pulling her wrist from my hand. “Are you going to come visit me while I'm in containment?”

  “I won't let you go there!” I shout, shaking as I take a step towards her. “We can figure something out. Your father must have....”

  “I told you I don't want to talk about it,” she snaps, her crying now giving way to anger. “Drop it.”

  “No. I won't just sit by while my only friend gets taken away from me. There has to be another way.” I begin to look around the basement, hoping for some sort of answer to present itself. My eyes fall on my cracked mirror in the corner, where I paint up my face everyday. “You can be like me.”

  “What?” she says, hands on her hips.

  “You can do what I do. Take Mortetine, wear makeup. With some training, and help from Gibbs, you can live like me. If I can avoid containment for this long, then you can too.”

  “That won't work,” Genny asserts, shaking her head. “I'm not like you were before your transformation. I'm not a 'near-genius'. I'll be lucky if I can ever tie my shoes again, let alone control myself enough to live in disguise around people that I want to eat. And even if that weren't the problem, there's no way that both my dad and Gibbs would agree to that. Not an option.”

  “Then something else,” I say, pacing around frantically on my basement floor. “Guardianship. There's gotta be a way to get that money.”

  “There isn't Zaul, so please, just stop...”

  “THERE HAS TO BE A WAY!” I scream as I turn to her, saliva flying out from my mouth onto the concrete floor. I'm losing my grip. And though it seems like my Rage has taken control, it's something completely different that fills my insides. Something that my Prisoner isn't responsible for: Fear. Fear of losing Genny, fear of being forever alone, and realizing that there's nothing I can do to stop it. And it's clear by the look on her face now that fear has filled her as well, but it was my savage desperation that put it there. I take a step back, lowering my voice. “There has to be a way.”

  Her fear diminishes, and she looks down at her feet. “There was a way.”

  “There was?” I ask. “How?”

  She leans back against my refrigerator, shaking her head as she looks up at the ceiling. “When my mother died, her life insurance policy left my dad with a lot of money. Enough for my guardianship fees. She made him promise that he wouldn't use it for anything other than that. And for a while, he didn't. I got older, and he started researching more, thinking he could
find a cure for the Hubrens virus before I transformed.

  “Then the focus in his department shifted away from the cure, and he began taking his work home. He spent hours down in that basement. Sometimes whole days would go by without me seeing him come up, not even to eat. And, when you're doing all that high-tech research on your own, it isn't cheap.” She turns to me now, her eyes filled with tears. “My father had the money to save me, but he spent it all trying to fix me. And as you can tell, he couldn't.”

  Genny pushes herself away from the refrigerator, walking out into the middle of my basement, her back to me. “I can't rely on my own father. I can't rely on anyone.”

  “You can rely on me,” I say quietly, coming to stand behind her. I'm still very fresh in the art of comforting someone, and I can't completely understand the phenomenon to begin with. But the image of those two Hybrids in that glass box comes to mind. I instinctively put my hand on her shoulder. It seems right. “I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

  Her hand reaches up to find mine, her thumb stroking my palm. “Oh, Zaul,” she breathes, turning to face me, still holding my hand as she squeezes it tighter. Her eyes are now red and puffy, the result of starting and stopping fits of crying over the last ten minutes. “I know you would. You've been the best friend to me over the past few weeks. The only friend, in my whole life.”

  She looks down at her feet, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, even though it wasn't in her face anyway. She must do that when she's nervous or stressed. “I wish things could be different for the both of us. That the two of us had met under different circumstances.” Her eyes meet mine again. “Do you understand what I'm saying?”

  I think I do, and pain and rejection grip me. Somehow, this feeling is worse than the agony my Prisoner puts me through. Far worse. I want it to go away, but it doesn't. Everything she's said, everything I believed about our friendship, was a lie. But now the truth is known.