by Josiah Upton
Dalton gives one last worried, uncertain look my way, before he silently turns the knob, and pushes the door open.
Nothing happens. Mr. Jensen doesn't spring out of the office, doesn't attack him and kill him. But I still smell the overpowering scent of meat and blood, and hear the wet sounds of raw human flesh being chewed on, causing me to bend over from a large wave of Mortetine-induced nausea. Jensen must be so caught up in his meal that he doesn't even notice the opened door, or the student who opened it.
And as for Dalton, he is utterly horror-stricken. His hand quickly covers his own mouth to stop the scream from escaping it, and falls back against the wall across from the open door. What he now witnesses is the culmination of a primal evil that originated over one hundred years ago. It's what almost destroyed an entire continent of people, what they went to war against, and what Caesar still fights today. It's why containment facilities were built, and filled with things like Jensen... things like me. It's why we are so hated and feared.
Somehow, Dalton overcomes his horror, and quickly closes the office door without a sound, and makes his way back to the receptionist desk. He stands silently in front of me for a moment, pointing over his shoulder, trying to find the words to describe what he's just seen. When he finally does, I have to remember to act surprised.
“J-J-Jen-Jen...” He shuts his eyes tight, small tears of trauma squeezing out from his lids. “Jensen's an Ugger. He's eating Ms. Womack right now.”
“What?” I ask, expressing the shock without much effort at all. Even if I already knew what was happening in that room, to hear it relayed out loud is still almost too insane to believe.
“Yeah,” Dalton whimpers, putting his hand back over his mouth. “Oh God. Oh my God. OH MY GOD!”
“Quiet!” I hiss, remembering what must done as I look down at the APA notice in my hand. Vicky may be dead, but there's still time to make the call, still time to get the money. Still time to save Genny, and our possible future together. I look up at Dalton. “You need to leave. It isn't safe here.”
“And what about you?” he asks. I never thought someone who hated me so much would take my safety into consideration. “He can get you too!”
“I'm going to call the police. You need to go now, and I'll be right behind you.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head, a stark grimace on his face. “There's no time for that. We can't wait for the cops to show up. And we can't just leave, either. When he's done, he's gonna walk out of here and get away with it. Or even worse, he'll go outside and get someone else. There's a whole crowd of people outside, waiting for the Patriot Burning.”
This isn't the way things are supposed to go, and it's jeopardizing my plan – and agitating my Rage. “There's nothing we can do,” I insist through gritted teeth.
“Yes there is,” he says, pushing me out of the way. “And I'm going to do it right now.”
Dalton walks to the farthest wall behind the receptionist desk, where the large metal box labeled “RPZ” hangs about seven feet up from the ground. I still don't know what that thing is. But I'm about to find out, because he grabs a chair and drags it under the box.
“What is that?” I ask.
“You don't know what this is?” he asks, hopping up on top of the chair. I shake my head. “RPZ: Reanimate Protection Zone. After The End, when all the original Reanimates were killed, they installed these in nearly every building as a last defense, in case the Sludge came back, and people were stuck inside.”
He places his hand on the steel handle and pulls down on it slowly, letting out a high-pitched screech as it turns. I look down the hall to check if Jensen heard, to see if he's lumbering towards us with Rage and Hunger in his eyes. But Vicky's office door remains shut. Dalton turns it the rest of the way, and pulls the metal panel up. “I may have failed History twice, but at least I know what this thing is.”
“What's inside?” I ask, anxious to learn its contents.
Dalton reaches in, and pulls out a long shotgun, holding it up for inspection.
“A gun?” I ask incredulously. I've grown uncomfortable by the sight of firearms ever since I had one pointed at me by Caesar, and now Dalton holds one. It seems only my enemies have access to these things. “That's all it is, a box for a gun?!?!”
“Yup,” he says, taking a small cylinder and sliding it into the side of the shotgun, making a clicking sound. He jumps down from the chair and walks right past me. “It's all the protection I need.”
It is now clear what he's going to do, and that is to shoot Mr. Jensen, and kill him. And even though he doesn't know about the reward issued by the APA for the capture of unregistered Hybrid Reanimates – dead or alive – I fear that this will ruin my chance to claim the money. I can't let him do that.
I start walking down the hall after him, but stop when I hear something: the door to Vicky's office opening. Dalton's body tenses immediately, and he lifts the shotgun up to his shoulder. Out from the doorway shambles Mr. Jensen, blood covering his clothes and face, his makeup job totally smeared. His contact lenses has fallen out, revealing his dead-white eyes. His wig is gone, exposing his bald, gray and veiny head.
Dalton hasn't pulled the trigger yet. Maybe he thinks this could all be a mistake, a misunderstanding. That Mr. Jensen isn't the monster who just killed and ate Vicky Womack, who so clearly stands before him now.
The undead teacher starts advancing slowly towards the student, hands up in the air, as if to surrender. The creepy smile returns to his face, his teeth now stained with the blood of the recently devoured. Is that grin just a reflex, left over from years of pretending? Or is he truly happy now, having his Hunger finally satisfied?
Dalton backs up slowly, shaking his head, still unable to shoot this perversion of nature. I never thought someone like him would hesitate at the chance to blast a real Hybrid Reanimate. Then, the eyes of the thing that was once known as Brad Jensen flit over to mine. In that moment, I see something that chills me to the bone. Something that fills me with dread and fear and despair and hatred. Something I wish I could have unseen.
In his eyes, in his bloodied face, I see myself.
He only manages to say one word, in a low and gravelly voice. “Zaul...”
And then the trigger is pulled.
Chapter 38
Mr. Jensen's body flies back a few feet before collapsing on the floor. A dark stain covers his chest, a mix of his Hybrid Reanimate blood and Vicky Womack's human blood. But he's only down for a brief moment, before slowly propping himself up on his elbows, coughing and wheezing, dark liquid shooting out from his mouth. If there was any doubt that he is undead, that doubt has now vanished. No human could survive a shotgun blast to the chest, not that close. And while the wound has indeed affected him, causing him to grunt and grimace in pain, he's not dead yet.
Dalton should have shot him in the face.
“Zaul, get some shells!” he shouts over shoulder. Mr. Jensen is now shambling faster, arms outstretched. He stumbles and falls, coughing out more blood, but it will only be a moment before he's back up. “I'm out of ammo!”
“Ammo?” I ask, straining my Hybrid brain, searching for a meaning to his words. The sight of a bloodied yet determined creature plodding my direction is clouding my ability to think. I never thought something as strong and monstrous as myself could get so frantic. So scared. “You mean, like bullets? There aren't anymore in that thing???”
“I only loaded one!” he screams, his eyes locked on Jensen, who is getting back up. “NOW, ZAUL!”
I should be springing into action, but I'm frozen where I stand, caught in a mental dilemma. For a split second, I do some quick figuring in my head. Though frightened by the advancing Hybrid Reanimate, I am confident I could attack and kill Mr. Jensen, possessing the same inhuman strength as him, but not suffering from a shotgun blast to the chest. That would put the execution of an unregistered Hybrid on my hands, and between that and the contact information I have with the APA, the reward money
will be mine to claim.
But exhibiting such strength and ferocity in front of Dalton would be a mistake, as he would immediately recognize me for what I am, and the game would be over. No reward money for Mr. Jensen, and none from Gordon turning me in, either. Nothing. The only option is to supply Dalton with the ammunition he needs, let him finish the job, then hold foolishly onto hope that I can somehow still claim that money.
“NOW!” he screams, terror filling his voice.
My undead muscles finally start moving. I climb the chair that stands underneath the RPZ, and peer into the metal box, searching for these “shells” that Dalton asked for. My eyes immediately fall onto a plastic container, its top flipped open to reveal small cylinders with metallic tops. I grab some and jump down from the chair.
“You got 'em?!?!” Dalton shouts over his shoulder, his free hand held out behind him. Jensen is now on his feet again and moving forward. I quickly cover the distance and place a shell in Dalton's grasping hand, which moves directly to the shotgun. The shell is loaded, and he raises the weapon to his shoulder again.
But the bloodied horror has already arrived. Jensen lunges, causing the shotgun to drop to the floor. Dalton falls backward, the Hybrid teacher landing on top of him. He struggles frantically, but he can't escape. The monstrosity bares its teeth, just inches from the student's face, blood dripping down onto Dalton's broken nose.
But he doesn't start eating him – not yet, at least. That creepy smile comes back, and a strange sound escapes from his grinning lips. He's laughing. It stops for just a second, long enough for Jensen to growl, “Good morning, young learners!” And then the maniacal cackling continues.
“Oh God,” Dalton whimpers, shutting his eyes tight, cringing from the horror hovering over him. “Oh God, NO!”
I can't let this continue. My eyes travel over to the shotgun laying a foot away from them, realizing it's the most reasonable way to eliminate Jensen without revealing to Dalton what I really am. I never thought I'd use one of those things, never guessed I would kill someone by such means. But it's the only thing left to do. I walk forward and pick it up, its substantial weight feeling awkward and dangerous in my arms. I don't even know how to use one, but the concept seems simple: point it at what you want to destroy, pull the trigger. I don't even have to load it.
Jensen is still laughing, his human voice and his Reanimate voice mixing into one sick and disturbing harmony. It's exactly how the Prisoner inside me sounds. I crouch down and place the shotgun barrel just a few inches away from his temple. I can't miss from here. The monster lets out one last cackle, one last horrifying howl, before leaning in to chew on Dalton's face.
I pull the trigger.
What was once Jensen is no more. The brain that dictated his thoughts, desires, and actions is now obliterated. It's all over the wall, the floor... all over Dalton. However brutal, however violent and devious, he was a conscious being, and I just ended his existence with the simple twitch of my finger. This realization leaves me feeling hollow. Numb, empty. What else was hiding inside that head while Jensen still lived? Fears, insecurities? Hopes for a peaceful future? Memories from before his transformation, locked away by the same condition that keeps me from accessing my own past?
And what of his soul? Did it leave when he died the first time, many years ago? Or did it carry on with him, trapped inside, even in his Hybrid Reanimate form? And where has it gone now after I killed him? Where did I send it?
I can't answer these questions, and I wish I would have asked them before I pulled that trigger, taken a moment to consider the consequences of my actions. But there was no time, and it's too late now. In that situation, someone was going to die, and it had to be him, the monster that killed and ate Vicky Womack. The thing that was seconds away from devouring another victim. A creature like me. But as much as my mind can justify the ending of my former English teacher Brad Jensen, the hollowness inside lingers, and grows.
The silence that follows the shotgun explosion, though only a few seconds, seems to stretch on for hours. It's finally broken by the delayed scream of Dalton Harris. He struggles from under Jensen for a while, covered in the blood of his attacker, before asking me for help.
“ZAUL GET HIM OFF ME!”
I drop the shotgun and lift the body off of Dalton. Luckily, in his traumatized state, he doesn't notice that I do it with just one hand. Once free, he scrambles backward several feet until he's up against the receptionist desk. He's breathing heavy, eyes wide, staring at the aftermath of the scene. “You saved my life,” he says, still gazing at Jensen's lifeless body. “He was gonna eat me. You stopped him.” He finally looks up at me. “Thank you.”
“Yes,” is all I can say. The act of preventing a lethal Hybrid attack, even for someone like Dalton, should give me a sense of pride and accomplishment, the positive feeling of doing a great deed by preserving life. But I still feel empty and hollow and numb. I still can't stop staring at the person I've just executed. One of my own kind.
“You alright, Zaul?”
“Yes,” I say again, lying.
“You know, I was wrong about you,” he says, shaking his head, trying in vain to wipe off the dark liquid that stains his face. “I shouldn't have called you a freak, or an Ugger. I shouldn't have been such an ass. I was just... I didn't know what I was talking about. I'm sorry.”
“Yes,” I mutter, apparently the only word I can think of. I don't really care about what Dalton is saying right now – his understanding and his apology, his newfound approval or appreciation for me. They don't mean anything. They don't change the horror that has just befallen this high school office, and the part I played in it.
“And thanks to our teamwork, now we each get two hundred and fifty grand!”
“Ye-,” I begin, but stop when my brain processes what I've just heard. Like Caesar's usage of the word large, I'm not quite sure what grand means in this context, but the number two hundred and fifty gives me a pretty good idea. This implies not only that Dalton knows about the reward money for the capture of unregistered Hybrid Reanimates, but that the two of us will split the $500,000 for Jensen.
“How do you know about that?” I spill, worried and confused and furious all at once. “Did Caesar tell you about the reward money”
“Caesar? Who that hell is that?” Dalton questions, clearly unfamiliar with the name. “The principal talked about it in the morning announcements today, remember?”
I don't remember, because I wasn't here. I was at Caesar's house for a Mortetine deal, which ended with me being incorrectly informed that only APA employees know about the reward for unregistered Hybrids. But everybody knows, and Dalton is planning to claim half of that money, leaving me with only $250,000. The guardianship for Genny will be $500,000. I need all of it.
“Why should you get any?” I snarl, taking a step towards Dalton. “You didn't kill Jensen. You didn't send pieces of his head all over the room.”
“And all over me,” Dalton says, pulling himself up from the ground. “Besides, I shot him too.”
“In the chest,” I counter. “That didn't kill him. He had to be shot in the head.”
“Well, sorry if I'm not an expert on wasting Uggers!” he shouts, getting just a foot away from my face. My Prisoner's Rage is already roused, but now his Hunger is becoming incited, too. “Hybrids are, like, half-human, so I figured a shotgun blast to the heart and lungs would've done the trick. And speaking of things people don't know, it was me that knew where to even get the gun, not you. Who the hell doesn't know what an RPZ is?!?!”
His words and hostility are getting to me, breaking down my defense. I've come this far, I can't lose it now. I take a step back. “I killed him. It was me. I even grabbed the shell that got the job done, after you only loaded one.”
“Yeah, and I loaded the second one, too,” Dalton says, covering the distance I just put between us, once again bringing his face inches from mine. “I bet you don't even know how to load a gun at all, do yo
u? Face it, if it weren't for me, Jensen would still be alive, and you would be dead.”
“And if it weren't for me, you'd be dead!” I growl. “I need all of that money! All of it!”
“We're splitting it, freak.”
That's when I lose control. I let out a howl, and my fingers reach for his throat, but fumble and knock him to the ground instead. He gets up on his hands and starts to back up frantically as I advance toward him. “I should have let him kill you,” I say, my voice taking on an inhuman tone, like Jensen's did. “You're ruining everything.”
“Back off, Zaul! Or else!”
“Or else what?” I say, a perverse sort of chuckle escaping my mouth. It's like time has rewound ten minutes, but now it's my Prisoner coming out, stalking the prey. Dalton continues to back up, until he comes upon the shotgun laying on the ground. He picks it up, pointing it at me. I chuckle again. “No shells.”
“Aw, shit!” he shouts in fear and frustration.
He's now up against Mr. Jensen's corpse, preventing a further retreat. I lean down and grasp the shotgun barrel. Even though it's useless without ammunition, he still clings to it as if his life depends on it. I tug, and he doesn't let go. I tug again, but it's still within his grip. Surprisingly, the strength and desperation in both his arms are making my one Hybrid hand work for it. The struggle goes back and forth, until I get so frustrated that I grab it with all ten fingers and rip it from his clutches.
But I pull with such force that I fall backwards, and as I do, I feel cool air pass over the skin on my bald head. My wig has come off.
Dalton's eyes grow wide with terror. His nightmare has just resumed. “Oh God... you're one too. You're one too! I knew it!” He was right all along, I am a Hybrid Reanimate, I have been this whole time, and now he knows for sure. And though he deserves a prize for this, he'll be getting something else.