Sons of Sludge (Postmortem Anomalies Book 1)

by Josiah Upton

  “I am Zaul Jarreux, a normal human.”

  “No,” he says, the word coming out as a wheezing chuckle from his mouth, shaking his head. “No, you're much more than that. You are Zaul Jarreux, a good person. Don't let anyone else tell you differently. Not your Prisoner, not Caesar – no one.”

  The mention of Caesar's name reminds me of my fate, what my refusal to commit murder will inevitably earn me: a cold and dark future in warehouse full of Hybrids, carrying on under the cruel boot of Caesar Ortega and his underlings. Containment.

  “You don't have much time,” Gibbs says, looking back over his shoulder at Dalton. “We might be able to lock him up in a closet, but I can't guarantee he won't break his way out. And we can't be sure when the next person will wander in here. Monday morning at the latest, but probably before then. You need to leave, and you need to leave now.”

  “Leave?” I ask. I was expecting to wait here until Dalton wakes up, let him run away to inform the APA, and sit around until they come capture me. “Where am I going?”

  “Cañon City,” he answers. “You still have your friend's future to save.”

  Chapter 40

  Emerging from the office, leaving the blood-soaked nightmare behind and never looking back, I check the clock hanging in the hallway, and realize the next bus to Cañon City should be departing... any minute now. I move as quickly as my undead muscles will allow me, each tendon stretching uncomfortably as my legs pump up and down, carrying me through the empty school hallway at an awkward yet hurried pace. Aside from existing, I don't think Hybrids were meant to run, either.

  I reach the exit doors, throwing them open, but stop suddenly when I am greeted by a gigantic crowd of humans swarming outside the school. It's the largest mass of flesh I've ever encountered, their collective scent invading my nose with overwhelming force. It's too much to take.

  I collapse against the school's brick wall, shutting my eyes tight. How will I ever get through this crowd without my Prisoner overpowering me, driving me to take a snap at a passing human? I grab some more Mortetine out of the plastic bag, pouring several down my throat. I've never burned through this many in such a short amount of time, but I won't need to worry about my supply after today, either. One thing to consider, though, is taking so much that it impairs my ability to think and act, like on that first day I met with Caesar. He even mentioned the possibility of a Hybrid Reanimate overdosing on Mortetine, and I can't save Genny if I'm lying unconscious on the street.

  I'd like to just sit here and let my mind and body adjust to the medication, but I don't have that much time to waste. I will myself to stand back up, open my eyes, and assess the situation before me. I look upon the congregation of humans again, and notice they're all headed in one direction, flowing like a river towards the back of the building. My eyes follow the movement, and I can now put images to what Genny described as the annual Patriot Burning.

  There's music and dancing, little tents set up with people passing out food and drinks. In the distance I see a few metal structures erected, spinning at high speeds, humans fastened into large buckets attached on the end of each moving metal arm. Bizarre. Several yards from the school building itself, towering over the heads of the teeming masses, is an enormous mound of contraband: books, movies, pictures, furniture, even a car. All are stacked and ready to be thrown into a massive fire, which is already roaring, its smoke rising into the sky. This is the celebration of one hundred years of national triumph and Reanimate-free living.

  But excited citizens aren't the only ones in attendance. Here and there are elevated stations of agents in gray suits, looking out over the crowd, occasionally holding portable radios up to their mouths, speaking into them. Not far from them are uniform black vehicles, the same kind that stopped my bus that one night, each of them bearing the APA seal. So the Hybrid-hunt is still on. If only they knew the one they were looking for is Mr. Jensen, and that he is already dead, inside the very building they surround...

  But they don't. If I'm not careful, it could be me they end up capturing. And until I'm on that bus to Cañon City, I'm not safe here. I need to move. I take quick paces in the direction of the bus stop, but don't get far before I collide with a random human. I seem to be finding obstacles at every turn.

  “Hey!” the man shouts indignantly, looking me up and down. I don't have the time or patience for this. I move to walk around him, but he gets in my way again. “Hold up a second, buddy... you got blood all over your shirt!”

  I do? I do. Horror fills me. I had forgotten that my clothes were marked with Mr. Jensen's Hybrid Reanimate blood, which is so clear to see in the bright daylight. I'm surrounded by witnesses and APA agents, all of which would turn on me if they knew what I was. And I get the feeling that they soon will. It's all over. I doubt I'll ever see Gibbs again, but if I could, I would scream at him violently for letting me leave the school looking like this.

  I expect this man to alert everyone around him, to wave down an agent to come capture me, but he doesn't. He just shakes his head, looking me up and down again with a look similar to disappointment. “Hey genius, the End War reenactment starts in five minutes, and the Reanimates are assembling on that side of the street!”

  My eyes follow his pointing finger. Further down the way I see where the crowd splits, with a large group of humans coming my direction, and a smaller group waiting on the residential side of the street in front of the school. These ones look like bloody, rotting corpses, bearing the description of the original Reanimate's from a century ago.

  But they can't be. Something isn't right. They're acting like humans, walking normally, talking with each other, occasionally laughing. They are humans, dressed up and painted to look like this. It's just like what I do, only it's normal people pretending to be monsters, and not the other way around. This man thinks this is what I'm doing, and that I've only just lost my way, and that I'm not someone who just unloaded a shotgun shell into a Hybrid's head at point-blank range. I don't think I could ever experience this kind of luck again in a million years.

  “Yes, of course,” I say, looking down at the ground. “Excuse me.”

  As I walk away with my unbelievable good fortune, I hear the man call out to me again. “And that's a terrible costume, by the way!”

  Skirting along the side of the school building, trying best to keep my distance from the crowd, I shuffle slowly towards the bus stop, hoping my ride hasn't left yet. With this many people around, and the school doors unlocked, it wouldn't be much of a stretch for someone to wander in there and discover that horrific scene in the office. I can't wait around another two hours for the next Cañon City bus to arrive.

  I come to a clearing in front of the school, and see the bus slowing to a halt at the end of the street. It will be leaving very soon. I pick up the pace, my muscles groaning as I force them to move faster. I can't slow down, I can't quit. Humans begin to file out of the folding doors, and I'm still several yards away. In the distance to my left, I see an APA agent looking my direction, holding up a radio to speak into. Am I drawing his attention? Is my running too suspicious? I can't stop to find out.

  The bus has emptied, and people are now getting on. But on a day like this, with the Patriot Burning attracting large flocks of citizens, I don't expect that many people will be looking to leave this area right now. After only a handful of passengers enter, the folding doors shut, and I'm still five houses away. I'll never make it.

  More activity from the agents in the surrounding area catch my attention, each talking into their radios, some pointing at me, some leaving their stations to come my way. And for some reason, the street seems to be empty now – except for me. I'm the only one, running right down the middle of it. Standing out like a blood stain on a white shirt. They're still on the lookout for an unregistered Hybrid Reanimate in Pueblo, and to them, I could very well be that Hybrid, trying to escape. Even if I do make it on that bus, it will never leave this neighborhood.

  Terror and h
opelessness seize my thoughts, and my legs trip up from under me, having already moved faster than they ever have before. I fall onto the hard asphalt surface, defeated. I hear shouts around me, surely the APA agents running to apprehend me. I can hear their footsteps thundering my direction. I have failed.

  But just when the footsteps finally reach me, and I think I have come to the end, more footsteps join them. And more. And more. Hundreds, maybe even a thousand. Too many to be agents. I look up, and I don't see gray suits converging on me. No, it's something much worse. A thick swarm of humans surrounds me, half of them appearing dressed in green military uniforms, the other half wearing the makeup and costumes to look like Reanimates. All of them shouting, playfully clawing at each other, or poking each other with plastic toy guns.

  The End War reenactment has begun, and I'm right in the middle of it, trapped under a sea of humans. I nearly pass out from the overwhelming stench, the sheer volume of flesh that is just inches away from my teeth.

  “Hey, we got somebody down!” I hear a voice shout nearby. Strange hands grabs my arms, and hoist me up to my feet, the mayhem still continuing all around us. Just in front of me is a small teenage girl, her face painted up with fake blood and festering wounds. “What are you thinking, laying down on the job, soldier?”

  “What?” I bark, confused and disoriented.

  She smiles, and giggles. She looks old enough to rile my Lust, but in this crowd, I can't separate one scent from another. And right now, I'm just grateful it's her greeting me, and not an agent in a gray suit. She slaps me on the back, and pushes me into the horde of fellow reenactors behind her. “Get back into a mindless, shambling formation!” she laughs, patting me on the back again.

  I push my way out of the crowd, all the while not seeing any APA agents approaching. There's too many bodies, too many faces. For the time being, I am concealed. I don't know where I've come from, I don't know where I'm headed. I just know that I want out of this nightmare.

  At last I emerge, and am greeted by much fresher air... and the sight of a bus. Somehow, I ended up at the bus stop, with no agents in sight, and the ride going to Cañon City is still here. That luck that I thought I would never experience again must still be with me. I approach the bus's closed doors cautiously, peering inside, wondering why it's still here. Then the doors open suddenly, almost making me fall back onto the curb. The driver eyes me widely, almost impatiently, as if waiting for me to say something. “You looking to ride, kid?”

  “Uh... uh, yeah,” I say slowly. “Why haven't you left yet?”

  “Well, I'd love to,” the driver says, hand up in the air, “but there's too many damn people in the way to move this thing.” He stares ahead through the windshield, nodding slowly. “Looks like they're finally clearing up. So, you wanna ride or not?”

  “Yes,” I say, climbing aboard, breathing heavily. “God, yes.”

  Chapter 41

  The bus arrives in Cañon City without any problems arising. No APA security checkpoints, no agents coming on to take me away. Not even a suspicious look from the driver, or the three other passengers on board. But I can still feel my undead heart racing, pumping the same kind of blood that stains my shirt. The images of the stressful day fill my mind – every horror, every close call, every instance when failure was just a second away. I relive the things I've done, ache over the things I considered doing, and dread the thing I am about to do.

  The bus screeches to a halt in front of the Colorado Territorial Containment Facility, my future home. I know I'm safe for the time being, I know APA agents aren't on my tail. But I immediately break into an awkward jog once the bus doors open. I don't want to wait any longer, and let the pain and the fear of a future without Genny eat away at me. I don't want to give myself the chance to reconsider, to doubt my decision, or to come up with another harebrained alternative. I need to get this over with. It all ends right now.

  Dark clouds gather in the sky, looming overhead, like they did my first day out here. I can sense the moisture in the air, smell it, threatening to come pouring down and wash away my disguise. I run faster. The sight of Caesar's dilapidated house greets me as I round the street corner, and I feel his hate and violence and danger seeping from under its door, out into the street. I push on harder. I can't slow down, I can't stop. That man might see me, try to talk to me. I'll have plenty of time for that when I'm locked up in his Ugger warehouse. There's only one person I want to see right now.

  I arrive at last on the Grests' front porch, and my body collides into the door. I'm not accustomed to slowing down from such an unfamiliar speed. I bang my fist impatiently on the door, stealing a quick glance over to Caesar's porch, hoping I won't see his face pop out to investigate the commotion. A moment passes, and I detect no activity from nextdoor, but also none from the house in front of me. My fist slams down again, over and over.

  Finally, the door opens, and Gordon's plump face emerges from behind it, wearing an indignant look. “Zaul... what are you doing? Trying to break down my door?” His eyes move up and down, noticing the splatter on my clothing. “And what's with all the blood on your shirt? You get hurt, or something?”

  “I need to come in,” I blurt, taking a step forward. Gordon eyes me appraisingly, his brow raised, arms folded. I can't deal with the reluctant father routine right now. “Let me in, please. It's about Genny.”

  “I already know what happened at school today,” he says. “Genny told me when I picked her up. She said that troublemaker Dalton Harris got a hold of her confidential health record, and made it public to the whole school. She also said that you...” He pauses, squinting his eyes at me. Did she already tell him? Is he already aware of my plan for his daughter, and by extension aware of what I am? And did she find a way to talk him out of it, even before I could present it to him?

  “...punched him in the face,” he finishes. “Broke his nose. Is this true?”

  “Yes, sir,” I admit, looking down at the porch's weathered wood. I'm relieved he doesn't yet know his daughter befriended a Hybrid, but I also realize that a brawl with another student isn't proper behavior.

  But despite that, he pushes the screen door open anyway, a smirk on his face, his arm stretched out to indicate I am welcome in his home. “Would you like something to drink, Zaul?”

  I follow him into the house, the both of us making our way to his kitchen. From here I can smell Genny, her scent traveling down the stairs to me. My first instinct is to sprint up them, to open her door and see her. To grab hold of every last minute I have left with my only friend. But I don't know how much time I have to speak with Gordon, probably not much. The good-bye will have to wait.

  ”You didn't answer my question about the blood on your shirt,” he comments over his shoulder. “That can't all be from punching someone in the face, can it?”

  “No, sir,” I reply, remembering what that man said outside of the school, and the End War reenactment that miraculously concealed me from the APA agents. “It's a costume. They have the Patriot Burning going on outside our school today.”

  “That's right,” he says, turning around when we arrive in the kitchen. “I forgot people still did that. I haven't been to one of those ridiculous Burnings in years. I saw a guy at the store this morning, all painted up and scary looking. I almost dropped the eggs I was holding when I saw him. Makes sense now, though...”

  He smiles, looking down at the floor, stroking his bearded face. “Ya know, before The End, kids used to get dressed up like monsters on October 31st. Except, it wasn't for the eve of New Independence day, but for an old holiday called 'Halloween'. I remember my grandfather talking about it, said he would go door-to-door in his neighborhood, and collect candy. Funny, huh?”

  At the moment, not really. I have more pressing matters than hearing stories of things that happened over one hundred years ago. “Is Genny here?” I ask, although I already know the answer, and where she is. “I'd like to talk to her.”

  “She's upstairs,”
Gordon remarks as he opens the refrigerator door. “I don't think she's feeling up to a visit, considering what happened today. She was pretty shook up, and we'll probably go back to homeschooling after this. And no offense, but seeing you right now might only remind her of all that.”

  I nod grimly.

  “And what happened to Dalton, by the way?” he continues, pushing things around in the refrigerator, looking for a beverage I doubt I will even drink. “She said you two went to the office, escorted by that bonehead history teacher. Did that kid receive any further justice? Aside from you clocking him in the face, of course.”

  The image of Dalton comes to mind, his unconscious body laying on top of Mr. Jensen's cold corpse. I only hope he's still out, or at least still locked up in the closet I dragged him into before I left. This deal needs to go down before he gets out and starts talking. “Yes,” I answer Gordon, both unwilling and unable to explain further.

  “Good!” he chuckles, turning away from the refrigerator to hand me a glass of purple, translucent liquid. The ridiculous amount of sugar swimming around inside causes my nose to wrinkle, makes me want to gag. I put the glass down on the kitchen table behind me. “What's the matter, Zaul? Not thirsty?”

  “Look, we need to talk,” I say, getting straight to the point.

  “Sure,” he says, scratching his fingers in his scruffy beard. “What's on your mind?”

  What's on my mind? I don't know where to begin. So many images are still running through my head. The vision of a blood-soaked Jensen shambling towards me, that creepy grin on his face. The sound of his maniacal cackling, and the deafening explosion from the shotgun when I ended him. The smell of Vicky Womack's blood, reeking off of her mutilated body. The dread I felt while running towards the bus, almost positive the APA had me in their clutches. But more than anything, I'm thinking about Genny, about her future, and what I must do to save it.