Daughters of Death (Postmortem Anomalies Book 2)

by Josiah Upton

  DAUGHTERS OF DEATH

  (Postmortem Anomalies, Book 2)

  Josiah Upton

  Daughters of Death

  Copyright © 2016 Josiah Upton

  All rights reserved

  Cover artwork by Adrijus Guscia, 2016

  DAUGHTERS OF DEATH is a work of fiction, and any characters bearing resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For those who refuse to do evil, despite their Prisoner’s wild cries

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Epilogue

  …Is Near.

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  Zaul

  Water splashes up onto my pants as I step in a puddle, one of many that litter the concrete path before me. It's only lightly raining now, and the dark storm clouds that passed over Cañon City moments earlier are moving across the mountains to the west. A low roar of thunder rumbles in the distance, and I lift my eyes to what lays at the end of this path, and the end of my free life. The Colorado Territorial Containment Facility.

  My gaze moves to the east, where I can barely make out a cluster of homes. Most of them empty and broken and rotting away, abandoned one hundred years ago when the dead came back to life. But in one of those houses is a human girl. One who knew exactly the kind of monster I was, yet chose to be my friend, and chose to love me. The girl that gave me the light and warmth I thought I would never find in this unnatural existence. The girl who left a kiss on my undead lips.

  Genny.

  And despite the promise she made just before I was taken away, I don't believe I will ever see her again.

  “Move it, Ugger!” calls out a voice, the containment officer that's been right behind me ever since I jumped out of that transport truck. Screaming at me, occasionally nudging me in the back with the hard metal barrel of his rifle.

  The Rage – the brutally violent nature of my Hybrid Reanimate condition – rises within, demanding that I turn around and tear him to pieces. Doing that would earn me a bullet, and end the dreaded future that lays ahead. This seems tempting. But then I remember the promise I made to Genny, that I would hold on to whatever small amount of humanity was left within me.

  It's a humanity that I'm not certain I even possess. Thinking over the past four years since I woke up from the dead, all I can see is darkness. Screaming in the dark, longing in the dark. Locked down in a basement, devouring raw portions of pig carcass as a pathetic substitute for the human flesh that I really crave. At every step was my evil Prisoner, begging me to give in and become what I truly am. And though I never did, I am not blameless. I still purchased black market Mortetine to dull my evil urges. I still blew my Hybrid English teacher Mr. Jensen's head off with a shotgun in the school office. I still contemplated murdering Dalton, just to save myself.

  I'm not sure if that humanity exists inside me. And if it does, it won't be easy to keep alive once I pass beyond the walls of the facility that looms ahead.

  The containment officer in front slows down as we near a tall metal fence, then holds up a hand as he stops completely. My nose sniffs the air, and I smell a new human. Looking up, I see a man in a blue uniform leaning over the guardrail of an elevated platform. In his hands is a large firearm, aimed right at me. That's just one more added to the list of guns pointing my direction.

  “Krecker,” the man in the tower says.

  “Pulger,” the officer in front, whom I guess is Krecker, responds. “We got a call-in here.”

  “Another one?” Pulger asks, peeking out from a long lens on top of his rifle. “That's the third one today. Don't know where all these unregistered Uggers have been hiding out, but people sure are looking to cash in on the reward money.”

  “But this one's a peculiar case,” Krecker says, taking a step toward the steel fence. “When we did the hand-off with the Collars, they said he was in an APA agent's house. Someone from the Cure depot.”

  An image of Genny's plump, bearded father comes to mind. Through all his feverish research while working in the U.S. Agency of Postmortem Anomalies, he never did find a cure for the Hubrens virus, the disease that threatens to kill Genny and transform her into a Hybrid Reanimate, once her hormone injections stop working. Having her father turn me in was the only way to secure a safe future for her, to keep her in Gordon's care once she transitions into the same kind of freakish beast I am. This is why I stand at this gate now, with all these guns pointed at my head.

  “The Cure?” Pulger says, looking back through the lens of his rifle. “What was he doing in a Cure's house? Getting tests run on him or something?” A grin stretches across the man's face. “We all know how lonely those Cure nerds can get. Maybe he was a personal lab rat… or pet.”

  The men around me laugh obnoxiously. My fists tighten.

  “How the hell should I know?” Krecker answers. “Those Collars barely tell me anything. But they did say he was wearing a wig when they got him. And look at his face...” Krecker walks backward to me, holding a hand up at mouth-level. My Prisoner's Hunger barks at me to take a bite. I grit my teeth and swallow the urge, wondering when I'll get a dose of Mortetine in me. Hopefully before I break down and lash out.

  “Is that...” Pulger begins, pausing to look up from his rifle again. “Makeup?”

  “Yep,” Krecker responds, finally dropping his hand away from me, allowing me to relax. “Most of it washed off in the rain. He's also wearing contacts. This Ugger was in disguise, pretending to be a human.” Pulger's jaw drops. “And he's got the smarts for it, too. He can even talk, and not just a few simple, grunting phrases. In fact, I bet his vocabulary is bigger than yours, Pulger!”

  The men start laughing again, and it grates on my nerves. When I first thought of life in containment, I assumed I would be tucked away in a little box, not having to worry about the symptoms of my Hybrid Reanimate condition driving me to violent crimes, or what might happen if the Prisoner within managed to escape. Yet here I am, surrounded by these men, having to restrain myself while I feel like I'm losing control. I never thought I would want to be locked up so bad.

  “Talk?” Pulger says, ignoring the joke at his expense. “What'd he say?”

  �
��Well, when he first came out of the truck, he started talking about being able to understand me, and that he was 'a good person'. He has a name, too.”

  Pulger looks to me, eyes wide. “What's your name, Ugger?”

  I hesitate for a moment, before deciding that it's safe to speak. “I am Zaul Jarreux.”

  “Not anymore,” Krecker says, then nods to the officer behind me. A sharp pain rocks through my back as the officer's rifle butt slams down on my shoulder, followed by a swift kick to the back of my legs. I fall on my knees, but everything inside me screams to get up and kill everyone in sight. The rifle barrel against the back of my head makes sure I stay down. A feral growl rips from my throat. The men laugh again. This isn't the first time they've done this, and it won't be the last.

  Pulger throws a circular object down to Krecker. Thunder crackles over the mountains in the distance, the lightning glinting off the hoop's metallic surface, illuminating it. I've seen this device before, around the necks of those Hybrids at the zoo exhibit. It is meant to restrain, control, and punish. This is my new collar. “You are now...” Krecker looks down at the shiny collar in his hand, reading an inscription wrapped around it. “Number 1822. We will call you Number 1822, and you will answer to Number 1822. Now, is that understood, Number 1822?”

  “Yes,” I utter, nearly choking on the word. “1822.”

  Officer Krecker approaches slowly, turning a key in the back of the collar, and the hoop snaps open. It is ready to grasp the neck of its new owner, to lower me to the level of a filthy animal. I may have doubts about my humanity, but I don't have any about the hungry jaws of that metal hoop. I don't want this. The only thing that calms my mind is knowing Genny will never have to experience such degradation. That thought allows me to endure.

  “I'm gonna put this on you, Ugger, and you're not gonna try anything, unless you want a bullet through the back of your skull. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  Krecker looks to the men around him, a satisfied smirk on his face, and brings the open jaws of the collar up to my throat. His arm is only inches from my teeth, the scent of his flesh invading my nose and riling my Prisoner. Soon, I will be the prisoner. I will be collared, confined, and at the mercy of these men for the rest of my days...

  Thunder cracks again, and the weathered face of a psychotic, bitter man enters my mind. The Containment Captain of the facility that stands before me. How ever cruel these officers are, they will be no match for Caesar Ortega’s wrath once he arrives. His utter hatred for Hybrid Reanimates is already at a constant boiling point, but I'm not just any Hybrid to him. I'm the Ugger who bought several hundred black market Mortetine pills, the one who fooled him for months into thinking I was only a high school student, before revealing myself just outside his house a few moments ago. All of his malice will be directed at me. Nothing will get better, only worse.

  The collar snaps around my neck. I feel like I can't breathe. It’s real now.

  Chapter 2

  Zaul

  “Open up the Corridor,” Krecker calls over his shoulder.

  Pulger nods, and pulls a handle that hangs from the roof of his small tower. A low grinding sound rumbles, and a metal hatch springs open from the ground just in front of me, causing me to jerk backwards. Out of the hole rises a rectangular black box, just a few feet wide, extending about six feet back, and is a little taller than I am. Once completely out of the ground, the front of it hinges out like a door, revealing a completely dark interior.

  Krecker points to the blackness. “Number 1822, remove all of your clothes and step into the Corridor.”

  “Remove my clothes?” I ask, shaking my head. “And go in there?”

  “Yes,” Krecker says. “And since you're smart enough to understand, I'm extending it as a courteous request, which is well beyond what you Uggers deserve. Usually we just tear the clothes off. Or just light them on fire, let 'em burn off. But either way... strip, Ugger. Before we do it for you.”

  That means getting naked in front of these men, exposing the entire network of dark blue veins that run across the ashy gray canvas of my abnormal body. They already know I'm a Hybrid, but... I don't want to do this. And I'm surprised by the amount of modesty a creature like myself is capable of.

  Krecker, however, does not appreciate my reservations. He sighs, and grasps a small object that hangs from his belt, a slender item with an array of colorful buttons on it. I have also seen this before, when the guide at the zoo exhibit used it to shock a Hybrid’s collar. It was a pain strong enough to bring a pain-resistant freak of nature to his knees, and I can still imagine the screams of agony in my head. I don't wish to utter my own.

  “I'll do it!” I exclaim, my fingers quickly fidgeting at the hem of my shirt, my undead muscles groaning and creaking as I lift it up over my head. While I completely disrobe, a negative emotion fills me, one I believe humans call 'humiliation'. This feeling evolves into Rage, and the simple act of getting undressed becomes immensely aggravating. By the end, I'm grunting savagely, and I nearly rip my pants off in frustration.

  “See?” Krecker says, letting his remote drop, and looking to the other officers. “Told you this Ugger was smart. I'll bet he gets in the Club.”

  “What about that temper, though?” questions Pulger, his arm draped casually over the rail of his tower. He has all but given up his job of aiming a gun at me.

  “Club?” I ask, confused. I don't know what that is, or whether I want to be in it.

  But judging by the look on Krecker's face when he turns back to me, I doubt I'll get an answer to that right now. His hand grabs his belt remote. I resolve myself not to speak anymore. His other hand points to the opening in the black box sticking out of the ground. “Get inside, 1822. Now.”

  I don't delay, not wanting to test Krecker's patience any further. But as I near the dark entrance of what he called the 'Corridor', my undead heart starts to throb. I'm used to being trapped in dark places – after all, I spent the majority of the last four years locked in a basement underground. But that was my basement. And it was much bigger than this.

  Once I step inside, the door closes behind me, and I start to panic. “Hey!” I scream. A small window to my left opens, Krecker's stern eyes peering inside. I briefly imagine jutting my hand out through the hole to claw at his face, maybe rip some of it off and shove in my mouth. I expect this thought to bring about a wave of nausea, something the Mortetine does to combat my Hunger. But the sensation is so faint it's almost undetectable. Whatever chemicals were in my system are nearly all gone now.

  “1822,” Krecker says, his voice distorted by the metal wall separating me from him. “This is your processing, which will assess your risk level, before we throw you into the Colorado Territorial Containment Facility, to rot for the rest of your miserable days...”

  “I don't care,” I growl. “Just let me out of this!”

  “If you don't calm the hell down, it's gonna affect your results. Badly.” He sighs, his eyes briefly looking away from the small window. “Doesn't matter either way to me, though. If you're a high risk, you'll get put in the Lock. It’s a room not much bigger than this, and you’ll be in it around the clock. One less Ugger in the Common for me to worry about.”

  “Alright,” I say, the very thought terrifying me. “Alright. I'll calm down.”

  After a moment of silence, Krecker clears his throat. “As I was saying, the Corridor will determine just how sick a son of a bitch you are, using some simple tests. The more controlled you are, the better the score you get. Ready?”

  “Yes,” I lie, clenching my fists. Anything to get this over with sooner.

  “Test Number One,” he announces. “Strength and Aggression.”

  A red light turns on at the back of the Corridor, and once my eyes adjust, I see the shape of a man a few feet away from me. I step closer, and see that the man is wearing a blue containment uniform. But looking at his face, something doesn't seem right, and the fact that I can't smell him ad
ds to the confusion. He reminds me of that plastic Merry Christmas Man statue I found in my basement. He must not be flesh-and-blood real.

  “Number 1822,” Krecker calls, and I feel a small buzzing sensation around my neck.

  I grunt in discomfort, clutching at my collar, then slamming my hand on the wall. “Why did you do that?”

  “That was a shock at the lowest setting. If you attack Officer Freddy at the end of the Corridor, you will receive a big one. Do not attack Officer Freddy.”

  The little window closes, and I am left alone with Officer Freddy. Okay, I think, my eyes returning to the man at the back of the Corridor. That shouldn't be too hard, especially since he isn't real...

  “Hey, Ugger!” the fake man shouts, his jaw moving up and down erratically. His head jerks side to side, eyes darting this way and that. He raises a mechanical arm at me. “Yes, YOU! What the hell do you think you're looking at? You sick freak!”

  “Excuse me?” I say, taking a step forward.

  “Shut your dirty mouth, Ugger! Before I shut it for you!”

  The red light behind Officer Freddy begins to blink – slowly at first, but then gradually growing into an unpleasant strobe. A high-pitched whine emanates from somewhere, prying into my ears, causing my nerves and muscles to tense up. It’s getting harder to handle.

  “Hey! I'm talking to you Ugger!” Officer Freddy shouts again. “You answer an officer when they speak to you!”

  “Yes,” I reply. I can't believe I'm actually attempting a conversation with a machine. “But you said to be quiet...”

  “Shut your dirty mouth, Ugger! Before I shut it for you!”

  The speed of the red light's strobe increases, and the piercing whine gets louder. My fists clench, and pound the metal walls on either side of me. As long as I don't attack this thing, I should be fine.

  “Looks like we need to teach you a lesson, Ugger!” Officer Freddy's eyes glow, and my neck begins to constrict, a low shock coursing through me. I pound the walls again, fighting the Rage that builds inside me. I don't know how much more of this I can endure.