Daughters of Death (Postmortem Anomalies Book 2)

by Josiah Upton

  “Maybe we should give you another taste, you bastard!” His eyes glow again, and my collar shocks again, only more painfully this time. I howl and snarl, stomping my foot, staring at Officer Freddy with extreme violence. I could so easily destroy this thing, smashing it to thousands of little pieces.

  “Hey!”

  Shock.

  “Ugger!”

  Shock.

  “UGGER!”

  SHOCK.

  “UGGER!!!”

  Enough. Without thinking, I close the little space between us and grip Officer Freddy's rubber neck in my strong hands. I squeeze, tighter and tighter, until I feel the crushing of his mechanical parts inside. I can almost pretend that it's windpipe and vertebrae I am destroying, that it's an actual person being sacrificed as an offering to my violent Rage. I can almost pretend that this is Caesar.

  I give in completely. I snap Officer Freddy's neck, and rip his head from his body. I tear at his arms and his legs, removing and destroying whatever my hands can find, until it’s nothing but a heap of metal, rubber, and shreds of containment officer uniform on the floor.

  And then the shock comes. An immense pain grips me, one that I never thought could exist. It fills every fiber of my body as I fall to the floor. Time almost slows to a stop, and it feels like I am within the embrace of agony for hours. All the while I am unable to do anything to stop it. This is utter torture. When the pain ceases, there are no screams that escape from my mouth, no Rage to retaliate with. The shock seems to have sapped all my energy, and all I can do is lie on the ground, exhausted and defeated. The window opens, and Krecker's eyes appear again. “Level 3 Aggression, and Level 7 Strength.”

  “What...” I begin, breathing heavily. In the aftermath of that shock, even speaking is a laborious task. “What does that mean?”

  “Means you can withstand a lot of agitation,” Krecker explains. “But once you finally snap, you're one mean Ugger.”

  “Is that good?” I ask.

  “Test Number Two,” Krecker barks, ignoring my question. “Libido Restraint.”

  Libido? I know exactly what this next test will assess, I'm just not sure how it will be done. I slowly rise to my feet, ready to face what comes next, hoping this will bring me closer to the end of this. The red light turns off, and the little wall that Officer Freddy once stood in front of lowers, letting a bright blue light fill the Corridor. Another human figure comes into view, odorless and motionless and completely fake. Except this one isn't wearing an officer's uniform. And it's a woman.

  “Number 1822,” Krecker calls again. I've already grown accustomed to this label, as if I never was Zaul Jarreux before. So much of my life has changed already, and I haven't even entered the facility yet. “This is Betty. No matter what she says or does, DO NOT touch her. If you do, you will be getting another mother of a shock.”

  His window closes, and I begin to laugh, looking at the lifeless body at the end of the Corridor. My lecherous Prisoner is intrigued by how realistic Betty appears, but she is lacking the vital female pheromones that his Lust is trying to sniff out. This should be easy.

  “Hey there,” Betty says softly, her robotic motions making me chuckle again. This feels ridiculous. “Why don't you come over here?”

  “No thank you,” I respond, once again amazed that I'm talking to a machine. “I don't think you're quite what...”

  My speech is cut short when a mechanical whirring lightly shakes the floor of the Corridor. Two small holes open just in front of me, and vaporous streams shoot up into my face. I try to back away, foolishly swatting at the fumes, but there is no escape, and the spray has already plunged deep into my nose. And that's when I finally smell Betty.

  Chapter 3

  Zaul

  “Hey there,” Betty says again. This time her voice sounds different. More enticing. More real. My Prisoner begs me to look up, and I cannot resist. My eyes fall upon this woman, one that I know is only clothed rubber stretched over moving mechanical parts. But the pheromones that dance inside my nostrils insist that I am mistaken, that Betty is genuine flesh and bone. That she wants me to go to her.

  “Don't be shy,” she says with a giggle. “Come over and talk to me.”

  I clench my eyes shut and start breathing through my mouth. The nerves on top of my skin tingle, and I wait for the Mortetine to numb my sensations. No relief comes to me. I'm on my own. I open my eyes to Betty again, and she seems so real. She must be real.

  “Well, if you're not going to come over here,” Betty says, her voice soft and soothing, “I'll just have to come over to you.”

  “No,” I utter, shaking my head. “Please, stay away.”

  She only giggles, and begins moving slowly, her path guided on a track along the Corridor's floor. She's just a couple of feet away, causing me to back up against the wall, somehow feeling that if I push hard enough, I will fall out and escape from this lifelike machine and her intoxicating aroma.

  “So,” Betty says, her eyes moving up and down my naked body. I feel a slight heat emanating off of her, adding to the illusion, swaying my senses. “What do you want to do now?”

  “Nothing,” I say, closing my eyes again. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”

  “You look comfortable,” Betty says, more heat seeming to escape from her mechanical mouth. “Mind if I get comfortable too?”

  “Shut-up,” I bark. “Stop talking. Stop doing anything.”

  My ears hear a small snap, and the dropping of her dress to the floor. I struggle with my Prisoner over control of my eyelids, fighting desperately to resist, but his Lust wins out. They open slowly, and I take in the vision of this completely naked woman, the texture of her rubber flesh so real and so close. My eyes greedily devour every inch, every contour. All notion that this woman is only a machine is quickly escaping.

  “I know what we can do,” she says quietly, almost as a whisper.

  “No,” I grunt, my body shaking. I feel so helpless. But I also feel filthy and abhorrent, my sick nature demanding that I do horrible things, potentially violent things.

  “Why don't you put your hand on my skin,” Betty suggests, inching closer on her track, pushing me completely flat against the wall. If I move at all, my body will be touching hers. “I think you should.”

  “No…”

  “I want this,” Betty utters, a pleading in her voice. “I want you.”

  This is torture. It’s worse than the shock Krecker threatened me with. But if I just give in, it will end the nightmare. The holes open up again, spraying more pheromones into my face. “Touch me,” the insistent machine commands. “Touch me.”

  I cannot do this anymore. My Prisoner cackles menacingly. My arm raises, and my hand clutches Betty's soft, warm skin. Sensation ignites all over my body.

  And then it's over. Nozzles appear from the Corridor's ceiling, shooting out streams that clear the air, removing the female pheromones that strangle me. Betty's body jerks backward, moving away on the track, until she is back to where this all started. A large hole opens in the floor, and she drops down into it. Like she was never here.

  Now I am on the metal floor again, writhing in agony. My hands had only touched her counterfeit skin for a moment, before the collar around my neck set off an explosive shock, seizing up my dead flesh. But perhaps the fiercest pain I experience is failure, the feeling that I somehow betrayed Genny by giving into this ridiculous illusion. I am compelled to remain on the floor, trapped under the weight of immense pain and incredible guilt, for what seems like hours.

  I want to die.

  The shock finally ceases. My brain feels like a pulsating, gelatinous mass between my ears. The window slides open. “Libido Restraint,” Krecker says, “Level 5. Average.”

  “What... what... wh...” The word fumbles on my lips, not cooperating with my mind. “Wh-what is th-th-that sm-smell?”

  Krecker chuckles. “That smell is you, 1822. You were getting fried like a chicken. I gave you a bigger one than the last, and
for longer, too. If I had kept it going for another minute, you'd be a dead Ugger. Well, dead for good this time.”

  Trembling, my hand reaches up to my neck, their tips grazing the raw skin just above my collar. I wince and grimace in pain.

  “Oh, don't worry. You Uggers heal up in no time.” Then he regains his stern composure. “Now, on your feet. Before you get another one just for wasting my time.”

  “Let me out of here,” I say between breaths. “Just score a zero on the rest. I’m done with this.”

  “No you’re not,” Krecker says dryly. “Moving on to the third and final Test: Appetite.”

  Appetite...

  Hunger. Of course they would end with testing my Hunger for human flesh. It's the one thing I have in common with my brain-dead Reanimate ancestors that rose from the dead over 100 years ago. It's what makes creatures like me so hated and feared. It is the defining element of my evil nature. But how will they test something like that, without a real human in here to tempt me?

  I get my answer when the last door lowers into the ground. Tethered to the wall at the end of the Corridor is a live hog. Restrained and defenseless. When he sees me, he starts to squeal and grunt, somehow sensing just exactly what kind of savage creature I am. Knowing that everything inside me hungers to devour his living flesh. And when my Prisoner sees this animal, he seems to squeal and grunt as well. All the years of eating cold pig remains from my basement refrigerator, never able to eat the living human meat my Hunger truly craves. And though this hog isn't exactly that, the fact that he is still alive is enough to drive me insane.

  “Number 1822,” Krecker says from the window, though I can barely hear him. All my attention is on that frantic creature trapped in here with me, my eyes tracking its every move. “This is Eddie. It's pretty simple: Don't eat Eddie.”

  “And what happens if I do?” I ask through bared teeth. “Do I get a shock?”

  Krecker doesn't answer. He only closes the window.

  And now it's just me, Eddie the pig, and my Hunger. I don't know how long I'll be in here, or what happens if I lose control. I only know that I want that pig, and I want all of that pig. I want to grab it in my hands, sink my teeth into its fatty flesh and devour it whole. Skin, organs, eyes, muscles. Brains. Everything.

  My throat and stomach are burning. My vision blurs, heightening my sense of smell. Nothing seems to matter as a primal urge takes over me. The only thing that keeps me from jumping on it is perhaps the faint echo of habit, of repetitively denying my Hunger for so long. After all, in the last two months of school I was constantly surrounded by the flesh of humans, ever tempting me to give in. I didn't, so surely I can resist this animal, if only I stay on this side, and he on his.

  But Eddie doesn't stay on his side. The wall at the end of the Corridor shifts, pushing him closer to me, drawing him nearer to my hands and my teeth. My Prisoner laughs, licking his cracked lips at the thought of a live meal. I'm losing my resolve, and the pig is still several feet away. Something inside me struggles, begging me to latch onto anything that might maintain some sort of last stand against my Hunger. Nothing sticks, and the juicy and helpless pig is only getting closer. Every part of me is consumed with this need.

  Feed, my Prisoner insists. His voice inside my head no longer comes across distorted or foreign. He sounds just like me, and I like him. We are one. I can't imagine a moment when we were ever separate. Feed. Feed me now!

  “No,” I respond. I say it out loud, and my voice sounds less like my Prisoner and more like me. My frenzied mind somehow clings to a tiny notion, which slowly grows like defiant roots penetrating frozen ground. For years Gibbs taught me to master my urges instead of becoming their slave. I won’t fail him again. I won’t fail Genny. This place won’t change me. I am Zaul Jarreux, and I am good.

  Eddie gets pushed forward all the way, and by the terrified noise he makes I would almost believe another Hybrid has snuck in here and gotten a hold of him. The pig’s thrashing body is pressed against my ankle now. His smell is so strong that I mistake it for taste. But I don’t give in. Though torturous, I refuse to. I’ll eat myself before I give in.

  Eddie scampers away in swift retreat. Light floods into the Corridor, not from Krecker's little window of instruction beside me, but from the back. Eddie escapes through it with his life. It's over. I walk cautiously towards the doorway, so close to leaving the Corridor, but stop when Krecker appears to block my way.

  “Appetite,” he says, pausing long and hard to stare at me. “Level One. I’m not going to shock you, because I’ve never seen that before. How the hell did you resist, 1822?”

  I remembered who I was, I think to myself. But I don’t dare say it. I only offer a blank stare. If I can withstand that, I can handle containment. This facility doesn’t determine who I am. I do.

  One of the officers hands me some new clothes, a blue-and-black striped one-piece garment with a zipper on the front, and holes for my arms and legs. And in large print on the front and back is the number “1822”. My new identity. I put it on quickly, not protesting or hesitating in the slightest. The thought of receiving another one of those shocks is enough to ensure my swift compliance.

  I'm also given a few Mortetine pills. Without instruction, I swallow them immediately. I never liked the way they made me feel: sick and numb and sleepy. But after what I experienced in the Corridor, I eagerly welcome them as a small salvation from my Prisoner's unrelenting cries. I’ve proven to myself that I can resist, but I won’t decline some assistance, either.

  “Number 1822!” Krecker barks. “Your Corridor results have concluded that you are fit for containment within the general population of the Colorado Territorial Containment Facility. But,” he says, eyebrow raised, “that can always change. So watch it.” Krecker turns to Pulger, now behind us in his tower, and nods. “OPEN UP!”

  “Open up!” Pulger echoes, and pulls another lever. A loud buzzing sounds off, and a red flashing catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turn my gaze to the facility's wall, where a large metal door opens down the middle, the edges of each side jagged like teeth. Ready to devour me.

  “This is it, Ugger,” Krecker says, stretching his arm out towards all that surrounds us. “Take one last look. You won't be seeing any of it again.”

  Trees, mountains, land, sky. My eyes survey all that will be taken from me once I pass beyond those metal doors, forever trapped in the facility. To be honest, I can survive without all this. I did for four years, living in a dark basement under the earth, not wanting to leave or be bothered by the world of the living. A world that hates me, and one that I want to eat. The one thing I care about leaving behind is Genny. She provided the only light and warmth I've ever felt in this existence, a satisfaction that the gratification of my Rage or Lust or Hunger could never give. The bizarre feeling of a monster loving a human, and that monster being loved in return. That is what brought me to these walls. I did this to keep her safe. I'm doing this for her.

  I hold onto that thought as I pass through the metal doors. They close behind, their teeth interlocking tightly, devouring me completely. So begins my new life.

  Chapter 4

  Genny

  Sitting on my bed, I scratch the tip of my pencil lightly across the pad of paper in my lap. I'm not even sure what I'm drawing, my hands just move on their own. The sound of light rain pouring outside mingles with the music piping out from my speakers. I was listening to this song when he first came over here...

  A black pit sinks in my chest. The corners of my eyelids give the first signs of trembling. I change the song, and turn the music up louder. Don't cry, I tell myself. Don't cry, you stupid idiot. Just get a grip. You've squeezed out more than your fair share of tears for a lifetime.

  And that's the truth. I cried when my mother died. I asked myself why she left me at only four-years-old, and foolishly wished that someday she would come back. I cried when my father told me I was sick, and that I would probably die before I turn
ed thirteen. I cried when I learned I would rise from the dead as an unnatural being, knowing nothing of my past. Knowing only hunger and anger and destructive desire. I cried on every birthday I should have never made it to, wondering when my horrific fate would finally come knocking at the door.

  I even cried when I broke up with that jerk Dalton, confirming what I already knew all along, that I would always be alone. That I would die alone. I cried every time I've reminded myself of that truth. And I've already cried plenty today...

  But did any of those tears change anything? No. My mother is still dead. Someday soon, I will be dead, returned as a violent shell of my former self. I'm still all alone while I wait for this to happen. So should I be so stupid to think shedding anymore will bring him back? The only boy I ever loved? Zaul. His name moves between my ears like waves in a pool. That black pit forms in my chest again. A salty drop escapes my eye's grasp, and splatters onto the paper. That's when I realize the movements of my pencil are drawing his face.

  “Dammit!” I shout, tearing the drawing out of the pad. I rip it to pieces. And then I rip the pieces into pieces. I snap my pencil. I throw it all to the floor. I get off my bed and stomp on it. “Dammit, shit, dammit!”

  Why did I do this to myself? Of all the people that existed in my limited lifespan, why someone like Zaul? Someone who would sacrifice themselves just to save me, but by doing so leave me all alone again?

  I find myself at my window, looking out towards the Colorado Territorial Containment Facility. The high fences, the sealed walls. Knowing that someone like Caesar is in charge. If the stories my dad heard are true, no Hybrid belongs there, but especially not Zaul. And before they took him away from me, I promised I would find a way to get him out of there. How? How could an infected, insignificant girl make something like that happen? Why did I give him that hope?

  Nothing makes sense, no thought comforts me. And you'd think the one good thing to come out of this, that my father will keep me in his care after my inevitable transformation, would offer some amount of solace. But it doesn't. I won't even remember him when I come back. Such ignorance might eliminate these problems then, but it doesn't help the pain and confusion now. I'm lost. Completely and utterly.