Daughters of Death (Postmortem Anomalies Book 2)

by Josiah Upton

  His eyes moisten, which is always seems to be the precursor to a human crying. I’ve never known what to do or say when they cry. “I’m not sure, sir. The definition of a monster changes, depending on who you ask.”

  “True,” Ortega says with a wry smile. He sniffs his nose once, and looks down at my leg. “We’d better get you fixed up.”

  His gnarled hand pulls a keycard from inside his suit jacket and unlocks the door. The word “infirmary” bounces around my brain loosely, its exact meaning eluding me. I’ve read it before, though. I think it’s something like a hospital. When the door opens I expect to see a room filled with more containment officers, or perhaps some medical workers, and other containees suffering suspicious injuries. But it’s only a shallow closet with shelves, smaller than the room Caesar was just stuffed in.

  The director pulls a small, hand-held screen from one of the shelves. It’s quite similar to the tablet he hides in his jacket, and the one I used during our Brains Club exercise this morning. The only difference is the tangle of wires attached to it. Robert holds it up to my leg, and an image of my lower skeletal structure appears. Seeing the inside of myself is somewhat unnerving. The screen scans my injury, and blocks of text scroll onto the screen.

  “Your bones are just fine… it’s almost impossible to break those things,” he says. This makes me wonder how many broken Hybrid bones he’s witnessed over the years in this Facility, and what it took to break them. As excruciating as Caesar’s assault was, perhaps I haven’t experienced the worst of what can happen within these walls.

  Robert taps the screen and the image changes, showing my muscles and a network of veins. More text appears. “Hmm, there’s significant tearing of your calf muscle. And it looks like the bleeding has slowed, but not completely. We’ll need to cauterize your wound.”

  He swipes a control on the pad, and two metal cuffs eject from holes in the infirmary, and two more from the floor just in front of me. It’s startling, and their appearance remind me of the bed I was strapped to in the Cure department. I don’t like confinement, and I don’t like this. “What are those for?”

  “They’re to make sure you stay still, and to keep you from losing control.” He looks up at me from the tablet. “I still trust your better nature, Zaul, but I don’t trust your reflexes. And this is going to hurt quite a bit, even for you.” He looks between me and the cuffs as I continue to hesitate. “It’s either this, or I call in an officer. One with a finger on the button of his remote. Your choice.”

  I’ve had enough shocks today, more than all the other days combined. The scent of fried Hybrid flesh still lingers around my neck. I place my arms in the the cuffs, and they tighten around them until they can’t budge at all. My feet go in the holes in the ground, the cuffs gripping my ankles with an unbreakable hold. Robert pulls out a long metal stick from the infirmary, the end of it changing from cold grey to bright orange. I can feel the heat from here. “It’s going to be a two part process, both front and back. You ready, Zaul?”

  This can’t hurt anymore than what Caesar has already done. I clench my jaw, speaking through closed teeth. “Ready.”

  Director Ortega brings the heated wand to my leg, searing the flesh, and closing the wound. My arms jerk and pull at the cuffs, my Prisoner’s Rage protesting against the burning, looking for someone or something to destroy. Restraining me was a wise decision. He finishes one side, then moves to the back. By now I feel more numb to the pain, and my muscles relax slightly. Once done, he wraps a thin fabric around my calf, pulling it tight. I feel an icy sensation, as if my wound has been frozen.

  “The cooling strip will help with muscle damage,” Robert says, swiping the pad’s screen to release the cuffs. “Normally antibiotics would be given to prevent infection, but Hybrids seem immune to almost every type of virus or bacteria… or any other illness, for that matter.”

  My entire existence is an illness, I think. I don’t bother saying it to Ortega, though. He is the Director of this containment facility, but he’s also one of the few humans who express a little too much compassion for my condition. Just like Genny did.

  I’ve all but forgotten her since leaving Caesar in the Lock. I’ve pushed from my mind the unread letter that was eaten by the Juicer, and the words he claimed she wrote in it. Could they be true? Was her confession of love, and the kiss she gave, just the result of confusion? A momentary lapse of judgment?

  I look to Ortega. “You called Caesar a terrible liar. Has he ever made up a believable lie?”

  “Never,” Robert says, unfolding the darkly stained leg of my pants, letting it fall down. “Growing up, I always knew when he was up to no good. In fact, that’s how I guessed he was stealing Mortetine from the facility pharmacy. Just between you and me, Zaul, I was the one that ordered the raid on his house.”

  “That was you?” I ask. I’m shocked, and quickly growing furious. That raid is what sent Caesar on his maniacal spiral in the kitchen. It set him on the path to discovering Genny’s infection, and almost towards murdering her or her father.

  Seeming to sense my Rage, he grabs two more pills from inside the infirmary and hands them to me. “I’m sorry for what happened today. I wasn’t aware you were buying from him, so I didn’t know that blowback would fall on you. I was actually hoping it wouldn’t fall on anyone, and he’d be in APA custody.”

  “You were going to turn in your own son,” I say, a little surprised.

  “Yes,” he answers, taking steps down the hall, starting our path toward the Common. “I’ve had to answer to the Headquarters for quite some time regarding Mortetine supply discrepancies, fudging the numbers until my suspicions were confirmed. But no matter how hard I pressed Caesar’s men, no one talked. So then I outright asked him, and it didn’t take a father’s intuition to know he was lying. I informed the APA, and they raided that cockroach-infested shack of his.” He shakes his head. “Found nothing. It was probably my grilling that spooked him. I should have been more subtle.”

  “Actually sir,” I say, “he stopped dealing Mortetine over a month ago. He said that dealing was too risky, that it jeopardized his ‘destiny’. This was after he showed me a case of Jorge Ortega’s things.”

  “My father’s war stuff?” Robert asks. “Yes, of course he showed you that. That’s his pride and joy. He’s been using words like ‘legacy’ and ‘destiny’ ever since he was a kid, ever since he learned about his grandfather’s part in the End War. It’s an obsession, and a dangerous one. He believes it’s his duty to finish what my father started. I can only imagine how he would do that if he were in charge around here. And that’s why I tried to get him pinned for Mortetine trafficking, to keep him away from this facility for good. I spoke to you about balance, but the scales would not only tip, but be completely destroyed with my son at the helm. I don’t have much longer on this earth, and when I’m gone, he’ll be first in line to take my place. Between his tenure, current position, and intense commitment, AD Schutzhorne will surely grant the request.”

  Schutzhorne’s name causes my stomach to churn, though that could be the extra Mortetine I just swallowed. Our encounter in the Headquarters lobby was brief, but his dark gaze remained etched in my mind. He gives me a feeling that isn’t Rage or Hunger, but something else. An eerie mix of mystery and disgust.

  “If I had to pick, I’d rather have Krecker take my place. He’s stern, yes, but he’s not any more cruel or hateful than the other officers. And he’s not like my son. He isn’t…”

  “Crazy?” I offer.

  “Yes. It feels strange saying that as his father, but I know my son isn’t right in his mind. And getting him for his Mortetine crimes isn’t a possibility now.”

  We near the door to the Common, but Robert stops so that we’re just out of hearing range from the officers standing guard. “My only option now is to have him investigated and charged for his actions today. I appreciate you telling me what he did, but unfortunately testimony from a Hybrid isn’t admissible. L
et’s just hope I can persuade Krecker to testify. He’s got enough on the line that I’m sure he’ll play ball.”

  Robert nods to the officer, and the door opens. The collective clamor of the male Hybrid population pours into the hallway. Somewhere in the noise I hear my name, and see Walt, Rich and Ezra on the brink of the yellow line, waving at me. An officer confronts them, surely threatening a shock if they address a containee by name instead of number again. It’s back to everyday life in containment. I think I can survive, as long as Caesar stays locked up, far away from me. And even farther away from Genny and her father.

  “And what about Gordon Grest?” I ask, raising my voice above the low roar. “Will he and his daughter be safe?”

  “I’ll alert the right people at HQ, but the real threat is Caesar. As long as he’s locked up here, your friends will be safe. I promise.”

  Chapter 30

  Genny

  Steam clings to the bathroom mirror, obscuring my image behind a thin veil of white. Usually the first thing I do after I shower is wipe it away and dry my hair. But today I leave it. I’m hesitant to look at my new body. I’ve avoided my reflection since I woke up yesterday afternoon, afraid that an all-over inspection will somehow make the transformation permanent.

  As if it wasn’t already permanent.

  But it’s time to be a big girl. After all, I technically am a full-blown woman now. Getting there killed me in the process, but I’m there. And I can’t shy away from reality anymore.

  My hand cuts a path across the moisture, and unfamiliar eyes stare back at me. They aren’t dead-white, like all other Hybrids. But they aren’t the blue that once belonged to Geneva Grest, either. I see silver irises, and black pits in the center, like moons with holes punched through them. Removing more fog brings my hair into the picture, white and dripping wet. Like the mane of an old woman.

  I take a deep breath and wipe up all the condensation, my towel making little squeak sounds with each stroke, until there is nothing left to hide behind. A frosty blue covers every inch of me, from my scalp to my toes. My body looks like a damn ice sculpture. And even though it won’t break as easily, I still feel as if I might crack. No human ever looks like this, and neither does a Hybrid. It doesn’t make me special, it doesn’t make me important. It just makes me a freak. An anomaly of a postmortem anomaly.

  That’s enough inspection for today. I wrap the towel around my body and walk out into the upstairs hallway, towards my room. It didn’t take long for Dad to convince himself that my basement lock-up wasn’t necessary. I think he just wanted things as normal as possible. And while I feel confident in my restraint, I insisted that he install locks on his door, and keep them engaged while he slept. There’s this deep fear I have, that something in this body I can’t control will take over and make me do unspeakable, violent things. Those images during Mr. Neal’s Patriot Burning slideshow continue to haunt me, except the mutilated victims are replaced by my own father.

  Once in my room I go to my closet, and grab a black and gray striped long sleeve, and a pair of tattered jeans. I think I wore this combo only five days ago. For some reason I thought I’d be wearing different clothes, as if transforming into an undead girl would require a new wardrobe. Maybe more hospital gowns, or something like they wear at the facility.

  But while I may be colored like a robin’s egg, the measurements of my body haven’t changed. I haven’t gained or lost weight, my height hasn’t changed, and my chest is just the same. Thanks to seven years of my dad’s special hormone cocktail, all that is pretty much done. The only thing different is the period I started at the Rigg Foundation, and even that’s gone now. I don’t know if it comes back for female Hybrids, either. One more thing I’m hesitant to ask my Dad about. If he even has an answer to that awkwardness, that is.

  Now I’m dressed, and sitting at my desk, ready to do my makeup. Except I won’t be doing my makeup. How would I, or why would I? I’ve already thrown my vanity mirror in the closet, knowing I’ll never need it again. So I just sit here. Is this life now? Get all dressed and ready for the day, only to sit around inside? No hope of ever stepping foot outside?

  Some of the more controlled members of the Rigg Foundation were able to leave their confines – as long as their necks were clamped down with collars, their guardians’ fingers on the button. But now the foundation and welfare guardianships are completely dismantled, thanks to Rigg losing it and eating his brother. I’m not sure what the rules are on standard guardianships, but it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to expect a tighter grip on those as well. I also doubt my dad is willing to take me for a stroll outside any time soon. Or ever. Not with someone like Caesar next door. So I’m stuck here, and today starts the long drag of my Hybrid days. A life without change, a future without hope.

  My gaze shifts to the Facility view from my window. Zaul believed I would have forgotten him after my transformation, but this unexpected body didn’t afford me that.

  I still remember everything about him. I remember his stone cold silence in History class, his every action carefully considered and executed. One wrong move might have let a ferocious beast out. But his entire existence was dedicated to defeating his Prisoner, I knew he would never relinquish control. I remember the way he breathed as he watched me read in his basement, every rise and fall in sync with every turn of a page. He didn’t realize it himself then, and neither did I. But there was something happening between a Hybrid boy and the human girl I once was, something his Prisoner couldn’t touch.

  And his lips. His lips on mine as drops of rain fled around our mouths, my body pressed against his, my hands gripping the lean muscles of his neck. He didn’t lose control, even though it felt like I had. And if the two of us were together right now, here in this bedroom, there would be no need to hold back…

  Something’s different about me, something strange. I feel it inside, tugging at me like a wild animal. Just like any other girl growing up, I’ve had curiosities and desires, feelings that my body had thrown at me. But this is different. It’s strong and hungry and demanding.

  And it smells someone. An unfamiliar man, downstairs. Who the hell would be here? It doesn’t matter, the pull inside me says. Go down there and see what we’re dealing with here. I feel stupid obeying, but my feet are already on the floor, moving me out in the hallway. Low male voices travel up the stairs. I can’t figure them out exactly, but one must be my father, and the other the mystery man. I’m more preoccupied with what I’m smelling than what I’m hearing.

  But once I look to the bottom, I want to punch myself. Hard. The visiting man, the one that’s pulling relentlessly on my newfound Lust, is Dalton Harris. The jerk that made it his mission to single out me and others he thought were “weird”. Sure, his close shave with death caused him to reluctantly fund Zaul’s ill-fated transfer. And maybe he did guide me out of the foundation after I collapsed, when hell was breaking loose around us. But that doesn’t change things. Even dying and coming back doesn’t change things. And having those thoughts about Zaul, then my Lust pulling me down to Dalton, gives a sick feeling in my stomach.

  He sees me, his eyes widening. My father realizes Dalton is no longer listening to whatever he’s saying, and joins his gaze. “Genny,” he calls up to me, taking a step in front of Dalton. “I thought you were in your room. Mr. Harris here stopped by just to see how you were doing, but I suppose it’s best that he leaves now…”

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I say, descending the stairs cautiously. My stupid Lust keeps smelling him, keeps nagging at my mind and body with urges for this brute. I’d rather just go back up to my room, but I am determined not to be controlled by this. And I guess it’s only polite to say hello. It’s the least I can do in return for the little good he’s done.

  Now at the bottom of the stairs and only a few feet from him, I start breathing through my mouth. I can do this. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he echoes, looking me up and down. Not in a perverted way (if that’s even possi
ble, with how I look now), but out of innocent curiosity. After a long, silent stare he breaks his gaze, looking to my dad. “I’m sorry, I’m just having a really hard time wrapping my head around this. I mean, on the phone this morning you tell me she’s died and transformed. But then I see this.”

  “You can talk to me,” I say, a little annoyed. I don’t like being invisible.

  “Right,” Dalton says slowly, then smiles a little. “So, you’re okay with me being right here? You don’t want to eat me or anything?”

  Classy. At the mention of eat, my stomach starts burning. With the Lust invading my mind and body, I’d completely forgotten about Hunger. The two little devils mingle together, creating a confusing whirlwind of Hybrid desires I haven’t yet dealt with. My face tightens, and I grip the bannister for support.

  “Okay,” my dad says. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea. You’re still pretty new at this, Sweetie.”

  “No,” I say with a dry gulp. It may be a long time until I see another human other than my father, and even if it is Dalton, I won’t let my Prisoner ruin it. “Thanks. But really, I’m fine, Dad. We can talk in the living room, and you can chaperone from the kitchen.” He and Dalton both give me a skeptical look. “Let him hold the cattle prod, if that makes you both feel better.”

  But really, it’s so that I’ll feel better.

  Chapter 31

  Genny