Sons of Sludge (Postmortem Anomalies Book 1)

by Josiah Upton

  He waits for me to take him on, but my attention is on Genny. No one else is looking at her. No one seems to care. She slowly pulls herself up, and when she turns I see red on her brow ridge, a cut from her collision on the locker's hard metal surface. He hurt her. There are no more flashes loaded to go off, only anger and hatred and violence as it all melts together inside of me. My Rage meter is far beyond red. My Prisoner has just finished picking his cell door's lock.

  I tense and quiver as if I'm about to shatter like a heated glass bottle. There is no more thinking, only acting. My body moves itself toward him, not under my control. The large young male gets in a ready stance, stone-faced. But then something changes in him, in his muscles and expression. He is no longer on his guard. The only thing that can describe his disposition is utter fear. With all the hours of preparation this morning to look human, my inner monster is coming out, and he can see it. I must look terrifying. I wallow in the feeling this gives me.

  He moves back with his palms out, surrendering, but it's too late for that. My hand reaches out to him, much like my primitive ancestors must have when clumsily groping for human flesh. But I'm not as brain-dead as they were. He pushes my hand out of the way, I keep coming. He socks me in the gut, it tickles. The male is now backing up into a crowd of students, slowing his retreat. I grapple him, wrapping my fingers around a patch of his hair. He shrieks in pain, and his body constricts as it shifts all its weight to his toes.

  “P-P-Please...” he whimpers. I don't answer. He's going to pay, and there is no amount of pleading that will save him from it. I'll have to call him Smashface after this, not Assface... Oh, now I get it. My arm twitches, and he slams into a nearby locker.

  The male's body crumples to the linoleum floor. Blood on Genny's face, blood on his. Justice has been realized, so my Rage should abate. But it doesn't. I've come too far, my Prisoner wants to see more blood. And then, he wants to taste it, along with the flesh that it pumps through. My hand finds the male's shirt collar, and lifts his limp body off the ground. I can't stop until he is dead and eaten. Gibbs was wrong, I'm not in control. This is the beginning of the end for my ridiculous attempt at a normal life that I don't deserve. What a joke.

  Just as I am about to bash him into the locker again, I feel something on my shoulder. I am reminded of when Genny laid her hand on me in the Jeep, bidding me to stop where I was. I look over and see her now. “No, Zaul,” she says to me. “Just let him go.”

  My Prisoner screams and grieves, refusing to listen to such a weak and small human, one that could so easily be destroyed and devoured. But I listen. My fingers relax, and the male drops to the floor. The bell rings.

  “Just what in the world is going on here?!?!” Mr. Neal waddles through the crowd of students, displacing many of them to make way for his rotund frame. His eyes, which already appear abnormally large from the magnification of his glasses, grow wider once he encounters the full scene. The redness in his plump cheeks increases, and he points to Genny and I. “You two! Go to the principal's office, right now!”

  “But she didn't...” I begin.

  “I don't want to hear it!” Just then two other adult humans appear behind Mr. Neal, and he starts delegating. “Cynthia, could you please help me get Dalton to the nurse? Brad – escort these two troublemakers to Vicky's office as soon as possible. Everyone else, get to class.”

  With aid from the female teacher he lifts Dalton off the ground. His nose is broken and crooked, blood running down onto his lip. He gives us one long look of revile before he's walked down the hall. I'm surprised that he's even conscious. If Genny hadn't stopped me, he might be dead. Maybe digesting in my gut.

  Brad, who is actually my English teacher Mr. Jensen, calmly herds us in the opposite direction. He is a nice man, but also a little annoying. Always smiling or laughing, taking positivity to obscene heights I did not think were possible. And whenever I look at his face, it makes me think of the liquid cheese they sometimes serve over stale chips in the cafeteria, which I despise. Maybe, kind of like Assface, I can call him Cheeseface. I let a small giggle slip.

  “I don't think there's anything funny about our situation,” Genny whispers to me as we walk.

  “Well, it's always good to look on the bright side,” Mr. Jensen responds, to a comment not directed at him. He can't help but offer unwanted optimism. “Maybe you two can see this as a learning experience. It's always better to offer hugs than hits.” He chuckles merrily, and it chafes me. Clamping his mouth shut to stop the verbal sugar from spewing out is a tempting option right now. “What happened back there, anyway?”

  “Well, uh...” I have a hard time explaining myself. The grim reality of the situation cannot be disclosed.

  “It was just a big misunderstanding,” offers Genny. She looks slightly my direction. “A very stupid one.” That strange feeling creeps inside me again, the negative one. It makes me look away.

  “Well, whatever the case, I'm sure you guys can clear it all up with Ms. Womack.”

  We arrive at the front office door, and Mr. Jensen holds it open. He motions for us to sit in the hard plastic chairs against the wall before walking over to the receptionist's desk. To my surprise Genny takes a seat right next to me, but then folds her arms and looks off and away, chewing on a thumbnail. She's mad. I've gotten her in trouble. The chances of her being my friend are surely gone.

  Chapter 15

  Occasionally, I'll steal a glance at Genny, just to see if she looks as angry as I suspect she is. But when I do, her blue eyes flit over to meet mine, and it causes me to tense up. She's definitely not big enough to pose any physical threat, so I have no idea why her icy presence causes me such anxiety. All I know is I don't want to be caught looking at her again, so I stare straight ahead.

  My eyes fall upon the large woman behind the receptionist desk, and my Prisoner emits a low growl. Can't look there, either. My attention moves to a large metal box on the wall behind her, one that I didn't notice my first day here. It's suspended seven feet up in the air, and has “RPZ” stenciled in large black letters on its front. What does that mean? And what's inside that box?

  I can't ponder this much longer before Mr. Jensen returns, handing a moist paper towel and a bandage to Genny. “First, Mr. Neal will come and speak with Ms. Womack. Then, you'll each go in and explain yourselves. And I wouldn't be surprised if your parents are contacted. But don't forget to keep your head up, young learners. Before you know it, you'll be back in class and experiencing some fun and exciting things, okay?”

  As he leaves his hand pats my shoulder, and I want to rip it off. I realize that the altercation with Dalton has practically depleted all the Mortetine in my system, and if I don't restock it I'm liable to do more damage. And with a meeting with Vicky Womack just around the corner, there's the Lust to consider, too.

  Genny is busy tending to her minor cut, and the receptionist's back is turned, so I quietly pull out the amber bottle. The pills shuffle inside and make a barely audible noise, and Genny's eyes flit over to me and away again. Being found with black market Mortetine is a serious offense, and would surely lead to my discovery as an undocumented Hybrid Reanimate. I put the bottle back in my pocket.

  “Whatever that is, it's your business, not mine.”

  I'm caught, but I can't confess. And the fact that she's suddenly talking to me has me flustered. “What are you talking about?”

  She looks straight ahead while affixing the bandage on her brow, a small smile on her lips. “You're a terrible liar, Zaul.”

  A terrible liar? I am a flesh-hungering monster, walking in the midst of my prey, but not taking one bite at them. I've been training for this for years, and living it for a month, with no one suspecting what I am. My very existence is lies. No, I am an exceptional liar, and I expect a little more credit than that. This assertion angers me. Infuriates me. I can't handle it anymore.

  I take the bottle back out and tear off the cap, pouring three or four pills down my gullet. After
I squeeze them down my throat I cough and gasp for air. She still doesn't look my way. “What do you know about me, anyway? About my 'business'? You didn't seem to mind getting in my business out in the hall.”

  “Dalton – or Assface, as you refer to him – was being a jerk, like he always has been.” Genny takes a small mirror and some blue eyeshadow out from her bag, touching up the area she wiped blood from. “He likes to strut around and act big, usually by singling out loners. I've been on the receiving end of his bullying before. Whenever I get the chance to stand up to him, or others like him, I take it. However, you should probably watch where you're going. I'd be pissed too if someone knocked a disgusting syrupy drink all over me.”

  “So, that back there – that didn't have anything to do with me?” I can't hide the disappointment in my voice. “You just have something against Dalton?”

  She finishes with her makeup and snaps the mirror shut, sighing heavily before speaking. “He made my life hell last year, just because I didn't look or act like everyone else. Because I was new and didn't have any friends to back me up. If I can help it, I won't let it happen again. To me or to anyone else.” She throws her things back in the bag and turns to me. “But enough about my reactions to pigheaded oppression. Why'd you go all Iggy Riot back there?”

  “Iggy Riot,” I chuckle. Among the ancient books in my basement were a few magazines comprised of colorful illustrations, about extraordinary people with superhuman abilities. One had a character called Iggy Riot, who literally exploded when incited by the slightest offense. “That's good. I like that.”

  “Wait,” she says, turning her whole body to me. “You actually understood that reference? Nobody is supposed to get stuff like that. Iggy's from before The End. How did you know about that?”

  “I – uh, my uncle, collects some really old things, and sometimes I go through them. I found some pre-End magazines, and one was of Iggy Riot.”

  “You have pre-End comics?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess. If that's what they're called.”

  Genny shakes her head and laughs. “I knew you were weird, but I had no idea just how. It's refreshing to see that I'm not the only one who enjoys a good comic, though. My dad has a bunch of old junk in his basement, too. And speaking of my dad, he seems to have taken a shine to you. Always talking about you, asking about you. It's like he thinks we're dating or something.”

  A large lump catches in my throat. Dating. I think it's like friendship, but with more factors involved. More closeness. The holding of hands and the kissing of lips. I can't look at Genny right now. This comment makes me feel strange. I change the subject. “If you don't expect people to understand the things you say – things like Iggy Riot – then why do you say them? Isn't the point of speaking to communicate?”

  The smile drops from her face. “What are you, a therapist? I just... I don't know. Talk the way I talk.”

  While on the subject of speaking, I realize that Genny and I are having an actual conversation, the one that I've been waiting for over the past month. The one I was sure would lead to my Gibbs-defying friendship with a human. What changed? Why does she all of the sudden acknowledge me now?

  “Why are you talking to me?” I blurt, unable to restrain the words.

  “What do you mean?” she asks, her eyes darting around the office.

  “Well...” I start, unsure how to respond. I didn't really think this through. “That day your father gave me a ride home, you left a note with my bag. But you haven't said anything to me since, even though we sit by each other in the same class everyday. It's as if you were...” I pause, that strange, negative feeling creeping in. I've never experienced this before, and have definitely never expressed it before. “Ignoring me.”

  She breathes heavily, shaking her head. “Well, it goes both ways, buddy. Ever consider exerting a little effort yourself? I already got the ball rolling, writing that note. I never write notes. And then the next day in class, you're just staring straight ahead, like no one else exists in the world. If you ask me, I'd say you were the one doing the ignoring. After a week of that, I just figured you didn't want anything to do with a weirdo like me.” Her voice is somber now. “Most people don't.”

  I never considered that. There's so much to learn about human communication, it's overwhelming. Maybe Gibbs was right, that social interaction is a complicated thing, and I'm not ready for it. But even still, this means that Genny wasn't ignoring me, but actually wanted to talk. The revelation gives this monster a peculiar sense of relief, along with a tinge of guilt.

  “I'm sorry,” I offer. “That isn't what I intended.”

  “Don't sweat it,” she says, switching her tone back to its usual spirited self. “And that was very clever, getting off topic like that. You still haven't explained what you did to Dalton.”

  What I did to Dalton was the doing of my unnatural condition, my inhuman Prisoner. I almost killed him for pushing me and causing a minor cut on her eyebrow. And I can still smell him – his flesh and his blood and that sticky purple substance. I can still imagine ripping the skin from him with my fingers and teeth. Genny isn't aware how severely “weird” I am. I don't know how to explain any of it to her. Before the silence drags too long the office door opens. Mr. Neal storms in, glances at us briefly with disdain, then disappears past the receptionist.

  “On the first day of school, when you and him got in that argument, you had a problem with the textbooks and the National Curriculum. What exactly is wrong with it all?”

  “Do you really want to get into all of that?” Genny asks, bandaged eyebrow raised. “That subject alone has gotten me into more fights – and more trouble – than anything. And if you're like everyone else, you'll probably just get mad at what I have to say.”

  “But, I'm not like everyone else,” I say, with more truth than most words I speak. “We're both strange, remember?”

  This returns her smile. “Yeah, we're pretty odd. But I've learned my lesson from talking about that stuff around here. Maybe I can come over sometime to check out those comics, and I'll fill you in then. Okay?”

  A human, in my basement? That can never, ever happen. Not only is it just not safe, but how would I explain the things down there? The makeup and the notes, and the steel gate locking me up like an animal? What about the contents of my fridge? And of course Gibbs wouldn't allow it. No, Genny can never visit my basement. “My house is really messy, and my uncle is particular about his things. I don't think you can come over.”

  “Oh,” she says, looking down at her feet. “That's cool.” I cannot read her expression, another human reaction that is foreign to me. There seems to be so many. All I know is that it prompts me to continue speaking.

  “I suppose I could come over to your house, and sneak some comics with me. I've already been there anyway. Would your father have a problem with that?”

  “Are you kidding?” Genny says, her face brightening. “I already said he thinks you're 'a fine young man' – his words, not mine. So, when did you want to come over?”

  Is this real? It must be. There would be no reason to it any other way. And if it's real, then the words in her note weren't the product of fiction after all. She doesn't despise me or want to ignore me. She could actually be my friend. But how will I make it to Cañon City without Gibbs wondering what I'm doing?

  Caesar – I'm due to see him today for a Mortetine refill. I'd forgotten all about it, and remembering it now fills me with dread. But, it would be the perfect excuse. “What about today?”

  “Uh, okay...” she says, a little taken aback. “Yeah, I'm sure that's fine. You can hitch a ride in the Jeep after school.”

  No I can't. Gibbs will be expecting me at home before the bus leaves for Cañon City, which isn't until five o'clock. And when I do arrive, my first order of business is a drug deal with Mr. Ortega. Getting a ride in the Jeep with Genny and her father makes all this very complicated, if not impossible. “I'll take the bus. My uncle has some... chores for me
to do before anything else. And I have to grab the comics anyway, right?”

  Genny gives an open-mouthed smile. I like the way it looks. “Good thinking. We'll have you for dinner, then.”

  My nose twitches, and I smell Mr. Neal approaching. He turns the corner and walks right to us, hands on his wide hips. “Ms. Grest, you're free to go. Dalton said you didn't really have anything to do with this, just happened to get caught in the middle.”

  “Well, that's a surprise.” She stands up and slings her bag over her shoulder. “I figured he would use any opportunity he had to make my life miserable.”

  “That's enough sass, young lady. I've still got my eye on you.”

  “I'm sure you do.”

  He opens his mouth to retort, but stops and turns to me. “Mr. Jarreux, on the other hand, will need to see Ms. Womack immediately. You've got a lot of explaining to do, mister. And your uncle has been notified, he will be here shortly.” My chest squeezes. I picture Gibbs's motorized wheelchair rolling down the street in the bright sun, giving him plenty of time to think about the kind of discipline this infraction will earn me. I'll never hear the end of it. “My eye is on you as well, Zaul. And I expect much more from the both of you in the future.” He huffs sharply, and waddles past us out the office door.

  “Well,” Genny breathes, putting a hand in her pocket. “Good luck. I hope Ms. Womack doesn't eat you alive.” I can't help but chuckle at the irony. Genny walks around me, but stops at the door. “Zaul – whatever your reasons for freaking out on Dalton, I want to thank you for defending me. That's what you were doing, right?”

  “Yes, I suppose it was something like that. You were defending me, weren't you?”