by Josiah Upton
I hate it when she talks like that. I open my mouth to object, but she stops me. “No, Zaul, that's the truth. I am running out of time. And I don't want to remain silent all the way to the end. I want to speak my mind now, while I still can. Even if it means I have to scream it. Does that make sense?”
I'm instantly reminded of the average Hybrid Reanimate's intellectual impairment, and of what an extremely rare exception I am to that rule. Some day, when the friend before me breathes this life's last breath, she could return as a creature like me. But, unlike me, she may never be able to express herself beyond primitive grunts and howls. Or, at best, a few poorly constructed phrases, like the one bellowed from Coco behind that glass wall a few hours ago. Her limited time now is her only chance to speak.
“Yes, that does make sense,” I offer, lightly squeezing her hand in mine, which may still be too much pressure. “But we still have to be careful. Maybe, whenever you're feeling so strongly about something that you're about to scream, come talk to me. After all, what are friends for?”
This makes her smile. “Thanks, Zaul.” She looks down at her hand in mine, and with her other tucks a strand of windblown hair behind her ear, like she did at the zoo. The thought of the kiss we almost shared suddenly fills my mind, and blocks out everything else, even my Prisoner's sickening desires. Such a strange thing for a monster to be preoccupied with.
However, my foolish thoughts are eventually interrupted by the sight of buses rolling up in the distance. The school's remaining students begin to pour out from the folding doors, but one in particular catches my attention. A large male whose gaze is locked my direction, his pace somewhere in between a walk and a run as he moves with purpose. Dalton Harris.
As he nears, Genny turns around to see what I'm looking at, and sighs heavily. “Oh God, not you again. Why don't you go back to zoo, with the other primates?”
“Shut-up, freak,” he says to her, though he's still looking right at me, the bruising that I caused two weeks ago still faintly visible on his scowling face. My first impulse is to grab his shirt and finish the job, but there's too many witnesses, and the inevitable backlash from Gibbs comes to the forefront of my mind again. I stand my ground, though, and clench my fists into tight balls. He'd better choose his words carefully.
“You,” he says, pointing a finger right at me, leaning forward, shoulders tensed up. Right now, he looks like he could be related to Caesar, which makes me hate him more. His damaged face morphs into a wicked sneer. “I know what you are.”
Panic seizes me, my body trembling with shock and fear, then Rage. My Prisoner pleads me to give in to it, to destroy this threat before it gets any bigger. But I don't speak, being so caught off guard by this accusation. But Genny chimes in. “And what would that be?”
Dalton looks around, almost afraid to say it, as if letting the thoughts in his head slip out his mouth will somehow certify him as insane. He even opens his mouth for a moment, stalling, before finally muttering under his breath, “Ugger.”
He knows. It's all over.
“I always knew you were weird,” he says, his quivering voice gaining a little more confidence. “But today I found out exactly how, when I saw those freaks in the cage. That look...” His inflection begins to falter again, his bottom lip shaking as his mouth remains slack. Terror has overcome his face, like he's reliving a nightmare. “That look in your eyes, when you held me up against the lockers, was the same look I saw in those Uggers today. You and them... you're the same.”
Everything has come undone. The training, the makeup, the pills, the lies... everything over the last four years will be destroyed when this pesky little meat sack spills this startling revelation to the APA. In fact, maybe he already has. And then the remainder of my abhorrent existence will be lived out in the very place Gibbs and I have worked so hard to avoid. And speaking of Gibbs, he'll surely go to prison for his crimes. But worst of all, the one person willing to offer me that light and warmth I so desperately need, I will have lost.
As desperation and Rage froth inside me, Genny steps in between my accuser and I. “What are you talking about, Dalton? Does Zaul even look like one of those things? Because he definitely doesn't act like one.”
“I know what I saw,” he snarls.
“Well, let's think about that for a moment,” Genny continues, refusing to back down. I'm not sure if she's helping or hurting the situation, but at least it's buying me some time. I'm too busy battling the Rage to speak at the moment. “If Zaul really is what you say he is – an 'Ugger' – that means he is an uncontrollable monster with a hunger for human flesh, too strong to overpower and too stupid to reason with... right? And you're actually calling him out, with no one to back you up, or at the least a weapon to protect yourself?”
“Stay out of this!” he barks, finally taking his eyes off me to look at her, his hostile body language turned her direction. I'm suddenly not concerned with what he thinks he knows about me, but instead snapping every one of his bones if he gets one inch closer to her. The two lock intense glares for a moment longer, before the attention is back on me. “I don't know how you do it, look and act like everyone else, but there's no mistaking what I saw in your eyes. You're not human. You belong in a cage with those other freaks, and I'm going to make sure that's where you end up!”
There's nothing else to say or do, no more rescues from Genny. Dalton is convinced of what I really am, and he won't give up. But neither will my Prisoner, whose inhuman voice echoes inside me to kill this overgrown child and feast upon his flesh. After all, my guise has been discovered, and it's only a matter of time before I am captured, so now there's nothing left to lose. But Genny speaks up one last time.
“Don't talk to my boyfriend like that!”
Boyfriend? Does that word mean what I think it means here? It must, because Genny closes the gap between her and myself, pressing her living body against my undead one, wrapping her arm around my back. A small voice inside tells me to relax and act natural, but it's almost impossible to hear over my Prisoner's feral cries at the warmth of human flesh, the utter confusion over what has just happened.
And there's something else there that I can't quite describe. Lust? No, it's not that. The closest thing I can compare it to is the feeling I had when we almost kissed. I can only describe it as excitement. And all I know is I don't want it to stop. As I sort out what I'm experiencing, Dalton is clearly doing some sorting of his own as his eyes flit back and forth between us. “Boyfriend? You two are... are...”
“That's right,” Genny says, letting a small giggle escape. It makes me feel warm. “And I have to tell you, Zaul isn't just human – he's all man. You can trust me on that, Dalton.” I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it makes Dalton's mouth drop open, his eyes double in size. “If he were a monster, I'd be the first to know. So, how about you drop this ridiculous accusation, and go bully someone else?”
Dalton stares blankly at us for a moment longer, before his gaping mouth closes, his eyes refocusing on me with intensity. “You may not be an Ugger, but there's definitely something wrong with you, and when I find out what it is, you'd better watch your back.” His attention shifts to Genny, hanging on the verge of saying something, until he just shakes his head and walks away.
With Dalton gone, my body relaxes, until it realizes that Genny is still clinging to it, and tenses up again. I take a step away from her, trying to find the words to say as she smiles mischievously at me. “I... I... what was that?”
“That was me, learning when to lie,” she says, her grin broadening. In the distance, I hear Gordon's ancient Jeep roaring down the street. Genny hears it too, and shoves her hands in her pockets as she starts to back away from me. “Oh, and you're welcome. I'll see you on Monday!”
Gordon beeps his horn, and all the students milling around outside the school turn to observe the strange sound, to take in the peculiar sight of a man's personal transportation in a world of buses and trucks. Genny gives one last wa
ve before turning to make her way towards her father.
As she gets farther away, all I can think about is the feeling I felt when she was close to me, the excitement it gave me. Maybe it was all just an act, something to eliminate an immediate threat, but I don't care. Before today, I was simply satisfied with the light and warmth a friend could offer, a momentary distraction in this dismal, cursed existence. But now, I've experienced something much greater: heat, intensity. Life. And I want more of it.
I hobble after Genny, the sensation of attempting to run a foreign one, especially for being trapped in a basement for four years. I call out her name, and just before she arrives at her father's Jeep, she turns to face me. In between the heavy breaths that move in and out of my undead lungs, I ask, “What if you saw me tomorrow?”
Chapter 30
The day begins as the strong aroma of Gibbs's morning coffee travels down the basement stairs and creeps into my nostrils. I've always hated the smell, but its arrival marks just one step closer to the one time of the week when he is out of the house. Every Saturday, for about two hours, Gibbs wheels down the street to get groceries, leaving me all alone in my hole in the ground. Normally it would be like any other Saturday, but today I plan to use that window of solitude to my advantage.
For the first time in four years, a human will be down in my basement.
I came up with this plan just before Genny left yesterday, giving her hurried instructions as I looked nervously at Gordon, fearing he could somehow hear the details over the rumbling of his Jeep. To my surprise, she actually agreed to the harebrained scheme, stirring that excitement in me again as a delighted smirk crept onto her face. It is that very feeling that compelled me to consider such a ridiculous notion of allowing a human down here. And the same feeling that fills me as I listen closely to Gibbs's every move, waiting for the moment to finally arrive.
The plan is for Genny to wait around the corner until she sees Gibbs wheel down the street, then enter through the back door using the security code I gave her. About ten minutes after I hear his wheelchair roll out the front door, a knock comes at the top of the stairs. Even though I am expecting it, the sound is startling – I've never had a visitor at my door before. Seconds later it opens, letting light flood down into my dark lair, the feminine silhouette of Genny coming into view as my eyes focus.
“Did he leave?” I call up to her.
“Yeah, he's gone,” she says. “He's towing some sort of wagon on the back of his wheelchair.”
So that's how he gets all those things in one trip...
“Can I come down?”
I pause, taking in what is actually about to happen. Do I really want my only friend, a small and weak human, down to my sanctuary? The place where I feed on raw pig carcasses? Down here, there is no pretense or facade require. Down here, there's no pretending who I am. If I let Genny in, I won't have the steel barriers to protect her from what my Prisoner is capable of. By far this is the biggest risk I've ever considered taking.
“Well, whatever your answer is, I'm still coming down,” she declares, taking the first few steps. “I got too many pokes from the bush I hid behind to turn back now.”
“Wait!” I scream, trying to stall, taking some Mortetine out of my pocket and dropping it down my throat. “Just... just don't forget to prop open the door, or you'll be stuck down here until he gets back. We don't want that.”
“No, that would be bad.” She stops the door just before it closes and wedges a stick between it and the frame. The few rays of light creeping in through the crack give me comfort, knowing that I'm not completely trapped down here with something my Prisoner wants to eat.
Genny descends the stairs and stops at the last step, clearing her throat as she looks at me. I can't meet her gaze, still fearing that this was all a bad idea. Part of me wants to urge her to leave. But the other part, the one that craves the excitement she provided yesterday, keeps me silent. She seems to notice the uneasiness in my body. “But seriously, are you sure you're okay with me being here?”
“Yes,” I say, though it's not exactly true. “If you're okay with it.”
“Well, if you're uncomfortable, I can leave...”
“Don't go,” I blurt, a little too quickly. “I mean, I'll be fine. I want you here.” She smiles, and the feeling comes back again, giving me more reason not to mess up this opportunity. “It gets kind of lonely down here.”
She nods and looks around my dismal living space. “I bet. You've been here four years?”
“More or less,” I say, taking a few paces past her. “At least, that's what Gibbs tells me. I can't remember those first days very well. And I can't remember anything before that. It's all a dark hole when I try to think about it.”
“So, in a way, Gibbs, and this place, is all you've ever known,” Genny says, her eyes meeting mine.
“Yeah,” I utter, realizing that she has so quickly and simply summed up my existence within these walls, and in the distant man who lives above them. How depressing and meaningless it must seem to her. “This is pretty much everything.”
She continues walking along the perimeter of my minimal dwelling, running her finger along a crack in the wall. “And you said you can't remember what your parents look like, and haven't seen them since your transformation?” I nod, though she can't see it. “Well, at least they're taking care of you in some way.”
“That's what Gibbs always tells me,” I say bitterly, wishing we weren't on this subject. I can never seem to make sense of it, and only experience an aching deep inside me when I try. “Wherever they are, they're sending a lot of money to 'take care of me', but I don't understand why they didn't just use that to pay for my guardianship. Most likely, it's because they don't want something like me living in their house....”
“Well, I wouldn't be so sure,” Genny answers, interrupting my painful reflection. “The fees for that are very, very expensive. Most people can't afford it, even if they have some money saved up. If your mom and dad couldn't be your guardian, but didn't want you in containment, hiring someone to take care of you sounds pretty reasonable.”
“But that still doesn't explain why I've never seen them,” I counter. “Why they haven't visited, or called, or written me a letter. Why I don't even have a picture of them. Why they have absolutely no presence in my life.”
“Hmm, I guess it doesn't,” she admits, stopping when she reaches the small, tiled square in the corner that I use for a shower. She suddenly turns around, her finger in the air. “But, if they really didn't care about you, why wouldn't they just turn you over to the APA? Why pay all that money and do something extremely illegal, if they want no part in your life?”
She pauses to hear my answer. I don't have one.
“I'll bet this was their only option. For whatever reason, it's not safe to contact you. But I'm sure they care about you, Zaul. Considering everything they're risking, you have to believe that.”
“I don't want to talk about them anymore,” I say quickly, and angrily. I'm not sure why they've sent me out here to Gibbs, but in my mind, my parents are disgusted by me, they abandoned me, and they never want to see me again. Any understanding or sympathy offered for them incites my Rage. I move to change the direction of the conversation. “What about you, and your father? He seems to have a pretty good job, can't he get the money for your guardianship?”
“No,” she says shortly, “and I don't want to talk about that.”
“Why?” I push, wondering what makes her so sensitive to this subject. “You have a good father, who you can see actually cares about you. He must have something planned for when...”
“That's not fair,” she says, shaking her head, arms crossed defensively. “Why are you the only one who gets to decide what topic is off limits? I said I didn't want to talk about it. And if you can't respect that, then I'll just leave.”
The feeling this threat gives is the exact opposite of the excitement I long for her to provide – though, I'm not quite s
ure how I was expecting her to provide that, even if she wasn't so upset at the moment. But I'm running out of time before Gibbs returns, and I don't want to waste it all on repairing the damage my words make.
“I'm sorry,” I offer. “We don't have to talk about our parents. We can figure out something else to do. You go first.”
The expression of irritation hangs on her face for a moment longer, until it gives way to a reluctant smile. We're back on track. She looks around my basement again, considering her options, before suddenly clapping her hands together. “I believe you have a secret stash of comic books that I'm quite interested in, good sir. Or, am I mistaken?”
“Not at all,” I say, my face muscles involuntarily contorting into what must be a smile. I'm still not used to the sensation. “Follow me.”
Sitting on the basement floor, Genny spends a while going through the previous homeowner's pristine collection in silence, her blue eyes wide with delight as she takes in each page. I have one in front of me, but I've already seen it a hundred times before. All my attention is on her, watching her lips move as she mouths the words she reads, her delicate hand tucking stubborn hair behind her ear every time it falls in her face. I feel like I could look at her all day.
Without taking her gaze off of the colorful page in front of her, she speaks. “Your turn.”
“Huh?” I say, startled out of my deep staring. She must have known I was watching her.
“I chose comic books,” she says, smiling up at me through her blonde hair. “What do you want to do now?”
My undead heart begins to pump. I don't know why, but the way she said that, the look in her eyes... All I can think about is how I felt when she told Dalton I was her boyfriend. The feeling of her body close to mine. The kiss that didn't happen. Though I tell myself there's no point in thinking those thoughts, I can't stop.
She laughs, squinting her eyes. “You alright, Zaul?”
Alright? There's so much wrong with me, I'll never be alright. I look down at the comic book in front of me, and I'm reminded of the one Genny showed me at her house. The illustrated image of those rotting corpses, shambling after humans, surprisingly replaces the thoughts I didn't think would go away. It gives me a good change of subject to distract myself with.
