time all Jenny could see was red. The sensations were far off, as though memories of a rage she had once felt. And hunger. Such hunger. She could feel herself moving through the red abyss, yet she seemed to have no control. A passenger. She was watching it all from far away, from a place where she could feel no pain. But in the distance, past this red place, she could hear herself screaming.
Occasionally she would swim almost to the surface. When she did, she felt cold and pain and a rawness that made her sink back down into the red, like a womb. Through the anger, deep under the anger, she felt fear. It wasn’t far away like the other emotions, but very close; on top of her, smothering her. Over time, Jenny began to forget to be afraid. And then she forgot what the fear tasted like. She felt just the cold echoes of fury followed by the hunger.
Sometimes she recognized a voice, soothing, but she couldn’t make out the words. She listened closely, as if she were underwater. The red was thinner now, easier to break through. She forced her way closer to the voice, out of the red.
A man’s voice. Casey? Was that right? She knew him, but didn’t know how. He smelled like something dead. She could feel things now. Not from far away, but inside. Her chest hurt, a deep, dull ache. She was dizzy and her eyes wouldn’t focus. For a moment she thought she was still stuck in the red abyss, but as she adjusted and her vision returned to normal, Jenny saw that the red was splashed everywhere. Her skin was cold and wet and sticky and as she tried to back away from the red all over the floor, her foot slipped.
Jenny looked down and saw it was all over her. Blood. She could taste the tang of it still in her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she said, barely able to speak the words. Something was wrong with her. She touched her face and her cheeks and chin were slick. There were hairs stuck to the blood on her arms. “Oh my God,” she croaked again. “What is this?” She looked at the dead figure crouched in front of her.
“Try to stay calm,” Casey said. “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay. It is far from fucking okay.“ Her voice was a hoarse whisper. There was light streaming in through a hole in the ceiling, bright, warm light filling the room. Jenny could see objects glistening red in the sun. Her eyes widened as she realized they were bones. “Fuck,” she said. She looked at Casey and shook her head. “This is a dream. A bad dream.” The words came out as a hiss.
“No, it’s real,” he said. “Jenny, look at me.”
She jumped at her name. She’d forgotten it. How could she forget her name? “This was me,” she said after a moment. “I did this.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But calm down. It’s not human.”
Jenny froze. “Are you sure?”
He picked something off her arm and held it up to the strange, dim light. It was the hair she’d seen. It was short and bristly. Casey shrugged. “Goat.”
Jenny blinked at him. “There are no goats,” she said, remembering. “There’s no anything. Just humans.”
“Why?” he said. “Because the government told you?”
“Everyone knows that,” she said.
“Well, we have goats. So not everything is gone.”
“You’re my brother.”
“Yep.”
“What is this place?”
Casey swung over and sat down next to her, his back resting against the cold metal wall. All the walls were metal. “It’s the Field Museum,” he said. “What’s left of it. This was some kind of storage vault. They preserved animal skins and shit in here.”
“Why am I here?” Jenny said.
“We needed to put you somewhere safe,” he said.
“I can take care of myself.”
“Not really what I meant,” he said. “You’re not the one I was worried about protecting.”
She touched her hair. It was still in braids in the Righteous style, though most of them had come free and were standing at odd angles all over her head. They were stiff with liquid drying on them.
“What’s wrong with me?” she said.
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“No,” Jenny said. “I don’t. Why can’t I talk normally?”
“Dead people don’t breathe,” he said. “You have to relearn how to do it.”
“I’m not dead,” she said. She could hear the panic in her own voice. “That’s not possible.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Casey said. His voice was gentle.
“I was in a bed,” Jenny said. “Declan was there. He was crying. Why was Declan crying? He doesn’t cry.” She looked at Casey, who was staring at his hands resting on his knees. He was quiet. “I was sick,” she said. Even if she’d been able to speak normally, the words would probably have come out as a whisper. She’d been sick, wounded. Her neck had hurt so badly. Jenny reached up and felt the chunk missing from the back of her neck. Oh, Jesus. What the fuck is happening?
She tried to stand, to get away, but she was weak and the floor was covered in blood.
“Jenny...” Casey said.
“No!” she said. “You were a hallucination. You weren’t there.”
“I was there,” he said.
“This isn’t possible,” Jenny said. “I can’t be a rotter. Rotters don’t think. Rotters don’t do anything. They just exist.”
“And then there’s us,” Casey said.
“This is insane,” she hissed.
“Jen,” Casey said. “You’re sitting in a lake of goat blood.”
“That is a valid point.” There was an edge of hysteria in her words.
Casey took her hand gently. “Breathe,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“It doesn’t come naturally, but you have to learn to do it to talk. Just pretend you need the air. Suck it down deep into your lungs. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”
Jenny tried to breathe in air, but it felt as though she was sucking in water, drowning. Casey held her hands tight, which calmed her a bit. After a few tries, she managed to breathe in a puff of air. There was pain low in her chest, on either side.
“It’s okay,” Casey said. “It’s just your lungs.”
Jenny forced herself to inhale several more times, and the pain subsided. She looked at Casey. “I can’t do this,” she said, the words coming easier. “I can’t be this way.”
“We’re not like the others, Jen,” he said. “We think and talk. We feel emotion, and sleep, and do the things everyone else does.” He gave a shrug and the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. “We’re just not exactly alive.”
“We?” she said.
“Yeah,” He said. He stood up, pushing his back against the wall. He held a hand out to her. “Let me show you.”
“Show me what?”
“The others,” he said, pulling her to her feet. Jenny’s knees were weak, but she managed not to fall over. “Come meet The Thirteen.”