Author : Olivia Black, Staff Writer
“All you need to do is lie back and when you wake up, the imprint will take over.”
Something is wrong. So very, very wrong.
The thought blares through my mind over and over, sounding alarms through every synapse and nerve ending. This isn’t what I signed on for, is it? Faces flit though my memory as I try to recall where I was before here. Most don’t mean anything, but one, a blonde woman with hazel eyes and a smile like a supernova causes something to stir in my chest. Love, maybe?
Underneath the jumbled, fractured collection of memories, there’s the vaguest sense of another life, another me. That other self fills me with a sense of urgency and dread. I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Where am I, then? There’s darkness, and the smell of rubber and antiseptic. Goosebumps raise on my skin, forcing a shiver through rigid muscles. The movement makes the first sound I’ve heard since waking. Plastic rustles as I reach out, brushing against the closed teeth of a zipper.
Trembling fingers trace it until they reach the opening and pry it apart. Dim light – almost like moon light pours in. Have I ever seen moon light before? One of my selves has, but which one is real? The well oiled zipper growls as it pulls apart, leaving me staring up at a blank steel slab. I reach up to judge the distance and my knuckles rap against the frozen surface. Not even enough room to sit up. I need to free myself from this body bag first. The black material is determined to swaddle me.
Kicking my feet out of the end of the bag, I roll onto my side and swing my legs off the edge of the slab. The floor is a lot further down than I expected and the weight and momentum of my limbs pulls me down, body bag and all. My head hits concrete with a crack that shoots lightning through my vision. When it clears, I see more slabs, racks of them, each with their own body bag. Prone, genderless forms fill out the rubber sacks. Rows and rows of them, never ending.
Silence rings in my ears. What is this place? A morgue? I’m not supposed to be here. There are things I need to do. I have to… I’m meant to… Shaking the fog out of my head, I focus on standing. It takes a lot of concentration to get my limbs coordinated. They don’t work the way they should. My right arm is curled uselessly to my chest and my leg is numb and threatens to buckle as I hoist myself up.
Fear tears through me as I realize there is no end to this cavernous room. There has to be some way out. As I shuffle forward, two figures emerge ahead of me, stopping twenty feet away.
“Jesus, another one?”
“How did I get here?” The words grate out of my throat like broken glass.
“I thought they were supposed to put down the reject bodies before shoving them in storage,” the man continues, ignoring me.
“Why am I here?” I try again.
“They’re getting sloppy,” the second man answers, his hand moving to his side. The bullet whispers through the air, striking me at the base of my throat.
“What the -?” The first exclaims as I choke on my own blood, acutely aware of how cold I am.
“Trust me, it’s easier this way. The last thing you want is those ghouls from the manufacturing coming down here.”