Page 29 of Killer Clone

Soon, a biohazard truck would come to collect the waste, carting it off like any other discarded thing. But Otto liked this moment, before it was taken away, before it was nothing but another forgotten remnant of the dead.

Life was so fragile. Here today, down the drain tomorrow.

Few people got to see the transformation, but he did. Otto’s hands shook, and he set the scalpel down before he hurt himself. He held them in his lap in case Chris came down and saw his excitement.

Blood continued to flow, dripping past the grate. There was nothing to do now except wait and watch.

The dead had always fascinated him. By their color, their stiffness, their complete inability to act or react. Life happened around them, and they just lay there, decaying slowly while the source of their life flowed away.

Processing corpses from decay to preservation should’ve been easy. Otto had thought it would be. But he always struggled.

And the last time he did this…

He shuddered. His stomach roiled as though he’d just chugged a bottle of vinegar.

Otto had pushed Friday night out of his mind, tried not to think about it. Every time he recalled the touch of the young man’s skin, remembered how the kid struggled, he wanted to throw up.

Everything about that night had been wrong.

“The sacrifice would be a volunteer.”

That was what he’d been told. The sacrifice would be someone who wanted to be redeemed, or someone mortally ill with nothing to lose and only redemption to gain.

But the guy hadn’t acted like he had nothing to lose.

And the body was so young. So warm. So…alive. And the groan the man made as the blood poured out of him…Otto had never heard that before. He’d expected something, a gentle moan of relief perhaps as his life was drained out. But that man had moaned in pain. He hadn’t wanted to go.

Nausea roiled through Otto’s guts. To bleed someone while they were still alive was too awful.

He couldn’t do it again. He thought he could.

Surely, he’d done enough now. There was no need to help anymore.

His contribution was done.

Watching blood drip into the drain, Otto brought out his phone. He peeled off one glove, and with trembling fingers, typed his message.

I’m out.

The reply came before he’d even put the phone away.

There is no out.

A chill passed through him. He’d known backing out wouldn’t go down well. But fear hit him from one side as guilt struck him from the other. He couldn’t drain a living body again. It was wrong. He’d done it once, but never again. He just couldn’t.

I’m sorry.

His phone buzzed.

Go home. Now. I’ll meet you there. We can discuss.

Otto’s fear grew. It was like a black shadow hanging over him, a dark beast with sharp teeth and claws.

In or out, that was the rule. And he’d been in, except now, he wanted out. Surely, that wasn’t too hard to understand.

He replied quickly.

I can’t. I’m at work.

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