The Green Ghetto

Clean country air overlayed the sky in opaque nothing, starless and moonless above the undertakers as they drove.  The fields out around them periodically blinking out red syllables of lifeless irrigation and wind.  No knowledge of the void before them gave any comfort as the road rose and fell away from them in the empty night, giving no clue of where they were or where they would soon be.  The GPS said, “Turn Left now” and Jackson Embley did as the pleasant British voice instructed from his dash.  Jackson and his partner Dave each sipped coffee by the dim dash light in seats of the pearly white hearse that bore them into the outskirts of a small Kentucky town.  The endless ribbon of black and yellow road broke down into gravel as they grew closer, causing Jackson to ease up on the accelerator considerably.

“You ain’t ever been on gravel before?” asked Dave.  He smirked and started putting on his white gloves and straightening his black tie against his starched white collar.  The tie protested against a pin that Dave had set a little too low above the five golden stars that adorned the bottom V.  A burly man, he stroked his short beard in the visor mirror for neatness sake.

Jackson was dressed similarly, the uniform of their office, as it were.  But unlike his partner, his face was clean shaven.  His hair was also shaved around his head except for the top, which grew slightly long and was neatly combed and fitted to one side in a straight, single layer.  “It’s just been a while,” Jackson responded.  Jackson was younger, thinner, and paler than Dave.

“I been here a few times.  Now that the patriarch’s dead, we shouldn’t have to come back for some time, I’d guess.”

“Your destination is on the left,” said the GPS.

Jackson turned into the driveway, his headlights illuminating a few trees growing beside the ditch.

“Careful now,” said Dave.  “We ain’t got shoulders on the roads like ya’ll do.  You drop off a tire and that’s gonna make this more awkward than usual.”

Jackson gripped the steering wheel tighter and tried to ignore the remark.  As they neared the large brick house at the end of the gravel drive, they saw about a dozen cars parked in front of the two story brick house.  Two people stood on the front porch smoking.

“Looks like we got an audience.”  Dave stroked his beard.  “Let me handle the talkin’ this time  They’ve known me for a while.  These are my people.”

Jackson nodded.  “Sounds good.”

They pulled around to the front door and parked.  When they stepped out, they were met with a southern woman’s rage.

“Why the HELL are you here?”  A woman in a pink dress and cropped blonde hair came stomping toward Jack, bypassing Dave entirely.

Jackson took a moment to compose himself and said, “Good evening and I am so sorry for your loss.  My name is Jackson Embly and this is my partner, David Baird.  We were dispatched by–”

“By who?  The damn Z people?  We didn’t call you!”  She flicked her cigarette out and placed her hands on her hips.

The greying man on the porch called to her and started to approach as well.  “Loretta, it’s ok.  He’s gonna pass soon.”

“I’m sorry.  Mr. Grady hasn’t expired yet?”  Jackson immediately knew this was the wrong way to phrase this and bit his tongue reflexively.

“Expired?  Expired!  How dare you talk about my daddy like some piece of food!”

“Loretta.”  The man put his hands on her shoulders.  “They’re just doin’ their job.”

“Ma’am,” Dave stepped in.  “My name is Dave and this is my partner Jack.”

“I know who you are, Dave.”  Loretta spoke far more calmly to the bearded man with the southern accent.

“I am so sorry that we have arrived at the wrong time.  We were told by dispatch that Mr. Grady had passed on to see Jesus.  This was our mistake.  Please, take my card and let us know if we can be of any assistance.  The number for dispatch is on that card as well for if it’s needed.  My partner and I will leave immediately and quit disturbing you in this terrible time.”

Loretta went silent for a moment, shaking her head and staring at the ground.  “It ain’t right!  Ain’t none of it right!”  She quietly clung to her husband’s shoulder and silently wept into him.  

Jackson and Dave turned to leave when the front door opened.

“Mama,” a young voice called from the doorway.  A young lady with red hair and a stethoscope around her neck stood there and said, “He’s gone.”

Loretta looked at both of the undertakers with malice.  “Give us one hour before…”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Dave.

The undertakers waited in the hearse quietly for the time instructed.  When they did enter the clean and wealthy southern home, twenty-something people all stood in silence staring at them.  The older ones shook their heads in disgust.  The younger ones stared at the floor silently.

The young lady with the stethoscope led them to the bedroom where the dead man lay.  The bedroom was spotless.  On the wall were mounted fish, pictures of multiple generations, and an old coon hat that had seen the wear of many autumn nights.  On the bed, was the decedent.  His wrinkles were now drawn back by gravity, his mouth agape and his eyes beginning to cloud.  He didn’t smile or frown.  He just stared blankly out like a doll devoid of thought and spirit.  Jackson held onto this image as they marked and bagged the body.  Once the corpse was on the gurney, the young lady said, “I’m sorry about earlier.  I thought he had passed when I texted dispatch.  That was my fault.”

Jackson responded as professionally as he could. “It’s ok.  You were doing your job.  This can’t be easy for you.”

“It would be easier if my family wasn’t so…conservative?  They really don’t understand why people affected by the virus need his body.  Daddy even tried to pay off the coroner.”  She laughed and wiped tears from her eyes.  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s our secret, little darlin’,” said Dave.  He gave the girl a comforting half frown and handed his card to her.  “If you need us.”

“Dave, I’ve known you since I was little.  I know where you live.”  She smiled and hugged the man before rubbing tears from her eyes again.  “What was your name?  I don’t think we’ve met.”  She addressed Jackson.

“Jackson, ma’am,” he said flatly.

The girl chuckled.  “Do I look that old?  I’m Dot.”  Despite her tears, Jackson noticed her smile was quite lovely.

“Sorry, miss.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  He shook her hand and Dave smirked to himself.

As they took the body out to the hearse, they passed through the crowd of weeping family, doing their best to keep a dignified composure.  The last person they passed on the way out the door was Loretta, who said, “I hope you burn in Hell, vulture,” close enough that Jackson could feel the heat of her breath.  He didn’t respond.

As they drove away, the sun was just beginning to peak above the horizon..  “Look at that,” said Dave.  “Ain’t nothin’ like a Kentucky sunrise.”

***

The office was as unremarkable as the appearance of the undertakers, themselves.  Small desks, papers scattered around, file cabinets locked up for the night.  The undertakers rolled the body past the office door and down the black stone hallway, broken up by lacey green and wooden carved columns.  Silence in the night of a government building in a small Kentucky town.  The squeaking of their gurney wheels was amplified in the personless corridor.  At the end of this hall was the lift to the basement filled with refrigerated rows of bodies.  They met a single person walking back and forth tending to each corpse in turn at this late hour.

Jackson and Dave rolled through with Mr. Grady’s corpse and paused to get out the intake paperwork as the man approached.  He was a thin man with curtained black hair, sallow skin, and a long white lab coat.

Dave yawned and shoved the papers at him.  “Here you go, Mainsley.  It’s been a hell of a night.”

“I’ll say,” replied Mainsley.  “Three deaths in the same county?  Something in the water, maybe?”  He peeled back the white sheet to reveal the old man’s gaunt face, his mouth agape and his eyes staring out as if in horror toward the neon light.  His head lolled to one side when Mainsley poked him.  “Not a one of them young, huh?”

“That a problem?” grunted Dave.

Mainsley shrugged.  ”Just makes for a chewier product.  That’s all.”

Jackson barely gagged, but didn’t change his face.

Mainsley spotted it.  “Ah.  You’re too good for us country corpse eaters?”

“Us?”  Jackson raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.  Still a pity you didn’t bring someone younger.  The kid Z’s don’t like the old guys.  Say it’s like eating dried pork.  Nobody wants that.”

“Mainsely.”  Dave grunted again.  “It is six in the damn mornin’.  Can you please just sign our papers so we can go?”

“No.”  Mainsely shook his head and laughed.  “That’s not protocol.  Wouldn’t want big city Jack here to snitch on us.”

“I won’t say anything.”  Jack tried to be friendly in saying this.  He even smiled. 

His smile seemed to make Mainsley uncomfortable.  “Well,” Mainsely unlocked the brake of the gurney and began rolling the corpse down the morgue.  “You won’t get the chance.”

He unceremoniously shoved the body onto a porcelain slab that resembled a large sink and got to his work.  He made an incision in the neck and another in the foot and shoved in a small hose-like device. He turned on the water and the contents of the man’s vascular system went down the drain.  He then took a series of comically large syringes and injected every muscle with a solution that (even from where Dave and Jackson sat across the room) smelled strongly of salt.  Lastly, he shoved a trocar into the man’s abdomen and injected more preservatives.  He shoved the newly preserved corpse back onto the gurney and wheeled it down further beneath a giant shrink wrapping station where he sealed the corpse under a shiny film of plastic before neatly sliding him away into a refrigerated drawer, marking the date on the drawer label, and washing down his equipment with a hose.

“There,” he finally said as he signed their papers.  He tapped Dave (who had nodded off in his chair) over the head with the wad of forms.  Dave startled awake with a snoring breath.

“About damn time,” he growled while he snatched the papers from Mainsley.

Dave and Jackson strolled out and checked the pager.  No new messages and it was well past their quitting time.  The beginnings of the day’s office workers had begun to trickle into the building.

“Well, I would say good shift, but nope.  I’m gonna go home and hope my wife is still in bed.  Have a good sleep, Jackie boy.”

“Hey, uh…”

“What?” Dave said, exhausted and rubbing his beard.  “Can it wait until Monday?”

“I might not be in on Monday.  Think I might head back to the city.”

Dave chuckled.  “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I just…I’m not sure this is a good area for me to work.  You know the people, wouldn’t it be better if you had a local partner?”

“Look.  I’m too damn tired for this conversation.  Catch the maglev back to the city.  I’ll cover for you on Monday.  But you spend a few days at home there and tell me you don’t prefer how quiet things are here.”  Dave buttoned up his coat and snapped, “Now shut up.  I need some sleep.”

***

Jackson did as Dave instructed and got on the first maglev back to the city.  Maglevs spidered the whole country these days.  Every little town had at least one that would get you to a slightly bigger town and from there to a real city.  

As Jackson passed through the fields of southern Illinois, now watered by a netting of red irrigation pipes, he pondered if he’d ever seen untouched land before.  The ride was smooth and somehow made him miss the old boxcar days when the chugging of the engine would lull him to sleep next to his mom.  He leaned his head against the window as shadows of the great interwoven bridges of Chicago swallowed the silver white snake of their train whole.  The steam from his breath on the glass reminded him to lean back and appreciate the view of man’s ingenuity.  The skyscrapers towered some 40 stories taller than they had when he was a child.  They blocked out the sun in their massive nature and slivers of the ancient, golden beams would strain their way down to the streets below, now lit by halogen and neon at all hours, depending on what neighborhood you were in.  The train passed through the Green Ghetto and slowed to let on passengers.  Jackson instinctively tensed up, but he didn’t move.  He watched through the window as passengers came on, some with purple and blue markings on their face, some missing limbs, others with plastic prosthetics shaping out their now misshapen skulls and jaws.  One such lady came to sit beside him.  

“Excuse me,” she asked meekly.  “Is this seat taken?”

He turned his head to her.  Her upper left portion of her face was missing and covered in a smooth, green plastic that covered the rot.  The plastic had been decorated with flowers and lace she had clearly glued on herself.  What was left of her face was patched with purple, but smooth.  She might have been pretty in her previous life.  She smiled with her lips closed, likely to hide her rotting gums.  “No,” Jackson replied.  He sat up straighter to make room for her in the cramped row.  “It’s all yours.”

She raised a hand to her mouth and said, “Thank you,” before sitting down.

Jackson looked back out the window and spotted a little grease where his head had rested.  “I haven’t showered in days,” he thought.  “I must smell awful.”  The smell of the woman’s rotting flesh reached him and he assumed no one would notice or care what he smelled like.  He only had two more stops anyway.

“Excuse me,” said the lady next to him again.  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you one of the undertakers?”

Jackson looked down and saw he was still wearing his tie with the gold stars on the bottom V.  He was so exhausted, he’d forgotten to remove it.  He pulled it off quickly, wadded it up, and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Oh!” she whispered.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s ok.  It’s ok.”

The lady looked embarrassed with what few of her facial muscles still worked.  “I just wanted to say, thank you.  You’re doing God’s work.”  

The next stop came and she got off the train, glancing back at Jackson as she went.

He was left in the car with a few people, whole people–uninfected people like himself.  One gave him a dirty stare for a moment before resuming his crossword on a tablet.  “One more stop,” Jackson thought.

When he finally got to his street, he walked briskly to his apartment building beneath the red neon and silver halogen lights.  There was a single sliver of sunlight between him and the buildings across the street.  “Must be noon,” he said absentmindedly.  

In his 33rd floor apartment, he threw off his white shirt and black pants before falling into bed face first.  His own stench offended him, but he didn’t care at this point.  He needed sleep and it came to him very quickly.

A shave, hot shower, and a few headache pills righted him early on the following morning.  He looked out his window instinctively, his bare torso goose pimpling at the cold from the permanently sealed window.  His air conditioner flipped on to push in new oxygen and he took a deep breath while he surveyed the rows of windows that his high level apartment afforded him a view of.

He was taking the day off, but made no plans.  He checked his messages.  Seven were from the Corpse Reclamation Bureau, telling him statistics of how many infected had been fed by his work that week.  One was spam that didn’t get caught by the filter; it was something about donating to the war effort in China.  He deleted that, of course.  The last one was from Dave. 

It read, “Mrs. Grady wanted to apologize.  I’ve known them since I was tiny.  She’s a good lady.”

Jackson typed back, “Thanks for letting me know.  I understand.  Comes with the job.”

Three dots appeared indicating that Dave was typing.  “Yeah, but you don’t get as much of that in the city, do ya?”

Jackson tilted his head in thought.  “No.  I suppose not.  But it happens sometimes.  It’s really fine.  She’s distraught over her father’s death.  Nothing abnormal about that.”

Dave: “Abnormal…hehe.  How about that nurse granddaughter?  She was cute.”

Jackson: “Aren’t you married?”

Dave: “I meant for you.”

Jackson: “Is that appropriate?”

Dave: “I thought all you city undertakers wet your beaks at the casket side?”

Jackson: “Not usually.”

Dave: “Well, that’s fine.  She’s a nice girl, anyway.  Real good cook.  Might make you a half-decent wife.”

Jackson didn’t respond.

Dave: “I don’t mean no offense.  But life out here ain’t as bad as you think.  At least I see the sun when I look out a window.”

Jackson looked out the window now and frowned.  “If she mentions me, you can give her my number.”

Dave: “Great!  See you Wednesday?”

Jackson: “See you Wednesday.”

He locked his phone and tossed it aside while he dressed.  He tried to put on the most unassuming of his clothes today.  Red t-shirt, grey hoodie, jeans and a ball cap.  He just needed to do a little grocery shopping then he’d return to bed.  No need to overdo it today.  He got his fruit, a few veggies, a couple packs of noodles.  Then he spotted something he’d never seen before on the canned goods aisle of the dimly lit, grubby little market.

The can’s label was pink and had a beautiful woman dressed as a 1950’s housewife on it.  Her skin was tinted slightly green and her victory rolled hair framed a face with one gentle purple mark across one cheek.  Her arms gestured cheerily at the brand name that read, “Mrs. Zelda’s FINE Human Brain Chunks in Gravy.”  Below this, it said, “Discerning mom’s agree!  Mrs. Zelda’s is best for their infected children!”

Jackson took a can and put it in his basket before finishing the rest of his shopping.  He meandered a bit waiting for the other customers to leave before approaching the counter.  The light flickered a little above the head of the middle-aged woman with a greying bun, flabby arms, and a yellow apron.  She smiled as she started to scan his things.  “Did you find everything all right?”

“I did.”  He reached into the basket and pulled out the can of brain chunks.  “But uh…when did you start carrying this?”

The woman’s eyes became wide and she tensed.  “Where did you find that?”  She tried to snatch it from his hand and he held it out of her reach.

“Why do you have this?  You’re not a GG shop.”

“It was a mistaken shipment.”  She was breathing heavily and forcing a smile.  “I am so incredibly sorry you had to see that, but if you’ll give it back, I will make sure it’s disposed of properly.”

Jackson pulled his badge out of his pocket and flopped it open toward her.  Her face fell and she covered her mouth when she saw the five gold stars making a V below his photo.  “I’m gonna need to see your stockroom.”

She took in a ragged breath.  “Honest, officer.  I swear we got a box by mistake!  My stocking boy must have put it out by accident.  I’m gonna send it back, I just need more time. I’m sorry.”

Jackson nodded and held a cool expression.  “I believe you, ma’am.  I just need to see your stockroom to confirm.”

She paused and nodded slowly.  “Ok.  Ok.  I’m sorry.  I’ll take you back there.”  She placed her hands on the counter and smiled.  “You seem like a nice young man.  So handsome too!”  Jackson noticed her right hand move below the counter slowly.

“Keep your hands above the counter, ma’am.”

She clenched her hand in a fist above the counter.  “Can I lock the door before we go back?  I can’t afford to get robbed.”

Jackson nodded.

After locking the door, turning off the “open” sign, and pulling the shades, she finally led him back, shambling slowly and muttering some prayer under her breath as they went back to the darkened door in the back corner.  She fiddled with the light switches, making some of them flip on and off a couple times.  “Oh, darn thing!” she forced a dry laugh.  “Never works right.”

Jackson made a quick survey and noticed slight movement in the back corner behind some cases of beer.  He didn’t say anything, though.  He looked around at the stockroom and asked to be shown where the cans of brain chunks were.  

She showed him the box, which had a GG address on the label.  “See,” she said.  “It was dropped off here by mistake.  We have the same street number as this place in the GG.”

Jackson made a quick count of the cans and volume of the box.  “What did you do with the other four cans?”

“What?”

“You had eight cans on the shelf.  This box contained sixteen and only has four left. What did you do with the other four?”

She stammered for a moment.  “Uh… maybe my box boy sold them by mistake. They look a lot like–“

Jackson walked straight over to the cases of beer.

“No! Wait, officer!” the woman called after him.

He heard a shuffle and pushed over the stack of beer boxes.  Some of the cans hit the ground and sprayed a yeasty mist over the floor.  Out from the pile crawled a little boy, scrambling to escape.  There was nowhere to run and Jackson quickly subdued him.

“Get off me!  Get off me!  I’ll bite you!  I’ll bite you!” the boy screamed.

“No!” screamed the woman.  “Don’t hurt him!  Please!  Jeffrey, don’t struggle!  Don’t resist him!  Oh no!  Oh no!”

Jackson pinned the boy’s forehead back with one hand and barred his small body to the ground with the other arm.  The boy snapped, but couldn’t get his teeth at the man.  He couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8 years old.  “Bite me and I can use lethal force.  Stop it!” he warned the boy.

“Do as he says, Jeffrey!  Please!  Do what he says!”

The boy struggled a few more moments before he locked eyes with Jackson.  Jackson saw a piece of skin was missing from the boy’s neck, revealing muscles and veins that looked to be in working order, but exposed with a deep purple around the edges.  “You’re infected?” he asked as calmly as he could.

The boy’s eyes filled with tears.  “Please, mister.  Please don’t take me away from mama!  Please!”  He started sobbing with Jackson’s arms still pinning him down.

The boy’s mother fell to her knees and started praying, begging the god she worshipped to let her keep her son.

Jackson took his hand off the boy’s forehead and sighed.  He reached into his pocket and clicked the hidden button in his badge, alerting the nearby police to where he was.

A few minutes later, he stood up and let the boy run to his mother and they both sat on the ground weeping in each other’s arms as police in full body, anti-biting armor stormed in and held the pair at gunpoint.  Jackson watched as they ripped the boy from his mother’s arms.  She fought.  She fought hard.  But they beat her to the ground before cuffing her and taking her away too.

Jackson felt his stomach drop out from under him and his eyes tried to cry, but he swallowed it back.  “For the greater good,” he murmured to himself.

Once the affair was over, he gave his report to the lead officer that responded before going home, incinerating his clothes in his apartment building’s fire chute, taking a long hot shower, and filing his own report with the Corpse Reclamation Bureau.

He returned to the window he’d stared out earlier, wondering what would become of the woman.  The boy would, for certain, be sent to the Green Ghetto.  But the woman…well.  He tried not to think too hard about it.

He reopened his messages and pulled up the conversation with Dave.  “Yeah.  I think you have a point,” Jackson replied.  “If you still want me to move there, I’ll accept the position long-term, but for a 10% increase in salary.”

Dave’s text bubble showed the three dots for a moment.  “Not sure I can get you that.  But glad you’re on board!  Btw, that Grady girl asked for your number and I gave it to her.  Is that enough of a perk for you to move?”

Jackson chuckled.  “It’ll do.  For now.”

He closed the phone and started packing his things.