The Zoo - Chapter 10

The next morning, Mortimer woke to the unmistakable sound of cheering. Dozens, maybe hundreds of voices reverberating through the gallery high above the enclosure. Mortimer’s eyes snapped open. For a moment, he forgot where he was. Then, remembering the night before, he glanced around in a panic. He only calmed down when his eyes fell on Deb, who lay beside him, lazily stretching beneath the gaze of their unseen spectators.

A new kind of discomfort surged in Mortimer’s chest. The realization that they were always being watched, even in their most intimate moments. It sent a spike of embarrassment shooting through Mortimer. He sat up and reflexively reached for something to cover Deb’s naked body, but he was unable to find anything sufficient. He wanted to cover his own body as well, but he felt a bit more sensitive when it came to them looking at Deb.

Deb noticed him moving about, and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled, sitting up bolding. She merely glanced at the crowd a single time and then looked away, unperturbed. She appeared to not care about her nude appearance, even after everything they had done together the night before. Instead, she turned toward him, eyes half-lidded with mischief, and kissed him on the lips, firm, slow, and deliberate. It was more than affection, but was like she was laying claim to him. Mortimer felt his tense muscles relaxing as she touched him. Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw and then ran down his chest. Mortimer felt a shiver run down his spine, and he realized he was growing hard again.

He tried to pull away, to avoid giving these bastards a show. However, he couldn’t reject Deb’s advances. His need for companionship was too great. He depended on her presence too much. The heat of her skin against his, the weight of her body, and even the lingering smells of their night of debauchery all came rushing back to his mind. Every kiss, every panting breath, every tremble. It had filled something in him he had seemingly forgotten he had lost.

Within minutes, they were at it again. Their bodies tangled in front of the gallery’s watchful eyes. A few of the crowd gasped, while others gave cheers. Some covered their eyes and walked away, while others watched while making strange faces. Mortimer didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t while she was pressed against him, not while her mouth was on his neck and her fingers were in his hair. He needed her—again and again, until his mind blurred and all he could feel was the raw, exhilarating pleasure.

When they finished their morning love-making, the pair bathed together in the river, playfully wrestling. The cold water did little to chill the heat building between them, but it was refreshing. Mortimer noticed then that he was ravenous. Not just hungry, but famished. His stomach growled loud enough to make Deb glance his way and grin knowingly. She splashed him once and took off running toward the feeding area. He followed without hesitation. He realized he would follow her anywhere.

Their trays awaited them as usual. Mortimer’s was loaded with red—meaty, tangy, spongy things that made his mouth water. Deb’s was green—leafy, soft, bitter-smelling. But each tray had other colors mixed in as well: pale yellow globs, slick gray cubes, even a chunk of something bright blue.

Deb surprised him again by trading some of her food for his, then plucking up a piece of red and offering it to him with a smile. He opened his mouth, letting her feed it to him. Any distance that had previously remained between them was gone. Mortimer had never imagined being fed could feel so intimate, but something in the way she looked at him, teasing and devoted, made his chest flutter.

He grabbed a green lump and pressed it to her lips. Some got on her mouth. Without thinking, he leaned in and licked it off. Her taste mixed with the food’s bitterness, and for the first time, he didn’t mind it.

Time continued to pass like this. For the next few feeding cycles, they would feed each other. When Mortimer became hard, they would unleash their desires. The audience seemed to like seeing their interactions, as they grew larger. The loud clamor of them chittering between each other had become the constant background noise for Mortimer. Yet, Mortimer noticed very little of this, as his focus was always on Deb.

Eventually, their physical urgency diminished—not because they no longer wanted each other, but because they had found pleasure in other interactions as well. Deb would sit on the tire and swing, while Mortimer would push her. Mortimer loved the way Deb shrieked with laughter when he pushed her too hard and she spun wildly. They’d collapse together afterward, breathless and tangled in each other’s limbs.

They resumed their attempts at language. With patience and repetition, they cobbled together a crude mix of signs and short words, each borrowing from the other’s vocabulary. Deb’s language was soft and fluid; Mortimer spoke in a crisp, clear voice. They met somewhere in the middle.

Through this shared language, Deb eventually told him her story—or as much of it as she could. She had been walking near a river, much like the one in their pen, when she slipped. Something hit her head. When she awoke, she was in a smaller enclosure. Alone. Confused. Frightened.

It wasn’t until Mortimer had tried to find out more about where she was born that he realized that when she said her home was much like this one, she meant it. She had seemingly been born in one of these pens with her mother and father. It wasn’t until she was hurt that they took her away. Yet, they had never returned her.

Mortimer couldn’t help but feel a tinge of fear. Would a time come when they would take one of them away and never return them? Mortimer couldn’t live with her being taken away. Deb didn’t seem to be as worried about it. She was confident her mother and father were still together, so she believed they would stay together as well.

Deb freely talked about her life. A lot of what she had learned, she had learned from her parents, and the rest came from careful observation. She saw the watchers a different way. She saw them as her providers. They took care of her and protected her. If something happened, they would always come in and help. She even knew what our watchers wanted from them. The watchers wanted them to be healthy and happy.

When she did normal things—eating, sleeping, exploring—the watchers made happy sounds. When she paced back and forth, refused to eat, or acted neurotic, they would change the food up, observe her more closely, and even poke her with metal sticks. She had steadily learned how to get what she wanted from them.

Mortimer was floored. He had never considered watching their caretakers back. He had gleaned a bit from their tone of voice, but their actions had always seemed random to him. Deb was far more observant. She could tell when they were angry or sad, and she even could recognize individuals. To Mortimer, they all looked alike, but she had names for them. The one who left food for us was called Max, and it turned out he had been out for the last week. She hoped he was alright.

Of course, Mortimer shared his tale about how he’d arrived. How he had been taken from home and was lost and confused. He opened up about Grug, his first companion. How he’d felt like an animal until Deb arrived. She listened quietly; her brow furrowed. She struggled to understand the concept of freedom. I couldn’t figure out how to explain the outside. The best she could grasp was that it was like this place, but bigger without walls. She thought it was funny.

Mortimer moved his hay bedding next to hers and gradually began to construct a shaded area to protect them from the sun and rain and even provide a bit of privacy. Like that, they formed a home.

Although they didn’t stay in the shelter during the day, as it got a bit hot and muggy, every night they would retreat to it. In the private comfort of this home, they had freedom from the watchers. Here, they could make love slowly, playfully, without pressure or eyes watching. Their bond deepened.

It was the happiest Mortimer could ever remember being. Whatever world he had known before, whatever dreams or plans he had before he was abducted, none of them mattered now. He had shelter. He had food. He had Deb. What else could he want?

Then, one morning, Deb was missing when he woke up. At first, he thought she had gone to eat, but her tray was untouched. He searched and found her on a grassy hill near the far end of the pen, hunched over, vomiting.

“Deb!” he cried, rushing to her side.

She was pale. He brought her water. She drank a little, then turned away. He offered her green food. She spat it out violently. He tried yellow, then blue—each rejected. But when he offered red, she devoured it with shaky hands. More time passed, and every morning she would end up vomiting.

She began eating erratically. Sometimes ravenous, sometimes indifferent. Sometimes she craved food long before it was delivered. Other times she wanted to be near him—clinging, needy—and then moments later would push him away, demanding solitude. Her moods swung like a pendulum. Mortimer did his best to accommodate her.

He began eating less and hiding the extra food so that he could provide her with whatever she wanted. When she wanted to eat, he’d go get some, even if it was the middle of the night. That’s when her belly began to swell. Slowly at first, then noticeably. Mortimer recognized the signs. It was at that point that Mortimer realized what was happening. She was pregnant.

Deb seemed to glow with beauty during this time. She became the center of Mortimer’s world. He worked on assembling a sleeping place for the baby during the day, and he rubbed her feet at night. Mortimer knew little about being a parent, but he threw himself into preparation. Everything seemed to be perfect.

More time passed, and Deb seemed to grow tired as her pregnancy progressed, and she slept more and more. It got to the point where Mortimer had to bring her food and water and feed herself. This was considered not normal activities. The watchers began interfering. They entered the enclosure—tall, bipedal, covered in suits that glinted and hissed with strange noises when they moved. Their faces were always obscured. They carried long rods that sparked with electricity. Whenever Mortimer tried to stay near Deb during their visits, they jabbed him with the rods until he backed off, skin burning with the aftershocks.

They examined her. Sometimes, they poked her with those metal sticks. Other times, they touched her belly with cold, humming instruments. Deb seemed far less agitated than Mortimer. She seemed to take it all as a matter of course. She even recovered for a bit.

Then, the day came that Mortimer finished the baby’s shelter. It was right next to their shelter but was much more comfortable and protected from the elements. When he went to find her, Deb wouldn’t open her eyes. She merely lay there motionless. She was breathing—but shallowly. Her skin was clammy. Her eyelids barely fluttered when he whispered her name.

“Deb?” he said, shaking her gently. “Deb, wake up…”

She didn’t answer.

Panic surged through him. He ran to the food wall and began pounding on it with his fists, screaming. “Help! You have to help!”

If Deb was right, then these watchers could help her. It felt a bit ridiculous. He hated them for taking him, yet in his moment of need, they were all he could turn to.

They didn’t come right away, but the next day, the wall slid open. The watchers came. They moved efficiently and with purpose as if they already knew everything about Deb’s condition, even though she had been indoors up until now. They had a bed on wheels. They lifted her onto it, ignoring Mortimer’s cries. He tried to follow, but the rods were ready. One struck his side. Another pressed into his leg. His knees buckled.

They rolled her back behind the wall, where he couldn’t go. The door slammed shut before he could get up. Mortimer collapsed against the wall, hands pressed to the cold surface. He whispered her name again and again. The silence from the other side was unbearable.

He stayed there, slumped against the sealed door for hours. He only knew that Deb was gone, and he could do nothing to save her.

So, he wept. Quietly, violently. Alone.