The Zoo - The Zoo - Chapter 6

Mortimer threw up behind a small pile of hay. This was becoming a regular occurrence now that he was not getting enough food to eat. To make matters worse, Grug was becoming even more violent. It seemed the more that the spectators laughed and clapped, the more violent Grug became. Grug no longer tolerated Mortimer sleeping on the makeshift pile he called a bed. If Mortimer tried, Grug would attack even if there were no spectators.

In the few days since Grug got there, Mortimer had been bullied to exhaustion. In the back of his mind, Mortimer thought he remembered dealing with bullies before but it was so hard to think with his head ringing in pain from Grug’s performances. When Grug wasn’t performing, Mortimer would curl up in a corner trying to nurse his wounds and recover, but it was never long enough.

Mortimer saw the crowds approaching. He slunk his way to the back of the cage. During the night someone had stacked a few tires. Maybe if Mortimer remained out of view, Grug would not beat him since the crowds wouldn’t be able to see it.

Mortimer hunkered down in a squat, hoping the tires obscured his gaunt form. His back was to the crowds, feeling a bit disgusted when he thought of their smiling, laughing faces. He blamed them in part for the hell he found himself in. He could still hear them. Loud cackling sounds he had come to understand were laughter.

Had his head not been ringing Mortimer might have noticed their sudden increase in excitement. If he had, he might have realized that Grug was coming for him. Therefore, he was surprised when a meaty hand reached around the tires and grabbed him by the neck. Mortimer felt the tires fall behind him as Grug wrapped a thick arm around him and dragged him to the front of the cage. Grug tossed Mortimer to the ground and began beating his chest. When Mortimer tried to move, Grug knocked him back down with a quick stomp.

Mortimer could not focus. A crimson haze was forming over his eyes. He could just make out Grug motioning to the crowd as if asking them to choose Mortimer’s fate. He saw that foot coming down again and everything went black. That was the last thing he remembered until he woke up on a metal table.

Where was he? The room was dark and cold. There were bright lights. He could make out shapes, furry, or maybe they wore fur, but he could not distinguish the difference. Everything hurt. Everything except his legs. He could not feel them at all. The creatures around him were making sounds he could not recognize. Talking? He could sense alarm in their tone. A machine roared to life with a high-pitched whine. He tried to turn his head, but it was strapped down to the table, preventing his mobility.

The sound was growing louder. Mortimer began to panic. What if they meant him harm? What if these creatures had given up on watching him and now wanted to torture him? They might kill him on this very table. He tried to speak, to call out, but his mouth was too dry, his throat too raw.

A tear began to roll down the corner of his eye and he caught a glimpse of a spinning metal disk lower down toward his neck. Everything went dark.

Mortimer had no idea how long he was unconscious. When he woke, his only thought was he was glad to be alive. This time, he was in a small room. He blinked his eyes a few times to get used to the soft lighting. He was laying on something soft. Hay? No, it was much softer than that. The words failed his brain for a minute then it hit him. A bed! He was laying on an actual bed!

The bed was not like any he remembered. Instead, it was shaped in an oval with a thick foam pad that surrounded his body as he moved. It felt warm and comforting. He could lay here forever the way he felt. He tried to sit up but his head spun and he had to lay back down. He could see now. He gently rolled his head to the side, taking in the surroundings. The walls were a black metallic surface. He could not make out a door. There had to be one but he could not sense it.

There was a table with a single chair not too far from the bed. On the table was a large tray of food. The food he enjoyed the most. None of that green stuff. He looked down at his body. He had crude bandages wrapped around his chest. There was a scent of camphor in the room. Mortimer relaxed a bit. Although the smell was not pleasant, it somehow made him feel safe. At the very least he was away from Grug, had a full meal to eat, and a comfortable bed. A small part of him felt sorry for Grug having to sleep in the hay.

Mortimer let his eyes flutter closed, his mind filled with the food that he didn’t have the strength to take. When he woke some hours later, he looked at the table, fearing they had taken the food away while he was sleeping.

To his delight, the food remained. There was something else too. A mug with steam coming out of it. The aroma was sweet. Mortimer rolled stiffly on his side. He shifted his weight and placed his feet flat on the floor as he sat up. His limbs were sore but stronger than he felt in the cage. It took some effort, but he was able to stand up, bracing himself on the chair before he fell.

Mortimer managed to get himself seated in the chair without too much of a struggle. His nostrils flared at the delicious scent emanating from the mug. He reached for it, only to pull back his hands as the heat from the steam stung. He decided to eat first.

Mortimer fought down the urge to devour the feast for several all too sensible reasons. First, he knew he had not had a proper meal since Grug arrived and if he ate too quickly, his body might reject the food. Second, he was afraid that there would not be more if this was all gone. Third, he felt almost like his normal self again and he wanted to savor each flavor.

Mortimer broke off a piece of the red stuff and nibbled at it absent-mindedly while he contemplated the meaning of this room. Was he in a hospital? Had Grug hurt him so badly that his captors were forced to rescue him? Or had he been experimented on? Would he remove the bandage and find some hideous creature living beneath his skin?

He tried the mug again and found he was able to pick it up. He brought it to his lips and sipped. A scream erupted from his mouth, less from the heat than from the sweet liquid hitting the sensitive chapped areas of his lips. He moistened them with his tongue before trying again. This time, he could tolerate the pain. The liquid was thick, like ichor but it tasted delicious. A mint and honey flavor he thought. It also warmed his insides. He remembered a drink like this once. He drank it all.

Once his thirst was quenched, his hunger kicked in and he ate more earnestly. Red stuff, blue stuff, even some yellow stuff. He saved a few chunks of the red for later and slunk back off to the bed.

When he awoke the next day, he felt better. The food was replenished and another hot mug was on the table. He counted three sleep cycles like this. Then on the fourth sleep cycle, the food tasted different to him. The drink made him dizzy. He fell asleep at the table. When he woke, he found himself laying on a pile of hay in his old cage.

Panic set in but as he looked around, he did not see Grug. It must have been the day with no visitors. The hall outside the cage was dark. He started to relax and wander about the cage. Grug was nowhere to be found. Maybe they had moved him to another cage. Or maybe he had to go to the hospital too. Just when Mortimer had convinced himself it was safe, the door in the wall opened and two weird creatures wearing protective suits scurried in carrying an unconscious Grug on a gurney. They put him down on the other pile of hay and left. It took a second, but Mortimer realized there was a second pile of hay now. He hoped Grug would not take that for himself.

Mortimer did not sleep that night. He sat, vigilantly watching Grug, afraid that if he closed his eyes, Grug would wake and beat him again. Mortimer’s hands were trembling. How could he live like this? Maybe, he was thinking too much. Grug might never return, or if he did return, maybe he’d be different from now on. Mortimer let himself drift off to sleep.

Mortimer woke to rough hands tossing him out of his hay pile. It was none other than Grug, and Grug looked angry, as if he had been punished for hurting Mortimer and now wanted revenge. He flung Mortimer across the cage. Mortimer was healed. He was stronger. He got up before Grug could strike him again. He pushed Grug but Grug was still superior and practically laughed. Grug punched Mortimer in the stomach. Mortimer gasped and staggered back.

He looked up, expecting to see Grug’s fist coming toward his face. Instead, he saw a different look in Grug’s eyes. It was not anger, but like Grug was considering something. Mortimer did not know how to interpret this. Was Grug having second thoughts? That’s when he noticed another change with Grug. Down below, he had become stiff.

Before Mortimer could react, Grug threw him down on the hay bedding and held him down. Mortimer realized where he recognized that look. It was a look of arousal. Mortimer had a rush of terrible visions of being violated by this beast. This was not right. It was not Mortimer’s way. He could not let Grug get away with this. If he did, Mortimer would never be safe again. He would be at Grug’s mercy.

Mortimer thought quickly. What could he do? Grug was bigger, stronger. When Grug began to thrust toward him, something snapped inside Mortimer. He became filled with anger.

He swung his elbow back and struck Grug in the groin. The sound of pain echoed throughout the cage. Grug stumbled back, holding himself in agony. This was Mortimer’s only chance. He knew that if he didn’t act now, he would forever be ruined by Grug.

With a roar more animal than man, he rolled on top of Grug and began punching him with his fists. He didn’t hold back at all. All the civility and restrain he prided himself on was gone as his only goal was to make sure Grug could never hear him again. He hit his head, neck, chest. Grug fought back at first, but his defenses grew weaker and weaker as Mortimer beat him. Yet, Mortimer couldn’t stop himself. His hands were covered in blood, and he might have broken a bone, but he didn’t stop.

It was only when he felt something sharp prick his neck that he was jolted from his attack. He reached up and grabbed his neck, pulling out a small dart. He turned to see a group of the spectating beings. They were inside his cage but were working in groups with some holding up a barrier while others held weapons.

That’s when the exhaustion started to overtake him. He stood up over Grug’s bloody, unconscious body, and the creatures seemed to tense up, one even shouting words at him that he could not understand. He only took one step before collapsing to the ground, the darkness overtaking his mind once again.