Malak was a twenty-four-year-old journalist working at a well-known firm. She covered general issues but specialized in certain topics like developments and international influences on the country. We looked so much alike. She had my hair color although hers was a little shorter and straighter. We also had the same eye and skin color. Everyone who saw us at first glance thought we were twins—not identical but very similar. However, I was older and she was taller, and her nose was narrower.
"Great. I have an appointment at the salon to get my hair done," I explained. "Ditch?"
"Yeah! Let’s pick up some food and go home and watch a movie"—she slipped her hand into mine—"and catch up."
"Sure," I said and told Raj to take us home then go back for May. I tightened my fingers around Malak’s hand. We always held hands, and by the strength of the grip, we would know exactly what the other one was feeling. With a single glance, we read each other’s minds. We could tell people didn't understand how we could have a full conversation without saying a single word, but it didn't bother us. They just didn't get sisters.
Chapter 2
An unknown location. The empty quarter, Saudi Arabia.
Three months earlier
“How could this happen?” a well-built man asked as he all but sprinted along the marble, his shoes squeaking aggressively.
“Sir,” a young man dressed in a tan camouflage uniform replied, “there is no time to waste. We need to get you out of here at once.” An insignia of two stars and stripe was displayed proudly on his shoulder, ranking him as a first lieutenant. He swung both doors open and nodded for his superior to step out before him.
“Son, I need answers,” said the bulky man, eyes wide open and teeth clenched. His expression grew furious. He walked through the doors exiting onto the building’s rooftop, and the heat hit them quick and hard like removing the lid off a boiling pot while leaning directly over it.
The doors closed behind them before opening again, and a man with urgency in his eyes rushed out. “Lieutenant general! I think it’s time to order the attack,” he yelled, trying to cut through the roar of the helicopter. The man was a researcher in the facility below. He wore a serious expression alongside a white lab coat.
“Civic action has been deployed. The target will hit in ninety minutes,” the lieutenant general said, lifting his head while rotating around to face the researcher standing only a few steps away from the helicopter pad. “I need a confirmation that everything is under control, if you follow?”
“Protocols have taken effect. The place is under lockdown, sir,” the researcher assured, certain.
“Nothing in, nothing out. Is that correct, Doctor?”
“Yes, sir,” the researcher confirmed.
The first lieutenant turned to the pilot, lifting his thumb to eye level. Looking over his shoulder to the man in white, he nodded before taking precise steps away from him. He ducked down and rushed toward the helicopter.
“When are you sending a helicopter to come back for me and the surviving facility members?” the researcher screamed over the sound with all the voice he could muster.
“It won’t be long,” the lieutenant general said as he stepped into the helicopter, sliding into his seat. The first lieutenant general nodded to the researcher with a hint of a furrowed brow. The first lieutenant hesitated for one sweat drop then followed his commander into the helicopter. He took his seat next to the window, looking a little confused.
“Sir, we did not receive any orders for an evacuation phase.”
“Because there is none,” the lieutenant general said treacherously, eyes cold. He pushed his chest out as he adjusted the headset over his ears.
“You—”
“Are you questioning my authority?” The lieutenant general narrowed his eyes.
“No, sir.” The first lieutenant lowered his gaze and adjusted his seatbelt. He looked out the window, feeling bad for the researcher who was waving enthusiastically to them, not knowing that this would be the last time he saw them—or anyone else for that matter.
The helicopter lifted upward, roaring to the wind as it changed direction and soared over nothing but sand. A solid ten minutes went by without any of them uttering another word.
The first lieutenant stared out the window, looking at the sea of golden sand below and wondering what would happen to the men still alive in the facility. Men that had families waiting for them, kids excited to show their fathers their school accomplishments and grades. All outside communication was cut off with the research facility. No one knew what happened there and no one would. But he assured himself that the military knew best and had this under control. He should not question them. Soon, he’d be home with his wife and little kid and this would all be over.
He detected a moving object beneath them. Something down there in the desert was moving, and it was not an animal.
“What is that?” he asked. He tilted his head and moved closer to the glass window, zeroing in on the object. “Sir, I think there is something down there—”
The first lieutenant was stopped mid-sentence when he turned to see a gun aimed straight at him. His pupils dilated and his lips parted before he was able to speak another letter. One bullet to the head, point blank, and the world went black. He was silenced for good.
“Dispose of the body, and the gun,” the lieutenant general said, “and connect me to Quartz base immediately.”
The copilot got out of his seat and made his way to the back. He unblocked the seatbelt over the fresh dead corpse, and couldn’t help but check the uniform, the green Saudi flag patched on his right arm now red with blood. Without hesitation, he slid the door open and dumped the body overboard. He would be buried in the sand, never to be discovered. His family would never know what happened to him.
The lieutenant general switched on the safety on his gun and passed it to the copilot, wiping the blood off his chin. Then he looked down at his phone. A smile spread across his face as he held it to his ear.
“Light it up,” he commanded to the person on the other end. A thrill revealed itself through his expression.
Chapter 3
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound of a truck backing up traveled through the window a few steps from my bed. A whistle mimicking the truck sound came from within the bedroom, and I shuffled the blanket, looking for my phone to check the time.
"Where are you?" I muttered in a sluggish voice. I dug my hands under the sheets and deeper between the pillows. Found it. What do I do in my sleep anyway? I never knew how everything ended up in random, tucked away places. Holding my phone in front of my face, I managed to open one eye to read the screen. It was too early. Some light had already managed to penetrate the gray blackout curtains, casting a glow over my eyelids. The phone slipped out of my hand, landing straight on my cheek. I screeched and Plumpy, my bird, mimicked the tone I made. Okay, I'm awake now. Sitting up, the phone bounced off my face and found its way safely back to the bed. “Three missed calls” flashed on the screen. The message icon blinked in the corner, as visible as the words. I scanned through the messages.
Deema: Girls, breakfast tom?
Malak: Yeah! Time? Location?
May: I'm in. Where?
Deema: The usual?
May: Sounds good. 9:30?
Malak: 9:30.
Deema: Ok.
May: Sara?
Malak: I think she's sleeping. We stayed up late. I’ll wake her up in the morning.
May: Ok see ya tom morning!
Deema: Goodnight.
Malak: Nighty night.
With one eye, one hand, and the one cheek that didn't hurt, I typed my reply.
Sara: Got the memo. 9:30 No need to wake me up.
I set the alarm for 8:30 a.m. and placed the device next to my pillow. “Go back to sleep, Plumpy,” I said and rolled over to the other side. The pillow’s warmth burned my skin and I flipped the pillow to the other side. I sank my face in the cool cotton, allowin
g it to comfort me. Hugging the sheets tight, my blinks became heavier. I was caught in a random string of thoughts, where sense and logic were merely suggestions. Then I drifted off, and my mind went into a freefall.
The next thing I remembered was the alarm sounding off, which encouraged Plumpy to sing along. "I need to change that tone. And bird," I said, picking up the phone and disabling the alarm.
I lay there for a few minutes, thinking of everything and nothing, and giving my body and mind time to sync up. I dragged myself out of bed and drew the curtains open. Beyond the backyard walls stood a mini market in the corner, in front of it a narrow two-way road separated by a curb with palm trees. The mini market was recognized by a dusty old sign hanging from it. A sign that was cleaned last week but hung with layers of dust, proof it survived seven days and nights. The store greeted costumers in the early, hot morning, tweens running out with caffeinated drinks ready to unleash their energy.
I walked over to the orange rectangular cage—home of Plumpy, my overweight, blue lovebird roommate who impatiently waited for the morning sun.
“Good morning, you,” I said, my hand placed on the bars. Plumpy bounced heavily on his horizontal bar. Let me out let me out. I opened the cage door and he chippered as he passed me. I won’t crap on your clothes this time, he promised. The blue bird flew above me, singing his new truck morning song while he socialized with all my stuff. Every day, I let him out of his cage a little. I thought this would decrease his weight but he only seemed to find more food on his daily flights.
I made my way to the bathroom, yawning and trying desperately to exhale the sleep from my body. I’d barely slept the night before. Malak and I were up watching a low-budget horror movie that had come highly recommended by May, who is a die-hard horror fan. She watched every film in the genre made from the early 50s to present day. Note to self: don't ever listen to her again. Truthfully, I still wasn’t sure how she rated movies.
I jumped in the shower, dried my hair straight, and slipped on tights and a plain shirt. It didn't matter what I chose, I would be wearing an abaya—a loose-fitting full-length robe—that covered everything I wore underneath. So, I got away with wearing anything, which made the getup a blessing in disguise. Although, my opinion on the matter varied depending on the context. I sat facing the vanity and applied my tar-black eyeliner. I liked to think it made my brown eyes pop. A sweep of coral blush on my cheeks, and a dab of raspberry-red gloss and I was done. Since I didn’t show off my outfit, jewelry had become a part of my everyday ensemble. I overcompensated with flashy bracelets and rings.
A single knock came at the door.
"Come in, Malak." I assumed.
“Good, you’re ready,” Malak said, leaning against the doorway frame. She had her hair up in a pony, wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans. "I came in twenty minutes ago you were in the shower."
"I’m almost done. You look nice." Her natural morning makeup with a touch of summer made mine seem over the top. I looked around. Plumpy was busy searching for something to snack on in a corner bookshelf.
"Thanks. Did you put on some weight?" she asked, studying me from head to toe. "That top looks a little tight."
"I didn't gain any weight," I snarled, expanding the clingy fabric. "The shirt shrunk."
"You’ve had it forever. How do you explain it suddenly shrinking?"
"Global warming?" I reached for the milky-blue abaya hanging on the open closet door and slipped it on.
"Uh-huh. Anyway, I'll be in the living room." She disappeared into the hallway, leaving the door ajar.
I smiled. I loved having her back. Ever since I could remember, it had always been her and me—in addition to the couple of maids we’d had throughout the years that had become extended family members. Our parents traveled a lot, leaving us to grow up alone, together. Heading back to the vanity, I picked up a bottle of my favorite perfume and emptied a massive sum of it onto my abaya. Well, not massive to me. The concept of smelling good is very vital. "It’s a Saudi thing," I always justified. To most people here, radiating a strong scent is as important as personal hygiene. Although, I have received plenty of complaints criticizing my overwhelming scent. It made me reorganize I might have a perfume problem. Maybe. I stood to face the mirror for a final check before grabbing my purse. Throwing the veil over my shoulders, I started out of the bedroom but stopped to glance around.
For a few seconds, I struggled to move, as if there was an invisible force slithering around my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to ease the pressure. A warning serpentined toward me, and my cheek felt hot where the phone landed. It’s nothing. This is going to be a good day. I brushed it off. I scooped Plumpy in my hand and returned him back to his home. I closed the door behind me and darted toward the stairs.
"Malak," I said, slipping my loafers on and making my way down the stairs all at once. "Did the driver arrive?"
Though we were legally allowed to drive, no arrangements have been made to pave the way for that new lifestyle. Until then, we fell back on our old ways. With drivers taking us where we needed to go. Malak didn’t live here and was only in town temporarily to concern herself with making these arrangements. Everything was happening so slow yet so fast.
"No, not yet. He says he needs another fifteen minutes." She stroked a brush over her index nail. The smell of nail polish filled the air.
"What color?" I asked, inching closer. A deep red painted flawlessly on the tip of her spread out fingers, reflecting the bold color. She applied the hue to her last unpolished nail and started waving her hands, air-drying them.
"Nice. Give me," I said, taking the bottle of every-girl’s-must-have lacquer color. Like the perfect abaya that looks good on every occasion, the ebony liquid liner that deepened any brown eyes, and the oud oil that mixed well with all other scents. The essentials.
After I applied polish to my nails, I waved and blew on them. It dried faster that way, I thought, nodding away while Malak talked.
"That's the problem with the girls. They hang so much of their hopes and dreams on something unknown and they fail to take into account that marriage is not the answer to everything! It might not be the happy ending they are looking for…” Malak’s voice trailed off in the background.
I was in agreement with her, and she held my full attention until something behind her diverted my focus.
Squinting, I walked past her. "Something is wrong."
"Yeah, something is wrong," Malak continued. "We need to talk to Deema. We're being fed these ideas. Oh and don’t get me started on Grandma…" Her voice fell away once more as I approached the fish tank a few steps from the sofa. The clean, transparent water revealed something odd about the fish swimming within. I leaned closer to get a better view.
"What are you doing?" I heard her yell.
"There's something wrong with the fish," I said, and Malak joined me to investigate.
The fish were not swimming, instead suspended in the water as if they were floating in dark space, lopsided on the surface. Their scales were a blueish green color with some white parts and their gray eyes were sunken in. One of them was missing a few fins, covered in what looked like rot. Yet, they still lived.
“What’s wrong with Mom’s goldfish?” I muttered under my breath.
“Are they dead?" she whispered as if not wanting them to hear.
"Do they look dead?" I deflected the question. "They’re still moving."
"How can they move if they're dead?"
"They’re obviously not dead, Malak." I rolled my eyes and stared at their lifeless faces, kneeling as close as I could to the water. "They’re sick. Dying, I guess."
"They smell like they already did."
A moist, earthy smell blew over me, with an undertone of something else. Something sour.
"That's how fish smell," I said, nearing the glass. One fish was still. I wanted to touch it but my nails were still wet. "Hand me something to poke it with," I told Malak while carefully removing the aqu
arium’s black lid, not shifting my focus from the immobile fish. Malak shuffled away. The other fish were moving funny. Their small bodies twitched convulsively as if a current of electricity passed through the water. Malak appeared next to me with a glass jar in her hand and pulled out a fragrance stick.
"Really?" I said, eyeing the end of the stick, which had been dipped in jasmine and lavender fragrance oil.
She shrugged. "It’s all I could find."
"At least it smells good," I said. Extending the stick over the tank, I poked the lifeless body of the still fish. It rotated and bit the end of the stick, gnawing at it. Startled, I hurled the stick into the water and pulled back, yanking my hand away from the tank in time to witness the other three fish viciously jump out of the water, snapping their mouths and displaying violent behavior uncommon to their natural instincts.
"Quick! Get the cover," I said, and Malak handed me the lid. I placed it over the tank, and paused for a second. "What the…?" The fish had devoured the stick. "It tried to bite me," I said. For some reason, the soundtrack from the movie Jaws played in my head: Duuun dun duuun dun dun dun dun dun.
Malak’s phone rang, and we both jumped.
"God that scared me," she said.
We stopped for a second and burst out laughing.
"Driver?" I asked.
"Yeah,” she said. “Are you okay?"
"I’m fine." Despite the fact that our goldfish thought they were Piranhas. "We’ll deal with this later."
We left the house, closing the door on this problem for now. A few boys kicked a soccer ball in the street, their jersey tops stained with sweat and mud. We dodged our way to the back seat of the car. I moved a few books Malak left on the seat and tossed them in the back, settling in while Malak told the driver of our destination. The smell of hot leather on a sunny day filtered through the AC, evoking different memories.
"I sent out a text to the girls telling them we’re on our way out,” she said as she observed her phone. “Deema texted back saying she’s already out, but I still didn't get a reply from May."
Zombies In Saudi Arabia Page 2