I picked up the menu and went through the motion of going through it. Was I reading too much into the red truck incident? Or was there something there? Does this dish come with pecans or is there an extra charge?
"Share a Cobb salad?” I said, eyes on the menu.
"Yeah only if it comes with aside of gravy for dressing and melted garlic butter as a topping. I’m starving."
"That sounds disgusting!" I giggled. She’s not exactly a health fanatic.
"May," Malak said over her menu and waved her hand in the air, flagging someone down. I looked over my shoulder. May waved back enthusiastically.
"Why is there a dirty plate?” May said, walking behind me and noticing what was left of my sticky cake. "Did you guys eat?”
“No. This was a premeal snack stress treatment kinda situation,” I said, glancing down at my accomplishment. How socially inappropriate would it be to lick the toffee off the plate?
“Well, since you two already have the menus, let’s order. I know what I want," May said.
"We're not waiting for Deema?" I asked. I didn’t mind the wait. I think I might have been full.
"She texted me she’ll be running a little late," May explained. "She’ll order when she gets here."
So we did. I ordered a half portion salad because, apparently, a quarter is not a thing yet. We filled May in with all the details she missed. Notably, the incident. She agreed with Malak. The waiter brought out our order, and no sooner did he place the plates on the table, Deema stepped in.
"You guys ordered without me," she said and frowned.
I pointed at May. "She made us do it!" Malak agreed with me after swallowing a cucumber she stole off my plate.
Deema knitted her eyebrows and snatched a carrot from my plate. "What did I miss?" she asked and sat on my left, facing May.
“Other than I need some kind of veggie wall around my plate to keep you people out,” I said, pulling my plate closer to me. “There was this strange accident. But if I have to repeat the story one more time," I threatened.
"What story? What accident? What’s going on?" Deema grilled for answers. So with the help of May and Malak, we went over the story. Again.
“That explains the message you sent in the morning,” Deema said, and everyone nodded. I smirked.
“What do you think, though?” I asked after we went over all the details. Was my salad expanding?
"That is strange," she agreed. So it was not only me that thought it might be more than a mistake. Something was wrong.
"I know right," I said while adding fresh black pepper to my salad, feeling more empowered that someone was backing me up. Why am I adding more food to my food?
"There was actually this odd incident at work," Deema said.
"Yeah? What was it?" I asked. The smell of the other dishes forced me to stop chewing for a second.
"A patient was brought in a few days ago. He went into cardiac arrest on arrival. One of the doctors was attempting to resuscitate him, which he managed to do so successfully, but as soon as the patient was conscious, he got up, reached for the doctor's hand, and bit a huge chunk right off."
"That's horrible," May said.
"That's not even the strange part. The doctor died less than ten minutes after he was bitten. The bite was not a fetal wound though. Later, both the doctor and the patient were officially pronounced dead." She bit her lips like she was trying not to say more.
"What?" Malak asked.
"Well, a nurse, a friend of mine said she saw both the doctor and the patient walking through the halls a few hours later."
"The same ones?" Malak asked.
"Yeah… that's the strange part, she was on call when the patient was brought in. She's pretty sure it was him. She's nerve wracked. She's saying they came back from the dead. And as of this morning, the Department of Health put a quarantine protocol in effect. That whole sector is closed off."
"Is there a virus outbreak?" Malak asked.
The restaurant was plugged with a blanket of darkness that lasted a mere second. I looked over to the window and realized the light from outside was temporarily blocked like a huge mystical creature flew over the building and blocked the natural orange sunset from spilling in. No one reacted.
"Everyone is keeping their mouth shut. But they know something.” Deema chewed on another carrot she took from me. I didn't think I could eat anymore. I slowly elbowed my plate closer to Deema. “The hospital is taking all the steps to stop the spread of something. They placed mask stations and hand sanitizers near all the doors and added check-in and check-out logs. Plus, they added more cameras."
"Zombies," May said casually while chewing on garlic bread.
"Zombies?" I laughed. "Like the walking dead?”
“Yep,” May confirmed. Straight face.
“Even if it was a zombie apocalypse, we’re safe.” I rolled my eyes. “They usually only attack the US, right? It's Saudi Arabia! The worst thing we get here is an attack of high tomato prices."
"Yeah," Deema said, uneasily and inspected the window. "Jokes aside, there is something going on. All the flights canceled. I don't know."
“You think the dead are coming back to life?” I pulled a carrot off the plate and wolfed it down. My brain screamed, stop eating.
A bump on the window made us all jump in our seats. A sound like someone throwing rocks at the glass windows.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Everyone went quiet. We faced the now blackened windows. The bumping sound continued, harder, louder. The glass shook responding to the hits. It was not clear what was hitting the windows, but looked like small black balls. Stones?
Bump. Bump. Bump.
The glass shivered, vibration spreading to the walls and ceiling above us. We stood and moved away from the glass. Not only us four, but everyone in the restaurant withdrew from the walls. Retreating.
"What is that?" a man asked.
Everyone narrowed their eyes on the glass window. The sound stopped. It was dark. Nothing visible. Another man inched closer to the glass.
"Birds!" he said. "So many birds!"
Birds? I overheard a few people say they were going outside to check it out. I needed to know what was happening. I decided we were going too. "Let's go," I said to the girls. I could see the curiosity forming on their faces. They nodded. We followed a group of people down the stairs, two men and two women. Thank God there was no elevator here or that would have been another incident, but that's neither here nor there. We approached the doors on the street level, stepping out and on to the pavement. The sky was dark, covered with flying blackbirds. Clouds of birds obscured the peeking sun dusk from shining through. We stood under them. It sounded like water rushing on top of us, applying pressure to our ears. There must have been hundreds of birds, flying in all directions. They ran into one another and smashed into anything in sight, bouncing off glass and walls. The number of birds was increasing. We were standing in the center of a storm, a flood. The birds started dropping out of the sky, hitting the ground around us.
“Watch out!” one of the guys screamed. I ducked in time to see a bird flying over my head, only a few flaps from my face. It hit the wall behind me.
"It's not safe," May shouted over the thunder of birds. "Let’s get back inside."
Malak froze in front of me, her back toward me.
“Malak,” I said, walking next to her. Her eyes wide, focused. I followed her line of sight. The concrete streets facing the restaurant guided a fleet of desert-colored army vessels.
“Are those tanks?” May asked, her voice creeping up behind us.
“No, those are M-ATVs,” Malak said. I didn't like the way Malak said that or the way she was looking at them. Those vehicles weren’t making me feel good either. It was not the first time I’d seen military vehicles. I saw them a couple of years ago being deployed to Bahrain. Why did this feel different?
“Malak.” I tugged on her arm. “Let’s go.”
We ran back insi
de, ducking and covering our faces with our arms. We stood behind the glass door, looking out. It went quiet. The birds flew away, heading east and leaving a ground littered with dead birds. None of us moved. Just when we thought it was over, all the birds lying on the floor, presumably dead, started flapping their wings, sending an unseen ripple of panic through the air. They took off in the opposite direction of the others, heading west.
"What is happening?" Deema asked, looking at everyone with slack jaws and tight hands. Pure horror.
"Call your drivers,” I said. "It’s time to leave.”
Chapter 11
Al Hassa, Eastern Province, Saudi Arabia.
140 km from Dammam
Population a little over half a million
One month earlier
Aman dressed in a white, crisp thoab pulled over on the shoulder of the road next to a palm tree, his eyes focused on the side view mirror. A police officer appeared in the mirror, taking small steps to him. He grabbed his sunglasses off the dashboard, placed them on and stepped out of the car. He squinted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the brightness. The man had the kind of physical appearance that announced his presence, and his confidence radiated his official rank without him having to verbally introduce himself.
“Colonel, sir,” the police officer said, holding the door open as the Colonel stepped out of his car. The officer gave a quick salute.
“Another one?” the colonel said, releasing a sigh and shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” the officer said with some hesitation and closed the car door.
“Same bite marks?”
“We have yet to determine that. We haven’t had any luck identifying the animal that could have left those marks. We’re still waiting for animal control to respond. But as a preliminary assessment, I would say it is the same bite marks.” His mouth contracted he paused and added a “Sir.”
They both treaded to the dead body lying on the asphalt ground; the body had already attracted a curious crowed. However, the crime scene was well-preserved. A line of uniforms stood as a barricade shielding the public eye from getting a clear image of what was going on.
“Get these people away from here,” the colonel said firmly with a fast hand wave.
“You heard the orders,” the policeman shouted to a few other officers awkwardly hovering over the body. "Move!”
The colonel and the officer slowly approached the body. The officer fell back, granting his superior a step ahead. He swallowed hard, a little intimidated by his presence even though the colonel wasn't in uniform. They both examined the body. The body lay anything but peaceful before them. A male in his early forties, flat on his back, bite marks visible on both his arms. Dark blood soaked his white thoab, his expressions wiped clean off his face, his cold eyes gazing straight up. A deep hole between his eyes cut right through the skin. A bullet. Yet, there was no blood around the wound. The corpse was gray. The colonel thought this was not a fresh body. It seemed like he had been dead for days, lying on the side of the highway waiting to be discovered. What was going on? This is spreading, he thought and took a step back.
“Someone fill me in,” he said.
“Colonel Saif.” A guy emerged from behind the line of uniforms. Saif—the name literally translated to a sword, which reflected his characteristics and the colonel personality in action. Swift and accurate. Saif recognized the voice. An old friend. He smiled.
“Sultan,” Saif said. "It’s been a while. I wish I could say it’s nice to see you, but under these circumstances—”
Sultan extended his hand and shook Saif’s hand. Sultan inspected his old friend’s casual clothes. “Your day off?” he asked, releasing his grip on his hand.
“There are no days off in this line of work,” Saif said. Sultan physically agreed with the statement. They both immediately turned their attention to the corpse.
“What do we know?” Saif asked.
Sultan turned to one of his men, who handed him a clipboard. He skimmed it quickly.
“A local,” Sultan said, “he was reported missing three days ago.”
“When was the body discovered?” Saif asked, shifting his gaze between the body and his friend.
“It is odd.” Sultan hesitated. "He was found alive only a few hours ago. He was walking down this highway. The report stated the patrol officer that found him claimed he was hallucinating. When he tried to approach him to help him, he wasn’t greeted so kindly.”
“He attacked the patrol officer?” Saif asked.
“Yes.” Sultan paused for a second. "The victim bit the officer serval times before he managed to take a shot at him. One bullet to the head. Point blank.”
“Where is the officer now?” Saif asked.
“He was transferred to the hospital,” Sultan said.
Saif had seen those marks before, and he knew they were identical to the ones he found on the other victims in the last two weeks. His face grew stiff after frowning. It’s not an animal bite. It’s a human bite, and this is another one name to add to the growing list.
“Contact dispatch and notify them that I want all reports with similar symptoms transferred to me directly,” Saif said to the officer that greeted him on arrival.
“Yes, sir.” The officer marched to his vehicle. He sat in the driver seat and closed the door. He started the car and turned on the AC on, feeling the coldness on his damp neck. He couldn’t resist the fatal itch that stung his ankle. He rolled up the right side of his khaki uniform pant to see where the patrol officer had bitten him as he assisted loading him onto the ambulance. He was afraid to notify anyone of this. It’s just a bite. I’ll be okay, he soothed his fears. He decided to deal with it once he returned to the police department, not knowing he would never make it.
Chapter 12
Sitting in bed, laptop facing me, I searched the web for answers that could explain what’s been going on, the result page filled with fiction sources, and sensational articles, nothing factual. There had to be a rational explanation. Nature doesn’t alter its pattern suddenly, does it? Could this be the result of the change in temperature worldwide?
A faint rustling sound floated in the background between musical notes. I didn’t think much of it, till I heard it again. A whisper. A distant warning. I removed my earplugs and listened for a moment. Plumpy was unusually quiet. Nothing but the whistling of the wind behind the window. There’s nothing there. I placed the earplugs back in, rhythmic acoustic music passing through them. I glanced at the clock on the laptop screen, 10:30 p.m. I should get some sleep I have work tomorrow and this search keeps hitting a dead-end. But, what about close countries in the Gulf, Bahrain, Kuwait? Were they facing these abnormal occurrences? I stayed up another few minutes. I unconsciously raised both legs off the floor and tucked them under my thighs as if something was down there, under me, waiting for me in the dark. Something under the bed was a common fear that appeared all over the world across different cultures. Was it programmed in our genes? A fear that helped our ancestors survive the horrors of what lay under them as they slept or was it something else? Lost in thought and searching, the phone rang. I glanced back at the clock. 11:13. The time that passed was not the time I felt pass. My senses tipped me off; something was wrong. Something was not right, and I was picking up on it but couldn’t identify it. Like something was coming.
“Hey,” I answered the call.
“Sorry, were you sleeping?” the voice said in a plaintive tone.
“No, Deema.” I closed the laptop. “Just doing some research.”
“You sound tired.”
“I guess I am. It’s been a long day.”
“Yep. So, my parents called me. They extended their stay in Europe.”
Light tapping emerged. Tap-tap-tap.
“Hang on, Deema. Someone’s at the door,” I said, turning my head to the door. “Come in.”
No answer.
“Come in,” I repeated.
No answer.
“Sara?” Deema’s voice floated from the phone.
“Someone was knocking on the door, never mind.”
“Okay, well yeah so, I’ll be alone for another couple of weeks.”
Light knocking reemerged. It sounded like a knocking on a hard surface.
“Come in!” I said, irritated. But no one did. I got up and swung the door open. I stepped out and checked around, nothing but darkness. The knocking sound surfaced once more. I froze. I turned around. The knocking slowly transformed into a screeching sound. A shiver went down my spine, stimulating a chill through me. The sound wasn’t coming from the door. It was coming from inside the room. From the closet. I stood still, straining to hear.
“Sara?”
A single knock. Silence again. Then a single knock.
“Deema,” I whispered, holding the phone close to my cheek, my mouth dry.
“What is it?”
“There’s this sound.”
“What sound?”
“I don’t know. Like scratching or something. I think it’s coming from the closet.”
“What?” Deema shouted.
“Hold on,” I said, squeezing the phone in my hand and lowering it down to my thighs. My heart pounded. My breaths went shallow. I took a few steps toward the built-in closet, squeezing the device in my hand even tighter as if it would protect me if I held on tight enough. I placed my hand on the closet door and slid it sideways. It’s nothing, I told myself. I opened it all the way and peeked in, switching the closet’s lights on. Nothing but clothes. I extended my arm in and shuffled through the clothes to assure myself. There’s nothing in here. But something felt off.
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