“May! Shoot!” I screamed. But she stood still. Deema stepped back and forth, unable to make a decision. She then finally lunged ahead next to me, and a clank echoed the store.
“Oh no,” Deema said, leaning in. Her gaze traced the knife that flew out of her hand and disappeared under the shelves.
I picked up more things from off the shelves and threw them at the zombie. Malak and Deema started doing the same, throwing everything in sight as we walked back toward the zombie on the ground. This is not working. He’s not reacting to anything. He did not lift his foot too far off the ground as he closed in on us. A box stood at his toes, but he only lifted his foot enough to trip on the box. He dived headfirst to his side. He got stuck, lodged between two shelves, the gap not enough for his bloated head. He groaned and tried to move. It wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t get out. He lay on the ground, on his stomach, concealing his face. Swarming, trying to get loose.
“Why didn’t you do anything? You could have gotten all of us killed,” Malak said.
“I’m sorry,” May said, extending her hand with the gun. “I didn’t know…”
My hand trembling, I looked down at it and saw a bottle of oil clenched between my fingers. I dropped it to the ground and walked up to May, reclaiming the gun.
“Are you okay?" Malak asked.
"Yeah, are you?”
“Yeah,” she said, inspecting herself.
“Deema?” I said.
“I’m good,” Deema said. “I’m sorry. I dropped my knife.”
I placed my hand on her shoulder. “We're okay,” I said.
“Let’s take what we can and leave,” Malak said.
The two zombies on the ground sent a shiver sweeping through me. My heart rate tried to return to its normal rhythm. I took a deep breath. We all regrouped and grabbed our baskets, making our way out and rushed to the doors, ready to leave and never go back there again. We got as far as the automated doors and stood in front of them, waiting for them to slide open. They didn’t. We couldn’t get stuck here. Deema used her free hand to wave at the sensors. Nothing.
"Why isn’t it opening?" May asked.
"We'll find another way," Malak said.
"We don't know what’s back there," May said. "There could be more zombies. We're outnumbered!"
"Calm down," Malak said, "you’re not helping.”
I looked around for anything flat I could slide between the doors to force them open. A spatula lay on the ground with other kitchen utensils. I picked it up and stuck it between the two doors and bent it sideways, but it didn’t do much. I tried pulling the spatula back out. It wouldn't move either. It was stuck.
"Great," I said and turned around to the girls.
"There has to be a back door," Deema said.
"Sara," May cried out, "there's another one behind you.”
A short, yet, still intimidating zombie stood behind the glass doors, black liquid oozing out of his mouth and nostrils. Eyes whited-out, making it hard to know what he was focusing on. His thoab was covered in blood.
"Where did he come from?" I whispered. He couldn't get to us, there was a thick glass between us, and the doors were locked.
"We need to find another way out," Malak said.
"’Kay," I agreed. I didn't like the idea of venturing back there looking for the back entrance. I didn’t know what we'd find, or if we’re prepared to find out. But if it was our only option, then I didn’t have any leeway. We walked a few steps from the doors and stopped when we heard a clack, the sound of metal hitting the ground. The spatula echoed thought out the entire store. We all turned around. The zombie stood between the two open doors. He set off the motion sensors from the outside.
"Are you kidding me?” I said.
The zombie moved toward Deema who stood the closest to the door. The zombie lifted both hands, trying to attack her. She pushed her basket against his face but his hands were all over hers… he was scratching her.
"Shoot!" Malak screamed.
"I might shoot her!" I screamed back. Should I shoot?
Deema pushed the basket with gusto. The zombie stumbled backward with extreme force, tripping and falling to the ground. Deema got away.
"Put him down, Sara," Malak said.
I walked to him. He was struggling to get up, like a bug on its back. They lacked basic brain function. He did not have the slightest brain capacity to analyze the simplest situation, like getting back up on his feet. He ultimately stood on his knees. I looked at him; he was short, a kid. Barely a tween. I hesitated, but I already had the gun aimed to his forehead.
“Shoot!” Deema screamed.
I closed my eyes and emptied a bullet into his head. Point blank. I opened my eyes, standing over the body. This was harder than I thought. He was a kid. I killed a kid.
"Did it scratch you?" May asked, remaining close to Deema.
"No. No," Deema said, trembling. She rolled up her sleeves. There were no scratch marks visible. “I don't think he has nails."
I looked down at the kid’s corpse. I crouched down to get a closer look at his hands. Dry blood covered his hands, but no nails. It looked like they broke off, or fell off.
"Sara," May screamed, "get away from it."
"There’s a hole in his head. It’s not getting up," I said and got on my feet and stepped away in case he got up. "The nails fell off. It couldn’t have scratched Deema."
"Let's leave," Deema said.
We grabbed the baskets and hurried out.
Chapter 22
The airless summer night fell flat and lifeless as we made our way back to the house, through abandoned streets, with their branched-out, dark allies. We approached our once-vibrant neighborhood. A neighborhood full of children outside playing soccer, delivery cars delivering food to hungry teenagers playing video games and binging movies. Neighbors chatting up each other, inviting them in for coffee and desserts, the smell of barbecues spread through the air with a whiff of chlorine from all the pools. The tall walls of our three-floor villa loomed, standing concrete-still in the somber wind, with its familiar red bricks. A shiver swept through me as we fell beneath its shadow. The building patiently awaited our return. Home. We're going to be okay, a breeze of relief whispered.
“The front door is open,” Malak said. "Did we leave it open?"
“What?” I said, my heart leaping out of beat. The front door was swung open. "No, no we left through the garage."
Malak grabbed the garage remote linked to her key chain and clicked it repeatedly.
“If the door is open," May said, "it's not safe. We need to go somewhere else."
"Where are we gonna go?" Deema asked.
Malak aimed the remote at the sensor at the top of the garage door, and pressed harder. "It’s not opening." She slammed it a few times on the dashboard. “It's stuck."
"Is it just me or is everything stuck today?" May asked.
"Well, usually it’s an only-you scenario, but in this case, it’s not you being paranoid. We are swimming against the tide," I said while switching the gear to R and backing out. "We'll have to park out front and walk in."
"It doesn't sound like a good idea," May declared.
"I’m open to suggestions," I said, not happy with this alternative either. I parked close to the front door and cracked open the window, looking out at the house peering down at us.
"It seems quiet," Deema said.
My thoughts exactly. The neighborhood was unusually silent. Nothing but empty streets, not a living or dead thing in sight, with a faint scream of sirens and explosions in the distance. There was nothing there.
"Ready?" Malak asked.
"Can we try the garage again?" May asked and went ignored.
"Let's go." I rolled up the window and stepped out. Everyone, May included, got out of the vehicle. We walked toward the house with Malak in the lead. She took small steps to the front door. Light from her phone flicked, guiding her. We all turned on our flashes too. We aimed the light in all di
rections, scanning the area.
"Looks okay," she said.
Deema was the last one through the doors, and she closed the doors with more strength than it required. The doors shivered as the locks buckled together. We turned to her, but said nothing. We went past the front yard, Malak still in the lead, three steps up leading to the front porch of the elaborate entrance. She placed her hand on the door handle of the screen door and paused.
"I don't hear anything. Do you think someone’s in there?" Malak asked, and for once May didn't have any escape route ideas.
"I don't know,” Deema said.
“Should I go in first? I have the gun,” I asked. After getting a couple of nods, Malak fell back and I took her place. I took a breath and held the handle to open the door. It squeaked. Malak placed her foot on the edge of the door to hold it open. The main door was white, with five carved panels that now looked unfamiliar. A door to an unknown place. I placed my hand on the golden handle and looked at Malak one more time. I walked steadily in the darkness, stopping halfway in.
"Blackout," I said and stepped all the way in. “It’s pitch-black in here.”
Malak came in behind me, flashing her phone in front of me. It was death black. Nothing other than what the flashlight touched could be identified. A sour odor slithered in the air. Pungent enough to thicken the surrounding air, the acridness settled in the back of my throat.
"Ouch. Whoa—" I tried to form words but coughed. "What is that smell?"
“I think it’s your clothes,” May said.
I lowered my chin. I need to get out of these clothes. I am sure I left a T-shirt somewhere here. “Can you guys help me look for a top I left here somewhere,” I said. I got a few yeses. Deema’s light orbited around, revealing a living room in complete chaos; it had been ransacked. The tables knocked over, the TV planted flat on its face on the floor, and handmade throw pillows scattered on the ground. I shined more light on the situation. It was difficult to see the whole picture since we could only see as far as the light would travel. The nauseating and raw smell did not make things easier. Under the table, a dark gray piece of fabric peeked out. My tee.
“Help me move the table,” I said, moving closer to it.
"What happened here?" Deema asked, walking next to me and lifting the table with me.
“This wasn’t like this when we left,” May said.
I crouched on the ground and pulled the tee out. I placed both the phone and gun on the ground. I took off the smell-infested shirt I had on and replaced it with fresh, crisp cotton. Groaning at the hinges of the door created a squeakiness followed by a loud door slam. The BAM startled us all into alert, and I aimed the gun where I thought the sound came from. Upstairs. The second floor. There might be someone up there.
"We’re not alone," May said.
"Sara," Malak said. I turned the light to her. Her eyes dilated, staring at a spot on the floor beneath her. "Blood."
One word was all it took to get everyone else looking at it. May placed her basket on the floor, and on cue, Malak and Deema did the same. The blood shined bright, reflecting the light.
"We need to leave," May said, "that's blood!"
I held my location, following the trail of blood with my phone. The blood ended at the corner of the living room; a bloody ax leaned on the wall.
“There’s more,” I said, following the trail leading to a dark figure in the corner.
"There's something there," Deema said. "We need to get closer."
“I don't think that's what we need to do,” May said.
I took a few steps closer to the light locked on the corner. A blanket covered a moving object. I looked at Malak. Her eyes were wide open. "Animal?” she whispered. I shrugged. We remained silent and inched closer. Whatever was beneath the blanket was moving too much. Malak held the edge of the blanket, and I aimed my gun at whatever was there. She mouthed the numbers.
One.
Two.
On three, she ripped the blanket off. May let out a loud shriek. Deema gasped, and I heard Malak reciting a few verses from the holy Quran. I tried to contain my initial shock. Having the gun in my hand empowered me and shot adrenaline through me.
"A zombie," May said, gagging.
A zombie tied down to a wooden seat, he sat there tilting his bald head toward us. Interlaced Celtic knots wrapped around his entire body, constraining him to the chair. The rope around his topless upper body secured him in an upright position. His skin was pearly white, almost transparent. His abdomen stretched out and busted open right in the middle, exposing liquefied organs. There were ropes wrapped around his mouth, wrists, elbows, and torso. He wasn’t going anywhere. I lowered the light downward to his ankles; they were secured as tight as his wrists. Who left him behind and why?
"It can't move," Malak said. “Don’t worry, May."
We stood there staring at it like a train wreck you can’t look away from. The light bounced off its dead eyes. The zombie didn’t have a single hair on its head. Traces of hair lay on the pool of blood underneath the chair. He jerked his body forward, trying to escape.
"Why are we still standing here?'" May asked.
We all exchanged looks and stepped back every time he wiggled. I aimed the light on the wrists and hand—no nails. They had fallen off. The zombie had on a sarwal—a white cotton pant worn under the thoab. The sarwal was covered in black and red stains. The closer we got to the moving corpse, the more toxic the stench became. It reeked of decaying organs and rot.
"The tissues are liquefied and the main body cavities are exposed," Deema said, looking the least bit disgusted and trying to fit everything into a scientific explanation box. If everything had an explanation, she wouldn’t have to deal with the zombie in the room. Or was it the elephant?
"Not pretty," I said and inhaled the faint, sour smell lingering in the darkness.
"The smell," Malak said, covering her mouth and gagging.
"I still want to know why some of them are slow and some fast?" I asked, watching it wiggle, trying to escape.
"I," Deema said, "don't know."
"I still want to know why we’re standing in front of a zombie and not running out the door?" May asked.
“It’s not going anywhere,” I said. “Plus, where are we gonna go?”
"This is not good," May said, gently pulling her hair. “He’s dead."
"He has a family somewhere probably looking for him now, hoping he's okay…" Malak said.
Her words sent a wave of goose bumps zapping through me. We were all close enough to get a clear view of the zombie, with the exception of May who stood a few steps behind, not wanting to get too close to the sitting dead. I watched it, watched the strange movement, like it was spasming and clacking his jaws as if it were trying to take a bite. The bones crackled louder with every move it made. Sounds of bones breaking?
"Who tied it?" I asked and covered my nose. If I spent a little longer sniffing this toxic Z stench, I would probably pass out. "Someone broke into the house."
"Not only are the zombies on the loose, now we have to worry about burglars," May said
"Who would break in somewhere, tie up a zombie, and leave?" Malak said.
“Someone that was looking for something and got attacked maybe?” I shrugged.
“How about if they are still in the house?” May said. The house suddenly looked darker and larger. “Things will get worse."
"Like the pearl necklace effect," Deema said.
"You’re thinking of jewelry now?" May asked.
“'The more you stir it, the worse it stinks?” Deema said.
“What?” May replied, irritated.
I chose not to contribute to that conversation, although it seemed our group needed to work on our figurative language skills. I moved the light from the zombie that was not going to give us any answers and searched the living room for anything the intruders might have left behind that would.
“When it rains it pours?” I heard Deema say as she
walked behind me.
“I feel like you’re trying to tell me something,” May told Deema as she showed up next to me.
There had to be something here that could tell us what happened. I looked toward the
stairs. Upstairs. Something was up there and might be the answer. As I moved the light around, an object on the sofa deflected the flash. I tilted the phone away from it and took a step closer. I placed my phone on the sofa and picked up the metal object. The zombie grunted in the background, shattering the silence.
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