“I tied him up. He was no danger to any of us, but he got loose,” the man justified.
“I don’t think you fully understand what’s going on here,” I said. Do I?
“Would you kill your sister?” he asked, realizing he stepped on a landmine. He backed off quickly. “You don't understand. He is not like them. There was a part of him still there,” the old man bereaved of his son said and pulled Almass closer. “I wanted to hold on to him until they found a cure.”
“The zombie did recognize its name,” Deema said. “We can’t ignore that.”
The zombie had paused when it heard its own name. It had looked straight at its father. It had known his father, and it had known its name. Had there been a part of him still lingering? Was there hope?
“We don’t understand what this is,” Faisal said firmly, grunting. “Till then, there’s them and there’s us.”
Them and us. We distinguished ourselves from them. But they were us.
“This could mean that they still have their memories intact,” Deema said.
“Or it could be confused. The zombie could have reacted to the sound,” Faisal said. “Like any other sound.”
I saw this before at that house; the little boy had reacted similarly. He had recognized its name. In a lot of cultures, it was believed that names had power, they held values, they shaped people and put a stamp on the identity. The name reflected attributes and qualities. It was also believed to offer clues to the nature of the name holder. Could the name you carry your entire life trigger things? I didn’t want to think about that. I had my priorities.
“Where is my sister?” I asked.
“I don’t know where she is,” the man said. “You two look alike. I can’t tell you apart. I don’t know which one you are.”
“How about you?” I moved my gun toward the uncle. “Did you take her, you sexist asshole? Did it piss you off so much that we were sharing a room with the guys?”
“How dare you?” He fisted his palm.
“Is that why you did it?” I pressed harder, watching his every move. “’Cause we all slept in the same suite?” He stared at me with such hatred. Keep pushing. He’ll crack.
“Sara,” Rakan said.
“What?” I snapped and took a few steps closer to the uncle, my gun touching his throat. My hand shivering, my internals burning, the skin felt heavy on me. “Where. Is. She?”
“Don't aim a gun that you don't intend on using.”
“Don’t you think for a second I will not waste a precious bullet on you.” My fingers tightened on the gun, heart beating louder, blood flooding my body too fast. Steady yourself. Push him harder.
“I did not see any of you since last night,” the uncle said, clenching his teeth. My breathing got heavier. Some people were good at confrontation. Others, like me, were not. But at that moment, I got it. The satisfaction you feel when the adrenaline crashes your system, flushing out the pain while you flex your ego. It’s addictive.
“Sara,” Almass’s small voice said, “we did not leave the room, I promise.”
A part of me needed the guy to say yes, yes I kidnapped her and I know where she is. I kept my gun on him. “Almass,” I said, tilting my head, “what was it that you were trying to tell us yesterday, but they stopped you?”
“That daddy was sleeping in the closet.” She frowned.
That little girl saw her dad die twice. I glanced back and forth between her and her uncle. The uncle shifted his weight from one leg to another. He swallowed hard. My heart felt like it was splashed with ice water. I lowered my gun and stepped away. Rakan took my place. He stood a breath away from the uncle. I trusted him with the gun more than I could trust my own hands. I swept the suite, looking for my sister. Deema by my side, we searched everywhere—behind all closed doors, under beds, inside closets. She was not there. I didn’t want to say it out loud, I couldn’t. If she was not there, where was she? Where was Malak?
“We have to search the hotel,” I said, realizing that it would be a suicide mission but a mission I would take, nonetheless.
“I heard something,” the uncle said, slowly turning his whole body to face me. His body leaned forward and looked at me with different eyes, soft for the first time.
“What?” I faced him.
“I heard some noises coming from the floor below last night.”
“Zombies?” Faisal asked.
“It didn't sound like zomb—” He hesitated. “Zombies.”
“Then what?” I asked, placing my gun in my pocket. All the guns lowered down.
“I thought I heard some talk, whispers,” he said, “then footsteps.”
I turned to Rakan. “Did you guys leave the room last night?”
They both shook their heads.
The flashing green in the corner when we walked into this place. “I saw a camera. At reception,” I said.
“I saw it too.” Faisal nodded.
“If we can find the monitor room,” I said, “we’ll know what happened.”
“We’ll need to get our stuff and get down there,” Rakan said.
“Why don't you come with us,” Deema said to Almass.
“We will stay here. Till help comes,” Abduzlaziz said. If help comes. Did anyone know there are survivors here?
“I can’t force you to leave, sir,” Rakan said. “I am, however, worried about your little girl.”
“I believe I know what’s best,” he said. “We hung a flag on our balcony.”
“A flag?” I asked. Like the flags hung from a few houses? “Why?”
“There was a broadcast on the radio,” he said. “They said that survivors should hang the flag on their doorsteps or windows so the army will know where to look.”
Survivors? The house we walked into had a flag on the front door. Everyone inside was dead. If I knew this, the army knew this. There could be thousands of people waiting for help that will never come. I said nothing.
Rakan studied Abdulaziz's eyes for a few seconds. He clicked his gun and emptied the magazine, then passed it over to him. “Take this.”
“Your gun?” Abdulaziz said, examining the gun. He took it without hesitation.
“I will leave you a box of ammo in our suite. The suite is a floor up. I will leave a marker, so you will know which one when you see it,” Rakan said. pocketing the bullets. “Protect them.” They shook hands.
“I hope you find your sister.” the uncle smiled. He meant it, and I appreciated it. I nodded.
“The girl,” Deema said, “is she safe here?”
Almass stood next to her grandfather and looked up to wave goodbye. Her eyes reflected a shine, a metallic color. She smiled, and I reciprocated.
“She’ll be okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We exited that floor and returned to our suite, gathering our things. We made it safely to the reception area. Everything looked the same, but I couldn’t help feeling something was different. Something didn't feel right. Like someone was here after us, with no visible steps. Not the dead. Someone else, someone with different motives. Walking to the reception counter, I froze when spotting the blood on the wall. Faisal behind me.
“Why did you stop?” Faisal asked
“The numbers,” I said
“What about them?”
The numbers are different.” I pointed at the wall.
209 written on the wall in blood. That’s not right.
“Are you sure?” Deema said. “I don’t remember what they were.”
“Yes,” I said. I remembered very well. “The numbers were changed.”
Rakan turned, around studying me. “Sara, I know Malak going missing is—”
“Stop,” I cut him off. “I’m not hallucinating or remembering things differently. Those numbers are different,”
“Sara, calm down,” Deema said, placing her hand on my shoulder.
“No, don’t tell me to calm down,” I said, pulling away from her. “I need answers.”
“Let�
�s try to get them,” Rakan said.
The ground shook beneath us. Windows shattered, spraying shards everywhere like compressed rage morphed into energy and was charging toward us. A pressure sent from the deepest layers of earth pushing as fast as sound, with us being its only means of escape. A deafening blast made my ears ring. The furniture trembled around us. Tension rose in the air. The sound didn't seem to be close.
“What was that?” Deema asked.
“A bomb,” Rakan said, looking at Faisal. “Approximate location?
“Close,” Faisal said. “We need to move.”
“No.” I advanced to the counter. “Not without Malak.”
Rakan followed me, and we went to the desk. A few screens lined up, papers, files, passports, and at the end of the table, four screens, two at the bottom and two sat on top of those, creating one big screen.
“These,” Rakan said, “they have to be for monitoring.”
I knelt in front of the screen, tracking the sides on the screens with my index finger, looking for a button. Close to the corner, my finger touched it, and I clicked it.
“Now what?” Deema said.
“This is something May would be good at.” I frowned. I pull the keyboard closer, and waited for the screen to come on. I saw Deema’s, Rakan’s and Faisal’s reflection standing over me on the black monitor. “Why isn’t it turning on?”
“I think they are on,” Rakan said. Screen black.
“Not working?” Deema asked.
“No, it’s not that either,” Rakan said, placing his fingers in the middle of the right top screen. “Look.”
“What are we looking at?” Faisal asked, leaning closer behind us.
“Static,” Rakan said. A white lightning flash appeared on the screen. “These cameras are on. They are broadcasting live.”
“Why are they black?” I asked.
“May I?” Rakan said. I cleared the way for him. He knelt and tapped the keyboard. He held a finger on one keypad.
“What are you doing?” Deema asked. More of the static appeared on all screens.
All eyes were on the screens. “I’m rewinding.”
One screen came to life. The screen showed a masked man aiming his gun at the screen. He moved backward. Drawing back to the dark background, three other men appeared, moving backward. No distinct logos on their uniforms. No insignia. Only black helmets and masks revealing nothing but the protective goggles on their faces. They held automatic weapons, and stood on black boots. Were they military?
“Who are they?” Faisal asked, carefully sliding his injured arm out of the jacket and throwing it on the floor. His shoulder looked square. That had to be treated.
The four men were shooting all the screens they came across. They were cleaning their tracks, removing evidence that could tie them here. One at a time. The screen flickered to life, playing out the same scenario, the four mysterious figures walking backward. The last screen showed them retreating. Everything was playing on rewind. They stopped next to a barricaded escalator.
“Pause,” I said. Rakan paused. I leaned in and looked at the screen. “That's our floor,” I said, feeling my world go dark. “They took Malak.”
We marched back to the car. Plumpy’s cage sat over the trunk, unmoved. I walked closer, and Plumpy flew out and landed on my shoulder. You didn't think I would ever leave you, did you?
“Oh, Plumpy.” I held him and started kissing his face. I didn't know how to express myself in any other way since I knew hugging him would probably kill him. His eyes. Plumpy’s little black eyes were a dark blue.
Rakan stood next to me. “I guess it's hard to leave you once you’re in someone’s life.”
Chapter 42
We drove across the desert that was defined by the absence of landscape, a place where everything was dry, gone and came to die, a place where there’s no evidence of balance, where flora and fauna’s existing is scarce. Despite living in Saudi Arabia, the largest country in the world without a river, a country where deserts occupy three-quarters of its land, I was rarely exposed to it in its rawest form, never got a chance to explore the true meaning of the word desert. Looking at the view from behind tinted glass windows gave me a whole new perspective. I found clarity and tranquility. I found life. The scenic drive to the capital was four hours. We drove on Highway 40, also known as Dammam-Riyadh Way. A highway that cut through the desert, defying its magnitude, passing ancient spots that held historical secrets, through the golden sands and scattered dunes randomly constructed over the surface. Sand as far as the eyes could see. I had a bottle of water in my hand and cold air blowing on my face. Malak, who took her and why?
“Are we good on gas?” Faisal asked.
Rakan’s reflection glared at me from the rearview mirror a second longer. Then he diverted his attention down to the gas gauge. “It should get us there.”
“I’m gonna take a nap,” Faisal said as he turned his head to the window. “I don't feel so good.”
A sound arose, like an old untuned radio, a high pitch followed a click. Plumpy mimicked the sound relentlessly. The sound was coming from Faisal.
“What is that?” I asked, poking my head between the seats.
Faisal scrambled in his seat and shoved his hand in his pocket.
“What is that?” I asked again. “Faisal?”
“Nothing,” he said as he shuffled in the front, successfully silencing it.
Rakan turned and looked at Faisal “What is that?”
“What are you hiding in your clothes?” Deema asked.
“What is that?” Rakan asked once more, his voice firm and deep. He swerved the car to the side of the road and parked, turning his full body and attention to Faisal.
“I can explain,” Faisal said and unfastened his seat belt. He pulled the door handle, exiting the car. Rakan opened his door and rushed around to Faisal’s side and held him by the collar before listening to any explanation. I followed out, full of anger, unaware of the source. If anyone was going to extract any information from anyone, it was gonna be me.
“Faisal.” I approached them. “What’s going on?”
“Sara,” Faisal said, Rakan tugging tighter on his collar, “it’s not what you think.”
“How do you even know what I’m thinking?” I said, stepping as close as I can. “Does this have anything to do with Malak?”
“Please,” Faisal said. His eyes rolled up. His body went pale and started to shiver slightly. Rakan let go.
“Faisal!” Rakan grabbed his shoulder, holding Faisal up like a puppet. Faisal went numb. Rakan slowly lowered him to the sand.
Faisal’s pupils returned to normal. “It’s my shoulder,” he said. “It’s killing me.”
Deema checked Faisal’s forehead. “He’s running a fever.”
“We’ll have that taken care of as soon as we get to Riyadh,” I said. “For now, Faisal, what is going on?”
“It’s complicated,” Faisal said, getting up on his feet, visibly struggling to maintain his balance.
Rakan invaded Faisal’s personal space, going through his pockets. He pulled out a black radio. He looked at his cousin and said, “Explain. Why didn't you mention that you had communication?”
Faisal kept eye contact and his silence.
“What’s your mission?” Rakan asked.
“Mission?” I asked.
“It’s Sara,” Faisal said, looking at me.
“Me?” I subconsciously took a step back. “What about me?”
“You’re plan B,” Faisal said.
“What do you mean plan B?”
“Your father works for the government,” Faisal said, “Or worked.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “He still does.”
“No, he worked for a research sector of the government. A secret independent sector. I wasn’t fully briefed. That’s all I know, and it’s because I accidentally overheard most of it. It was my job to deliver you safely,” Faisal said.
“Deliver me to who? And why?”
Rakan unfastened the belt on his sidearm holster. Faisal tracked Rakan’s hands. “To the same sector your dad worked for,” Faisal said, blocking a cough with his hand.” I lost touch with them and didn’t get any further orders after seeing you.”
I faced Rakan “You knew about this?”
Rakan’s face readied with furry. His eyes turned a blackish gray. “I did not.” He turned to Faisal. “What else do you know?”
“I couldn’t say anything before,” Faisal explained, biting his lips. “I was under direct orders. You know how these things go, Rakan. You are a—”
“Talk!” Rakan interrupted.
“I’ll tell you everything I know,” Faisal said, cupping the injured arm with his other one. “There was a researcher working in a government-sponsored research facility. His daughter got sick, really sick. She contracted a rare disease. Her organs were failing. Doctors that examined her said her case was fatal and hopeless. She was dying and there was nothing that could be done. The researcher, the father, didn’t accept that. He started developing a cure.”
“Is the girl me?” I asked.
“No.” He paused. “After a year or so he got the cure, the organization that oversaw the development of the cure decided that it shouldn't be used on the researcher’s daughter. She was already too far gone.”
“I don't understand,” I said, confusion pulling me in every direction. Deliver me to who?
“The organization used the formula on someone else’s daughter,” Faisal said, leaning forward, curling as he moaned softly.
“How can that happen? There are laws that mandate following specific standards,” Deema said. “Testing and trials.”
“There are, but this is a facility that legally doesn't exist,” Faisal said.
“What happened then?” I asked.
“The cure worked,” Faisal said. “But when attempting to recreate the pathogen, it mutated to something else.”
“What?” I asked.
“The pathogen reanimated the dead,” Faisal said.
“What?” Deema echoed my thoughts.
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