The Lazarus Effect

by H. J Golakai

  No one brought food or water. People wailed and prayed loudly. Hours passed, and soon they gave up and kept quiet. More time passed. The girl watched through the window as daylight faded and disappeared. There were sounds of vomiting and people going to the toilet on themselves. A woman screamed over and over, forever, that her baby was sick and dying. After a while she also kept still, and so did the baby. The young girl was too tired to keep her ears covered, but she kept her eyes away from it all, doing what her mother had told her. She sat with her knees drawn up and her head resting between them.

  Through the window, daylight reappeared and faded once more.

  The girl had gotten used to her hunger and walking for long periods. It had been so long, months and months, since she felt like a child with a life full of normal things. Aside from the guns, her worst fear was the sickness. Cholera. She knew you could catch it very fast, and it spread through the watery pupu and vomit shooting out of the sick ones, sucking them dry until their skin went grey. She had to stay away from it. As long as she wasn’t sick she could walk. And as long as she could walk, she could find her mother and brother.

  Someone opened the door at the end of the third day. No light entered because it was night-time again. Instead, cool fresh harmattan air rushed in. It woke her from sleep. When she looked up, one of the rebel boys was standing over her with a cutlass.

  The room was dark but she knew who he was. The door had opened three times on the second day. Three of the boys had come in, twice to drag out bodies that had stopped moving and once to put down a big dish of rice with palm oil. She had only managed to get one handful, and as she had wolfed it down she had noticed one of the boys looking at her with strange eyes. She had known what it meant. Her mother had told her what everything meant, just before the fighting got terrible. When the boys had left, she had told herself to be brave. She had crawled to the nearest body and rubbed herself with the stinking mix of fluids all over the person’s clothes, closing her mind against the smell.

  ‘Finegeh, whah your name?’ The boy put down the cutlass and dragged her to her feet.

  He was old, but not old old – maybe five years older than she was, like her brother. Boys that age thought they were men. They loved to tell you what to do, and give you punishment when you didn’t. Quincy smiled when he pushed her around. This boy wasn’t smiling.

  She didn’t answer. Her body felt light, like there was no ground under her. It needed food, but she didn’t care any more if she never ate again.

  ‘You nah get sick, ehn,’ he said. He flinched at the dried filth all over her. It wouldn’t stop him. Everybody had seen everything. With unsure fingers he reached out and rubbed her chest, groping over her T-shirt with heavy fingers. Big women had breasts, but she had nothing.

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ Tears on her cheeks, she shrank from him. Her foot tripped over something; her body was too light to stop its fall and she tumbled backwards.

  The boy knelt beside her. Her fingers scrabbled on the ground until they closed around the cutlass. She drove it up and hit something solid. The boy’s face changed. Warm liquid spurted onto her skin. The door was open, inviting her …

  Something alive tickled Vee’s neck. She jerked awake and scurried away until she hit a wall, choking on a yelp as her head knocked against a wooden surface. The world, or what she could see of it, swam and sharpened back into focus. Pain struck up a marching band inside her cranium.

  ‘It’s me,’ came a whisper a few feet ahead of her. ‘It’s Chlöe.’

  ‘Chlöe?’ Vee saw two disembodied arms flailing around as they moved closer, until they wrapped around her in relief. Wonderful. She was stuck in a dark hole, phoneless and clueless as to where she was, and the only hope of getting out was trapped in here with her.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  Vee rubbed her aching neck. ‘I was coming out of the hospital and got knocked out. Corniest trick in the book but it worked. Can people find somewhere else to hit me, ’cause my fucking head is paper-thin from all this abuse. Long story short, I woke up in here.’

  Chlöe shook her head. ‘Not before; just now. You went vacant, your eyes disappeared right in front of me. It really freaked me out. Where did you go?’

  Vee tottered to her feet. Accomplishing anything with a limb that was effectively dead weight was going to be impossible, even with an extra pair of arms. Gingerly, she lifted the sling, passed her head through it and tossed it off her shoulder. She flexed her hand. The muscles felt sore through the vice of the splint-glove, but it would have to do.

  ‘I must’ve passed out for a li’l bit.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ Chlöe quivered. ‘It was like a trance, and you were muttering shit I couldn’t understand … like that juju stuff you told me about! What happened?’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Vee took Chlöe’s face between both hands and gave her head a little shake. She didn’t think it was possible for Chlöe to get any paler, but her skin was positively glowing in the dark. Vee’s fingers resembled streaks of muddy face-paint against her cheeks. ‘Chlöe Jasmine Bishop. This is not the time for crazy talk about juju and mystical trances, all right? It’s not going to help us.’

  Vee felt Chlöe’s tears trickle down her palms. Chlöe swiped them off with the back of a hand. ‘Then what’s going to help us? I’m sorry I’m freaking out, but–’ her voice cracked. ‘How come she did all this? What’s she planning to do to us?’ Her eyes darted, bouncing around the cramped surroundings. ‘She was the same one, right, that …’

  ‘Yes, it was Rosie,’ Vee said. ‘Rosie did all this shit.’ Hunted and knocked each of them down in turn, put them in the back of a car with her hoodie over their eyes, drove them to wherever this dungeon was and locked them in. Biggest cliché of the century.

  Feeling like an utter fool wasn’t going to help them either, but Vee figured that a minute to wallow was appropriate.

  39

  The hammering on the glass partition of the security booth startled both Etienne Matongo and Marlon Cloete, one of the junior guards on night shift. Etienne nearly spilt hot coffee onto his uniform and Marlon jerked out of his slumber like a man on puppet strings, his chair perilously close to upending him until he braced with one foot. The two men squinted out of the brightly lit cubicle into the rain, surprised at the commotion on such a slow night. The silhouette outside resolved into a young woman, soaked through, her eyes crazed.

  ‘Jissis, man.’ Marlon rubbed his eyes. ‘Where’s the fire? Why’s everyone so nuts during the full moon?’

  ‘It is raining. There is no moon,’ Etienne responded in a level voice. The younger guard gave him a ‘you know what I mean’ shake of the head. Etienne turned back to the glass. His chest expanded painfully when he made out the face. It was Serena Fourie.

  ‘Go and have a break,’ he ordered. Marlon opened his mouth, and Etienne fished a twenty out of his pocket and pressed it on him. ‘It has been a long night. Have a break and I will handle it.’

  Marlon studied his boss as he got to his feet. Etienne was as calm as a bay on Sunday; he didn’t flip moods like the security chief. Etienne met Marlon’s eyes. He knew he wouldn’t disobey. Etienne knew the other guards respected him as an understanding guy, one who projected a quiet authority out of every inch of his considerable height. He was the only senior guard, for instance, who would let a man have a guilt-free nap. Etienne would let it slide, as long as it was for short periods under his watchful eye when there were others on patrol. So he wasn’t surprised when Marlon took the money without a word, only casting a quizzical glance over his shoulder before he left for the hospital cafeteria.

  Etienne closed the office door behind him and joined Serena under the protective canopy covering the booth. Hard rain drummed on the tarpaulin over their heads. Shivering, Serena seemed to dance to its rhythm as she hopped and rocked from one foot to the other. Her hair hung to her shoulders like lengths of curly seaweed. She barely noticed when Etienne removed his coa
t and draped it around her shoulders.

  ‘It’s Rosie. She did it again. I … I … I …’ Her chin trembled. ‘I tried to watch her. I tried, but she sneaked out. I couldn’t find her … the nightmares have started again, and she’s been acting crazy …’

  Etienne dropped his head and cursed in a low voice. He had known sooner or later this would happen. Nothing stayed buried forever.

  She seemed to take his silence like a slap in the face. ‘I tried! I did everything you told me!’ she wailed, tears running freely down her cheeks, mixing with rain. She spun away and wept, her back hunched. Etienne let her pour it out, everything she had guarded and fed until it had become too much for her young heart. At last, she gulped down the last of her sobs and straightened up. She slapped the tears off her face as she looked out at the storm, as if only in its chaos could answers to her turmoil be found.

  ‘What has she done?’ Etienne watched the back of her head. It shook dejectedly, like she was shaking off the nightmare, peeling its talons back to release the hold it had on her. Her seaweed tresses swung from side to side.

  ‘She took two people,’ she whispered. ‘She took them and locked them up … somewhere.’

  Etienne swore quietly. He wished the hands of an angel would come down and cover his ears so he wouldn’t have to hear, to participate in this any longer. He thought of the young girl whose memory he had helped betray for two years, and of his own family, who stood to lose everything through his actions tonight.

  ‘Those two girls from the magazine, the ones investigating–’ Serena sucked in a deep breath and it gurgled in her throat.

  Etienne’s heart, a father’s heart, melted in the face of Serena’s desperation, as it had once before in the past. ‘Where are they? Where is Rosie?’

  Serena whirled on him. Her face had aged, its muscles haggard with strain. ‘No, no, no,’ she shook her whole body in vigorous refusal. ‘No. You can’t be involved in this any more. I can’t let you. I was wrong to ask you the first time. We were both so wrong.’ She reached into her sodden jacket and pulled out a thick, crumpled brown envelope. ‘It’s to help. Please take it and go. Go now. Before the police get here and …’

  Etienne backed away as if she were brandishing a python. ‘Serena–’

  ‘Think of your wife and daughters. Do it for them,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s mine, my savings. It’s not a fortune, but it can help you start over. Please, Mr Matongo. Don’t risk everything you have left for us.’ The package wobbled in her outstretched hands, sobs rocking her body. ‘Do it for your daughters.’

  Etienne couldn’t move. Serena wriggled off the jacket he had draped around her and wedged the money into its side pocket. She pressed the jacket against his chest and held it there, waiting for him to take it. Still, Etienne didn’t move. Serena flung herself onto his chest and put her arms around him, squashing the jacket between them. Etienne embraced the weeping child that was not his, comforting her in a way she had long wished her own father would.

  Serena pulled herself together and wiped her eyes.

  ‘Please forgive me. Forgive us,’ she said, stepping off the pavement. She flipped the hood of her sweatshirt back up and tore into the rain.

  40

  ‘I think we’re gonna die in here. This isn’t how I saw myself going,’ Chlöe said.

  Vee ran her hands along the cold plastic walls, groping her way around the small space. There were no weaknesses or breaks in the thick material. It had to be industrial-grade stuff. They had tried to rip through it with their hands, but getting traction was impossible, the damn thing was so smooth. From what she could tell, all the walls were lined with it, right up to the roof. The only exception was the bald rectangle outlining the door. They’d tried to kick it down, but all it did was rattle at their efforts. At least they weren’t getting rained on.

  The darkness was dispiriting. Vee moved along the walls while Chlöe skulked in a corner, her disembodied voice throwing ink bombs into the already gloomy atmosphere. As long as Vee kept moving, the fist of strangeness that built up in her chest when she was trapped in dark spaces would stay back. There had to be a gap somewhere, and she’d find it soon enough. Something that felt like a spider scuttled over her wrist. She brushed it off with a gentle flick.

  ‘Nobody’s dying anywhere, so stop being melodramatic. All we need to do is find a way out or let someone on the outside know we’re in here.’

  ‘Oh, find a way out or send a rescue signal, why didn’t I think of that? You mean signal Rosie the murderer to rush in here and kill us even faster? Like, ‘Yoo-hoo, crazy bitch …”

  ‘Look, cut that snarky shit out. Now, I know this is hard and scary, but focus on a way to help out.’

  ‘I’m not scared,’ Chlöe grumbled under her breath. ‘And I told Richie to call the cops, so I don’t know why no one’s come yet. Even SAPS isn’t this slow. It’s been over two hours! Maybe … Jeez, he wouldn’t be such a selfish shit to turn his back on us to cover his ass.’

  Maybe the police, like us, don’t know where we are. Vee kept the thought to herself. ‘Who’s this Richie, now?’ she angled to change the subject.

  There was rustling in Chlöe’s corner. ‘Just this guy I know. Forget it.’

  Vee paused. ‘Wait, is this Richie the hacker, the one who’s been getting us all the ‘inside’ information? As in The Guy guy?’ She laughed. ‘Is he your boyfriend? What’s his last name?’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ Chlöe spat. ‘Look, just forget I said anything, okay? It’s nobody.’

  Vee shrugged. ‘So if the guy called Richie has no last name … guess I should just call him Guy Richie. Lot better than just The Guy.’ She strained her eyes enough to see Chlöe forcing a wan smile.

  ‘Your sense of humour sucks in here. And will you stop all that pacing up and down? It’s driving me nuts and it won’t help us think faster,’ Chlöe said.

  Vee dropped her arms. ‘Sorry. I’m bad in dark rooms.’ Her flesh writhed, trying to crawl off her body. She tried standing still and was surprised and relieved when her focus sharpened. The outline of Chlöe on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, was off to her right, in the corner with the highest concentration of light. The other centres of light were the door and the ceiling. Darkness pressed back throughout the rest of the space. There had to be another exit, and some kind of implement to help them break through it. More carefully this time, she pressed herself close to the wall and began tracing it, using every inch of her skin to find a snag.

  ‘I’m gay, you know,’ Chlöe blurted. ‘That’s why it sounded so ridiculous when you asked about a boyfriend. I’ve never had one and wouldn’t know what that was.’

  Vee dropped her arms again.

  ‘Girlfriend, I do have. Had. I got dumped. She cheated, and then had the nerve to dump me and throw me out of the flat we were sharing. Which is why I had nowhere to stay until my brother let me live at his place. And that’s why we stopped at my parents’ house in Constantia that day, so he could give me his spare keys. He’s staying with them temporarily to give me time to figure things out.’ Her face was a tiny oval moon beaming sadness up from the region of the floor. ‘I’m sorry if this is a lot to take in right now. It just sucks that I couldn’t be completely honest with you from the start, ’cause I wasn’t sure how you’d handle it. But seeing as we’re trapped in here and might not make it through the night …’

  Vee cast her eyes heavenwards. Good gracious, the theatre was missing this child. ‘You don’t owe me any explanation about your personal life, Chlöe,’ she said quickly, before the silence got awkward. ‘But thanks for trusting me.’ Her hand turned a corner and she started along the next wall. ‘I know all about being dumped and pathetic; my story would give yours an asswhupping any day, no contest. And to be honest, I was kinda fifty-fifty on whether you were or weren’t. My gaydar’s horrible.’

  A giggle drifted from the corner. ‘Really? You’re one of the most bizarrely observant people I’ve ever met, and
I’m pretty obvious for the most part.’

  ‘Ah. Put it down to … cultural conditioning, if you will. Personally, I only care who I’m messin’ with. Everybody else can watch their own backs and mind their own business.’ Vee flexed her arms to loosen out the kinks. She couldn’t keep this up all night.

  ‘Well, from what I hear you’re fucking half the city, so. No wonder you’re so duh about other people’s sex lives.’

  Vee picked up the first object she could get her hands on and threw it. Chlöe squealed, laughed and threw it back, missing by a mile.

  ‘My life’s no secret, anyway. My dreadful sister found out about my relationship, outed me to the rest of my family and my parents banished me like some medieval outcast who’d shamed the lineage. She and Mum talk about me to everyone as if I joined the bloody circus.’ Chlöe chuckled sourly. ‘I’m like a celebrity among the more old-school lot in Constantia.’

  Vee felt a protrusion in the wall. It didn’t flow right around in one continuous rectangle. She doubled back and probed again, letting her fingers bump up and down against the side of the lump. It felt like a rectangle within another rectangle, a cupboard built against one end of their cell.

  ‘I’ve just got one question,’ she said.

  Chlöe sighed. ‘It’s not just a phase.’

  ‘No, not that.’ The door, if that’s what it was, was all rough wood, with no covering. Vee didn’t know how she’d missed it. She popped at it with the heel of her palms, careful to avoid splinters. It was about two metres in width, maybe three in length. With any luck it would turn out to be another doorway. ‘You’re twenty-three, with a good degree. Why the hell were you still living with your parents?’

  Sensing the excitement of a breakthrough, Chlöe scrambled over to help. ‘Are you kidding me? My parents are loaded. I had everything: credit cards, a great ride, practically a whole floor to myself in the house. Now I’m living at Jasper’s and driving his hand-me-down.’