“Adel.” He extended his right hand to the man while holding Waleed in the other. “Thank you so much, sir.”
“Pay attention to him, especially at that age,” the man said.
“I only looked down for a second,” Adel confessed. He pressed Waleed closer to his chest.
“That’s all it takes to lose them, son.” The man smiled. “Where are you going?”
“Istanbul,” Adel said. "Our flight was delayed,”
“What a surprise!” the man said. “I’m flying to Bahrain and connecting to Shanghai.”
“Shanghai?” Adel asked. “China?”
“Yes, for business.”
“Gate G29?” Adel asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“It’s the gate right over there.” Adel pointed behind them.
“Thank you. I should get going,” the man said and waved goodbye to both of them. He didn’t want to mention that Waleed playfully bit his wrist. It wasn’t a big deal. He chose not to upset his big bother, who looked traumatized. The man proceeded to his gate.
As Adel walked through the terminal looking for his parents, Waleed coughed on his shoulder. Adel placed his hand on his little brother’s forehead.
“Little buddy.” He held him closer. “You’re warm.”
“Mama.” Waleed rested his head on his big brother’s comfortable shoulder.
“We’ll find them soon, big guy,” Adel said and felt relief flood his body when he saw the face of his father waving at them and smiling, holding a box of chocolates.
“You’re okay,” Adel said to his little brother. And those would be the last words Waleed would ever hear.
Chapter 18
Istood crippled, my gaze stuck on her somber blue stare. Then her head was gone. Blew clean off. Parts of her brain splattered over my body, the moist pieces of her hit my chest and trickled down my abaya. Nothing hit my face. I stared at the headless body still standing on her feet. There was no blood. Why isn't there any blood? The body finally dropped, hitting the ground hard. I lost the ability to move. Honking emerged once more in the background, this time with shouting. I stood disabled, looking at the body. Where did the head go? Fingers gripped my shoulder. I jumped.
“It’s me!” Deema said. "Did she bite you?"
"What? No. No, she didn’t." I looked at myself as if I needed to make sure, then looked at the body lying on the floor. "The head. The head is gone.”
"There's more of them.” She pointed behind me. "We need to leave.”
Them? More of who? People materialized from the ER entrance. They walked straight toward us as if they were targeting us. Six or seven, dragging their weight. Before we took another step, gunshots radiated in all directions, making it difficult to pinpoint the source. The people coming at us collapsed one at a time, their bodies folded to the ground. With no shelter, Deema and I ducked. Where were the shots coming from? We were in the line of fire. The gunshots stopped when the last of the bodies touched the pavement. I surveyed the surroundings to detect the direction of the gunfire. A glimmer reflected the sun on the roof of an adjacent building. Someone was up there. A guy positioned himself on his stomach, dressed in a desert camouflage uniform. He didn’t have the desire to remain incognito, parts of his rifle exposed as well his hands and face protected by a sand-colored helmet. He was highly trained. I didn’t count the number of gunshots, but I knew he didn't miss a single target. Sniper, army? He took out all the people trying to attack us, saving our lives. I was suddenly aware of all the other snipers over the other rooftops in the surrounding buildings. He was not operating alone.
I waved and said, “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure if he could hear, but I saw a hand waving back as if he was saying, “You’re welcome.”
"Let’s get out of here." Deema pulled me off the ground. We ran to the car. Grunting sounds followed us. I turned around to see one of those people. Those things. Shot. Half his head was blown off, and he was dragging himself toward us. Aggressive and determined, he wanted to attack. I stopped. It was not possible for him to still be alive.
"What are those things?" I asked.
"Sara." Deema yanked my hand. "Let's go.”
We climbed over the gates and into the car. Deema slipped in the back. I closed the door behind me and Malak grabbed me and held me tight.
"I'm okay." I hugged back. I sat in my seat and caught my breath. Why wasn't there any blood?
“You smell bad,” Malak said, squeezing my hand. It was her way of saying, “I love you anyway.”
“I know,” I said, trying not to breathe in the foul smell.
We all turned our heads to Deema, who was sitting behind Malak.
"What?" she asked, pulling a bottle of water from her bag and drinking a healthy sip.
"What was that?" I asked.
"This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. All of this indicates these people are dead." She caught me staring at the water bottle and passed it over to me. "But, it’s impossible. All of this is impossible. The—" Deema stopped midsentence and squinted her eyes at May.
“What?” May asked.
"What’s wrong with your eyes?" Deema asked.
"Zombies," May said. "That's the only explanation which makes sense."
"Zombies." I choked on my water, forcing it down with a cough.
"Zombies?" Malak echoed as if everything fell into the right hole in a shape-matching board game.
"They are so bright." Deema stared at May’s eyes. "Do they hurt?" She extended her hand toward May like she wanted to touch them. May slapped her hand.
"No they don't hurt! Why would you wanna poke my eyes?"
"They look so…" She searched for the right word. “Weird!" she finally said. "But in a good way."
"Smooth," I said and looked at May. "I didn't get the chance to ask you, what’s wrong with your eyes, anyhow?”
"Dramatic changes in eye color may indicate a health problem," Deema said.
"I'm fine," May shut it down. "Can we focus on getting out of here?"
"What could it be?" I asked. May was not the first person I encountered in the past few days with a change in eye color. Rakan.
"Ocular diseases can cause that, such as Horner’s syndrome, or pigmentary glaucoma, but she doesn't seem to show any of the other symptoms," Deema said, narrowing her sharp gaze on May, "but changes rarely occur overnight."
"I said I’m fine," May snapped, pointing to the window. "There are zombies out there!"
"’Kay. Back to the zombies. Are you saying we are being attacked by zombies like The Walking Dead? Like those things are dead zombies?" I asked.
"I didn't say zombies." Deema shook her head. "Zombies are fictional charterers. They are made up."
"The dead are not staying dead. What do you call that?" May asked. “Fiction?”
Silence fell. Out the window, a guy with half a brain was still trying to crawl our way. May had a point. The man had to be dead.
"I don't have an explanation for that.” Deema pointed to the window. “But I don't think the dead are coming back to life.”
A few shots fired. Two sick-looking men wearing knee-length white coats soaked in blood and black goo, casually limped out of the hospital. A few more shots went off, and the doctors hit the floor. A few seconds later, they both got up and continued walking.
"Exhibit A and B," May said. "Z-o-m-b-i-e-s!" She broke down the word for us.
Deema’s jaw dropped open. "This is not possible."
“It’s not," Malak said with a soft voice. She backed up the car. "But it is.”
"They can't be killed?" I wondered out loud.
"I think they can. Some of them stayed down," Malak said.
"Headshots," May said.
"How does it spread?" I asked. We shifted our attention from Deema to May.
"What are you asking me for?" May said, although the answer was obvious. It would make sense May would know more about this than any of us.
"You watch horr
or movies all the time. You must have developed some kind of zombie-clopedia," I said.
“I know zombie movies. This is zombie real life,” May said. "Plus, every movie has its own twist on zombies, although many remain true to its original form, which I think they should!”
“The only source of knowledge we can count on if this proves to be true is fictional sources,” Malak said.
"I don't know. A bite? A scratch?" May said, looking out the window.
"Like through saliva or blood," Deema clarified.
"Yes, zombies are mostly slow, but some of these are fast," May said. "Just like the movies, the characteristic of zombies differs.”
I plastered my face to the glass window, looking out at the random people walking around. The random dead people walking around?
"Some of these look like they have been dead for months," Malak said, eyes on the road.
"So zombies?" I said. Was it possible? Were we being attacked by the dead or the undead?
"From a scientific point, it doesn't have to be the case," Deema said. We all shifted our attention back to her. "Nature is very efficient at breaking down corpses. If these are corpses. The minute the heart stops pumping blood to the body, and the tissues and cells are deprived of oxygen, they rapidly die. Decomposition is well underway by that time. However, the exact rate of decomposition depends to some extent on environmental conditions. I can’t believe I’m considering this option."
We all looked at her, horrified. I didn't think it was because of what she said. I thought it was more because of how she said it.
"You’re dropping a lot of doctor terms," Malak said.
"She is a nurse.” I shrugged.
"Exactly! We didn't all get our medical degrees, Deema!" May said.
“Well, I got it,” I said, but I wouldn't mind hearing her simplify it. For May of course.
"Different cells die at different rates. So, for example, brain cells die within three to seven minutes, while skin cells can last twenty-four hours after death, but if a dead body is exposed to air, decomposition is four times as fast as underground, not to mention the high temperature in Saudi Arabia would expedite the process. So the timeline is condensed, which could explain why they look the way they do, meaning that they don’t necessarily have to be dead for a while. Instead, they could have recently died, medically speaking, but medically this is not possible so what do I know." she threw her arms in the air.
“You’re saying these people might have died?” I asked.
A loud breaking sound arose, followed by a sudden stop, jerking our bodies forward. Everything went quiet after the impact. Two hands grabbed the edge of the car’s hood and pulled up a dead-looking man. If I was ever in doubt these things were dead, I was not anymore. The moving corpse had both eyeballs hanging from both cheeks, holding on by a thread. His teeth and gums fully exposed, there was no skin, no lips. Yet, this body was still trying to get on its feet. We leaned in without verbal exchange. Another noise erupted; we all jumped in unison. The sound came from outside Deema’s window, a couple more palms on the window. The palms were wiping the glass, smearing goo all over the window. On the other side, two more corpses pulled their weight toward us. They were still at a safe distance from those, but the further ones looked different. Their skin was green-blue and blistered. Their tongues were swollen and hanging out of their mouths. A dark fluid oozed out of the mouth and nostrils. The upper part of their body was as swollen as their tongues, worms coming out of their mouth and ears. Those moving masses of maggots were headed straight for us. And they were obviously dead. The dead were coming back to life.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," May said and opened the door, leaning her head out and vomited all over the pavement before any of us could stop her. We weren’t in any immediate danger from her side. The sound of her puking made me gag. I focused on the smell of my top and place my hand over my mouth. The sour smell could not be masked.
"Close the door," Malak screamed. May closed it immediately. But it was too late for me. As if the unpleasant sight wasn't bad enough to endure, we were now hit with the full dead experience. A terrible smell I could only identify as rotten eggs spread throughout the car. My stomach contracted; acid burned my throat. It was coming. I couldn’t stop it. I opened the door and puked over the pavement.
"Okay, now I think I'm gonna puke," Malak said.
"Sorry," I said and shut the door. I wiped my mouth with my stained sleeve and gagged.
"Gases—hydrogen sulfide, methane and mercaptans were probably released by the bodies." I thought Deema was trying to explain everything so it would make sense to her. Maybe this was her way of coping with it all.
"Thanks for the information, Deema, but that doesn't make it any less gross," I said.
Malak turned the radio on, messing with the frequency, looking for a signal. She stopped, and a deep voice deep flooded the car, a man.
"The government has established safe zones in all thirteen provinces of the country, eradicating the killing virus, the safe zones in major cities according to geographic location," he continued. Malak raised the volume. "Eastern province: Dhahran, Jubail, Abqaiq, east of the border a few zones are established in Bahrain, making it a safe destination." He went on reading the list. Malak turned down the volume.
"Did you all hear that?" May asked, surprised.
"Yeah, there are safe zones," I said.
"No, not that. Since when does Saudi Arabia have thirteen provinces?" May asked.
Malak and I exchanged a "what" look. I would say only about ninety years, give or take.
"They declared Bahrain having some safe zones," I said.
"So that's the plan?" Deema asked.
"Mom and Dad are in Bahrain. There's a gated compound there, where we will all be safe with them," Malak said. "How do we get there?”
"Malak, switch places," I said. "I know the streets better." And I did. I knew every alley, every hidden corner, all the highways in these cities including Bahrain. I had a photogenic memory which came in handy more often than not.
"Are you good to drive?" Malak asked.
"Yeah, I need a distraction anyway," I said, as we switched seats. I released the handbrake. Switched to D. "Seat belts."
I gently released my foot off the brake and backed us out of there, maneuvering around the zombie.
"We’re going to Bahrain?" asked Deema. “Just because your family is there.”
“Deema, that’s not fair,” Malak said. "Your parents are not in the country, and May’s are out of town.”
"We’ll be safer with them," I said. Plumpy, I thought but chose not to mention him. We would deal with this one step at a time. "There we can make plans.”
"We need more information," Malak said.
"We knew about this," Deema said after a long silence.
"What do you mean?" Malak asked, raising the volume of the radio a notch.
"The quarantine, all those corpses that went missing," Deema said.
"Corpses?" May asked.
"Yeah. The morgue floor was off-limits to all personal unless authorized. I heard rumors of corpses going missing, like someone was moving the corpses out of the hospital."
"But why?" I asked.
"I don't know. Maybe they were trying to prevent an outbreak, but someone somewhere knew about this."
"What do you know about the zombies?" I asked Deema, my stomach still turning. I switched lanes to take the next right turn. A few cars here and there, everyone too occupied with themselves and their path.
"It's a walking plague, a hostile virus," Deema said.
"A plague?" Malak asked.
She replaced the word “zombie” with “plague.” A virus was a more acceptable term.
"What do we know about this virus?" I asked, swallowing hard, the acid bitter against my throat.
"I know nothing about this virus. I have examined no one infected, but if this theory is correct, and the body of the infected, as assumed is dead—”
“They are dead. They’re zombies,” May interrupted.
“Either way, they should start decomposing the very minute of death and will continue to decompose till the body completely decays," Deema said.
"That means they will get weak after a while, right?' Malak asked.
“In theory,” Deema said. Hesitating, she adjusted her glasses. “Yes.”
"Well, that explains the handsome studs back there. He clearly was decaying," I said. “May, in movies what happens?”
“I guess in some movies they do decay but it takes too long, they always outlast the living.” May stopped, licked her lips. “And their numbers keep rising.”
It was not what I wanted to hear. Looking into the rearview mirror, May’s eyes were uncertain. I glanced at the side-view mirror. "The further we get away from this place the better.”
Zombies In Saudi Arabia Page 13
