by S G D Singh
“And Adam?” She laughed. “Seriously? Well, now you can die down here. You and all your disgusting freaks.”
Hanna couldn't breathe. Blind fury was going to kill her. How could she have been so blind as to let fucking Katelyn of all people trap her down here? If only the light hadn't been so shitty, she would've seen this place was nothing but an empty hospital room with four beds fitted with restraints.
Restraints?
“Great plan, Nadifa,” said the scowling boy who'd saved her life by the elevator. “Super. I'm ecstatic we didn't wait on the tracks.”
The boy with the pretty features and kind eyes—Nadifa—looked around the room as if he were sure he could find a solution to any problem if he only maintained a positive attitude.
The rest of the boys simply glared at Hanna, saying nothing.
Breathe. Think, dammit.
One thing was certain. Adam was not here. Hanna took deep breaths and tried to stop trembling and control her rage. She had never wanted to choke someone as much as she wanted to choke Katelyn to stop the poison coming out of that bitch's mouth. Poison she recognized. Things Father would've said. This dismissive contempt was his special brand of hatred—her entire life's brand of hatred.
She shuddered as she admitted the horrific fact she should've seen long ago. These seven boys—and everyone who “worked” at The Resort—were not free to leave. How could she have been so deluded? So inter-galactically stupid? It seemed seventeen years of being fed a narrative of fear is not so easily shaken off, no matter how severe the trauma of truth is.
She thought about asking them about their circumstances, but decided not to, at least not in front of the boy who'd saved her life.
Shame was a feeling Hanna was becoming all-too familiar with.
“Now what?” asked the boy holding the largest butcher knife Hanna had ever seen.
Two of the others lay down on the hospital beds, throwing their arms over their eyes.
“I am tired of this shit,” one of them mumbled. “Tired.”
The boy who was always looking at phones was studying the door. “I think this door will open if we damage this portion here,” he announced. “It doesn't look that complicated.”
Three people began to protest this plan, and Hanna opened her mouth to join them, but before she could say a word, the boy with the injured leg staggered toward the wall, sliding to the floor with a groan, and all six boys rushed to his side.
“It's happening,” he panted, his face shining with sweat. He grabbed hold of the boy who'd saved Hanna and pulled him forward until their noses almost touched. “You promised, Lukango. If I turn. You promised you'd kill me.”
“You're not turning, man,” the boy—Lukango—answered. “This is just the medicine working. You're—”
“Bullshit! I know what I feel, man. Don't fucking tell me what I feel!”
“I'm not killing you just 'cause you're sick, Jamal. Calm the fuck down, okay? We'll get you to a doctor and ev—”
Jamal gripped Lukango's shoulders, his gaze intense as he shook his head, but before anyone could say anything else, he began convulsing. Everyone rushed to hold his limbs down, with two trying to elevate his head, and two others his legs, all of them yelling at each other for doing everything wrong. Jamal continued to shake in their grips for long seconds, and then, just as suddenly as he'd begun convulsing, Jamal went limp.
Hanna watched Nadifa feel his neck for a pulse, and her heart sank when he looked up at Lukango, his eyes full of sorrow.
“Fuck!” Lukango shouted.
Everyone was so caught up in their grief that Hanna was the only one to see it.
“He moved,” she whispered, flinching as Lukango spun to face her, his eyebrows raised. “His foot just moved.”
“He's alive,” the boy with the giant butcher knife said, hopeful.
“No. Look at his eyes,” Nadifa answered. “He's… ”
Jamal's eyes had begun bleeding. And he was struggling to sit up.
“We don't know that he can't be cured,” Lukango shouted, his expression panicked. “We actually don't know what this—”
“We know one of the infected bit him and he fucking died,” Nadifa said. “We know that much.”
“Fuck,” three people said in unison.
“Get that door open, Darnell,” Lukango said, pointing with a knife. “If we can leave Jamal locked in here, we can—”
With a giant shudder, Jamal lunged to his feet and threw himself at Lukango's back, teeth bared, eyes bloody mush, and, lifting her rifle, Hanna shot him in the side of the head.
Everyone froze as Jamal's legs collapsed beneath him and he fell to the ground in a heap.
Then they turned to Hanna, gaping at her in disbelief.
She fought the urge to step back, to raise her rifle at them, these boys who had every reason to hate her—every reason to make her pay for what her father had done to them. Instead, she forced her features blank and adjusted the strap until the weapon rested against her back once again.
“That was not your friend anymore,” she said softly, focusing on Nadifa. “Those people up there? I knew them. And that was not them. They're moving but they're still dead. I have no idea how or why, but I know they're dead.”
No one said anything. Darnell got shakily to his feet and walked past her, his attention on the door. A second later Hanna jumped at the sound of his knife slamming into the lock mechanism.
The door opened.
“Show us the way out of this fucking place,” Lukango growled, pointing one of his knives at her. “Now.”
They didn't see any more infected—or anyone, for that matter—until they reached Level 1, which turned out to be the part of The Resort designed to look like the grounds of a tropical vacation spot. Nadifa couldn't help but marvel at the glowing pools surrounded by plush seating, manicured gardens, and palm trees that somehow swayed in the moonlight under the false starry sky.
But the air was stale. The sky nothing but a ceiling covered in screens.
Hanna led them to two golf carts, which started easily. She said she would take them to what she called Transport. A sound caught his attention, and Nadifa looked closer at the pool area. He could see two women in bikinis taking showers near one of the pools, talking and laughing under streams of steaming water. Their faces were turned toward a wall of tropical plants, their pale limbs lit by the warm glow of floor lights. To the left, though, dark shadows moved across the tile toward the bathers. Nadifa recognized the movements of the infected, their arms twitching as they dragged their feet, moving slowly closer to the bathers.
“Hanna,” he said, pointing toward the women. Without hesitating, she slammed on the brakes, sending Nadifa, Darnell, and Mike lurching sideways in the back seat. Hanna lifted her rifle into position, peering through its scope. She hissed just as the women turned and saw what was behind them, and their screams filled the air.
Hanna shot three infected, only hitting one in the head from her distance, but there were too many to stop. Nadifa turned away as the rest feasted on the women. It had been too late for them from the start. Nadifa wondered how many of the guests and employees who hadn't attended the banquet were still alive, with no idea what was happening around them. Zahi said The Resort held three levels of suites, with hallways going in every direction. She guessed The Resort held at least ninety guest rooms, plus however many staff rooms were down on one of the lower levels.
Nadifa didn't want to think about the possibility that nearly 200 people were trapped underground, terrified, waiting to be infected, no matter who they were…
“Guess that answers the question of whether they're dangerous or not,” someone—probably Kevin—said from the other cart.
“Oh, damn!” said Mike from behind Nadifa. “They really do eat brains. I think I'm gonna puke, man.”
Nadifa felt his panic rise again as three infected turned at the sound of Mike's voice. One of them looked like a four-year-old kid wearing blue paja
mas, soaked in blood. Half his face was missing, as if someone had gone for his brains through his cheek.
The infected might not be able to see, but they could hear. And now they knew Nadifa and his friends were here.
Hanna swung her rifle onto her back once again and gripped the tiny steering wheel. The golf cart shot forward, and Luk followed suit in the other car without a word. He'd barely spoken since Jamal's death, and Nadifa worried he was reaching the limit of his endurance.
Hanna led them over rolling green hills and carefully-placed landscaping, around patches of trees and sandy bunkers of two golf courses. Finally, they reached a place that obviously served as The Resort's main entrance.
Designed to look like some kind of Colonial mansion—or slave plantation, Nadifa thought—the building was actually a fancy bar and clubhouse, providing what seemed to be a waiting room for like-minded members waiting for departure. On the sweeping lawn in front of the house, two helicopters sat like giant insects waiting to fly away.
Hanna drove the cart behind the building, stopping at the base of a stone wall Nadifa thought might have formed the edge of the underground complex. She jumped out as Luk pulled up behind her. Running along the wall, she studied it by the light of her phone's flashlight and they all watched her, except Luk, who looked around at the starry ceiling as if he could will it to open and lift them out by glaring at it.
“Here!” Hanna hissed, a whisper and a shout at once. “Stairs.”
“Great.” Kevin said as he and Nadifa hurried to the staircase that was little more than a ladder, stone blending perfectly with the vine-covered wall. “Stairs that lead to a fucking ceiling.”
“There's got to be an emergency hatch somewhere, right?” Darnell said. “Guests don't go outside. Obviously.”
I wonder why the fuck not? Nadifa thought, taking in the scowling faces of the other five boys. Kevin snorted.
“The choppers have remotes to open it,” Hanna said, taking off toward the nearest one. But before they could circle the building back to the lawn, the screens above them changed, bathing the scene in daylight.
Nadifa squinted in the sudden brightness, and shielding his eyes, he saw three figures running across the lawn. Two of them were the boys who'd fought with Hanna during the banquet, holding some kind of bag between them as they raced for one of the choppers.
And then the ceiling began to open.
Hanna peered around the corner and waved at them to get up the stairs. “Go,” Hanna told Nadifa, pointing at the stairs. “I'm not leaving without my—”
She stopped, and her mouth fell open as she looked at the chopper. Then she screamed, “Adam!” and sprinted for the helicopter.
Before he could question his actions, Nadifa ran after her, ignoring Luk's shouts to follow him up the stairs.
“Hanna!” someone screamed back, the voice swallowed by the noise of the rotors as they started up.
Reaching the aircraft, Nadifa saw that the two white dudes looked even more freaked-out than before.
And what they carried between them, throwing onto the seat of the chopper, was not a bag.
It was a human being who appeared to have no arms or legs.
“Let my brother go, Connor,” Hanna shouted, pointing her rifle at the tall boy's face. “You have no right to touch him.”
Connor had clearly been bitten. His sleeve was torn away around a bleeding wound made by human teeth, and his nails were filled with blood and filth. Neither he nor his friend appeared to be armed, and yet Stocky managed to sneer at Nadifa anyway. He gave the boy with no arms or legs—Adam—a vicious tug and Hanna's brother met Nadifa's gaze, communicating in an instant that he understood what Nadifa and the others in The Resort's prison suffered. And probably worse.
Nadifa's knife was in his hand, and he'd stepped forward before he consciously knew what he was doing. Would he stab these boys? Certainly Connor couldn't be allowed to leave, but…
The chopper's rotors continued to gather speed, and Hanna shoved the barrel of her rifle at Connor's chest, screaming, “Give me my brother right now, or I'll blow your fucking brains out!”
“This isn't you, Hanna,” Connor said, feigned sadness flashing across his model-like features as he shook his head. Her brother's eyes never left Hanna's face, pleading—for help or for her to run, Nadifa couldn't tell which.
“What happened to you?” Connor asked. “How could you let yourself go in a single day—”
Hanna smashed her rifle into his shin. “I said. Let my brother go.”
But Connor hardly flinched. Instead, he waved at her as the chopper began to rise. Hanna stepped back and took aim, then screamed as her shot missed, hitting the seat by his shoulder.
Nadifa turned to her. “He's—”
“Infected,” Hanna finished. “Fuck! I should've—” Her eyes were wide with horror as she spun and sprinted for the stairs.
Nadifa knew he should move, knew he should follow her out before the ceiling closed again, but that same under-water sensation of time slowing engulfed him and he simply stood there. He thought of his grandmother, alone and possibly afraid somewhere, and the weight of the world seemed to press down on Nadifa's chest until he couldn't breathe. He saw the others, already at the top of the stairs, disappearing from sight, the ceiling nearly fully open now as the helicopter came level with the ground outside.
Luk was screaming something, waving his arms at Nadifa, but nothing was real.
He didn't exist. He was dreaming. Floating.
Hanna was already halfway up the stairs, taking them three at a time, but still, instead of following her, Nadifa turned to look up at Connor. The boy grinned down at him, and Nadifa knew what Connor would do the second before he threw Adam from the chopper. Nadifa ran then, leaping to break Adam's fall, aware even as he felt the impact of his body and they hit the ground together that the ceiling was already closing again.
He thought he heard Hanna screaming, but he might have imagined it.
Hanna didn't have time to think about Adam. She didn't have time to think about his body falling, turning in midair, his eyes looking into hers as he plummeted to the ground. She didn't have time to think about him, injured, helpless, unable to move, left all alone.
Alone until the zombies came for him.
She didn't have time to think about anything except making sure Connor didn't get out. Three lives taken to stop the spread of this disease to everyone in the country—to everyone in the world—was a price she was willing to pay.
So Hanna blinked back her tears, ignored Lukango's shouts, took aim at the chopper's tail rotor, and fired. And fired. And fired.
After what felt like an eternity, the air filled with a satisfying whine, and the helicopter spun, faster and faster as it fell from the sky, the pilot losing his fight for control, until the aircraft slammed into the weed-covered ground with a deafening impact she felt in her bones. A shower of metal and glass burst into a mountain of flames, and Hanna was slammed backwards, the heat nearly overwhelming as she covered her face with one arm.
She lay in the dirt, catching her breath, and when she looked up she saw Lukango and the others glaring down at her, their knives held at their sides, their navy suits singed. She felt insane laughter bubbling up inside her again as she imagined them saying, ‘You have been weighed. You have been measured. And you have been found wanting.’
“One of them was bitten” she called up to them, dizzy with sudden guilt. How many lost lives justified saving millions? Three? Three hundred? Logically, yes. But logical theories and reality were not the same thing, it turned out. “He would've—”
Lukango turned away, but the boy with the phones reached a hand to help her to her feet, saying only, “Nadifa didn't make it out. We have to get back down there.”
Hanna shook her head, pointing at the mangled pile of burning metal covering the ground. “That was the only way in,” she said. “It's destroyed.” Hanna turned, seeing nothing but flat, empty, weed-covered farml
and in every direction, the same blank view she saw from the helicopter's windows every summer.
“The clock in that bar said three,” the boy with the giant butcher knife told Lukango. “If we walk back to the prison now, we can still make it down to the tracks by eight. Get in from the other side.”
“Let's do it,” Lukango said, looking up at the night sky and turning in a circle. “Nadifa said the prison is east, so that's… this way.” He took off walking, and the others glanced at Hanna once before following him.
“Wait,” she called.
Lukango ignored her. A few of the other boys shook their heads, but the one with the phones turned.
“It can't be safe to walk,” she said. There was no way in hell whoever designed this place would leave The Resort door easily accessible to prisoners.
Lukango laughed. “It never is.”
“I'm Darnell, by the way,” said the boy with the phones, using one of them to light the ground at his feet as Hanna fell into step beside him. “It's my second day here.”
“Shit,” Hanna said, almost laughing like a lunatic again. She thought of Adam, and picked up her pace. If there was another way back inside The Resort, she would find it—find Adam—or die trying. She was relieved to realize Nadifa was with her brother. At least he's not alone down there.
Then she felt ashamed for the thought. Hadn't Nadifa been through enough? It should've been her down there with Adam, not him. She should've shot Connor the second she saw he was bitten, instead of hesitating like a coward, afraid to kill—something her father had done so easily.
Hanna checked her phone, trying to think who she would even call for help, but it remained useless even outside. Whoever had tampered with the signal had done a thorough job.
Darnell glanced at her, holding up a phone. “Maybe one of these has a better plan.”
“Maybe,” she said, trying to smile, but as she took another step, the ground beneath her fell away like clouds, and Hanna's feet met only air. No time to even scream, she flailed her arms, falling, scrambling for purchase behind her.
