by S G D Singh
“You?”
With a maniacal scream, the doctor started to move toward Adam, the syringe raised. But behind him, like a glorious angel of justice, Ayeeyo rose up and smashed him over the head with a metal tray hard enough to knock him out cold.
“No,” she said in Somali. “This is a rescue attempt.”
Terrance allowed the five of them to take one more parting gift before they left, and Hanna had been unanimously volunteered to carry it. She wrinkled her nose as she adjusted her grip on the sack of cow brains and the group passed through the subway tunnel's sliding gates and onto the dark tracks that led to The Resort. Hanna saw rough cement and a rounded ceiling over a single track lit by dim blue lights. She hoped they'd find zombies to feed the cow brains to soon, and at the same time dreaded the moment they encountered the infected again.
The tunnel was wide enough for them to jog side-by-side in. The air reminded her of a freshly dug grave, thick and close. Cobwebs covered the lighting overhead, and something scuttled past in the shadows, probably a rat. Lukango announced they would only have two hours once they reached The Resort, giving them time to get back more slowly with anyone injured before the gate opened again at 11:00.
Darnell noted the time on the three remaining phones and handed them to Lukango and Zahi, keeping one for himself.
Hanna's arm ached, but she resisted hefting the cloth sack over her shoulder, imagining the brains' clammy juices seeping through her sweatshirt. How was it possible that a few cow brains weighed so much? This must be at least fifty fucking pounds. She considered hanging the thing off the end of her weapon, but then if the zombies showed up…
“You must have theories,” Zahi said from her left, interrupting Hanna's thoughts. The other girl wasn't even out of breath as she jogged, her weapon ready at her chest, her hijab staying perfectly in place, framing her face.
“Theories?” Hanna panted, wincing as the damp sack hit her leg. She raised her arm away from her side again.
“Yes, theories, Schatzi,” Kevin said from the other side of Darnell. “About how this bleeding-eye, undead cannibal shit happened to your people.”
Lukango made a sound of irritation and slowed to walk behind them, and Kevin matched his pace, leaving Hanna with Zahi and Darnell.
Darnell's nod was reassuring. “You know these people, Hanna. You must have a guess about something.”
Hanna adjusted her grip on the cow brains yet again and fought the urge to laugh as she thought about her people and what her life had been only three days ago. Parties until dawn, direly important decisions about designer shoes, fucking gourmet brunches, for Christ's sake. Everything had been turned upside down and shaken out like a trash can.
“The Resort is obviously not a normal resort,” she said. “I've figured that much out—”
“Congratulations,” Kevin muttered behind her.
“The more I think about it, the more I think Dr. Kaiser actually runs the place. Father provided the funding, probably even the design, but even he was careful around Kaiser. And Aunt Chastity, she's always looked up to him with this weird, fanatical awe. I know Kaiser was pissed about the decision to shut down The Resort. I mean, you guys heard him at dinner. He never talked like that in front of us—kids, women—we never heard him say shit like that before that night, ever.”
“Oh, Prinzessin,” Kevin said, “I hope you're not trying to tell us I had no idea these people were racist at all, I swear.” He clutched at his throat, his voice high and nasal.
Hanna met Zahi's eyes, and the other girl shook her head. Ignore him.
“My theory” Hanna continued, “is that Dr. Kaiser had motive to kill everyone at the banquet to change the narrative—and he's crazy enough to do it. Get rid of anyone who opposed his methods or supported him getting fired, plus whoever else happened to be there, kissing Father's ass.”
“Investors?” Zahi asked.
“The old men talk a lot about investors. I always ignored them, figured they were just talking business, but now I think it might be some kind of council, their organized white-supremacy board, or whatever.” She waved her weapon around. “Otherwise, how would all this work?”
“A Grand Council of Yahoos!” Kevin said, triumphant. “You were right, Luk.”
Lukango only snorted in disgust.
“What the hell is a Yahoo?” Hanna asked Darnell. “Isn't that from Gulliver's Travels?”
“It's a Klan term,” Kevin told her. “Like a Grand Cyclops? Or a Royal Purple Dog? Never heard of them? You'll have to ask one of your crackerass friends, not us. We're just here to save the world from your zombie apocalypse, Liebling.” He bowed. “You're welcome.”
“There is no such thing as zombies,” Lukango growled.
Hanna wondered how long they'd been jogging. Ten minutes? Twenty? Her lungs were burning. If the Resort was three miles away from the prison, they should be able to reach it in thirty minutes if they jogged the whole way—which she definitely didn't think she could do.
“A bull's brain weighs about two pounds,” Lukango said, apparently noticing her discomfort, “which makes that thing you're carrying no more than six pounds. What you're experiencing is the body's reaction to a lack of food and rest. Having fun yet?”
Hanna fought the urge to respond. It would be fun to smash the sack of brains in his face. But she remembered the look and smell of the dorm he'd been forced to live in, and the constant buzz of the electric fence around the orchard. She remembered the hate-filled things her father had said at the dinner two nights ago, the way everyone in that banquet hall had treated the seven boys serving them. Not as human beings, but as things.
Whatever happened, Hanna was glad their perfect hell was destroyed. The infection was tragic, and she hoped Adam got out, but in all the ways that mattered she'd been a zombie herself only two days ago.
“More fun than I've ever had, as a matter of fact,” Hanna said.
She doubted Lukango heard her, but didn't protest when Zahi reached for the sack a moment later, saying, “Here. We'll take turns.”
They ran in silence for a while. No one said out loud what Hanna was sure they were all thinking as they grew closer to The Resort.
Kill me if I get infected.
As they neared the station, they saw the single subway car, its silver sides and round windows illuminated by the bright lights of the tiled platform. They had nearly reached it when Zahi suddenly halted, shoving the sack of cattle brains back at Hanna.
“What's up?” Kevin asked her, but she ignored him as she slowly approached the gap between the platform and tracks, her weapon held ready in front of her. She peered down into the shadows, and Hanna followed, Darnell at her side.
“Zahi?” Lukango called, his eyes scanning the station, which appeared empty. Hanna could see signs of previous activity, though, in the overturned chairs and bright red blood splattered along the tile. A bloody handprint was smeared across The Resort's logo along one wall.
“I don't know,” Zahi said, glancing over her shoulder at Lukango. “It looks like a dead zombie? At least, it's not a moving zombie. It's wedged in this ditch… ”
“Huh.” Kevin poked the zombie in the head with his weapon, causing half its skull to cave in like sand. It still didn't move.
“Can zombies die? Maybe if they don't eat?” Darnell said.
As if it could be that easy. Hanna wondered what kind of life he must have led before he got here to teach him such positivity, and tried not to feel jealous.
Lukango leaned over and poked the rotted corpse with the tip of his weapon, and the metal slid easily into the flesh with a dry crunch. It was definitely dead.
“Weird,” Kevin said. “Pretty short lifespan for a zombie.”
“Because there is no such thing as fucking zombies,” Lukango told him. “How many times do I have to say it?”
“Let's go,” Zahi said. “We can get inside this way.”
“Where are we looking first?” Darnell asked. “Nadifa co
uld be anywhere.”
They were quiet for a second as they all considered this. Hanna's heart sank at the enormity of their task. Ten levels, each of them the size of a damn golf course.
“We'll start with the last place we saw him and move downward,” Lukango decided.
“ATTENTION ALL GUESTS.”
Hanna flinched as Dr. Kaiser's voice blared through hidden speakers, and the five of them froze, then quickened their pace. Could he see them? Was it over before they even started?
“THOSE AFFECTED BY SUDDEN ILLNESS HAVE BEEN CONTAINED AND ARE BEING CARED FOR. I REPEAT, THE SICKNESS HAS BEEN CONTAINED. ALL RESIDENTS AND GUESTS WHO REMAIN IN GOOD HEALTH ARE ORDERED TO MOVE IN A CALM AND ORDERLY FASHION TO THE LEVEL 10 INFIRMARY FOR EVALUATION. YOU WILL RECEIVE PROTECTION FROM AIRBORNE CONTAGION. I REPEAT… ”
“That's Dr. Kaiser,” she told Zahi.
“The same Dr. Kaiser who you think tried to kill everyone not on board with him running his creepy-ass experiments?” Darnell looked up at the nearest speaker.
“I guess he's not dead,” Kevin said.
Zahi broke into a run, and Lukango and Kevin stayed close by her side, their weapons held ready as she led the group around a corner. Darnell and Hanna followed, pushing through a swinging door that led to a landing above what was plainly The Resort's laundry room. Stacks of gleaming machines seven feet tall lined the walls, and the smell of detergent and fabric softener was almost strong enough to hide the smell of decay taking over the underground air. Dumpster-sized containers parked beneath chutes in the ceiling held tangled heaps of towels, sheets, and clothes. Clean laundry stacked atop tables with wheels.
Hanna almost ran into Zahi, who had stopped at the top of the stairs. Her posture was rigid as she looked down at the grizzly sight of two zombies gnawing on an elderly woman who lay in a puddle of bleach and blood-stained bathroom mats. The woman appeared to be dead. For now. The look of horror and disbelief on Zahi's face had Hanna wondering if she regretted coming.
Hanna's eyes watered and her nose burned from the bleach, which continued to pour from the capsized gallon container, but the zombies didn't seem to be affected.
“Shit,” Kevin muttered, covering his mouth to suppress a cough, but not in time. At the sound, a zombie raised its head, revealing its missing throat as it lunged toward the stairs.
Zahi stumbled aside as Lukango and Hanna both stepped forward and shot it in the head.
“Contained, my ass,” Kevin said.
Darnell descended the stairs silently and sent a bolt through the second zombie's head as it continued to work on the old woman's intestines, and Zahi muttered something in a language Hanna had never heard.
Hanna left the sack of brains on the floor and took the stairs three at a time to right the bleach container, screwing the cap back on it before shooting the old woman in the head for good measure. She wasn't sure, but she thought she recognized her from one of the stores—Cartier maybe. Wasn't she the clerk who'd recommended Katelyn try the pink diamond earrings? The ones with the little light blue sapphires?
“Let's keep moving,” Lukango called, picking up the sack himself, glancing impatiently at the others. Kevin hosed down the floor with a nozzle from one of the sinks until Darnell motioned for him to leave it.
Left alone on the landing, Zahi finally gathered herself and followed them. They were nearly to the door when a weak voice somewhere above them called out, “Hey!”
“Hey!” Hysteria filled the sound, high-pitched and cracking. “I need help!”
The group stopped and turned to the massive machines. A man sat cowering on top of one, sweat and snot smeared across his pale face. Hanna thought he must be a Resort employee and wondered how the hell he'd gotten up there. He looked around thirty, with straight brown hair and freckles. When he saw Hanna, he jumped in surprised recognition, hitting his head on the concrete above him. He cursed, clutching his head.
Zahi's voice rang out like a whip.
“This here is Francis,” she told the group, and the man jerked his attention to her, blinking stupidly. “Francis works in laundry. He likes to think he's in charge. He likes to offer girls like me food.” Zahi moved her weapon from one hand to the other as she walked back into the center of the room. “Only, he expects favors in return. Isn't that right, Francis? This, my brothers, is a nasty, nasty excuse for a man.”
Hanna felt the rage rise. She strode to the base of the machine where Francis lay cowering, and pointed her weapon up at him, snapping it into ready position.
“Back off, Lotie,” Lukango hissed. “This isn't about you.”
Hanna's hands itched to slam the weapon into place, to send the bolt into the man's sweating forehead—to feel some minuscule part of her rage and guilt fade, to feel relief like ice water sliding down her throat on a hot day. Looking into Francis' terrified blue eyes, Hanna wondered if she'd gone completely insane.
“Zahi?” she asked.
She hesitated. “Leave him there,” Zahi said finally. “He can wait just like that until help comes. Or doesn't.”
Hanna lowered her weapon, relaxing her grip on the rough metal, and backed away from the trembling man. Would I have killed an innocent man? Are any of these men innocent?
“Wait!” Francis screamed at their backs as the five of them turned to leave the laundry room. “What if it's days? What if more of those things—please! I'm sorry! Miss Taylor? Miss Taylor! You have to believe me! Wait! I'm hungry! I need to use the bathroom! Please!”
“That is some cold shit,” Kevin muttered. “Even for his nasty ol' white supremacist neo-Nazi ass.”
“Agree to disagree,” Lukango muttered.
“Don't look at me,” Darnell told Kevin. “I would've let Hanna take him out.”
“That's hunger talking, MIT,” Kevin said, pointing at Darnell. “It does unfortunate things to the mind.”
Taking the stairs to avoid both Resort guests and infected killers, they climbed from Level 7 to Level 5, emerging into The Resort's lowest suite level. In the hallway, they were confronted with the sight of a bellhop whose torso was trapped beneath two suitcases and a luggage cart. He had obviously been bitten, and Hanna could see the bones of his free arm visible through ragged skin. His legs were twitching despite the fact that his head was crushed beneath at least sixty pounds of Gucci luggage. Hanna noticed a single woman's shoe near his arm—a snake skin Christian Louboutin—splattered with something wet, the man's bellhop cap crushed next to it.
“Wait,” Lukango said, reaching for the bag Terrance gave them. “Try the brains on this one. He can't move.”
“He might be able to move once you let him the fuck up,” Kevin protested. “Watch the teeth!”
As soon as his face was clear, the man—or boy, as he didn't look much older than Hanna, actually—snapped broken teeth at Lukango, who jumped back. He reached into the sack, and pulled out a piece of slimy gray material. He dangled the brains over the bellhop's face, then dropped it right into his open mouth.
Nothing. Zero reaction.
“I don't think he likes it,” Darnell said.
“Maybe it has to be fresher,” Kevin suggested.
Lukango shoved the sack back at Hanna. “And just where the fuck are we supposed to get fresher cow brains, huh?”
“I—oh, shit.”
Coming down the hallway toward them, like a nightmare come to life, was the woman wearing the other shoe. Hanna could see she'd looked like a super-model in life, tall and picturesque, but now she limped along, slamming one bloody ankle into the carpet where her foot should've been. Half of her shiny hair bounced along with her movements, the other side plastered red against her face, and her chest was a bloody pulp. One pink lung flopped out of her ribcage with each step. She smelled terrible.
Turning toward them, she lifted her chin as if trying to smell her way to a meal. She made a guttural clicking noise that raised the hair on Hanna's neck.
“Try this one,” Kevin whispered. “Maybe she likes cow
brains.”
“You think female zombies are less discerning in their culinary preferences?” Zahi hissed, leveling her weapon at the approaching woman.
The bolt from Hanna's weapon sent the woman flying backward, landing hard on her back, and Hanna strode forward to stand over the zombie as she struggled to rise again. Ignoring Darnell and Zahi's warnings, she shoved a piece cow brain into the torn and bleeding mouth, the meat cold and wet in her hand, the texture like rubbery Jell-O, at once firm and squishy.
“Nope,” Hanna said, straightening. “She doesn't care for them, either.” She held the dripping sack out to Lukango, the muscles in her arm protesting. Hanna was pretty sure she was covered in reeking brain slime at this point. “Can I please put this disgusting thing down now?”
Kevin shot the zombie again as she struggled into a sitting position, her hands reaching for Hanna. “I feel like we need to practice better zombie apocalypse strategizing if we're gonna survive,” he said, turning to Lukango. “A long term plan. Tactics.”
“Tactics, my ass,” Lukango muttered, snatching the sack from Hanna and dropping it on the dead woman's gaping chest as he strode down the hall. “Let's find Nadifa and get the fuck out of here.”
Adam sat up, wincing, and Nadifa watched him reach his metal hand out to pick up the doctor's ledger from the desk's wreckage. He brushed broken glass from its cover and slid it into his waistband.
Nadifa wanted to ask his grandmother fifty questions at once, but said only, “Ayeeyo. Can we get everyone out?”
She paused her efforts to open the kid's restraints long enough to wrap Nadifa in her arms, then motioned for him to help her. “We can try,” she said. “That's all we can do.”
Adam called, “We can do more than try. Get me up to that computer in the corner, Nadifa.”
“Who is this white boy?” Ayeeyo asked in Somali. “Wallahi, what happened to him?”
Nadifa crouched down to allow Adam to wrap his metal arms around his neck and stood, carrying Adam to the computer.
