“No, it wasn’t. It was wrong.”
Iraq was my home. Saving your home is never wrong.
I didn’t want to argue with him—that wouldn’t get me anywhere. “They miss you so much, Mo. I see it in Mama’s eyes. Baba’s, too, but he’s better at hiding it.”
Don’t forget me, Yakhi.
“Never.” I looked up suddenly, hoping to catch a glimpse of him at our table, even just for a slice of a second, but of course he wasn’t there.
Why did I do it? Try to bring him back, night after night? Why couldn’t I just forget about my brother and get on with my life?
The school counselor had called it a “coping mechanism,” my way of dealing with the tragedy. She’d assured me I’d adjust to him being gone, but two years later Mo still felt as real as ever. And even though he was just a mismatched collection of memories, he still disagreed with me—over everything. Strange, huh? I guess you just can’t control some people, even when they’re only figments of your imagination.
I entered the kitchen to rinse out the pots, starting with the leftover Lebanon and Cairo sauces. I sniffed the pot of Baghdad sauce from a wary distance, and despite it being almost empty, that alone was enough to make my eyes water. The deadly chilies my dad put in it were part of the reason our deli was so popular. Everyone, at some point, tried the Baghdad—“pure shock and awe to your taste buds,” Baba always said. Only the hardiest came back for more.
“For you, Yakhi,” I said as I emptied the thick red sauce into the sink. Mo had loved the Baghdad. He used to pour it over his cornflakes.
I heard a cat shriek in the back alley, followed by the crash and rattle of a trash can falling over.
The dumpster lid banged. What was going on? I opened the rear door a crack, but I couldn’t see anything in the dark.
Then I heard voices.
Someone grunted with satisfaction. “Look at that, Sidana, me old mate. Fancy a bite?”
There was a fear-filled squeak.
Another someone smacked their lips. “What a sweet, delicious rat! All juicy and oh so fat!”
Were they hunting a rat?
There were two people, at least. I couldn’t make them out. So I listened.
The squeaking got more desperate.
“Manhattan vermin—ain’t nothing tastier.”
The rat gave one final squeal and then there was a snap, followed by a sickening crunch. And a loud, satisfied burp.
Okaaay, things were getting weird.
The reply was a snicker. “Allow your mem’ry to linger, dwell on the taste of a finger. To suck on marrow, crunch on bone…what food delights we both have known!”
Really weird. And in rhyming couplets no less.
I put down my mop and, after a second’s hesitation, unhooked our big cast-iron wok from the wall. Then I slipped outside to take a look.
That, as it happens, turned out to be a huuuge mistake.
THE ALLEY BEHIND OUR DELI STANK. WORSE THAN usual, I mean. A putrid, hot stench lay as thick as syrup. Funny that I hadn’t noticed it a few minutes ago, when I’d entered through the back door. Had a sewer pipe burst or something?
Flies swarmed over the food that had spilled out of two torn-open garbage bags. Rotten vegetables carpeted the bare concrete and maggot-infested meat smeared the brick walls. I heard movement from within the dumpster.
I crept closer and almost slipped on a half-eaten rat. Yeah, that was exactly as disgusting as it sounds.
A feral-looking tabby cat watched me from the fire escape. It had scars across its body and one completely white eye, which, I swear, winked at me. Then it sprang up and hissed as a guy stuck his head up from inside the dumpster, waving a wedge of old pizza. “Maggot topping, all slimy and nice! I shall devour it in a trice!”
I ducked behind a trash can as the tabby leaped away into the darkness.
I say guy, but I mean it in the loosest sense of the word. He had a head and two arms, but aside from that…
His dented top hat did nothing to hide the deformed length of his skull, or his long, hairy ears. A pair of cracked pince-nez balanced on the end of his twitching nose. Wiry black whiskers sprouted from either side of a mouth crowded with yellow teeth that jutted out at all angles. He heaved the slice into his mouth and chewed loudly, his beady red eyes rolling in delight.
His companion rose beside him. He wore a battered bowler hat, pulled down low over his huge toadlike eyes, and he licked his wide lips with a tongue as thick as my arm. His belly rumbled loudly as he chewed on a length of rotten sausage. “Leave room, chum. There are plenty of tasty morsels to be had.”
More flies gathered. Ugly, shiny bluebottles darted by me, as if trying to determine whether I was a tasty morsel, too.
These dudes were seriously into their roles. Were they cosplayers gone bad? Or burglars in seriously weird disguises? I should have gotten Daoud or woken Baba before coming out here. I couldn’t run for help now. Messrs. Strange and Unusual would see me the moment I raised my head from behind the trash can. So I crouched lower and tightened my fingers around the wok handle. It wasn’t exactly Thor’s hammer, but it was big and heavy and would leave a big dent in their faces if need be.
The rat-faced rhymer picked at his teeth with a dirty claw as he turned his attention to the darkened windows of our upstairs apartment. “The family sleeps up there. Shall we two give them a scare?”
That didn’t sound friendly.
Toady licked his lips with a disgustingly long and slimy tongue. “We only need the boy.”
“Oh, him we shall take with ease. The rest, handle as we please.” Ratty straightened his top hat and reached for the lip of the dumpster.
Not friendly at all.
Did the boy mean me?
I was afraid, verging on terrified. I wanted to run and hide. I wanted to be anywhere but here, but they were threatening Mo’s and I wasn’t going to let that happen, not now, not ever. So even though the wok trembled in my sweaty grip, even though I could hardly breathe for the fear gripping my chest, I charged.
I swung the wok—missing them both—but they ducked, and that was good enough. I grabbed the lid of the dumpster and slammed it down onto their hatted heads. I flipped the latch just as one of them tried to shoulder the lid back open.
I smacked the wok on the side of the metal container. “You freaks stay right in there!”
The dumpster rocked as the pair crashed against it. I could hear their muffled, furious shouts from inside.
“Daoud!” I yelled. “Call the cops!”
Where was he?
“Daoud!”
The dumpster hopped, and bumps appeared in its steel lid. But that didn’t matter—as long as the latch was secured, the lid was going to stay exactly where it was.
Then there was a flapping, and a wet whistling. A stomach-churning stench hissed through the narrow gap between the dumpster’s lid and rim. I held my breath to avoid inhaling it.
A pair of beady crimson eyes peered out through the gap. “Sikander Aziz? Well, well. For this I’ll see you in hell,” he said with a snarl.
I stepped back. “You know who I am?”
Ratty snickered. “Know you? That would be a yes. You’re famous, we must confess.”
A fist slammed against the inside of the dumpster wall. “You, mate, are gonna suffer when Sidana and me get outta here,” said Toady. “I promise you that.”
“Sidana?” I asked Ratty. “What sort of name is that?”
“It’s not a name—it’s a curse,” said Toady. “As is mine: Idiptu. Remember them well.”
“Sidana and Idiptu, eh?” I asked. “Think I’ll just stick with Ratty and Toady.”
Ratty—sorry, Sidana—hissed angrily. Clearly they were not fond of nicknames. “This will not bode well for you. We shall wreak revenge, we two.”
“Yeah? It’s boding okay so far.” Where was Daoud? Was he still checking his pores?
“You have courage,” admitted Idiptu.
“I
have a wok.” I banged it hard on the lid, and it rang loud and proud.
“Who does this boy think he is, Gilgamesh reborn?” Sidana taunted. “We shall correct that, and leave him tattered and torn!”
Nice. It’s not every day you get compared to the world’s first and, IMHO, greatest hero. Just think King Arthur meets Heracles with a dash of Thor and multiply that by fifty thousand.
Toady pressed his face right up to the crack. “Do you know who we are, mate? What we are?”
“I find myself not caring a whole lot.” I glanced at the trash can. Could I use it to weigh down the lid of the dumpster so I could get inside to call 911?
“We are the Great Misfortunes of Mankind, the Asakku,” said Idiptu. “Or, in common parlance—”
“Demons,” I replied. I was up on my mythology. “Uh-huh, yeah. More like trick-or-treaters with no sense of time.”
Idiptu’s eyes glowed a sickly yellow. “We’ve come from Kurnugi.”
“Kurnugi?” I rolled the trash can toward them. “Is that near Michigan?” I knew he meant the netherworld, but I was enjoying having the upper hand.
Speaking of hands, mine were busying swatting the flies that swarmed all over. And not only flies—I slapped a mosquito on my neck. My palm came away smeared with blood.
“Bugs are quite nasty, my dear.” Sidana tutted. “They carry disease, I fear.”
“Is bad rhyme a thing in Kurnugi? Listen to this.” I started tapping a rap rhythm on the dumpster. “Sik’s my name, and I play a mean game/What makes you think you can bring your stink/To threaten my fam and our fine deli meat?/Get out now before I call the heat.”
Idiptu grunted. “Not bad.”
Why wasn’t Daoud out here already? Hadn’t he heard my banging?
No choice but to keep on vamping. “So, demons, eh? Nice angle. But I don’t think the cops are going to go for it. This is the real world, and here demons don’t exist. Neither does the Tooth Fairy. I’ve got a bad feeling about Santa, too.”
Sidana snarled as if I’d insulted his parentage. “No demons exist, you cry? Then pray tell me, what am I?”
“In need of some serious dental work?”
Despite the sass coming out of my mouth, my legs were shaking. Whatever these guys were, they were not the type you wanted to meet in a dark alley.
The swarm of flies around me grew thicker, buzzing in my ears, biting my skin. I swung the wok, splatting a few, but more and more gathered. “Bug off!”
“All yours, Idiptu, my love,” said Sidana. “Can’t you give the latch a shove?”
Idiptu unrolled his slimy tongue through the narrow gap. Three feet long, it slid down the side of the dumpster and began darting from side to side. It found the latch and flicked it open.
And then the falafel really hit the fan.
The lid crashed open. Idiptu sprang out and landed on the ground in front of me with a heavy thump. He was squat and barrel-chested, with thick bowed legs that strained the seams of his checked pants. Sidana, wearing a tattered old tuxedo jacket, scrambled out and limped over to Idiptu. He polished his pince-nez and fixed them to the end of his hairy snout. “Master Sikander, how do you do?” He grinned, giving me a good view of his crooked yellow fangs. “We have some cruelties prepared for you.”
This was bad, really bad. And I don’t just mean the verse. I backed away, waving the wok in front of me. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Or what? You’ll stir-fry us?” Idiptu gestured at a shifting black cloud at the far end of the alley. “It’s not us you need to worry about, mate.…”
An immense figure stood within the whining swarm. Over ten feet tall, even hunched over, he shuffled through the mass of insects. Instead of dispersing, they coalesced into him, clustering in the folds of his ragged cloak, disappearing into his mouth, and flying around his head like a screaming halo.
Idiptu doffed his bowler hat. “It’s the boss.”
“YA ALLAH…” I SHOOK MY HEAD, HOPING FOR A REALITY reboot, but the giant fly guy in the cloak just continued to…exist.
The whining of the millions of insects intensified, rattling the windows overlooking the alley. Any louder and I thought my ears would start bleeding.
I still had my wok. I had to do something.
So I ran.
Straight through the kitchen door, slamming it behind me.
“Who’s…What’s out there?” asked Daoud, his face ashen.
“Now you show up?” I shoved the dead bolts into place. “Grab the biggest knife you can find.” I backed away as Idiptu charged the door, shaking the hinges. “We’ve got to stop them—”
“What?! No, we’ve got to call the police!”
“A little late for that now!” I snapped. “Arm yourself—hurry!”
“Just let them take whatever they want!” Daoud cried. “We can hide in our rooms upstairs.” He tried to pull me through the swinging door to the seating area.
“Leave the deli to them? No way!” I snapped, wrenching myself out of his grasp. “I’m not abandoning Mo’s. This is your chance to be a hero, Daoud. A real one.”
He stared at me as if I were insane. “I can’t be a hero, especially not a real one!”
“What’s the point of all those muscles if you aren’t going to use them to smash bad guys?” I needed to get him on board before the back door was destroyed. So I spoke in a language he understood: “Think of this as a movie, Daoud. The good guys always win, right?”
“A movie?” Daoud kept retreating. “That makes me the token sidekick! We always die in act two, right after the jock!”
The back door jumped in its frame under another charge from the hulking Idiptu. It wouldn’t hold for long. We needed to block it with something stronger.
Daoud glared at me. “This isn’t about the deli.”
“You in or not?”
The metal door bulged under the latest assault.
“Come on, Sik!” Daoud fled into the seating area, and I heard him leave to go toward the upstairs apartment, slamming the security door behind him. That door was three inches of solid oak with an auto lock; you’d need a chain saw to get through it. Then again, I’d thought the metal door was impenetrable.…
I grabbed the landline in the kitchen and punched in three numbers.
Ring…ring…ring…
“Yallah, pick up!” I yelled as Idiptu continued his battering.
“Which service, please?” the dispatcher asked.
“Police,” I replied. “Right now. Sooner.”
“Please hold while I transfer you.…”
“Tut-tut, that won’t do at all.” Sidana peered through a newly created space between the warped metal and the doorframe. “I think it best to end that call.”
The phone receiver squirmed in my hand. Something tickled my lips. Something slimy.
Fat white worms wriggled out of the mouthpiece. Maggots. I dropped the phone and spat furiously. How was this even happening?
“I do hope you didn’t swallow any,” said Sidana. “They might—”
“Just shut up!” Who were these guys? What were they? I didn’t want to admit it, but the word demon was beginning to sound…right.
My heart raced as a hundred panicky thoughts battled for the top spot. The security gates were down in front, so I couldn’t run. Scream for help? Beg them to stop? Let them take whatever it is they want and hope they’ll leave? Hide under the counter? Fight them for all you’re worth?
I had options, but they were all just different levels of bad.
The best choice was to keep them out, but the door wasn’t going to last much longer.
I wedged my spine against the wall, pressed both feet against the big refrigerator, and pushed. Seven feet by four and made of stainless steel, it would be the perfect blockade. “Come on,” I snarled. My legs trembled as I forced out every ounce of power I had. The refrigerator tilted slightly.
The middle hinge came off the back door. Idiptu stuck his head through the bigger opening
and his tongue rolled out, searching for the dead bolts.
“Move!” I roared as I gave the refrigerator one final, desperate push. The thing had sat in the same place ever since we’d bought it, and it wasn’t ready to budge even an inch, but…but it groaned as it leaned sideways across the back door and then fell, crashing with thunderous impact, rattling all the pots and pans. The refrigerator door swung open and out poured tubs of hummus and tzatziki sauce. Lemons and oranges rolled away in all directions.
There, that would hold them. I snatched up my wok as I ran into the seating area and scrambled over to the door that led to the apartment. “Daoud? Are you there?”
“I’ve got the police on my cell!”
“When are they coming?”
“Er…I’m third in line.”
Great, just great. With any luck they’d make it over by lunchtime.
I heard scraping from the kitchen. Like the sound a heavy metal object, say a refrigerator, might make if it were slowly being pushed across ceramic tile.
“Sik? What’s going on down there?” It was Baba. He shook the handle of the security door. “Where are the keys?”
I glanced over to them, lying on the countertop. “Er…here?”
“Mina, get the spare set!” Baba yelled, not giving up on the handle. “Get out of there, Sik!”
I know it was crazy to stay. The deli wasn’t much, but it was all we had.
“Sik…habibi. Please, please run.”
I wiped the sweat off my hands and took a fresh grip on the wok.
The kitchen had fallen eerily quiet.
Had they given up? Please, ya Allah, please, I prayed.
A sudden blue flash illuminated the seating area for a second as the fly zapper on the ceiling took out a bug. The electric hum lingered, then it flashed again as another fly went straight into it.
The swinging door between the deli and the kitchen creaked as if something were gently, ever so gently, pressing against it, testing it.
Cockroaches poured from under the door, spreading over the floor like an oil spill.
Then the door was blown apart and a shock wave hurled me over, forcing all the air out of my lungs. The wok spun out of my hands and clanged against the far wall.
City of the Plague God Page 2
