I wake up the next day feeling as if I ate a dead body, but this instinctive ailment is assuaged by the smell of bacon and sausages on the stove. It turns out Brandy is in the kitchen whipping up an aromatic breakfast. The sun is trickling through the windows and the front porch and there’s an indistinct chirping of army men right outside our window. They haven’t left. It wasn’t a dream. In fact, the whole zombie fiasco wasn’t a dream. I try not to let the image of Abuela and Bernardo creep into my head.
I strenuously take a seat by the table.
There are several plates of blueberry waffles, sausages, and scrambled eggs sitting on a gleaming glass table. Mikkelen, who is chugging down a glass of pink lemonade, is staring hawkeyed at me.
“Your brother (It is Matteo right?) gave me the ok go to whip up a quick breakfast,” says Brandy, laying the last of the plates on the glass surface. He has a very soft accent. “It’s the least we can do.”
I slowly grab a waffle and sit down, trying not to appear at all perturbed by this gesture. I stare at him for a moment. Brandy is young and resplendent in looks. He must’ve been a college student or something, but I’m not quite sure. He doesn’t seem like he's ready to start a war in the living room so he can't be all that bad.
“What did you do before all of this?” I ask. I’m genuinely curious.
“You got an interview or something?” Mikkelen smirks, gorging down a waffle. He's a bellicose man with a gruff, northern accent, opposite Brandy. It's fascinating how they get along.
“I’ve been in the reserve for about two years now,” Brandy muttered as he joined us at the table. “Before that I was living in Sweden with my mother, bless her soul. She wanted to send me off to college but I refused and instead wanted to enlist, I figured there’d be more opportunity in the army and I could grow in my own way. So I was in the Swedish army for about a year and then I got transferred over here for another year.”
“Is that where you met Mikkelen?”
Brandy belts out a colorless laugh. The glass of orange juice is shaking. “Mikkelen was in Turkey. He joined me just this last month.”
I stare at the many decorated scars on Mikkelen’s face. Being this close to him I also never noticed that his eye is miserably gray and incredibly watery, so much so that he has to grab a napkin and wipe the running tears from it.
“A bullet was lodged into his right eye during a very intense combat in Konya years ago,” Brandy muttered lazily, as he filled his orifice with waffles. “Rough times, kid.”
“You dress it up so theatrically, Brandy. It was merely a mission, just like any other. Perhaps just a training day,” said Mikkelen, refraining from drying his eyes this time. “A few bullets got shot, a few people died, but the job got done. Nothing more, nothing less. A simple tale.”
“Are you going to tell him then?”
Mikkelen draws a silent breath. His eyes rake Brandy studiously and then he abruptly addresses me like an irritated falcon. “There were just five of us. Three Swedes, one American private, and one American commander. We were tasked to keep guard of a Turkish ambassador and we were about to make it to his home when we were ambushed. Ringed on all sides of us were hordes of Turkish soldiers ready to strike. Our commander surrendered and told them we were ready to make peace,” A choir of chirping birds outside of our house began to falter, like a static radio station. “But they fired anyway. We did our best to scramble, but all my men were dead right away. I managed to scrape by severely injured, and a hospitable woman took me in her house and hid me.”
"Why would they want to kill their own?"
"The locals say he was a greedy, troubled man. It seems they grew tired of him."
My waffle is suspended in my handed, lingering dry. “Is that where you got your scars?”
Mikkelen lingers for a moment before wiping his eye. “I was covered but I wasn’t safe. I knew I had to leave or they would eventually find me. All those three days I spent there I dodged the Turkish soldiers and tried to find the best strategy to survive. I knew somebody had betrayed us, but I didn’t care. What was imperative in my mind was survival. And one word stuck out to me above all else—Mary.”
“Hmm?”
“Like the Virgin Mary,” Brandy reiterated.
“Every time I nearly got shot, I said Mary, and I somehow made it through. And no, I’m not Christian. But I had hope. That’s all you can have when you’re surrounded by death and adversity. Hope, even the slightest flicker of it, can be the best armor you have.”
“Mary?” I mutter uncertaintly. My feelings toward Mikkelen are surely ambivalent.
Upstairs the door creaks open and Matteo starts to appear from the staircase rather sluggishly. Through glistening moppy hair, he’s dressed in an aquamarine bathrobe and striped pajamas.
“Thanks again for making breakfast Brandy, I’m starving,” Matteo slumps beside me grabbing a waffle and chugging down some orange juice. Matteo draws an exaggerated breath as the glass hits the table rather resoundingly. “So, what’d I miss?”
The day goes by pretty slowly. I go to open the door to get some fresh air but I am automatically impeded by Mikkelen as he fervently slams it shut.
“What are you doing?” He asks.
“Getting some fresh air,” I say.
“Not allowed. Government orders are to stay inside until further notice. You or your brother could be infected, so it’s for the best you nest in here for a bit.”
I desperately wanted to point out that they’re allowed to go outside scott-free so what would a little fresh air do. But it wouldn’t be a conducive argument and it would look incredibly bratty. I sit by the tv and try to play some more Eat or Die, but I’ve already finished the game and the only other game I have besides that is GTA 5. But I’m not really in the mood to steal cars and kill people. I sneak to the back porch without Brandy or Mikkelen spotting me.
The air is hot and dry and the sun is beginning to ripen as the day blossoms into the afternoon. Matteo is sitting on a navy blue cot, staring aimlessly at the trees as he sips on lemonade. This seems to tickle me in a funny way. I join him on a green cot, propped right beside him.
“Aren’t you scared?” I ask.
Matteo took in another sip, breathed out, and says, “Nope. Why should I be? It’s very peaceful out today, though, no?”
“I’m scared for you Matt. And for me. The virus got Abuela first, then it was Bernardo, what if it comes for you or me next?”
“Remember that time in kindergarten when you got a cold and you thought you had the flu?”
“Yeah, I didn’t come to school the next day because I thought I was gonna die.”
“And did you?”
“No, but dad whipped me for missing class though .”
“Or that one time you thought you were going to drown and the lifeguard was there to pick you up? Things may have seemed bad, Addis, but they always got better.”
“But seriously, what if it happens though?”
“Well,” says Matteo, smacking his lips. “I’m here with you right now and the sun is shining. What can’t top that.”
“What about Paula? Have you talked to her? She must be worried.”
“She’s fine,” he says.
I don’t bother saying anything else. Despite what he says, he seems to be in his own little head. And for some reason, I can’t help but think he wasn’t being entirely truthful about Paula. However, that clouds over my mind as the sun beats on my face. A small scorpion scuttles from a shrub nearby and then scuttles away.
The next day I wake up to pretty much the same thing, except I barricade myself in my room the whole time. I drop by here and there for some food in the fridge but that’s about it. The food is nearly out. I look out the veranda and see Brandy and Mikkelen arguing in Swedish. Perhaps something went wrong and they’re hiding something from us. I see Matteo sitting in the living room by himself, scratching his head as he stares at his phone.
“Hey, you alright?
“Sure,” said Matteo and he stepped out into the back porch.
I don’t know what’s distressing him, but it’s really unnerving to see. Hopefully he gets better.
Later in the evening, I get a sudden call. I’m in my room, so no one’s around to swoop into the situation. It’s from Paula, so I tentatively pick up the call.
“Hey Addis, is Matt there?” Paula’s voice is shaking as if she’s about to burst into tears.
“No, I think he’s been expecting a call from you,” I say.
“Yeah…about that. I can’t. That’s actually why I called you. My family and I are leaving for Nevada soon, they think the infection might’ve not reached there yet. And well...to tell Matt this it would um…”
“Crush him?” I say.
“Obliterate him. Look, I can’t be with your brother. I don’t want him to get infected trying to come after me. I want him to be safe. And Addis there’s-“
She cuts off completely, and I didn’t hear from her again. I don’t know if it’s the static or if she just didn’t wanna talk to me. Or maybe she got infected. I don’t know. But maybe not knowing is a great thing.
“Wake up! Wake up boy!” the soft accent of Brandy’s voice revives me the next morning, or is it noon?
“I think you better see this. It’s your brother, he’s been acting up a bit.”
I rush downstairs with the soldier and to my very eyes, I see a colorless masked face doubled down coughing blood. Matteo's trembling, barely able to stand himself up.
“We have to take you to a hospital, Matteo! I knew this would happen!”
“The hospitals are closed. Too many people have hoarded them and they’ve run out of occupancy,” says Brandy. “The best we can do is grab some ibuprofen and first aid.”
“We don’t have those!” I yelp. Matteo’s eyes are losing vigor. He looks at me imploringly and sputters “Did P-Paula ever call back?” and then he slumps to the floor, motionless. I struggle to pick up his body as hot tears trickles on his face.
“Matt, please don’t leave me. Please wake up!”
Suddenly the door cries out, banging intensely, wanting to be heard.
Brandy and Mikkelen share distressed looks.
“They’re here,” says Brandy.
“What’s here?”
“Make sure to steer them back as best as you can. I’ll go with the boy,” Brandy says with commanding fervor.
“What’s going on?” I ask. My body is oscillating.
“Open your ears you foolish boy, haven’t you ever considered what’s outside?” Mikkelen shouts.
I listened closely. The usual chattering I had heard from the military men is replaced by cold, breathless, raspings. They're hungering for flesh, blood, and vengeance.
“They were infected?” I say, somewhat dumbstruck by this realization.
“Of course they were! Why do you think I was telling Brandy yesterday to leave? But he wanted to play the valiant—”
The door bursts open and a crop of lethargic, veinous, pasty men dressed in army uniforms scrambled right in. They first pounce on Mikkelen, who puts up a terrific fight as he pummels the zombie right in the cheekbones.
“Go then, go! I’ll do my best to hold them off!”
Brandy starts shooting from his automatic rifle, blasting a few of the infected to the hardwood of the floor. “Come on!” he bellows, gesturing to me.
I hear another odd sound. It sounds familiar yet totally raspy, dark, and unforgivable. Matteo rises from the ashes and joins the crew of army men. He runs to me but Brandy shoots him down. I stifle the urge to burst into tears and pummel Brandy to the ground.
“Sorry,” says Brandy. "But he had to go."
“Aaargh!” Mikkelen shouts. He's overburdened by the horde. The sound of his flesh being eaten and torn reverberates across the room. Nothing but his hand can be seen sticking out from the surrounding mob.
I scamper upstairs to Matteo’s room and freeze when I reach the carpet. My eyes swim through the cloud of bright light and dust as it spots his two machetes and his side strap backpack. I figure if there’s ever a better time to grab this, it would be now.
Brandy and I run through the back porch but there is still a considerable army of camo-colored creatures zealously scampering toward us. We shred past a couple of houses and nearly make it to a shrubby hill that leads to the main road when Brandy stops wearily. There's a red snot drooping down his lips.
He stares rigidly at me and rasps “G-Go! Go before it’s too late. F-Follow wherever the road takes you!” He drops dead to the ground. I smear the tears from my wrist and run before the zombies could congregate around the body.
Incredulously I make it to the road, the same one that leads to the shopping center. There are a bunch of SUVs, trucks, and sedans scattered all over the pavement. But worst of all, to my arrant detriment, are the people that are loitering by the cars. They stand still, oddly still, as if expecting a warm arrival from someone. And then their grueling cold faces land on mine and I know, as if from a throbbing cancer in the back of my head, that I’m in trouble. I turn around and run but they are incredibly fast. One is already starting to grab the back of my shirt but I slice through his head and throw myself over the hill that’s embanked by the road. I don’t know what will meet me down there but it's better than being bit.
I stray near hills and small roads just in case I meet a few more of them. By now, It’s around golden hour and I could already see the usual deep orange sunset start to hue behind the palm trees. I feel lost and alone. Already I miss my home and the annoying faces of Matteo, Bernardo, and Abuela. I already miss Brandy as well. I thought things would be peaceful by staying with Matteo and those soldiers. I thought things would start to revert to how it once was, but I was dead wrong.
I sit by a curb, looking out into the sunset, and start to dissolve into tears. I know guys aren’t supposed to cry, and Bernardo told me it doesn’t look cute either, but I can’t help it knowing that I might just die at any moment, alone and forgotten.
Up ahead I see a small Dollar store, shrouded by a few green prickly shrubs, and not too far behind it is a Subway store. Somehow, I’ve made it to a local shopping center.
I’m tempted to go to the Subway, but I fear a hidden mob, so I go into the small Dollar store and I grab and eat whatever I can find. After stuffing myself in chocolate, Slim Jims, and honeybuns, I go to the counter and put down a twenty-dollar bill. The store owner has left so it’s just me. I stuff whatever remnants I have left and leave.
After walking for what feels like thirty minutes, I accidentally arrive on another highway. But this highway is much bigger and rather familiar. I recognize the skyline, and I shudder. I’m migrating toward downtown Phoenix.
Surprisingly, yet rather fortunate for me, this highway is sparse with cars and not many wandering people. They all must’ve camped in the city. I follow the long winding pavement until I see a sign that’s the size of a billboard, stamped by the railings, It has a huge black arrow pointing straight toward the city and it reads The X Zone.
Comments (0)
See all