Zombies in Saudi Arabia

By Andy Ibrahim

Zombies in Saudi Arabia follows sisters Sara and Malak, and their two best friends who live ordinary lives in the Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia. The girls notice a series of strange events popping up around them, followed by a warning from the military, it soon becomes clear that something is horribly wrong. Things around them fall into chaos, and the dead begin to rise – and beneath the scorching Arabian sun, they’re more dangerous than anyone could have possibly imagined. Sara and her friends soon find themselves thrust into a dangerous world filled with undead and living enemies. Teaming up with Sara’s co-worker Rakan and his cousin, the girls set out to locate their parents and seek answers. On the way, they discover the unnerving truth behind the zombies – and how Sara might be the only one who can stop them. With suspicion running rampant and nobody safe to trust, will Sara and her friends be able to uncover the secrets behind the virus? Or will Saudi Arabia – and the entire world – fall to ruin?

Check out the book trailer on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QH-1LEPoxrI

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy Ibrahim
• Release date: Apr 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781999222215

Book preview

Chapter 1

The perfect tone of black transformed into a creamy rich brown as I poured steaming skim milk in my drip coffee. I didn’t mix it, mesmerized by how it naturally blended, obtaining the perfect consistency and color. I extended my hand to pick up the cup of freshly brewed coffee, the rim touching my lower lip. The warm ceramic tingled my mouth as the toasty aroma floated through the air, and I inhaled the roasted scent before taking my first sip, savoring the fullness and boldness as it trickled down my throat.

On my left stood a glass wall which overlooked a two-way multiple lane street, cars bumper to bumper—busy as usual at this time of day. Prince Turkey Street could be one of the busiest streets in Al-khobar, a city on the east coast of the country located in the Eastern Province known for its progressive attitude and oil production. Wealthy in more ways than one, the street was home to dozens of coffeehouse chains and more restaurants on either side of the palm tree-decorated strip. It was a place where all the world’s cuisines met in harmony, far from conflict. Tall buildings rose beside one another, shadowing the sun. If one looked close—behind all the buildings, the mirages, and the noises—in the distance, one could see a glimpse of the Persian Gulf with the sun glittering an alluring shade of blue on its soft, wavy surface.

Visible condensation on the glass drew my attention as the city faded to a blurry background. The drops became my prime focus, subtle prints left by humidity. I reached over with my finger, and using the tip, I wrote S-A-R-A, the glass gently tickling my skin. The busy outside world was muted behind the thick walls, and I only heard parts of conversations around me; laugher, utensils, and chairs being shuffled with the smell of coffee, freshly baked pastries, and spices like cardamom swirling with a mixture of perfumes floating through the air vents.

This was our favorite place along the waterfront: a small local coffee shop, and the only one that served all-day breakfast. It was one of the coffee shops in town that didn’t have partitions dividing each table from the other, creating an isolated atmosphere and a false sense of privacy. "If I wanted to eat in a box, I would have stayed home, thank you very much," I always protested, but more restaurants ditched this box layout. It was a custom that had slowly changed and was perhaps on the verge of disappearing—in some parts of the country at least. We loved hanging out here. We stayed for hours until our coffees went flat, but our conversations never did. On this summer afternoon, there was not a cloud visible over the land where rainy days were perceived as ideal weather. Like most people here, I liked the sun, but too much of a good thing could be bad. The temperature outside sat at 47 °C with a humidity of 83%, but despite that, everyone around me was enjoying their steaming hot beverages. Ah, just another day in Saudi Arabia.

Sara, pass the milk, a voice interrupted my thoughts.

Oh sorry, May. It’s all gone. I lightly shook the empty ceramic milk jug.

Here you go. Deema passed her another jug. It's cold, though.

Thanks, May replied, adding it to her hot cup of French pressed.

Sugar? I asked, pushing a pot of sugar across the table. She shook her head.

We always got together after work for coffee or sometimes an early dinner, either meeting up in a coffee shop or a restaurant or a mall. That narrowed down all the options.

With a few extra exceptions, these girls were my family. My circle. My people. With them, I felt like I belonged. Deep inside, I always felt different and didn’t fit into any particular group, but I couldn’t always be around them. Working kept us all busy. I was a management analyst at an oil company. I liked it there, and I was good at my job. I considered myself a hard worker and getting promoted after only six months of getting that job only backed up my theory. May worked as an IT in an all-girl private school. How she was able to graduate and get a job with her bachelor’s GPA score remained a mystery to many. An insider tip: what she lacked in skills she compensated in what we called "the power of wastta"—connections and knowing the right people in the right places at the right time—and that was important, more so than obtaining a degree. Nepotism at its finest, or so they said. Nonetheless, May proved to be worthy. She knew her way around any code, and she could hack anything.

My new supervisor has been demanding I put in double the overtime, Deema complained. He's driving me crazy.

He just doesn't like you, May said. She had always been a blunt, in-your-face type of girl.

Tell us what you really think, I interjected.

I mean, stop doing everything he says, May added, throwing her arms in the air.

Do we need to go over the definition of a ‘boss’ again? I asked, raising one eyebrow.

May rolled her eyes. Saying no every now and then wouldn’t be the end of the world. May added another priceless piece of advice to her previous golden one.

Deema sighed. The only thing keeping me sane is Eid vacation is close. I need to get away. Being in the hospital all those hours can get to you.

Eid was a celebration Muslims had twice a year—a time of joy and happiness where we got stuck with our relatives, loved ones, and not so loved ones, for a few hours. Good times. The first Eid was called Eid Al-fitir, which followed Ramadan, a month-long fasting. The second was Eid Al-adha, which followed the annual pilgrimage. We were between Eids, in that period where everyone was to readjust their biological clocks to pre-Ramadan. In Ramadan, the whole country collectively changed its schedule. The working hours were shortened, the sleeping hours were pushed back, and everything in between adapted to this temporary transition.

Everything flipped upside-down in a matter of one night. People fasted until sundown and stayed up late hours so the stores opened later and stayed that way longer. The restaurants didn't expect customers until a little before sunset, and the streets outside had low activity under the bright sun. At night, that all changed. The smell of food and coffee spread throughout the city where all the streets were decorated with lights, stars, crescent, and lanterns that shone under the shimmering moon. The spirit of giving, loving, and helping was multiplied, and became so strong it had a physical presence, walking among the people to remind them to love one another and give. It had been a month since Eid Al-fitir, and yet many places still had their Ramadan decorations up.

Eid is not until another month and a half, May pointed out.

You’re full of joyful support today, aren't you? I said, looking straight at her.

I'm just saying. She shrugged, drinking her coffee.

Any plans for next weekend? Deema asked while she adjusted her black-framed glasses.

This was the inevitable question we always asked one another when we wanted to do something other than our usual nothing we seemed to do so well.

Hmmm…nope, not really, May replied.

A child’s sharp scream rose above all the other background noise but failed to slow down any discussions. I glimpsed over at the next table where a five-year-old was having a tantrum then turned back to Deema. Not that I know of, I said.

So, let's do something—and soon before I lose it! Deema said in a higher voice.

She needed a break in the routine from her nurse duties in a public hospital in Dammam. I always knew she would get into medicine. Ever since she was in middle school, she was always the type who loved helping and didn't mind the sight of blood.

Go away for the weekend? she asked, but it sounded more like an order.

I don't know. My budget took a huge hit, I said with an artificial sad tone, giving her a puppy-dog face, with all the electronics that start with an ‘I’ and a certain fruit we just had to have. I picked up my phone and waved it at her.

Deema took my objection into consideration and came up with a solution. Somewhere close?

Qatar is out of the question, May murmured under her breath.

How about Kuwait or Dubai? Deema asked.

Kuwait…or…Dubai? I weighed the two options. We referred to the UAE as Dubai like it was a country on its own, but didn’t everyone? Dubai sounds like a doable idea, I said, quickly analyzing the expenses and coming up with the answer. Although Kuwait was closer in distance, depending on the season it could be cheaper to fly to the UAE than Kuwait. Plus, we always found better hotel deals in Dubai. It was more convenient all in all, and besides, the flight was only an hour and twenty minutes.

May nodded while her eyes went wide. S-h-o-p-p-i-n-g.

More like window-shopping for me, I said to May, but, I can enjoy the leather scenery.

So, Dubai is a possibility. I’ll look up the flights, and you check the hotel rates, Deema addressed May.

And what is she gonna do? May asked, pointing at me.

I would love to do all the work while you relax. I displayed my best smirk and took a sip of my coffee. Sarcasm was a second language to everyone around me. If they didn't speak it, they understood it. I should have come with a manual. (Everything you need to know when talking to me. Chapter 1. Listen to everything I say and digest the opposite meaning).

My phone vibrated on the table, sending a ripple effect throughout its surface. I hated leaving the phone on the ringing mode. I found the abrupt sound disruptive. Glancing down at the screen, I saw that it blinked Raj.

Oh, the driver is here, I declared, fishing in my bag for my wallet.

I can’t wait until we get to drive our own cars, May said.

I paused and gave her an uncertain look. May came from a conservative family, which translated to it didn’t matter if there was a royal decree lifting the ban. Her family would never accept it. Which brought on the second obstacle: the social ban. I smiled and said nothing.

Where are you going? Deema asked. We just got here. We haven't even eaten yet.

I know, but I have an appointment at Luscious Hair, I said, referring to the top salon in the city. I needed to get my long, out-of-control, chestnut-brown hair cut or trimmed or something. It hung a little past my shoulders, complementing my olive skin and wide, almond Arabian eyes—at least I thought so.

That reminds me. I wanna get my hair retouched, May thought out loud. She dyed her straight short hair a light brown, which looked nice with her equally light skin and brown eyes.

Maybe I'll get mine done in Dubai, Deema said, daydreaming. She had long, wavy dark hair and even darker eyes with a golden tan emphasizing her Bedouin features. I didn't think I’d be able to pull off that length: it seemed like a lot of work.

Where is that wallet? I asked my bag.

I wanted to catch a ride with you, May said.

Sure. I'll send the driver back to pick you up whenever you’re done, and we'll head back home together, I said. Sound good?

Perfect. May was not only one of my best friends, but she was also a neighbor and we went way back.

I started hitting my bag. Where did things hide in bags?

When I’d dumped out my bag and still hadn’t found it, Deema spoke up, displaying the world-renowned generosity Saudis were known for. Forget it. It's on me. You'll get us next time.

My gaze flickered to May, who took a sip of her coffee, never offering to pay for anything. It wasn’t worth fighting over.

Thanks! I gave both a quick kiss on the cheek. Laters.

The second I exited the coffee shop, I was slammed with a flash of Arabian sun, followed by a heatwave carrying a breeze of sea salt and summer. Oh, God, I muttered, placing my hand over my eyes.

Just when I thought the heat was bearable, I got the reminder that no one could adapt to this. It was too hot. The only reason I could function—at least what I considered functioning—normally and carry on my day-to-day life without self-combusting was mostly staying indoors where there was central air conditioning. Why did we drink hot coffee, again?

I spotted our pearly white-colored SUV idling in the parking lot. Prancing toward the vehicle, I found myself smiling despite the heat. The birds sang in the background and guys danced in their cars with the windows rolled down and the music blasting. Kids raced past me to the restaurant door. It was a good place to be.

I approached the back bumper of the car. On the left side over the lights, there were brown stains with tails. It looked like a spatter of something, caking under the rays. Is that blood? Nah, it’s probably oil. As I climbed into the car, the sun bombarded my vision, splashing dark spots across a figure sitting in the back seat. Sliding myself in and out of the light, the figure came into full color.

Malak, hey! I threw my arms around her and hugged her as tight as I could. I thought you were working late tonight.

Yeah, I was, but I managed to wrap things up a little earlier than I expected, Malak said.

My heart beat with delight and a bigger smile plastered itself on my face. I left my hands wrapped around her for a few seconds longer, then finally allowed her some space. It felt like I barely ever got the chance to see her since she didn't live in Saudi Arabia anymore. Malak had moved to Sharjah, UAE for work, but she had been relocated to Saudi for six months. It had only been a week since she’d been back, and we were determined to spend as much time as we could together. Being apart from her was one of the hardest things I had to go through. We were inseparable, and for the first time in our lives, we lived in two different time zones. An hour. A full hour’s difference. But she was here now, in my time zone.

Malak was a twenty-four-year-old journalist working at a well-known firm. She covered general issues but specialized in certain topics like developments and international influences on the country. We looked so much alike. She had my hair color although hers was a little shorter and straighter. We also had the same eye and skin color. Everyone who saw us at first glance thought we were twins—not identical but very similar. However, I was older and she was taller, and her nose was narrower.

Great. I have an appointment at the salon to get my hair done, I explained. Ditch?

Yeah! Let’s pick up some food and go home and watch a movie—she slipped her hand into mine—and catch up.

Sure, I said and told Raj to take us home then go back for May. I tightened my fingers around Malak’s hand. We always held hands, and by the strength of the grip, we would know exactly what the other one was feeling. With a single glance, we read each other’s minds. We could tell people didn't understand how we could have a full conversation without saying a single word, but it didn't bother us. They just didn't get sisters.

Chapter 2

An unknown location. The empty quarter, Saudi Arabia.

Three months earlier

H ow could this happen? a well-built man asked as he all but sprinted along the marble, his shoes squeaking aggressively.

Sir, a young man dressed in a tan camouflage uniform replied, there is no time to waste. We need to get you out of here at once. An insignia of two stars and stripe was displayed proudly on his shoulder, ranking him as a first lieutenant. He swung both doors open and nodded for his superior to step out before him.

Son, I need answers, said the bulky man, eyes wide open and teeth clenched. His expression grew furious. He walked through the doors exiting onto the building’s rooftop, and the heat hit them quick and hard like removing the lid off a boiling pot while leaning directly over it.

The doors closed behind them before opening again, and a man with urgency in his eyes rushed out. Lieutenant general! I think it’s time to order the attack, he yelled, trying to cut through the roar of the helicopter. The man was a researcher in the facility below. He wore a serious expression alongside a white lab coat.

Civic action has been deployed. The target will hit in ninety minutes, the lieutenant general said, lifting his head while rotating around to face the researcher standing only a few steps away from the helicopter pad. I need a confirmation that everything is under control, if you follow?

Protocols have taken effect. The place is under lockdown, sir, the researcher assured, certain.

Nothing in, nothing out. Is that correct, Doctor?

Yes, sir, the researcher confirmed.

The first lieutenant turned to the pilot, lifting his thumb to eye level. Looking over his shoulder to the man in white, he nodded before taking precise steps away from him. He ducked down and rushed toward the helicopter.

When are you sending a helicopter to come back for me and the surviving facility members? the researcher screamed over the sound with all the voice he could muster.

It won’t be long, the lieutenant general said as he stepped into the helicopter, sliding into his seat. The first lieutenant general nodded to the researcher with a hint of a furrowed brow. The first lieutenant hesitated for one sweat drop then followed his commander into the helicopter. He took his seat next to the window, looking a little confused.

Sir, we did not receive any orders for an evacuation phase.

Because there is none, the lieutenant general said treacherously, eyes cold. He pushed his chest out as he adjusted the headset over his ears.

You—

Are you questioning my authority? The lieutenant general narrowed his eyes.

No, sir. The first lieutenant lowered his gaze and adjusted his seatbelt. He looked out the window, feeling bad for the researcher who was waving enthusiastically to them, not knowing that this would be the last time he saw them—or anyone else for that matter.

The helicopter lifted upward, roaring to the wind as it changed direction and soared over nothing but sand. A solid ten minutes went by without any of them uttering another word.

The first lieutenant stared out the window, looking at the sea of golden sand below and wondering what would happen to the men still alive in the facility. Men that had families waiting for them, kids excited to show their fathers their school accomplishments and grades. All outside communication was cut off with the research facility. No one knew what happened there and no one would. But he assured himself that the military knew best and had this under control. He should not question them. Soon, he’d be home with his wife and little kid and this would all be over.

He detected a moving object beneath them. Something down there in the desert was moving, and it was not an animal.

What is that? he asked. He tilted his head and moved closer to the glass window, zeroing in on the object. Sir, I think there is something down there—

The first lieutenant was stopped mid-sentence when he turned to see a gun aimed straight at him. His pupils dilated and his lips parted before he was able to speak another letter. One bullet to the head, point blank, and the world went black. He was silenced for good.

Dispose of the body, and the gun, the lieutenant general said, and connect me to Quartz base immediately.

The copilot got out of his seat and made his way to the back. He unblocked the seatbelt over the fresh dead corpse, and couldn’t help but check the uniform, the green Saudi flag patched on his right arm now red with blood. Without hesitation, he slid the door open and dumped the body overboard. He would be buried in the sand, never to be discovered. His family would never know what happened to him.

The lieutenant general switched on the safety on his gun and passed it to the copilot, wiping the blood off his chin. Then he looked down at his phone. A smile spread across his face as he held it to his ear.

Light it up, he commanded to the person on the other end. A thrill revealed itself through his expression.

Chapter 3

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of a truck backing up traveled through the window a few steps from my bed. A whistle mimicking the truck sound came from within the bedroom, and I shuffled the blanket, looking for my phone to check the time.

Where are you? I muttered in a sluggish voice. I dug my hands under the sheets and deeper between the pillows. Found it. What do I do in my sleep anyway? I never knew how everything ended up in random, tucked away places. Holding my phone in front of my face, I managed to open one eye to read the screen. It was too early. Some light had already managed to penetrate the gray blackout curtains, casting a glow over my eyelids. The phone slipped out of my hand, landing straight on my cheek. I screeched and Plumpy, my bird, mimicked the tone I made. Okay, I'm awake now. Sitting up, the phone bounced off my face and found its way safely back to the bed. Three missed calls flashed on the screen. The message icon blinked in the corner, as visible as the words. I scanned through the messages.

Deema: Girls, breakfast tom?

Malak: Yeah! Time? Location?

May: I'm in. Where?

Deema: The usual?

May: Sounds good. 9:30?

Malak: 9:30.

Deema: Ok.

May: Sara?

Malak: I think she's sleeping. We stayed up late. I’ll wake her up in the morning.

May: Ok see ya tom morning!

Deema: Goodnight.

Malak: Nighty night.

With one eye, one hand, and the one cheek that didn't hurt, I typed my reply.

Sara: Got the memo. 9:30 No need to wake me up.

I set the alarm for 8:30 a.m. and placed the device next to my pillow. Go back to sleep, Plumpy, I said and rolled over to the other side. The pillow’s warmth burned my skin and I flipped the pillow to the other side. I sank my face in the cool cotton, allowing it to comfort me. Hugging the sheets tight, my blinks became heavier. I was caught in a random string of thoughts, where sense and logic were merely suggestions. Then I drifted off, and my mind went into a freefall.

The next thing I remembered was the alarm sounding off, which encouraged Plumpy to sing along. I need to change that tone. And bird, I said, picking up the phone and disabling the alarm.

I lay there for a few minutes, thinking of everything and nothing, and giving my body and mind time to sync up. I dragged myself out of bed and drew the curtains open. Beyond the backyard walls stood a mini market in the corner, in front of it a narrow two-way road separated by a curb with palm trees. The mini market was recognized by a dusty old sign hanging from it. A sign that was cleaned last week but hung with layers of dust, proof it survived seven days and nights. The store greeted costumers in the early, hot morning, tweens running out with caffeinated drinks ready to unleash their energy.

I walked over to the orange rectangular cage—home of Plumpy, my overweight, blue lovebird roommate who impatiently waited for the morning sun.

Good morning, you, I said, my hand placed on the bars. Plumpy bounced heavily on his horizontal bar. Let me out let me out. I opened the cage door and he chippered as he passed me. I won’t crap on your clothes this time, he promised. The blue bird flew above me, singing his new truck morning song while he socialized with all my stuff. Every day, I let him out of his cage a little. I thought this would decrease his weight but he only seemed to find more food on his daily flights.

I made my way to the bathroom, yawning and trying desperately to exhale the sleep from my body. I’d barely slept the night before. Malak and I were up watching a low-budget horror movie that had come highly recommended by May, who is a die-hard horror fan. She watched every film in the genre made from the early 50s to present day. Note to self: don't ever listen to her again. Truthfully, I still wasn’t sure how she rated movies.

I jumped in the shower, dried my hair straight, and slipped on tights and a plain shirt. It didn't matter what I chose, I would be wearing an abaya—a loose-fitting full-length robe—that covered everything I wore underneath. So, I got away with wearing anything, which made the getup a blessing in disguise. Although, my opinion on the matter varied depending on the context. I sat facing the vanity and applied my tar-black eyeliner. I liked to think it made my brown eyes pop. A sweep of coral blush on my cheeks, and a dab of raspberry-red gloss and I was done. Since I didn’t show off my outfit, jewelry had become a part of my everyday ensemble. I overcompensated with flashy bracelets and rings.

A single knock came at the door.

Come in, Malak. I assumed.

Good, you’re ready, Malak said, leaning against the doorway frame. She had her hair up in a pony, wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans. I came in twenty minutes ago you were in the shower.

I’m almost done. You look nice. Her natural morning makeup with a touch of summer made mine seem over the top. I looked around. Plumpy was busy searching for something to snack on in a corner bookshelf.

Thanks. Did you put on some weight? she asked, studying me from head to toe. That top looks a little tight.

I didn't gain any weight, I snarled, expanding the clingy fabric. The shirt shrunk.

You’ve had it forever. How do you explain it suddenly shrinking?

Global warming? I reached for the milky-blue abaya hanging on the open closet door and slipped it on.

Uh-huh. Anyway, I'll be in the living room. She disappeared into the hallway, leaving the door ajar.

I smiled. I loved having her back. Ever since I could remember, it had always been her and me—in addition to the couple of maids we’d had throughout the years that had become extended family members. Our parents traveled a lot, leaving us to grow up alone, together. Heading back to the vanity, I picked up a bottle of my favorite perfume and emptied a massive sum of it onto my abaya. Well, not massive to me. The concept of smelling good is very vital. It’s a Saudi thing, I always justified. To most people here, radiating a strong scent is as important as personal hygiene. Although, I have received plenty of complaints criticizing my overwhelming scent. It made me reorganize I might have a perfume problem. Maybe. I stood to face the mirror for a final check before grabbing my purse. Throwing the veil over my shoulders, I started out of the bedroom but stopped to glance around.

For a few seconds, I struggled to move, as if there was an invisible force slithering around my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to ease the pressure. A warning serpentined toward me, and my cheek felt hot where the phone landed. It’s nothing. This is going to be a good day. I brushed it off. I scooped Plumpy in my hand and returned him back to his home. I closed the door behind me and darted toward the stairs.

Malak, I said, slipping my loafers on and making my way down the stairs all at once. Did the driver arrive?

Though we were legally allowed to drive, no arrangements have been made to pave the way for that new lifestyle. Until then, we fell back on our old ways. With drivers taking us where we needed to go. Malak didn’t live here and was only in town temporarily to concern herself with making these arrangements. Everything was happening so slow yet so fast.

No, not yet. He says he needs another fifteen minutes. She stroked a brush over her index nail. The smell of nail polish filled the air.

What color? I asked, inching closer. A deep red painted flawlessly on the tip of her spread out fingers, reflecting the bold color. She applied the hue to her last unpolished nail and started waving her hands, air-drying them.

Nice. Give me, I said, taking the bottle of every-girl’s-must-have lacquer color. Like the perfect abaya that looks good on every occasion, the ebony liquid liner that deepened any brown eyes, and the oud oil that mixed well with all other scents. The essentials.

After I applied polish to my nails, I waved and blew on them. It dried faster that way, I thought, nodding away while Malak talked.

That's the problem with the girls. They hang so much of their hopes and dreams on something unknown and they fail to take into account that marriage is not the answer to everything! It might not be the happy ending they are looking for… Malak’s voice trailed off in the background.

I was in agreement with her, and she held my full attention until something behind her diverted my focus.

Squinting, I walked past her. Something is wrong.

"Yeah, something is wrong, Malak continued. We need to talk to Deema. We're being fed these ideas. Oh and don’t get me started on Grandma…" Her voice fell away once more as I approached the fish tank a few steps from the sofa. The clean, transparent water revealed something odd about the fish swimming within. I leaned closer to get a better view.

What are you doing? I heard her yell.

There's something wrong with the fish, I said, and Malak joined me to investigate.

The fish were not swimming, instead suspended in the water as if they were floating in dark space, lopsided on the surface. Their scales were a blueish green color with some white parts and their gray eyes were sunken in. One of them was missing a few fins, covered in what looked like rot. Yet, they still lived.

What’s wrong with Mom’s goldfish? I muttered under my breath.

Are they dead? she whispered as if not wanting them to hear.

"Do they look dead? I deflected the question. They’re still moving."

How can they move if they're dead?

They’re obviously not dead, Malak. I rolled my eyes and stared at their lifeless faces, kneeling as close as I could to the water. They’re sick. Dying, I guess.

They smell like they already did.

A moist, earthy smell blew over me, with an undertone of something else. Something sour.

That's how fish smell, I said, nearing the glass. One fish was still. I wanted to touch it but my nails were still wet. Hand me something to poke it with, I told Malak while carefully removing the aquarium’s black lid, not shifting my focus from the immobile fish. Malak shuffled away. The other fish were moving funny. Their small bodies twitched convulsively as if a current of electricity passed through the water. Malak appeared next to me with a glass jar in her hand and pulled out a fragrance stick.

Really? I said, eyeing the end of the stick, which had been dipped in jasmine and lavender fragrance oil.

She shrugged. It’s all I could find.

At least it smells good, I said. Extending the stick over the tank, I poked