35
It rains inside. Half the wall is down, bricks still falling at random. There is fire. Smoke. Debris. My ears ring. What just happened? The noise, the blast, an explosion! Those people. Somewhere there, behind the fuming parts, there is a mother I promised was going home. Plus a bunch of other people who would have been alive, if I just hadn’t taken this job. Or come to this hospital. Or opened the door.
My stomach turns.
My breath vanishes.
I killed them! I killed them. I…killed them all. My head stings and I hope this is the final one. Please?! But it’s not. In a distant reality, the smells and sounds of destruction lure me back. I check my own body. I’m fine. Just me. Everything else is ashes and debris. Pieces of concrete, twisted metal, burnt body parts.
The cameras still watch me, and it sickens me even more. I force myself to stand and drop the gun. “You sick fuckers!” I cry upwards, with the strength of seven hundred and forty-eight curses. “What do you want from me?”49
Then I hear steps. People!
“I’m here!”
A few heavily armed men turn the corner and I cross my hands behind my head, get down on my knees to avoid any misunderstanding. I try: “Here! Help! These people are hurt!” But once the smoke cleared, I saw it wasn’t the police coming. Walking in my direction were heavy-framed men in black clothes and shades. Behind them, nurses, doctors, hospital employees…all staring at me, unphased by the catastrophe.
“Hurry!” I yell, “They’re here, in this room!”
Quivering red flames lit the long, wet hallway. Barely. And in that partial, flickering darkness I can see their eyes gleaming an intense shade of yellow. I see them moving, opening the way to someone coming from the back. Sparks explode everywhere and lights turn on. She’s right in front of me.
Dr. Mehta?
“Up!” she orders.
Her humanoids watch me stand.
What do I do?
What do I do?
What do I do?
What do I do?
I obey and stand, slowly, then aim at a better position to resist. Though the very moment I command my legs to advance, they come forward too. I stop, they stop. Think again, Yinyin. The stairs. I tell my body to move, and they follow. Like a shadow. How can they read my mind if I am not connected?! Or am I?
My hand, I raise it in front of one eye, so I can still see them. My palm reflects a yellow glow. Shit. How is it I can’t hear their thinking, then? It doesn’t matter. You know what to do, Yinyin. I scan the place for cameras. The pain—what if they turn it on again? Breathe. Let the qi flow. No time for fear.
Slowly, steady, I move again.
This time they just watch. Are they confused? Unsure? Can they hear me guessing? Shut up, Yinyin. Clear your fucking mind.
“You can end this,” they say in unison.
What have I done!?
A memory comes, or a flash—who knows? The strange dream of Shifu. I am a butterfly. “If you’re in trouble, think butterflies,” he says. I feel stupid. That was just a dream. Wish I had a better idea. Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies!
The silence ticks and tocks. I search around. No help, none whatsoever.
This fucking Tigress won’t go without a fight. I stretch my wrists. Make my hands tight as a hammer. Light my qi on fire: calm and angry. “Where I come from, generals go to combat beside their army,” I tell the wires hanging from above.
The hum, I can hear it now. If these zombies are going to use my brain, so be it. “So what is it going to be?” They cock their guns. The bitch points and all the barrels aim at me. You are on your own, Yinyin. Get ready.
I visualize the fight. Hope they see it too. ‘Cause in my mind, they lose.
Then I pounce.
49. In China, sounds add an extra layer of meaning for words of all kinds. With numbers, even more. Number 748, for example, sound like ‘go die’.