James took a bite of his first meal of the day and recoiled. “Guy, did I order roasted corn?” He started to demand a refund, but his phone rang and he stopped to fish it out. On the screen, the caller ID read Sweetheart with three heart emojis. James picked up the call.
“My love,” his wife said into his ear.
“Sweetheart. How are you and my baby doing?”
Charity chuckled. “Baby hasn’t been born and you already love her more than me. Where are you, my love? Are you driving home?
James scratched his head. “Err– not yet. I’m looking for one more passenger, then, I will be on my way.”
“By ten thirty p.m.?”
He hated when Charity did this, talking like his Bolt driving wasn’t a sacrifice to put food on their table. But he knew to hold his tongue. “Just one more ride, sweetheart.”
“Do whatever you want. Good night.” James kissed her through the phone and hung up. He gave the vendor one final look of disgust and, taking another bite of the burnt shawarma, turned the ignition of his 2004 Toyota Corolla and the radio’s crackling echoed in the cabin.
And now, a public service announcement from the NCDC. Hypermalaria is a new and deadly disease caused by a genetically engineered subspecies of mosquitoes that mutates the malaria parasite into a highly virulent strain. These engineered mosquitoes were created to cannibalize other mosquitoes carrying the malaria parasite, activate it within themselves, and then die as a strategy to eliminate malaria once and for all. Unfortunately, these mosquitoes escaped containment due to a city-wide blackout before testing was concluded. Hypermalaria is transmitted to humans who ingest the remains of an infected mosquito. Infected patients suffer rapid symptoms of malaria and die within twelve hours.
James turned off the radio, he’d heard the infomercial so many times that he could recite it. Then his phone buzzed with a ride request. James accepted and let the app guide him to a stop beside a lanky young man in his early twenties who was wearing an undersized shirt over a faded pair of jeans.
“Good evening, sir, I’m going to Ejanla Crescent.”
James nodded to both statements and replied “Enter” and the young man got in the seat beside him.
“So how much is the ride on the app?” James asked.
“One thousand naira.”
“To Ejanla? Haba, no please,’ he complained. ‘Fuel prices have gone up again. Your bill is one thousand, seven hundred.”
The young man didn’t balk immediately. He looked to be considering the likelihood of finding another ride that late. His best option, his only option, was James, and they both knew it.
“One-five” he finally said.
“I’ll start the trip.”
They drove in silence for all of five seconds before the boy pulled out his phone and started listening to a podcast on speaker. An Igbo man’s baritone reached James.
“The problem is that these scientists always think they know more than God, eh? Tell me, who sent them to create their mosquitoes, eh?”
The young man settled into the passenger seat with a plastic bag full of beans, bit the tip off the bag, and started sucking the food out as he listened. James half-turned to look at him, astounded. “You listen to Ibe?”
“Yeah. I’m a third-year microbiology student so I like to stay informed about these things.”
“Really? What is your name?”
“Ireti. I’m planning to write my project on the hypermalaria parasite.” Another speaker came on the podcast and Ireti’s attention shifted again.
“Ibe this thing no clear again oh. We are outside the hospital with my cousin’s two sick children and they won’t allow us to enter. More than twenty families are standing outside but the doctors have locked the doors. Two people have died outside already. Kai, Ibe you need to see these bodies…”
The deaths started some three weeks ago. Accounts of sick people dying before the results of their blood tests were ready put everyone on alert. Then more reports flew around the internet and people started coming up with their own theories, forcing the NCDC to make the infomercial. That’s all it took for the bug spray shelves in every supermarket to go empty. Drug stores sold out all the typhoid and malaria medication they had, within hours. Still, people kept dying. James had seen one of the bodies before it became a body. The little girl looked like all the moisture had been sucked out of her skin. She held her joints stiff against relentless shivers, her mouth was a tight grimace, her eyes screamed in agony. She grew up next door to James and he had stood in a circle and prayed for her before she left for the hospital last Monday. By afternoon Charity called to say the girl was dead. James changed their window nets after that. He was the only son of aged parents and Charity had a baby on the way, there was no room to take chances.
He took another bite of his shawarma and turned to Ireti who was sitting quietly.
“How are you coping wi– kaff kaff!”
James gripped the steering wheel tight and tried to cough up the chunk of beef that went down wrong. Ireti jerked forward in his seat.
“Oga are you okay?”
When James started thumping his chest, Ireti whipped out a bottle of water three-quarters full and handed it over. James snatched the water and gulped desperately as he parked the car. The bottle was nearly empty before he felt relief. After taking a moment to catch his breath and wipe tears from his eyes, he set the squeezed bottle down and offered Ireti a hoarse thank you. A sharp honk made James and Ireti look up to see that cars were congesting at the next intersection, looking for ways to get to the masked NCDC personnel charged with checking people’s temperatures at six-hour intervals with infrared thermometers. James watched the cars snaking around each other and saw the checkpoint for what it was; another well-intended medical precaution but all it did was get in the way. What was the point? There was still no cure for hypermalaria, all the testing would do was tell him that he was about to die. Ibe was right, who asked the scientists to create mosquitoes?
Ireti squinted at his watch and wrote something down.
“What time is it?” James asked.
“Ten forty-six p.m.”
James let out an impatient scoff and put the gear in reverse. “Ireti, I don’t have time for all this. I know a shortcut we can take to bypass this checkpoint.” Ireti nodded and James started driving back the way they came. His eyes scanned for an intersection with rusted gateposts. The street was easy to miss in the dark because it was so narrow that two cars couldn’t fit through at once. Ireti found it first and sat up, alarmed.
“Wait, is this the shortcut you want to take? Oga no, no, no.” He tried to open the door like they weren’t going forty miles per hour and when that didn’t work, he scrambled to find the central lock button. James had to snatch the hand away before it broke something.
“O-boy calm down. What’s wrong with you?” But Ireti wasn’t listening, his heart was a wild thing in his chest and his eyes darted about restlessly. The poor boy probably thought he was being kidnapped. James looked at the street as he slowed to a stop. There were no houses to be seen from the gate, only a collapsing fence on the right and gnarled trees to the left. Creeping plants were reclaiming small sections of the tarred road, yet no leaves rustled, no crickets chirped and the only source of light in the shunted darkness was a naked bulb too far away to see with. Outside, just beside the left gatepost was a broken sign half-swallowed by the tall grass that read “Simin Street”.
James would have turned back but he saw the traffic behind them growing even longer in the rearview mirror.
“Look,” he said as he unmounted his phone from the dashboard. He opened Google Maps and showed it to Ireti. “See, we take this road, turn right, and continue till we reach that shop, then we enter the main road again, hm?” James waited for Ireti to calm himself before continuing.
“It’s just to beat traffic. Abi you wan sleep for road?” When Ireti raised no further objections James fired the engine again and as he did, a cold shiver shook him from neck to knees, but he didn’t stop to acknowledge it. He was not a man to contemplate fear, not at his age.
They didn’t drive very far before the road ran out of tarmac. James kept on making small talk and pretending not to see Ireti share his live location in a chat.
“This road is worse than I thought oh, but it’s short. What are you afraid of, hm? Big boy like you. Abi them don rob you f–”
“Oga watch oh!”
James slammed the brakes and the car screeched to a stop two feet from a little boy. All three of them froze in place, petrified. Then James shivered again and he remembered he had a horn.
Honk-honk!
The boy didn’t even blink. He just stood there clutching his red ball and staring through James like he wasn’t there. Then he turned to Ireti, and his body suddenly jerked into motion.
James watched the boy cross the road as he forced down chills crawling up his spine. About thirty feet away, the headlamps spilled light on a woman standing in the bushes and resting against a tree. Her hair was a bird’s nest and her calf-length dress had rips and mud stuck all over it. She looked up to see who was coming, a tired smile spread across her cracked lips and she stood to approach them, straightening her dress as she walked. James took one look at her and didn’t bother stopping. The woman looked half-mad. She held her fingers stiff and crooked and used her wrist to grind the dirt into the fabric while trying to dust off her dress. She picked through the grass like she was wearing heels but when she stepped out of the shadows James saw she was barefoot.
Ireti turned to look at her as they drove past. “Oga, I told you not to follow this road oh.”
As if it was in agreement, the car went off. James smacked the steering wheel in fury. “I told Chisom to change this spark plug yesterday. What is wrong with all these mechanics?”
The tires stopped rolling before James could park the car, so he got down and popped the hood right in the middle of the road. The night was chilly, but he wiped sweat off his forehead as a headache formed at the base of his skull. His bladder tickled urgently, so he replaced the plug after dunking it in fuel, slammed the hood, and walked over to the edge of the road to unzip his jeans. Just before he zipped up again, James spat out phlegm so bitter he cringed at the taste it left in his mouth. He turned on his phone flashlight to examine it, his urine was stained with a tinge of red. Blood.
Malaria. Hypermalaria. He was infected. Shivers became trembles as he hastened to the car.
Infected patients suffer rapid symptoms of malaria and die within six to twelve hours.
“What will I do? What will Charity do?” A memory of his neighbour’s daughter flashed in his mind and he tried not to imagine himself looking like that. James had to get home, fast. He turned the ignition and the car sputtered for a few seconds, then died again. He tried once more, the same result. James all but punched the windshield, then he deflated in his seat.
“Ireti, please come and hold this light for me.” He turned to get out of the car again and the woman was standing right there.
“Yes, what is it?” James fumed. She opened her mouth to respond and James saw her top left canine grazing her bottom lip. It was so big the tooth before it had fallen off to make room. She started to say something. He leaned in to hear and, in a flash, she opened her mouth all the way and lunged to take a bite out of his cheek. James dodged just in time, and she hit her chin on the half-open window. Someone screamed and a second later Ireti was fleeing the car.
“Ireti wait, wait,” James called after him, but the boy didn’t stop. James wanted to stay with the car, but the woman turned her head sideways and tried to climb in through the space. Her second bite almost nipped his ear, but he scrambled over the center console and tumbled out through the door Ireti left open. He walked around the car to confront the woman, but the sound of shuffling feet made him look behind her. At least fifteen more were making their way to the car, dragging their limbs along like pieces of wood. Each one of them was half-living proof of something James once thought didn’t exist.
He knew he couldn’t fight them. There were too many, their thirst for blood too great. Leaving his car felt like abandoning family, but James ran, he didn’t even take his keys. He heard something crash behind a tree and more stumbled into the road as if they were spawning in the shadows. One came close enough and sprang on James but missed completely, crashing face-first to the ground. The thing that used to be a teenage boy didn’t even stop to register the pain, it just righted itself and began crawling after James again, that tired smile revealing its massive proboscis.
James ran so fast he felt the sand he kicked up hitting his back. He ran so fast he forgot that any form of exercise would accelerate the effects of hypermalaria, and focused on pumping his legs, pumping his heart, anything to get him to the safety of certain death. A few feet ahead, Ireti was fighting off an old woman. She held his collar and was pulling Ireti’s neck to her toothless maw. James ran over to them and pried her grip free. He got a good look and was shocked to find that she looked familiar. Not the woman exactly, but her twisted features. Cracked lips, screaming eyes, skin taut with dehydration. The truth struck him hard in the chest.
“Ireti, these people died from hypermalaria!”
“No, they are still alive,” came the reply between puffs of air. “Just barely.”
Footsteps approached from behind and James turned to see one closing in. This one was faster, more sure-footed. It passed under the light of the naked bulb and James saw a waterfall of blood splattered on its mouth and down its shirt with some feathers and fur in the mix.
The sand started touching James’ neck after that. He saw the turn leading back to the road up ahead and willed himself to run faster but it was no use. Fatigue slowly crept into his muscles and the spots in his vision made it harder to traverse the uneven ground. James knew he was slowing down because the distance between him and Ireti kept widening. Panic rose with every footfall, the ragged breathing behind him growing louder and louder. He bit his lip and shut his eyes for a moment to gather all his strength but that proved a mistake. His foot caught a rock and sent him sprawling to the dirt. Everything hurt. He tried getting up again but pain negated adrenaline so fast that his head spun. The hypermalaria was getting to him quickly but the thing behind him got to him quicker. It tried jumping on him, but James rolled away and gave it a feeble kick to the head. It staggered two steps back then jumped at him again. It used to be a large man, James saw that in the broad shoulder and slack clothes, and even though hypermalaria had reduced it to skin and bones, James still couldn’t fight it off. It sat astride him and went for his neck, biting a mouthful of sand instead. James held that neck before it could try again and fought to keep it away. They struggled like this for what felt like an eternity, James using what was left of his strength to save what was left of his life, the fiend adamant to get its first meal of the week. James felt his arms growing numb as it pushed against him. He could feel death cornering him from all sides, so he took a gamble. Swiftly as the deadening limb would allow, he took his left hand off its neck and searched around for anything he could use as a weapon. In a stroke of luck, his fingers found a stone. He grabbed the lifeline and hit as hard as he could on its temple. The impact lulled its head back and around in a semicircle, bringing it within striking distance so James struck again with everything left in him. Crack! This time a gash appeared, and a sickly yellow sap trickled out.
Once more, James aimed and swung. But this time, it was ready. With one hand, it brushed the stone from his grasp, and with the other, it started to scratch the arm at its neck, jagged fingernails cutting into flesh. The grip finally came loose, and it held both hands apart in triumph, spread its jaws wide, and thwap! Ireti caught it right in the face with a tree branch. This time, it toppled over and James scrambled to safety. Ireti pounded it with the branch three more times before it stopped moving. James struggled for breath as his mind raced, torn between gratitude for Ireti’s heroics and astonishment at the boy’s killer instinct. But then remorse gutted him. This boy had warned him not to take Simin Street, this same boy was saving his life,
“Ireti wait, wait,” he said as his saviour helped him to his feet. “I think I have it. I have hypermalaria.” He stopped to spit out more vile phlegm. “Just leave me here. Save yourself, I will die soon anyway.” But Ireti shook his head.
“No, don’t worry, oga. I told you I’m a microbiology student, and my mother is a nurse. We have been working on a cure together. If we can reach our pharmacy, then I can save you.” James did not argue further. The hope that he would see Charity again lent his knees strength to hobble along. They got to the turn and the sound of speeding cars reached them.
“Charity, Peace, my baby. I’m coming.”
They turned the corner and the stretch of road was pitch black. A thicket of trees and grass held the light from the naked bulb hostage. James couldn’t see his legs in front of him. He fished his phone from his pocket and tapped the power button. Three-quarters of the screen was ink black, and the last quarter had technicolor lines running across.
“Ireti try your phone. Mi-ne-is-broke-n.”
Ireti whipped out his Samsung and tapped the flash icon several times.
“My battery is too low. Two percent. The phone won’t let me use the flash.” They heard something fall behind and watched in horror as the undead turned the corner. One of them fell flat on its face, another stepped on it, tripped, tripped two more, and still they kept coming.
Ireti tweaked the screen brightness to its maximum and they continued their three-legged run. James ran as fast as his weak legs would allow, focusing on the roar of engines far ahead and not the shuffles inching closer from behind. He fought to see through the spots in the darkness. Ireti tried to keep the small circle of light under their noses but a crash came from the bushes behind them, he whipped around to investigate and James promptly missed his step.
“Oga, take it easy. Sorry.”
James wasn’t listening. It hurt to stand; it hurt to breathe. His head weighed two tonnes on his exhausted neck, and he lost control of his bladder.
“Just leave me here.”
“Remain small. See that shop you showed me on the map? We are almost th–” Ireti’s foot hit something and this time they both fell, banging their shins on metal. Lightning fast, Ireti sat up, feeling around for his phone, and then jumped in alarm a second later.
“Wait, I know what this is.” He fumbled around in the dark some more, found his phone, and cast its dim light on a motorcycle with the keys still in the ignition. James wanted to feel relief, but all he felt was dizzy. Not even the enemy ten feet away could make him stand up.
“Hold the phone for me,” Ireti said as he heaved the motorcycle upright. He helped James on first, then angled his body to climb on and the light flashed into a ditch beside them.
The bike man lay there, riddled with bite marks and staring blankly at the night sky. They had clawed the clothes away to get to his flesh, then sucked all the blood from his body. Each bite mark was punctuated by a hole so deep it looked like someone took a concrete nail to his corpse. In some places, they could see crunched bone. James lurched forward and vomited all over the front tyre.
And the fiends were upon them. Ireti kicked the first one away and lost a shoe to another, who grabbed his foot. There was no time to climb on, so he pushed the bike with James still on it. James wiped his mouth and kicked the starter twice to wake the engine. It stuttered and sputtered and stalled but eventually answered. Ireti jumped onto the seat and grabbed the handlebars from behind to keep them steady. They drove as fast as the motorcycle would go and three minutes later; they were back on the open road. James fought to stay conscious as they zipped to safety. He tried holding on to hope, but he felt himself dying. It was hard to recall Charity’s face through the delirium. It was even harder to breathe through his exhaustion. Just as he was about to pass out, a skinny hand came into his field of vision, pointing.
“There, that’s my house. Park near that black gate.” James crashed into the gate and Ireti hopped off.
Knock knock knock.
“Who’s there?”
“Mommy it’s me.” The deadbolt clicked free and Ireti’s mother opened the door for them.
“Good evening, Ma. I’ve brought him.”
“Oya, carry him inside the pharmacy and put him on the table.”
The table was a wooden thing so short that everything from James’ knees was dangling off the edge. The stout woman placed a hand on his forehead and flinched. “This man is burning up. How many times will I tell you to stop bringing them this late?”
“The car broke down on the road. Sorry Mommy.”
“Sorry for yourself. That’s how you applied for medicine and messed yourself up in post UTME. Tell me what I will do with microbiology, eh? She kissed her teeth and Ireti tried to make himself invisible.
“Which method did you use?” she asked.
“Bottled water.”
“What time?”
“Ten forty-six p.m.” It took James a while to process this. “Eh?” He sprang up. “Ireti, you infected me? You infected me! Why?” He would have kept going, but the rest of his shawarma chose that moment to exit the wrong way. James didn’t even have the strength to wipe his mouth. He just collapsed onto the table, panting. Ireti came over and wiped it for him.
“Sorry oga. We are working on a cure that can save thousands of lives. The versions we tested on the people on Simin Street were defective, but this one–” he raised a syringe filled with a pale-yellow liquid, “this one will surely work.”
James was powerless to stop the tears when they came. “Please. Please, just let me die. Let me call my wife one last time and die. I won’t tell anybody you did this to me, I swear.” But neither of them listened. Ireti’s mother came over to the table, tied a tube over his elbow, and flicked his biceps twice. James tried to thrash, tried to scream, but he had no strength left in him. Ireti slipped the needle into his exposed vein and he started convulsing.
“He’s dying. Give me the–”
The woman pushed her son out of her way and deftly replaced the empty syringe with another that eased the shaking. First came a gentle calm, followed by roaring pain. White hot pain that curled his toes and crooked his fingers. Eyes wild with anguish, James writhed and contorted as the liquid coursed its way up his body.
“Hold him down. Hold him.”
Searing hot pain pooled in his head, condensed in his jaw, and twisted his insides so hard he tasted blood. James tried to vomit again, but this time only a single tooth fell out.
