The Making of Zombie Wars by Aleksandar Hemon Page A

in search of Ana’s window. Only one was lit up, and he decided, based on nothing at all, that it belonged to her. He looked at buzzers, searching for her last name, which he could not pronounce, even if she’d pronounced it for him in class nearly every time. There were names that looked Bosnian in that the consonants were randomly distributed, but he could not be sure. He called the number in his cell. It rang, then the answering service picked up. Her voice was clear and bright and lovely. He left a message to a vision of her in a nightgown, barefoot, warm.
    He loitered outside until someone walked out of the building with an ancient, sick beagle and gave him a glance of suspicion. Rather than slipping in through the glacially closing door, he decided to walk around the neighborhood and wait for Ana’s call.
    The rows of houses were dark; here and there a light was on. A dog barked in some backyard. The swings stood still on porches. Who lived here? He could spend his entire life in Chicago—in this very neighborhood—without ever learning anything about the people who lived at 4509 West Estes. The unknown lives, the dark matter of the city. Message comes, I arrived to the other world. Except, in front of a dark house, he saw a red car with a pair of plush dice hanging from the rearview mirror. It was Bega’s car.
    His phone rang. It wasn’t Kimmy.
    â€œHello, Ana,” he said with the gentlest of his seductive voices.
    â€œTeacher Josh,” she whispered, “you find your wallet?”
    â€œNo,” Joshua said.
    â€œThis is not good time,” Ana said. Esko yelled in the background. “I look for it and I call you. Or I see you on Monday. Goodnight.”
    And then she hung up. What if Monday never came? Joshua thought. Script Idea #72: The last day on Earth as it approaches a voracious black hole. Title: The Last Fucking Time .
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    INT. THE AMBASSADOR — NIGHT
    A group of men under the leadership of Major Klopstock moves through darkness, carving it with their flashlights. CADET (20) and GOITER (59) with a shotgun follow in Major K’s wake. They enter an open, vast space with high ceilings. They hear ECHOES OF WATER SPLASHING, and then the flashlights reveal a pool full of floating zombies in army uniforms. Most of them are bloated and fully dead. Some are broken open, like pomegranates. A few of them are on their backs, moving feebly, but it’s clear they’re done for. The men stand in silence at the pool’s edge. The water is murky with pus and blood.
    GOITER
    (scratching his goiter)
    I wouldn’t wanna swim in that fucking pool.
    CADET
    This used to be our guys. Now they’re mindless killers.
    MAJOR K
    They’re harmless in the water. They don’t sink, but they soak up water until they burst like balloons.
    A floating zombie slightly moves its hand, as if trying to swim. Goiter shoots it in the face. The head explodes into smithereens. The shot ECHOES. Cadet joins in, as do other men. They shoot like crazy. The waves make other corpses bob in the pool. Major K tries to interrupt the shooting.
    MAJOR K
    Cut it out! Cut it out!
    But the men enjoy the free-for-all too much to stop. Finally, Major K rips the gun out of Cadet’s hand and smacks him. Everyone stops shooting. Major K stares them down angrily. The silence is even more oppressive. Except now they can hear ECHOES of a cell phone RINGING somewhere in the building. The ring tone is “Welcome to the Jungle.” They exchange glances, grip their weapons, and move in the direction of the sound.

 
    Joshua needed his wallet and thus had a legitimate excuse to call Ana. He was shivering on the porch steps—it was a cold day, clouds on the western horizon getting lined up for a rain assault—because he was reluctant to call her from Kimmy’s house, as though his illicit desires were less so outdoors. He was going to claim urgency; he wasn’t going