>>> yo pakabar?
ezra akhirnya berpetualang. kurang lebih. bahahahhaha.
di chapter 4 ini gue harap lo bisa agak nyengir-nyengir jijay karena ezra bertingkah kocak. kurang lebih.
lol oke selamat baca!
p.s. kalo ada kalimat usang aneh ih bam salah grammar lu, tolong kasitau yak. >>>
“Play what?”
Nakula looks at Ezra like Ezra is The Cutest Boy Ever Graces This Earth. His mom used to give him that look. Even worse, his dad still thought he’s The Greatest Son Ever after he started seeing the psychiatrist. What is wrong with people?
“It’s just a game I came up with this afternoon,” Nakula throws an arm around Ezra’s shoulders like they’re the best of friends. When Ezra shrugs it off gently to take a step back, he smiles. “You know, just go out there to look around.”
“Out?” Ezra frowns, barely aware of the giggling around him. “With all the zombies? Why?”
“That’s why it’s called ‘a game’,” Nakula is still smiling, “because it’s fun.”
Yeah, right.
“Then why don’t you play too?” Ezra asks, giving Nakula the stingy eye his senior upperclassmen had hated so, so much. “If it’s so fun to you?” but he keeps his voice indifferent because that just pissed them off so, so much back then.
Nakula’s eyebrows are raised while there’s a collective, disbelieved gasp coming from his toy soldiers.
Ezra mimics what Nakula just did.
“Ezra, here’s the thing you need to understand,” Nakula seems to have a hobby to throw his arm around someone’s shoulders, because he does it again to Ezra, who doesn’t bother to shrug it off this time. “You don’t get to question me. You do what I say, because that’s how it is.”
Ah.
How boring.
“Okay then.” Ezra feels himself smiling as Nakula squeezes him closer. He doesn’t miss the puzzled look coming from the so-called leader and his blind followers when he said it. “What are the rules?” he redirects his handsome smile (his mom’s words, not his) toward the rest of the group like either he’s too thick to get the ‘joke’ or he’s insane to agree to the whole messed up situation involving one charming maniac.
Nakula doesn’t take too long to recover and deliver the basic rules.
You just need to go to a minimart located three blocks from here, take anything you like, and come back as soon as possible. Nakula provides stolen machetes from the warehouse as weapons. There’s no winner or loser in this game, because it’s just for fun. You will come back braver and stronger after you go out there. Sure, Ezra keeps his thought for himself, says the guy who isn’t even going out there.
“Do you have any questions, Ezra?” Even though Nakula’s smile doesn’t have any significance to our protagonist, still Ezra has to admit that that smile is going to be strongest contender to his very own handsome smile.
All the more reason to ‘play’, yeah?
“Me? Nothing. Let’s do this.” And because Ezra can be hilarious just like any other seventeen year olds, he adds, “Been craving Oreo and Ultra Milk, to be honest.”
Ezra swears Nakula is this clo~se to hug him after he cracked the joke, but he manages to dodge out of Nakula’s overly friendly nature by siding up next to Pipit, bumping their arms, and she giggles as Ezra clears his throat in lieu of an apology.
“You’re nuts,” she has to tiptoe to whisper to the side of Ezra’s neck, sending warm, minty breath to the cold skin. “But in a good way.”
Oh.
Well.
Nakula looks at Ezra like Ezra is The Cutest Boy Ever Graces This Earth. His mom used to give him that look. Even worse, his dad still thought he’s The Greatest Son Ever after he started seeing the psychiatrist. What is wrong with people?
“It’s just a game I came up with this afternoon,” Nakula throws an arm around Ezra’s shoulders like they’re the best of friends. When Ezra shrugs it off gently to take a step back, he smiles. “You know, just go out there to look around.”
“Out?” Ezra frowns, barely aware of the giggling around him. “With all the zombies? Why?”
“That’s why it’s called ‘a game’,” Nakula is still smiling, “because it’s fun.”
Yeah, right.
“Then why don’t you play too?” Ezra asks, giving Nakula the stingy eye his senior upperclassmen had hated so, so much. “If it’s so fun to you?” but he keeps his voice indifferent because that just pissed them off so, so much back then.
Nakula’s eyebrows are raised while there’s a collective, disbelieved gasp coming from his toy soldiers.
Ezra mimics what Nakula just did.
“Ezra, here’s the thing you need to understand,” Nakula seems to have a hobby to throw his arm around someone’s shoulders, because he does it again to Ezra, who doesn’t bother to shrug it off this time. “You don’t get to question me. You do what I say, because that’s how it is.”
Ah.
How boring.
“Okay then.” Ezra feels himself smiling as Nakula squeezes him closer. He doesn’t miss the puzzled look coming from the so-called leader and his blind followers when he said it. “What are the rules?” he redirects his handsome smile (his mom’s words, not his) toward the rest of the group like either he’s too thick to get the ‘joke’ or he’s insane to agree to the whole messed up situation involving one charming maniac.
Nakula doesn’t take too long to recover and deliver the basic rules.
You just need to go to a minimart located three blocks from here, take anything you like, and come back as soon as possible. Nakula provides stolen machetes from the warehouse as weapons. There’s no winner or loser in this game, because it’s just for fun. You will come back braver and stronger after you go out there. Sure, Ezra keeps his thought for himself, says the guy who isn’t even going out there.
“Do you have any questions, Ezra?” Even though Nakula’s smile doesn’t have any significance to our protagonist, still Ezra has to admit that that smile is going to be strongest contender to his very own handsome smile.
All the more reason to ‘play’, yeah?
“Me? Nothing. Let’s do this.” And because Ezra can be hilarious just like any other seventeen year olds, he adds, “Been craving Oreo and Ultra Milk, to be honest.”
Ezra swears Nakula is this clo~se to hug him after he cracked the joke, but he manages to dodge out of Nakula’s overly friendly nature by siding up next to Pipit, bumping their arms, and she giggles as Ezra clears his throat in lieu of an apology.
“You’re nuts,” she has to tiptoe to whisper to the side of Ezra’s neck, sending warm, minty breath to the cold skin. “But in a good way.”
Oh.
Well.
*
Getting out means climbing the rambutan tree to reach over the ten feet tall, black wall. There’s an electricity pole right across the wall, so they can slide down like firemen to go out there. How are they going to come back? Good question. You have to climb up the electricity pole or get in from the front gate, feigning innocence and desperation.
Of course Ezra is going to come back using the second method.
They have to move fast while the watchmen are still enjoying their goddamned fried rice dinner. Ezra swears he’s going to take a hundred of instant fried rice seasoning from the minimart and then he will make his own fried rice that he will eat for a week.
Pipit climbs first, followed by the kid who wished Ezra die earlier that day, Tyo, and then David, a quiet, Betawi-Chinese boy, Ambar, a hijab-wearing, trekking kind of girl with her thick checkered flannel and Northface sandal, and finally it’s Ezra’s turn to climb the rambutan tree but not before a creepy good luck from Nakula, who wishes him to come back safely because they have so much to talk about.
What a turn off, Ezra thinks as he reaches the wall. He would have preferred to run away and never come back, if only he has his backpack with him and he isn’t really that hooked to eating fried rice. He can’t cook fried rice out there, not without a proper kitchen utensil et cetera. Hell, Ezra can’t even cook rice!
He’s still pressed about his interrupted dinner as he slides down the electricity pole and lands in one piece next to Pipit.
“Ready?” Apparently, Pipit is the appointed leader for this fun game. “Stay close together and try not to make loud noises. Remember to aim for the brain! I know where the minimart is, so follow me. Is that clear?”
Everyone nods silently.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Source of lighting is scarce, despite the fact that the government’s shelter is located in the posh area of South Jakarta. They can see the road alright, but still it’s way darker than the normal days before this shit went down. The street lamps are rationed, so it’s 1:5 every a couple of meters. They stay low, hiding beneath the shadow or else the watchmen will be interrupted from their nice fried rice dinner by thinking that they’re a hoard of zombies going further, not closer, from them.
Whenever the chilly wind blows, the foul stench of those walking dead is transmitted in the air. Ezra is glad for his handkerchief, although running with his nose blocked is quite uncomfortable as he notices his teammates begin to struggle with the seemingly foreign act of putting one leg after another in a (rather) fast pace after lying around like pregnant whales and gossiping and being teenager-y for more than a month. They haven’t even reached the first block yet.
For a good measure, Ezra tightens his grip on the machete’s sturdy handle.
Now there’s an out of sync raggedy pant-pant!-pant! from his teammates—what a weird way to address these strangers—and Ezra thinks he just sees a moving silhouette from his peripheral vision as they take a left turn to the second block.
“Oh god, please,” Tyo whines abruptly, “please, Kak Pipit, can we rest for a minute?”
Pipit’s answer is a short no. Ezra almost smiles.
“Please?” Tyo stops running then. He folds his knees to heave. Ambar is kind enough to pat his back to coax him to keep going. It’s too risky stopping out in the open like this. The abandoned photo studio is dark like the rest of this block, and Ezra swears he hears something.
He nudges David and whispers, “How about we get ready?”
“For what? Did you, did you see anything?!” David, for a quiet dude, sure expresses his panic loudly.
Tyo gasps at that. Ambar crouches down so fast Ezra wonders whether she pulls a muscle or not. Pipit orders them to stand back to back, creating a circle, with Tyo in the center, probably crying for real now.
Ezra doesn’t want to be the party popper, so he obeys the order and prays that he was hallucinating.
But a famous proverb once said ‘the third time is a charm’.
Of course Ezra is going to come back using the second method.
They have to move fast while the watchmen are still enjoying their goddamned fried rice dinner. Ezra swears he’s going to take a hundred of instant fried rice seasoning from the minimart and then he will make his own fried rice that he will eat for a week.
Pipit climbs first, followed by the kid who wished Ezra die earlier that day, Tyo, and then David, a quiet, Betawi-Chinese boy, Ambar, a hijab-wearing, trekking kind of girl with her thick checkered flannel and Northface sandal, and finally it’s Ezra’s turn to climb the rambutan tree but not before a creepy good luck from Nakula, who wishes him to come back safely because they have so much to talk about.
What a turn off, Ezra thinks as he reaches the wall. He would have preferred to run away and never come back, if only he has his backpack with him and he isn’t really that hooked to eating fried rice. He can’t cook fried rice out there, not without a proper kitchen utensil et cetera. Hell, Ezra can’t even cook rice!
He’s still pressed about his interrupted dinner as he slides down the electricity pole and lands in one piece next to Pipit.
“Ready?” Apparently, Pipit is the appointed leader for this fun game. “Stay close together and try not to make loud noises. Remember to aim for the brain! I know where the minimart is, so follow me. Is that clear?”
Everyone nods silently.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Source of lighting is scarce, despite the fact that the government’s shelter is located in the posh area of South Jakarta. They can see the road alright, but still it’s way darker than the normal days before this shit went down. The street lamps are rationed, so it’s 1:5 every a couple of meters. They stay low, hiding beneath the shadow or else the watchmen will be interrupted from their nice fried rice dinner by thinking that they’re a hoard of zombies going further, not closer, from them.
Whenever the chilly wind blows, the foul stench of those walking dead is transmitted in the air. Ezra is glad for his handkerchief, although running with his nose blocked is quite uncomfortable as he notices his teammates begin to struggle with the seemingly foreign act of putting one leg after another in a (rather) fast pace after lying around like pregnant whales and gossiping and being teenager-y for more than a month. They haven’t even reached the first block yet.
For a good measure, Ezra tightens his grip on the machete’s sturdy handle.
Now there’s an out of sync raggedy pant-pant!-pant! from his teammates—what a weird way to address these strangers—and Ezra thinks he just sees a moving silhouette from his peripheral vision as they take a left turn to the second block.
“Oh god, please,” Tyo whines abruptly, “please, Kak Pipit, can we rest for a minute?”
Pipit’s answer is a short no. Ezra almost smiles.
“Please?” Tyo stops running then. He folds his knees to heave. Ambar is kind enough to pat his back to coax him to keep going. It’s too risky stopping out in the open like this. The abandoned photo studio is dark like the rest of this block, and Ezra swears he hears something.
He nudges David and whispers, “How about we get ready?”
“For what? Did you, did you see anything?!” David, for a quiet dude, sure expresses his panic loudly.
Tyo gasps at that. Ambar crouches down so fast Ezra wonders whether she pulls a muscle or not. Pipit orders them to stand back to back, creating a circle, with Tyo in the center, probably crying for real now.
Ezra doesn’t want to be the party popper, so he obeys the order and prays that he was hallucinating.
But a famous proverb once said ‘the third time is a charm’.
T . B . C
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