Zombie Fever: Outbreak Read Online Free PDF

tones.
    I stopped the dial on 94.1ALIVE, Tua Kee Media’s news station. I listened for forty minutes while sitting in queue and they didn’t mention the Malaysian outbreak at all. I heard nothing but information on the new government budget and talk of upcoming elections in May.
    My SUV neared the Singapore customs inspection gantry, I watched as the customs officer went through his routine with the car ahead of me, questioning the driver and inspecting the boot for contraband or hidden over-stayers who’d violated their visa conditions and were trying to avoid prosecution.
    It was my turn.
    I slowly eased the SUV forward.
    I wanted to get through this quickly so I put on my most flirtatious smile as I handed the customs officer my passport and the SUV paperwork. He noticeably brightened up when he saw my pretty brown eyes looking back. He barely looked at the documents and even forgot to look in my boot, mesmerized and enchanted by my extreme cuteness.
    The immigration officer, however, wasn’t as trouble-free, questioning my reasons for leaving Singapore even after most of my colleagues had driven through his line ahead of me with the same story. He even asked me, of all things, if I were pregnant which I found quite intrusive. After a few more scowls and penetrating looks through my papers and at my passport photo, he let me through.
    Passing through the Malay side was a breeze as usual. The immigration officer was half asleep after working through the nightshift. I got my stamp and proceeded through the maze of concrete barriers designed to block a run for the border and got onto the J1 Expressway in line with the rest of the Cera vehicles.
    Our caravan crept along the coastal expressway a short distance to Danga Bay near to the city of Johor Bahru. Danga Bay was a feeble attempt by Johor entrepreneurs to create a seaside resort. It had bungalows and seafood restaurants set along the heavily, industrially-polluted causeway waters between the two countries. For a resort, it was in sorry shape. The entire place looked as if the contractors fled the scene after about sixty percent of construction had been completed. The best part was a nice parking lot and about a half a dozen or so kampong-style elevated bungalows freshly painted and sitting in a diamond shaped square, surrounded by a manicured grassy area with interconnecting sidewalks and flowerbeds. Beyond those were three half-built corrugated steel warehouse-type buildings meant to hold the restaurants and tourist souvenir shops. One seafood restaurant occupied the corner of one building, the rest of the buildings stood vacant. It was shoddy work and I questioned the logic of trying to create a resort on the smelly, dirty shores. The chemical smell of the contaminated waters stuck in your nasal passages like a thick coating of margarine.
    Neither Jamie nor I were impressed with this first Cera pit stop. Jamie told me that this scene’s background was all in the editing. If they filmed part of the show with the bungalows as the backdrop and the cameras stayed at fixed angles, it might actually look like a nice place. “You can’t smell TV,” she said. The rest of the teams were also looking around, Tucker and Yvonne with noses pinched. Ted and Ahmed were bragging that they had been here before. I think they were the only ones that weren’t surprised that something as cool sounding as ‘Danga Bay’ could turn out to be so crummy.
    I nodded towards the Ang Moh team. Quaid and Norris were headed towards us, looking around and obviously talking smack about the place. Quaid, a former British police officer and rather handsome to boot, came up to Jamie and me with Norris tailing a few meters behind him looking distant, mentally off in his own little world.
    “Can you believe this mess? They ought to be ashamed of themselves,” Quaid complained, snapping a few pictures of the bungalows with the flashy rally cars strategically parked in an ultra-cool diagonal row