Chapter 1: The Second Chance Panic

Doomsday zombie alert—everybody just dey craze, dey rush like say dem dey share free jollof for stadium—food, water, anything wey hand fit reach.

For Lagos, once wahala start, e be like market day for Mile 12: everybody dey hustle, dey push, sometimes even forget say we still be neighbours. Some dey shout, some dey pray, some dey carry their pikin for back and their load for head—Naija people no dey ever slack when survival dey on the line.

Na only me carry axe dey run go hill as if my life depend on am.

As I dey jump gutter and dodge okada, I just dey wonder whether all these people sabi wetin dey happen. My heart dey beat like talking drum, but my legs no dey gree stop. For my mind, I dey beg God make I reach safe before water go swallow everywhere.

Dem no sabi—the real wahala no be zombie o.

Na only me dey reason say, this zombie matter na distraction. The true gbege still dey come like thief for night. For Naija, sometimes the wahala you dey see no be the main one—na the one wey dey hide behind e get power pass.

In just 24 hours, sea level go rise, everywhere wey dey below 500 meters for this world go enter water. Na that one be the real end for human beings.

As I dey run, my chest dey tight. I dey look around, dey see as people dey buy Indomie, dey drag garri, dey fight for bread. The smell of sweat, bread, and hot pepper soup mix for air, making everywhere choke. But for my mind, na the flood dey my front. The kain one wey even Moses for Bible for fear.

If person no climb hill, forget am—no hope to survive.

I just dey pray inside my heart, dey recite Psalm 91 for my mind, the way mama dey do am every night before sleep. "He that dwelleth in the secret place..." Even if na small hill, e still pass flat ground. For Naija, we sabi say if rain wan fall, abeg, climb high place o!

"Comot for road, no block my way!" One middle-aged woman push me anyhow. I stagger, jam one shelf, my eyes open well.

The woman just dey vex, sweat dey her face, wrapper dey fall for one side. Her slippers nearly comot as she run go join queue for checkout. In Lagos, if you slow small, dem go use leg clear you like say you be bag of pure water.

For front, people dey fight scatter over some bags of rice wey fall for ground. Pikin dey cry, women dey shout and dey curse, men dey push themselves—everywhere just scatter, the noise dey burst my ear.

Na so dem dey do for Oshodi market when trailer wey carry onions fall—everybody dey fight like say na gold dem dey drag. Here, na survival wahala.

Wetin dey happen? Just now, I dey soak for cold seawater, close eye dey reason say na die remain.

E be like say my spirit still dey shake. For my head, the memory of that cold water no dey quick leave me. My chest dey heavy, sweat dey mix with fear.

Abi...

I no wan believe am. As people pack me for crowd, my hand dey shake, I struggle bring out my phone look screen. June 21st.

Chineke! Wetin my eye dey see? E no fit be lie. My hand dey tremble, but I force myself make I focus.

Chai, na true o, I don reborn enter the day before doomsday land.

I rub my eyes, blink two times—abeg, no be jazz be this? I just stand, dey look my phone like mumu. My body cold, but the sweat for my face dey drip like say dem open tap. If to say na dream, I for don wake since.

This same day for my last life, na so government release zombie warning. One strange zombie virus just burst everywhere, city alarm dey blow, radio and TV dey shout make people lock everywhere. From midnight, June 22nd, dem say make everybody stay house; anybody wey waka outside, dem go carry am go one kind quarantine.

I still remember the panic. TV dey shout, "Stay indoors!" Radio dey play that old NTA emergency jingle, the kain wey dey make person fear. Some people dey even cry. Na so dem dey run anyhow for road.

Once the news drop, people scatter run supermarket, dey buy food like say tomorrow no dey. Even security and cashier forget their work join the wahala. The whole city just mad.

The way Naija people dey rush food, you go think say na fuel scarcity. Even security dey price Indomie with customer. Nobody wan carry last.

After I hustle manage grab rice, flour, biscuit, I rush go my rented room for top floor. I no even know say the first wahala no be zombie virus.

As I reach house, I still dey feel like champion. My bag full, I lock door, open window small make breeze enter. I no know say na big problem dey come—this Naija, you fit dey celebrate, but tomorrow fit get different plan.

By 10 a.m. for 22nd, ground begin sink, seawater rush enter, sea level rise like magic. In less than one day, the 12-storey face-me-I-face-you wey I dey live, water swallow am. All the food wey I hide, I no even touch am before e loss.

The wahala come fast. The way water take cover street, even Danfo bus dey float. My phone, my bag, even my neighbour slippers—na water carry all. E pain me, but na lesson I learn.