Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng

by Kylie Lee Baker

pounding ache behind her eyes, air suddenly thin, her throat feeling needle-thin. “So why are the washing cylinders running?” she says. Yifei opens her mouth to respond, closes it. Her face goes slack, a grayness settling over her eyes. She pushes past Cora, shoving through the plastic bags, racing across the room. “Yifei—” But Yifei sucks in a sharp breath. Cora can’t see what she’s found, but she draws closer as she hears Yifei sink to the ground, a muffled sound like she’s cupped a hand over her mouth. The industrial washing cylinder is a great beast of a machine, twice as tall as Cora. It churns through suds that slosh against a tiny round window. Cora steps closer, shines her flashlight on the small portal. The water is bright red. It splashes against the window again and again and Cora realizes all at once that clothing should not make such a heavy thump thump thumping sound inside the machine. The water draws back as the machine churns, and the next thing that presses against the glass is not soap or blood or water, but the side of Harvey’s face.