Grandma brings the coffee. “You must be starving, Dan. You want me to make you something? How about oatmeal porridge? I know you love oatmeal porridge.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Dan mutters and sits down next to his mom.
From the living room he can see the television is on without sound, showing some stupid afternoon show. Outside, in the garden, the sun is shining like it’s been doing for the past weeks. From the looks of it, everything seems normal. Except nothing is normal today.
“Mom,” Dan says cautiously. “I’m sorry about what happened … I really tried to help her.”
“It’s not your fault,” his mom says, still not looking at him, still the dead voice. “It’s nobody’s fault.”
Dan squeezes his lips together. He had hoped she would say something which could alleviate his guilt just a little. He knows logically that Jennie’s death wasn’t his fault, and yet he still feels like it was.
They sit for a while in silence. His grandma brings him a big bowl of porridge, and when Dan smells the food, he suddenly becomes extremely hungry and wolfs down the entire serving.
Afterwards, with his stomach full, he feels a little better. He wants to say something else to his mom, but decides not to. It won’t do any good as long as she’s like this. Instead, he gets up and goes to the living room. He’s about to throw himself on the couch, when he notices what’s happening on the television.
It’s a news report—live, apparently—and they’re sending from somewhere in this town. Dan recognizes the hospital where he passed by himself just a few hours ago. Now, police cars are parked all over the place, and officers with dogs and guns dressed in riot gear are running into the building. The picture moves as the cameraman steps closer, and Dan catches a glimpse of something through the glass doors which makes his stomach clench up.
Inside the entrance hall, a chaotic scene is playing out. A lot of people seem to be fighting with the police, and wounded persons are lying everywhere on the floor. A figure staggers by, glancing out through the glass for a brief second, and Dan recognizes her.
“Selina!” he breathes, his mouth opening wide.
They go back to the studio where a reporter with a very grave expression is talking under the headlines: Breaking! Bloody riots at local hospital!
“How … how can it …? I don’t get it … she killed him … she said she killed him …”
“What’s that, Dan?” his grandma asks from someplace very far away.
The pieces fall into place with dull, heavy thuds in Dan’s mind.
Jonas wasn’t properly dead. That’s the only explanation. Or maybe … maybe Selina got a scratch she hadn’t noticed.
Either way, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that the catastrophe Dan was sure they had successfully avoided, is now unfolding in front of his eyes.
The reporter touches his ear like someone is talking in his earpiece. Dan looks around for the remote, finds it and unmutes.
“… that no more than a few hours ago, a similar attack went down just miles outside the same town. Our intel is still sparse, but apparently, the target was a school bus, and an elderly couple is said to have been involved. We’re trying as we speak to find out more …”
“Elderly couple,” Dan whispers. “Outside town …”
More pieces clamber into place. Something from his dream. Something about a cat.
The cat! … Holy hell, it was the cat! It stepped in the blood and then it scratched the lady … She got infected, just like Thomas did from the broken glass …
And suddenly, the picture is completed, and Dan sees everything clearly. How the disaster is not averted, how, in fact, it’s been growing while he slept, expanding into catastrophic proportions, and now it’s probably too late to stop. Unless the police are quick and effective. But do they even know what they’re fighting? And do they have the resources?
“What’s this now?” His grandma is standing next to him. “My goodness! That’s not here in town, is it?”
The picture has changed back to the scene by the hospital.
“Listen, Grandma,” Dan says, turning to face her. “We need to leave town, right now. It’s not over. What happened to Jennie is happening to many others. It’s only a matter of time before the entire town …”
“Easy, Dan, calm down.”
“… will be taken over! It’s not safe to be here. We need to …”
“Take a deep breath, Dan. You’re not making sense.”
Dan turns and runs to the kitchen. “Mom!”
His mom looks at him sleepily. “What?”
“You need to listen to me. We’re in danger here. We need to leave, right now.”
An expression of mild irritation passes over his mom’s face, but she doesn’t reply, simply turns her head to stare out into the garden again.
“Mom!” Dan shouts and grabs her shoulders. “Will you listen to me, please!”
His mom shrugs him off with a grumpy groan. She looks like she’s about to say something, but then her face crumbles up and she starts to cry.
Dan steps back. “I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean to …”
His grandma places a hand on his shoulder. “Leave your mom be, Dan. She’s already struggling.”
Dan’s ears pick up a sound which he at first takes to come from the television: the sound of sirens. But the sound intensifies, and Dan runs to the kitchen window facing the driveway.
An ambulance comes into sight, stopping by the curb. Two paramedics wearing yellow vests jump out and run into number 18.
FIFTEEN
“What the heck is taking them so long?”
Lone is pacing back and forth across the kitchen as she keeps darting glances out the windows.
“Take a seat,” Finn mutters. “Or at least stop moving about. They’ll be here as soon as they can.”
He’s sitting on a chair in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the Arab, who’s lying on the couch in the living room. The injured hand is resting on his chest, wrapped in a fairly decent bandage which Finn was able to make thanks to the first aid kit still open on the coffee table. Next to it is a glass of water which Finn attempted—unsuccessfully—to get the guy to drink. He just thrusted his head back and forth and kept mumbling deliriously.
“At least he settled down now,” Lone says, an unmistakable tone of relief in her voice. “I guess that’s a good sign, right?”
“I would think so,” Finn says, emptying the third can of beer before getting to his feet.
“What are you doing?” Lone asks at once.
“I’m just going to check on him.” Finn walks into the living room. As soon as he gets close to the couch, he senses the smell of something sour. It could just be sweat, but it reminds him of fever.
He looks down at the Arab’s wet face and can tell right away that his condition has actually taken a turn for the worse. While it’s true he’s not thrashing about anymore, and has stopped muttering incoherently, his brown skin has taken on a greyish hue which Finn finds very alarming.
“God damnit,” he groans, kneeling down.
“Is something wrong?” Lone calls from the kitchen.
Finn ignores her and takes a closer look at the bandage. It’s dark red from dried up blood, but the skin right next to it has turned almost green.
Blood poisoning. But how the hell could it have come on so fast? Poor guy must have been infected before he cut himself on the glass.
Finn stares at the bandage and recalls the sight of the wounded hand. The stump where the fingers had been was bloody and all torn up. Not exactly an injury you would attribute to the clean cut of broken glass. In fact, the hand looked more like the guy had stuck it in a blender.
Maybe something bit him … maybe he got into a fight with a big dog.
If that’s the case, what’s happening to the guy could be rabies or something similarly aggressive. Finn puts his palm on the Arab’s forehead, feeling to his surprise how cold the skin is.
; Huh! The fever must have broken.
Normally, Finn would take that as a good sign; however, in this case, he’s pretty sure it’s quite the opposite. The Arab’s body seems to be giving up the fight against whatever is attacking it. His breathing has turned short and shallow.
If they’re not here within minutes, he’ll go into cardiac arrest.
Finn closes his eyes and breathes heavily for a moment. What a day this has turned out to be. Not half an hour ago he was out in the garden trimming hedges, his only worry was the ache in his back. Now he’s sitting with a dying man.
Lone calls from the kitchen: “They’re here! Finn, they’re here!”
Finn notices the sirens. He gets to his feet and goes to the kitchen. He sees the ambulance come to a halt and two paramedics jump out.
“Go and see to him,” he says, starting for the entrance hall. He opens the front door just as the paramedics come running. “It’s in here! Hurry up, he’s not doing very well. In the living room!”
The two men squeeze past him without any questions and head for the living room.
“Finn!” Lone calls from the living room, her voice shrill. “Finn, come look at this!”
Finn strides back into the room, almost bumping into the paramedics, who have stopped dead in the doorway. When he sees what they’re seeing, he too stops abruptly.
Lone is standing next to the couch. The Arab is sitting bolt upright, his mouth slowly opens and closes, a stream of drool running from his lower lip. But Finn only sees the man’s eyes. They’re wide open, staring at nothing, and both pupil and iris are completely gone. Looking at the guy, Finn is reminded of those fish that live deep down near the bottom of the ocean, their eyes blind from living in eternal darkness.
Lone is the first one to speak. “I … I think he …”
She’s interrupted as the Arab suddenly moves with striking speed. He twists to the side, reaches out his arms, grabs Lone’s blouse, pulls her down, opens his mouth and bites down hard on the side of her neck.
Lone screams shrilly, more surprise than pain, and the paramedics jump back to life.
Finn, however, finds himself utterly unable to move. It’s like someone pulled the plug on his old body, and he can only stand there and watch everything that happens in front of him through a veil of shock.
The living room turns into a tangle of flailing arms and snapping teeth. The paramedics manage in a joined effort to wrench the Arab free of Lone, but he comes away with a massive chunk from her neck, and the blood immediately starts gushing. A second later the Arab has instead clamped down on one of the paramedics’ shoulder, causing him to yell out and stumble over his own feet, reaching out and grabbing hold of the other paramedic in an effort not to fall down, but only managing to pull his colleague down with him.
The noises only come through to Finn in a muffled drone. The shouts of the paramedics, Lone’s screaming, the animal-like growl of the Arab, the crash of the coffee table being flipped on its side as the paramedics scramble frantically to hold down the Arab while simultaneously not being bitten—which proves impossible, as both of them quickly suffer bloody wounds as the Arab’s teeth tear through their uniforms.
Lone is the last person standing, but only for a few seconds, as she tries in vain to stop the blood from pouring out of her neck, her tiny, shaking hands getting soiled in no time. Her eyes sweep the room, distant and dreamy, and for a moment they connect with Finn’s. Later, he will swear that he saw her smile; that his beloved wife of almost fifty years summoned her last effort of will to send him one last smile. Then, she collapses and disappears from view behind the couch.
Finn blinks hazily and turns his gaze back to the Arab, who’s now on top of one of the paramedics, the poor guy screaming and fighting to get him off, while the other paramedic is rolling around the floor, clutching his jaw, which is missing most of the skin. The Arab is the only one who hasn’t slowed down; he’s still biting at everything within reach, desperate like a predator who has gone hungry for weeks.
So, this is how it ends, Finn thinks very soberly. Part of his brain is trying to convince him it’s all just a bad dream, but the more rational part knows better. It knows Lone is dead and he himself will be joining her on the way to heaven in only a few moments, as soon as the Arab loses interest in the already dead-or-very-close-to-it paramedics and turns to see Finn just standing there. He ought to run, of course, but his body is still completely unresponsive, and besides—what would be the point? Lone is gone, so he might as well go too. He only hopes it’ll be over quick and not—
“Finn!”
Someone shouts his name very close by. Finn turns his head to see a boy he knows. It’s Dan, the boy from across the street. Dan stares at him with eyes large and scared—but also, surprisingly, somehow determined.
“Come … with … me,” Dan says, the words finding their way to Finn’s ears as distant echoes. “We … gotta … get … out … of here …”
Dan pulls him by the arm, hard, and Finn is surprised to find himself moving along. His eyes are reluctant to obey, though, and his neck turns to get one last glimpse of Lone.
Just as Dan drags him out of the living room, Finn actually sees part of his wife: her hand is sticking out from behind the couch. The skin is greenish. The fingers twitch a few times. Lone is waking up again.
SIXTEEN
Dan hauls Finn out the front door and only lets go of him once he’s sure the old guy will stay on his feet and not collapse.
“Finn?” he says, attempting to catch the swimmy, grey eyes. “Where’s the key?”
Finn blinks dazedly. “The key …?”
“Yeah, the key to the house. Do you have it? Where is it?”
The words don’t really seem to resonate, and Dan is about to abandon his effort, when Finn suddenly goes to the pockets of his shorts. “I don’t … have it on me,” he murmurs. “It’s probably hanging on the nail.”
“What nail?” Dan demands. “Where’s the nail, Finn?”
“In the front hall.”
“Right. Stay here for a moment, okay?”
Dan steps back into the house and looks around. From the living room the screams and bangs have died out—instead he hears the unmistakable sound of someone chewing noisily and wetly on something. Dan doesn’t have to look in order to guess who won the fight. In a matter of minutes, there’ll be three new zombies in the house. That’s why he needs to lock the front door …
His eyes catch the nail in the wall next to the coat stand, and he grabs the key, slips out into the baking sunshine once more, slams the door and locks it.
“Right,” he says to Finn, who’s still standing there, an expression of not-quite-sure-what’s-happening on his face. “They can’t get out.”
“Get out?” Finn repeats in a murmur. “But Lone … Lone is in there …”
The emotion flickering across Finn’s face as he turns to look at the house sends a jolt of empathy through Dan’s heart. The experience of losing a loved one is still all too familiar to Dan, and he sees Jennie’s face before him. He forcefully pushes the image aside—and is surprised to find he can actually do it. “Come with me, Finn,” he says gently. “There’s nothing more you can do for her.”
“But … but I …”
Dan takes hold of his arm and leads him down the garden path. Finn struggles weakly for a moment, then follows along. They cross the street and are met in the driveway by Dan’s grandma, her eyes wide. “Where did you go, Dan? Why would you run out the door like that?”
“Help me out here,” Dan says, avoiding the questions. “He’s unharmed, but I think he’s in shock.”
Grandma takes Finn’s other arm, her eyes ping-ponging between Finn, Dan and the house across the street. “What happened over there, Dan? Where are the paramedics?”
“They … they are still in the house,” Dan mutters, helping Finn inside.
“But why aren’t they helping Finn? And who was that screaming just a minute ago? We heard i
t all the way over here. I was afraid you—”
Dan suddenly stops listening. Something has struck him with the force of a brick to the back of the head.
The garden door!
“I need to fix something, Grandma,” he says, letting go of Finn and stepping back outside. “I’ll be back in a second!”
“No, Dan! You stay here!”
Dan runs out the driveway. He doesn’t pause to check for any traffic and is almost hit by a station wagon. It honks its horn at him. The window rolls down, and his dad sticks out his head. “What the hell are you doing, Dan? Why are you running around out here?”
“Dad! … I … it’s …” Dan has no idea how to explain the situation in a short amount of time. He looks to Finn and Lone’s house, and at that moment, he sees Lone, as she comes staggering around the corner of the house. Her head is bobbing around on her shoulders, due to the fact that the tendons in her neck have been severed, and still-shiny blood has drenched her flowery summer shirt.
Too late … she already found the way out …
“Come on, let’s get inside,” his dad says. He hasn’t seen Lone yet, and he rolls the car into the driveway before Dan can say any more. Dan follows the car, not taking his eyes off Lone, who is headed this way.
The car’s engine shuts off, and Dad gets out. He sees Lone. “Oh, hi, Lone! We’re not really—” He interrupts himself as he gets a closer look at the neighbor. “What the hell …?”
Dan finally gets his tongue working. “Watch out, Dad! She’s turned into a zombie!”
Dad looks briefly at Dan, then back at Lone, looking as though he’s not really sure what to believe. Some sort of instinct seems to be telling him Lone is dangerous, while another, rational part of his brain can see she’s obviously hurt and wants to help her.
Dan has told the police about the zombies, has explained it all to the shrink and to his parents, has been going over the events of the past couple of days what seems like a thousand times—yet none of them believed him, and Dan couldn’t very well blame them. His dad, though, was the only one who actually seemed to consider the legitimacy of what Dan was saying—although he didn’t say it outright. But right now, his dad seems to reconsider if maybe the horrible creatures Dan has described might have been real—and that one of them might be headed for them right now.
Dead Meat Box Set [Days 1-3] Page 19