He checks his phone, but still no missed calls. He wants to call up his dad again, but first he needs something to drink, as his throat is awfully dry.
He exits the bunk room and steps out into the main room of the bunker, where he finds William sitting by the flatscreen in the corner, Ozzy lying on the floor next to him, eyeing Dan lazily. The TV is showing some news channel.
William turns his head and shoots him a brief smile. “Morning, Sunshine. Is that do the new rage?”
Dan touches his hair and finds what feels like a crooked mohawk. He discretely tries to flatten it, but it just pops back up.
“How was your nap?” William asks, turning his attention back to the TV.
“Fine. Where can I get something to drink?”
William nods towards the kitchen area. “The water in the tap is fine. It just tastes a little weird, because it’s from Holger’s own well.”
Dan goes and pours himself a cup of water—Holger hasn’t got any glasses, only tin cups. He gulps it down, ignoring the slight earthy taste, then walks over to William.
“Where are the others?”
“Upstairs, I think. Not sure about Holger, he might be out in the garden, harvesting vegetables.”
Dan stares at him. “Is he outside? But aren’t the zombies still out there?”
“Last I checked, they were,” William shrugs. “But the garden is fenced in, so Holger’s safe. There’s an underground tunnel leading up to it.”
“Huh,” Dan mutters, scratching his cheek. “He thought of everything, didn’t he?”
“Pretty much. Now, will you look at that?” William points to the screen. It shows people rushing into a grocery store. Others are coming out, dragging heavy bags full of groceries.
“Where is that?”
“In Copenhagen.”
“But … why are people panicking in Copenhagen? Did the zombies reach them already?”
“No. I guess they’re just hoarding stuff because they’re scared of what’s going on here. But look at all that fucking toilet paper!”
Dan notices several of the shoppers are carrying packages of toilet rolls. He frowns. “Why would they buy that?”
“I don’t know! But that’s not the first time I’ve seen it. Jesus Christ, people are weird. Is that really their concern if they think society is going to close down? Being able to wipe their asses? How about food and water?”
“That is strange,” Dan agrees.
“They are doing it all over the country,” William goes on, shaking his head. “Especially in the big cities. They want to be prepared for the worst, I guess, in case the authorities can’t keep the zombies contained here.”
Dan looks at William and bites his lip. “Do you … do you think they can?”
William shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s going to be difficult. I mean, it only takes one little slip-up to get the snowball rolling.”
Dan gets an eerie feeling looking at the footage. It looks surreal. The way people rush, empty faces, fear in their eyes.
He forces himself to look away. “Well, I think I’m going to call my dad again.”
“You’d better go upstairs. The reception isn’t too good down here.”
“Oh.” He goes out to the tunnel and back to the ladder, climbs up and pushes open the hatch. The sunlight tries desperately to enter Holger’s stuffy bedroom, but most of it is blocked by the heavy curtains. The door to the living room is open, and Dan enters.
Immediately, he notices the sound from the windows: eager fingers scratching away at the glass, muffled moans and groans. The curtains are drawn in here, too, but he can still make out shadows moving around outside. The temperature is a lot higher than it was down in the bunker; William mentioned how Holger has made sure every room underground is ventilated through a complex system which filters out anything poisonous, like nerve gas.
Dan makes his way through the messy living room, trying not to trip over anything. He prefers to call his dad from the kitchen, where the sound of the zombies hopefully won’t be audible.
As he passes the couch, he stops abruptly.
Mille is sitting cross-legged between piles of books and clothes. She isn’t moving at all, which is probably why Dan overlooked her at first. Her eyes are closed, and her hands are folded in her lap. She’s wearing a large headset connected to her phone.
“Oh, I didn’t see you,” he blurts out.
Mille doesn’t answer, so Dan reaches out and touches her shoulder gently.
Her eyes pop open. She pulls off the headset, looking from him to the windows. “What is it? Is anything wrong?”
“No, no, everything’s fine. At least as far as I know. I just woke up.”
Mille lets out a deep sigh. “You scared me.”
“Sorry about that. Were you, like, meditating or something?”
“Or something, yeah,” she says, avoiding his eyes. “It helps with my anxiety.”
“Oh. Great. Sorry I interrupted you.”
“That’s all right.”
Dan is about to leave her alone, when she nods towards the windows. “I just couldn’t take the sound of them anymore, you know. So I found this headset.”
“Yeah, I get that. We should turn on some music or something, try and block out the sound. I think I saw a radio somewhere.”
Mille smiles up at him, briefly. “That would be nice.”
Suddenly, Dan’s cheeks turn hot. It’s silly; Mille is Jennie’s age and would never be interested in someone like him. But she’s very pretty, and she looks at him a moment longer.
“What?” he asks.
“I was just thinking … while you slept, William told me what you’ve been through.”
“Oh. Yeah, it’s been … it’s been …” Dan doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he simply shrugs, then repeats: “Yeah.”
“It’s really impressive. I mean, how well you’re coping.”
Dan doesn’t know where to look, so he goes to scratch his hair, then remembers his involuntary mohawk and turns even more red-faced.
Mille doesn’t seem to notice. “How do you do it?” she asks earnestly.
“How do I do what?”
“How are you not sitting in a corner crying right now? I mean, you’ve lost your sister and been separated from your family, and you just go and take a nap! I can barely close my eyes for two seconds without getting a panic attack. I even fainted when I saw my friend getting … getting …” Mille’s voice grows steadily higher, and she begins to hyperventilate. “Give me a minute,” she whispers. “Here comes another one. I just need to breathe through it.”
Dan looks at her as she closes her eyes and begins taking deep breaths through her nose, filling her chest, then letting it out again slowly. After ten or twelve repetitions, she opens her eyes again.
“Was that … a panic attack?” Dan asks tentatively.
She nods. “I had them before, when I was younger. I thought I was done with them, but guess they chose today to return.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Dan mutters, gesturing towards the windows. “I think everyone feels a lot of fear today. They just said on the news that people in other towns are starting to hoard groceries from the shops, because they’re afraid the zombies might spread.”
Mille nods, not looking very surprised. “I would probably be doing the same thing if I wasn’t trapped here.”
“Yeah, well, at least I think this is one of the safest places to be trapped.”
Mille cocks her head slightly. “See, there it is again. How do you keep so damn positive?”
“Uhm,” Dan says, feeling strangely guilty. “I … I don’t know. I just … try not to think of the bad stuff, I suppose.”
Mille scuffs, but also smiles. “You make it sound easy. Maybe I should practice that. Not think of the bad stuff.”
Dan smiles back. Then the phone in his hand suddenly begins ringing. His heart jumps as he sees the name on the screen. “It’s my dad! I have to take this
…”
“Sure.” Mille puts the headset back on.
Dan hurries out into the kitchen, then answers the call and asks: “Dad?”
“Dan? Thank God! You all right?”
“I’m fine, Dad. What about you guys?”
“I’m fine, too. I’m so glad to hear your voice. Where are you?”
“I’m at a safe place just outside town. That guy who picked me up—William—it’s his uncle’s place. He has this crazy saferoom under his house, Dad, I’m telling you, we could survive a nuclear war from here!”
“That’s great to hear. I’m very relieved you’re safe.”
“How are things at the house? Is it safe to come home?”
A short pause. “Not really, no. I … we had to leave the house. We’re in the car right now. I want to come pick you up, Dan.”
“Oh, okay. But … where would we go?”
“I was thinking we could leave town for a couple of days. Maybe go visit your aunt Lisbeth.”
“I think they’ve sealed off the town, Dad. They’re not letting anyone leave.”
“Oh. Well … then … we’ll figure it out.”
“Can’t you guys just come here? It really is a very safe place, and I’m sure Holger wouldn’t mind a few more people.”
“Let’s talk about it when we meet, okay? Do you know the address?”
“Sure! It’s Mill Road 261.”
“Right. We’ll be there soon.”
“Okay, great. See you, Dad.”
“See you, Dan. And Dan?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“I love you. You know that, right?”
Dan was about to end the call, but now he hesitates. “Sure. I love you too.”
“Okay. Bye now.”
“Bye.”
Dan looks at his phone as the call is disconnected. That was strange. Dan can’t recall his dad ever telling him he loved him before. He does love him, of course; Dan has never doubted that for a second, and Dan loves him right back, but those three words just weren’t ever used in the Nygaard household.
And what was it he had heard in his dad’s voice? He sounded hesitant, unsure, like he didn’t know what to say.
He was probably just relieved that I was okay. They have probably all been worried sick.
But Dan isn’t convinced that’s the real reason. In fact, he feels like he did just two days ago, when he was lying in bed, trying to go to sleep. Something was bugging him back then. Something he had picked up on, but couldn’t quite place. Something bad. And now he feels like there might be something—
“Your family okay?”
Dan spins around and stares at Mille, who’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, headset in hand.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. And I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
“It’s okay. Yeah, my family is … fine.”
Mille frowns. “Sorry for saying, but you don’t look very happy about it?”
Dan shakes his head slowly. “I just …” He forces a smile. “I just miss them very much, that’s all.”
Mille smiles back at him. “Wish I had a family to miss.”
“You don’t have any family at all?” Dan can’t help the question slip out, even though he remembers how Mille shut William down yesterday, when he asked her about her family.
But Mille doesn’t get angry, she just sighs. “I do, but I don’t exactly miss them. It’s complicated.”
“Oh. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault, really.” Mille suddenly looks like she realizes what she’s saying, and her face changes abruptly. “I won’t bother you with my sad story. I’m happy your family is all right.” She’s about to turn and go back into the living room.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind listening,” Dan says.
She turns and looks back at him. For a moment, she looks like she actually considers opening up to him. Then she says: “That’s nice of you, but I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s about to leave again, then once more looks back at him. “You know, I will tell you one thing. My mom called me yesterday. I didn’t pick up, because I haven’t spoken to her for years. It was after that call my panic attacks started again; it’s got nothing to do with the zombies.” She smiles, but the smile is sour. “I think that tells you all you need to know about my relationship to my family.”
TWELVE
Driving through town is a surreal experience for Henrik.
There are obvious signs of fights everywhere; smashed-up windows, crashed cars, possessions thrown about. They see a few living people, most of them running or driving to get somewhere, but the majority of the people they see are dead ones, staggering along tirelessly in search of something fresh to eat.
They pass a supermarket, where the cracked glass doors try repeatedly to close, but can’t because of a tipped-over shopping cart. Empty plastic bags and different groceries are littering the parking lot, as the store has obviously been looted. Henrik sees an open wallet dropped on the concrete, bills drifting around it like butterflies in the breeze. No one has bothered to pick it up. Money, Henrik muses, has already lost its appeal, as people have gone into survival mode.
This thought is more than confirmed at the next intersection.
In the middle of the road, three men are fighting savagely. Two of them seem to try and wrestle something from the third guy, beating and kicking at him to get him to let go.
Henrik slows down the car.
Nasira—who has climbed over to the backseat to be with her brother—looks up at him in the mirror. “You … you are not going out there, are you?”
Henrik shakes his head. Whatever the men are trying to rob from the poor guy, Henrik isn’t going to interfere and risk getting a beating of his own.
Finally, one of the attackers rips from the guy on the ground what looks to Henrik like a black metal rod, holding it up triumphantly. The other robber kicks the guy once more for good measure, then turns to his companion. His eyes fall on the car, and he points.
The guy with the metal rod turns around, and Henrik realizes it isn’t a metal rod, but a rifle. His stomach tightens as the man points the weapon right at him.
“Get out of the car!” he shouts.
Henrik reacts per instinct, flooring the accelerator. The man is standing right in front of the car, less than twenty feet away, and he jerks in surprise as the Prius comes lunging at him.
“Fuck!” Henrik hears him shout, as he tries to jump to the side and fire the rifle at the same time, resulting in the shot going off at forty-five degrees into the sky. The sound is very loud, even inside the car, and Nasira screams.
The car shoots right past the shooter, and when Henrik looks in the rearview mirror, the guy makes no attempt to fire the rifle again or take up pursuit.
“Jesus,” Henrik mutters, navigating between two abandoned cars.
“What … what did he want?” Nasira asks.
“The car, I guess. Or maybe he wanted to see if we had anything he could use.”
“I can’t believe it,” Nasira says, shaking her head. “How can people act like this? How can they turn into monsters over night?”
Henrik recalls something he heard on TV once. “There’s a saying that the world is only four meals away from anarchy. I guess that proved pretty accurate.”
Nasira looks out the window. “I really thought people around here were different.”
“You mean Danes?”
“Yes. This reminds me of Iraq, before my family migrated. I was only five, but I remember a little bit. The war and the poverty and the hate. You could see it on people’s faces. Those guys back there … their faces reminded me of that.”
Henrik swallows dryly. He feels like he should defend his home country, come up with something positive to say about his fellow Danes. But what they just witnessed renders it all moot.
“Guess people are the same all over the world,” Nasira finishes. “In times of c
risis, they turn into their worst.”
“Well, let’s try and be the exception, then,” Henrik says, sending her a brief smile.
Nasira returns the smile, then puts her arms around her brother.
Henrik concentrates on driving. They’re approaching the hospital, and even from a few hundred yards away, Henrik can tell things aren’t right.
The scene reminds him of something straight out of an action movie. Police and military vehicles are parked around the building. Shells are strewn about like hail. Bloody pools have stained the asphalt in several places. He sees helmets, boots, and even a severed hand. The front entrance of the hospital is completely trashed from the thousands of rounds fired at it, and Henrik is reminded of the gunshots he heard when he woke up.
There has obviously been a major stand-off here, and judging from the lack of living people, it’s pretty clear who won. Either the authorities decided to withdraw once they realized the flood of undead coming from the hospital couldn’t be contained, simply pulling the plug and leaving town.
Or else they were all killed.
Henrik finds the latter to be the most disturbing. Also the most probable.
As though to confirm his thought, two figures pop up from behind a jeep. Both used to be soldiers, and they’re still wearing full fighting gear, though it didn’t serve to save their lives. They stagger towards the car, and Henrik has to drive in an arch around them.
“Don’t look,” he tells Nasira as they pass the zombie soldiers by a few feet, their bloody fingers groping for the car.
“Not even the military could stop what’s happening,” Nasira remarks, as the hospital grows smaller behind them.
“Not yet, anyway,” Henrik says. “But they will. It’s just gotten out of hands here in town, but I’m sure they’re mobilizing outside, maybe they’re even getting help from other countries.”
“I don’t think they can stop it,” Nasira says bluntly.
Henrik looks at her in the mirror. “Of course they can. It’s just a matter of time. They’ve just never faced a challenge like this, that’s all.”
Nasira shakes her head slowly. “This is not something guns can make right.”
Henrik frowns. “What do you believe this is, exactly?”
Dead Meat (Book 4): Dead Meat [Day 4] Page 7