Eirik looked at it as well, clearly recognising what it was.
A rapid sequence of memories followed the discovery. I recounted my teacher, good old Karl Errikson, as he explained how the Yagi antenna worked. I remembered all the electrical components needed to make one; it was a long shot. There was no way it would work.
But Eirik knew otherwise. He grabbed the bag, and all the wires with it. With a few quick swoops, he made a small hole in the snow, offering us some meagre protection.
‘You know what it can do. I didn’t attend the class. It’s down to you now,’ he told me.
I felt fear and anticipation, but also something like hope. I could do this.
The pole, which had previously been just a weight, now gained new dimensions as I hammered it into place. I removed my phone from its pocket, delighted to see it had some battery left.
I started working. The instructions flew into my head, and I quickly broke open the backside of the phone. It didn’t take me long to find the antenna receiver. Why would it? I had done this a hundred times.
I worked as quickly as I could, grabbing the wires. My hands were shaking badly—I had to take the gloves off, and it was bitterly cold. Forcing myself, I concentrated on tying up all the connectors to their right places, using the receivers in the kit to stick them on top.
There would normally have been no chance of catching signal. Even with an antenna this large, we were remote.
But there was one contributing factor that should never be underestimated: altitude. The signal would be strongest here.
There was a crackle as thunder briefly illuminated our world, passing uncomfortably close to the pole, and filling our nostrils with the smell of ionised air. The storm would interfere with the radio waves, but we had no choice but to hope.
‘Hurry!’ Eirik told me. Then he noticed that the circuit was in place. ‘Call 112! And ask for the police, the ambulance, whatever!’
I dialled the number, my fingers scratching the sensitive touch-screen.
My vision went tunnel. All I could hear was that dial, ringing and ringing. Years of education had come down to this: would it work? Or would it all be for nothing, and our death would be in the cruel embrace of winter?
The line clicked. I held my breath.
Then, beautifully, the sound of a voice—fuzzy, crackled, but still there—asked: ‘Vennligst oppgi nødstilfelle.’
I replied in English. They did speak English, right?
‘Hello, my name is Peter Jackson and I am with Eirik Keller. We are stranded in the mountains around Trondheim—we’re in some sort of valley, north west of the mountains.’
‘Your call has been recorded. We are tracing it now. Please remain calm as the emergency services arrive at your location,’ she said, speaking fluent English.
I exhaled, and sat back. A moment later, the line became indistinguishable noise.
‘I did it,’ I gasped. Eirik smiled at me.
‘You did.’
I don’t know if it was the cold, or fatigue, or hunger, or all of those. All I knew was that as I stared into the abyss of those sea-blue eyes, darkness began closing in.
Eirik’s expression turned to panic, but it was already too late. The darkness closed in, and I fell into unconsciousness.
Chapter Eight: Frelseren
I could hear voices.
I was barely conscious; I was hallucinating. I saw grey shapes, and tasted bitter chemical smells. I was in the world between worlds, the strange place where life and death hang in a fragile equilibrium. I felt cold everywhere. This was not the mere touch of a chill breeze, or even the black grip of frostbite—this was the kind of cold that ate you and left you still.
In this strange twilight world, I heard the sounds: ‘Vi har funnet dem! Vi har funnet dem!’ I vaguely recognised its meaning: We have found them. Who have they found? It can’t be me.
Were they devils or angels? All I could see was this endless tunnel of grey walls and bright lights, leading me to a dark, spinning vortex; a wormhole, an interdimensional tear. The land of the dead.
Closer and closer it got; it was death in the highest form. Then with a scream, I passed through, and knew nothing.
***
I gasped awake.
My heart was pounding, and my body was drenched in sweat. I was alive.
Slowly, ever so slowly, my breaths began to slow. Feeling returned, allowing me to sense the hard bed underneath me, the warm mattress—warm? Oh god. I thought I forgot what that meant.
Something was embedded in my arm. A steady bleep could be heard.
Then, I opened my eyes.
I was inside a small grey room. The walls were whitewashed, and indiscriminate—I vaguely recalled the nightmare. Was this the cause?
The rest of the hospital room was equally bland, in the sort of way white walls and cream carpets are bland. The floor was vinyl, and gleamed like a thousand steel knives. There were tall windows on the wall, taller than me; they let in a pale grey light, the soft light of snow and winter.
The room was fairly quiet, but I could still make out the din of the storm outside. It was only this room, these thin walls and even thinner windows, that protected me from the nightmare that lived outside.
My muscles loosened, and I fell back in my bed, content to let things be. I was safe now. Happy. I would talk to the doctor, and phone my parents—or maybe they already had. I wondered what I would say to them. That I was stupid? That it was just bad luck? That Eirik and I…
Wait. Eirik.
My eyes re-opened, and I surveyed the room one more time. Had they put him in another room? Was he safe like me?
I suddenly spotted the other bed; it was small and clean, just like mine. It also answered both my questions: Eirik was alive, and he was safe. Of course he was safe. How could those calm, closed eyelids betray anything bad? How could that dark, matte hair belong to that of a person in danger? Why, he was so calm, peaceful, unmoving…
I realised that he wasn’t breathing. I continued to look for signs of life, but he remained as still as a tomb. Then I became aware of the other beep in the room—it was slowly getting less and less frequent, rarer and rarer.
Idiots! I thought. But they weren’t idiots, no: they didn’t know he was a vampire, and they didn’t understand what he needed.
With no concern to my own safety, I pulled out the IV and flew out of bed. I was wearing a light white gown; they had dressed me, I understood in the back of my mind.
The rest of me was dragging my body towards Eirik, to put my hands on his cold skin.
The monitor above him suddenly started bleeping—it had gone to zero.
I thought I had experienced panic. I had been caught in a snowstorm, having known no possible escape. I had expected death, but not an isolated one. Not me living alone, Eirik, merely a pleasant memory—a dream that would fade away.
I shook him, but I got no reply.
My heart boomed in my chest. My eyes became singular points, concentrating on that one figure. My body: a machine with a purpose.
Vampires drank blood. Everyone knew that. The doctors would too, had they been aware. Even as I desperately prayed to whatever god was up there, my head swivelled of its own right, searching for what he needed.
And there it was: a trolley, filled with bags and bags of red life. I grabbed one. My hands ripped into it, desperation lending me strength I had no idea I possessed.
Then I forced it into his mouth. I made him drink that, hoping against hope, against chance, against everything.
For a moment, he was a lifeless corpse in the shape of my friend. For a moment, I thought that nature had finally beaten me; that it had taken away what I loved most.
Then, as I was about to curl up and give up, something stirred. No more than a twitch; a vague motion in the lips.
But then there was a bleep, and his heart rose up into glorious life. His lips drew blood in more forcefully now, determined to take in all of that precious liquid. The
y said water was the most important thing to life, but now I knew otherwise.
I grabbed another bag, feeding him more.
Eventually, he stopped. His breathing had restarted—a steady canon of life, playing the tune of hope.
His eyes opened.
They opened suddenly, as if he were wide awake. At first, they saw nothing; at first, they were just unused tools. But gradually, ever so gradually, they regained consciousness: something had awoken. That consciousness, that awareness, turned into sudden realisation.
‘Peter…’
‘Hey Eirik,’ I replied.
I sat down next to him, shaky, but joyous. Oh god, I really believed I had lost him.
‘You saved me, didn’t you?’ he asked, looking surprised.
‘I did.’
‘For all my strength as a vampire, it was still you who saved me.’
I heard shouts and footsteps. The medical team would be here soon. They would be happy to see him awake, no doubt. But maybe they wouldn’t be so happy when they discovered the broken bags, when they did tests, analyses… when they discovered he was not one of them.
Eirik came to the same conclusion.
‘I have to go, Peter. I can’t let them find out.’
But I had to know. As he walked out of bed, climbing on the ceiling like a deranged spider, I asked:
‘Eirik… you came so close to dying. I survived. Why?’
He smiled. Brilliant that smile was, filled with joy and longing and god-knows what else.
‘That’s because I fed you my blood; you would have died without it. You were dying.’
Then, he vanished.
That was how the nurses found me. Me, standing there, surrounded by blood and an empty bed. I didn’t know what they thought; I didn’t care.
When you’ve seen death—when you’ve been so close you could almost touch its pale, deathly face—you realised what really mattered. Love and friendship is what we live for, and blood is merely something which gives us life—for human or vampire.
I smiled stupidly, going back to bed. I had survived, and more than that: I had gained a true friend.
Epilogue: Kjæreste
One month later.
Spring had come to Trondheim. The last of the snow was melting; the sun was bright and ebullient, painting the lakes cerulean blue and gilding the trees with gold. I had just finished my Partial Differential Equations II class—the course everyone liked the least (or, quite often, hated). It was Friday, and I was excited. I needed a proper night out after all that maths.
My room mate, whose name was Sven (a nice, simple Scandinavian name) was lounging on his armchair, headphones plugged in. He was playing the latest zombie shooter game; I smiled. I sometimes played him online, but I usually lost. The guy could sure aim a headshot.
‘God dag Peter! How are you?’ he asked, pausing the game.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you really pausing the game on my behalf?’
‘I was losing anyway. Besides, your friend Eirik called.’
I raised my eyebrow further. ‘Oh yeah? And what did he say?’
‘He asked if he could come pick you up this afternoon; he said he had something in mind.’ Sven whistled. ‘It sounded like he wanted to ask you out. He is bi, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘Don’t you like girls? You were smooching Vilde at the bar a few weeks ago.’
‘Exactly.’
Sven shrugged. ‘So? Are you going to call him back?’
‘I’ll text him.’
He snorted. ‘You just don’t want to call him because you haven’t talked to him in weeks—ever since you survived that storm.’
I realised he was right. I sighed, whipping out my phone. Eirik? It’s Peter. When do you want to come by the dorms?
I’ll be there in 15 minutes, he replied straightaway.
Will we be going somewhere? I asked.
No, just my parents’ house; they’re away.
I was wearing practical clothes appropriate for the weather—a windproof jacket, ski trousers, and boots. An icy wind traversed the landscape, for spring is still cold in Trondheim. We were only a few hundred kilometers from the Arctic Circle.
Yet strangely, I felt uncomfortable. I switched the ski trousers—which were an ugly shade of dark grey—for more comfortable and more fashionable black jeans. I kept the boots, because there was still ice on the unheated roads, and because I liked wearing a solid pair of boots. I put on a nice brown jacket on top of my woolly jumper.
I could imagine what Eirik was wearing: jeans, boots, and a plain T-shirt, either black or white.
‘Looks like you are going out on a date,’ Sven remarked mockingly. He had crystal blue eyes and blond hair, a shade close to platinum. His hair was messy—it was his trademark—and he was smiling sarcastically.
‘Shut up.’
It didn’t take long for me to hear the engine—a purring V8, distinct from any other traffic. Eirik’s S-class coupé cost as much as a house, thanks to Norwegian taxes and the sheer, absurd luxury of the car itself.
I took the lift, nervously fidgeting. I let myself our of the door, looking for Eirik. I had just seen his car a moment ago...
He put a hand on my shoulder, making my jump. ‘Hello Peter.’
‘You shouldn’t do that!’
‘I’m a very good stalker.’
‘Yes, but you’re a vampire,’ I whispered. ‘It’s not fair.’
He chuckled. I took him in, realising I was right: he was wearing dark jeans, black boots, and a black T-shirt. He looked beautiful and intimidating—a knight without the shining armour.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t call you before,’ I said, suddenly remembering how nervous I was.
‘I get it. I left in quite a rush.’
‘Now that’s an understatement.’
He smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth, and a hint of fang. I remembered when he bit me, and I blushed slightly. Eirik noticed straightaway.
‘Come on you, get in the car. I’ll let you drive if you ask nicely.’
That succeeded in distracting me. ‘Really? Can I? Pretty please?’
‘Go on.’
Inside, the car was warm. The leather was porcelain white and very comfortable; it was a perfect match for the Cavansite blue exterior. The V8 rumbled to life, producing smooth torque. In a moment I was out of the car park and barreling down the street.
‘Slower! It’s faster than you think it is!’
I could barely tell: the car was eerily quiet, only a faint snarl coming from the engine when I pushed it. Still, Eirik was right, and I had to slow down. He lived a couple of kilometers from the university.
‘Why do you need a car, anyway?’ I asked him. ‘Can’t you just walk or bike?’
‘I’m impatient—if I ran as fast the car, I would scare humans.’
‘But you can run the distance?’
‘Sure I can.’
The fun didn’t last long, for soon we arrived at his parents’ house. It wasn’t like his small apartment in the city centre; this was a place that exuded rustic charm. It was a large farmhouse with a steep roof, and walls that were painted bright red, in the traditional Norwegian style.
‘It looks like something out of Hansel and Gretel, only with vampires instead of the wicked witch,’ I commented dryly.
‘I like it—it has a charm that many modern buildings lack. Besides, it’s a lot less intimidating than a castle.’
‘Wait, there are vampires who actually live in castles?’
‘A few, but we think they’re just vainglorious.’
The interior fulfilled the expectations promised by the exterior. The floor was made from a pale timber, and reflected the afternoon light, shining gold where the sun was brightest. The ceiling was suspended by oak beams, ancient and darkened. It smelled of warmth, homeliness, and dust mites.
‘It feels so... koselig.’
He smiled. ‘That’s a good way to put it. My parents al
ways preferred cozy over icy modernism.’
‘Do you have your own room?’ I asked.
‘I do, because my parents kept the bedroom even after I got my own apartment.’
‘I wish I could have my own apartment.’
‘You will be able to afford renting a place once you graduate—this is Norway.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Come on upstairs.’ I followed him, though he took the stairs two at a time. I was huffing and puffing by the time I caught up.
‘Not fair!’ I said.
His room possessed the same aesthetic as the rest of the house, but I could spot a few signs of his masculinity. His bed was clean and orderly, but only because he didn’t live here. I noticed an old desktop computer which looked distinctly like a gaming PC (Sven had something like it in his room).
I jumped on his double bed, lying back in a happy sort of exhaustion. I realised that the house was silent; there was only me and him.
‘Don’t you have to ask permission to sleep on my bed?’ he asked.
‘It just looked so big and comfy.’ He laughed. Then he jumps in next to me, moving gracefully, and fluidly, despite his size and strength. It reminded me of a tiger.
‘So what have you been doing this past month?’ he asked me out of the blue.
‘Not much—just trying to survive school. You know what Partial Differential Equations is like.’
‘I do. I also know you can handle the math.’
‘I guess.’
‘Were you dating Vilde for a while?’
‘Yeah... not really. We made out, but I was really drunk.’
‘I always had the impression Vilde just wanted a boyfriend, and you were humouring her because you had no idea what you really wanted.’
I wa uncomfortable now, not because of the subject, but because he could see through me. A part of me wanted to blame it on the vampire powers: he could listen to my heart beat, smell my sweat, and his eyes don’t miss a thing. But was it really that? Eirik knows me—maybe better than I know myself.
‘So you’ve broken up with her now?’
‘We mutually agreed to end the relationship, whatever it was. What about you, Eirik?’ I asked, trying to change the subject. ‘I haven’t seen you with anyone. Boy or girl.’
The Vampire Eirik Page 6