“Listen, Dennis, you can trust me, okay? I’m not trying to trick you, I promise. I just need to speak with you for a couple of moments, that’s all.”
Dan is talking in a calming manner, but Dennis feels very tense now. Suddenly, he regrets even picking up the weird phone. “I … I don’t know if I should be talking with you. I think I’ll go get my Mom now.”
“Please wait, Dennis. Like I said, this is very important. The future of the world might depend on it.”
That last part makes Dennis hesitate again. “How so?” he asks tentatively.
This time, the pause is a little longer. Like the guy on the other end is contemplating how to put things. Dennis clutches the phone. When Dan finally speaks, his tone is very intimate.
“I know how it all began. I know you and your mother were somehow involved. It’s okay, I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying, I know you saw how it all went down—didn’t you?”
Dennis’s mouth is suddenly drained of any saliva. He gapes like a fish on land. A new, strong impulse to disconnect the call, and it’s all he can do not to. Something in the guy’s voice makes Dennis stay on the line.
“You don’t need to answer,” the guy goes on. “The reason I’m calling is because I need your help, Dennis. I want to stop this thing. And I can only do that if you help me reach your mom.”
“Okay, I can go get her right—”
“Not by putting her on the phone, no. If you do that, she’ll just hang up on me. She won’t trust me.”
Thinking about it, Dennis realizes the guy is most likely right. And maybe Mom would be right not to do so—Dennis still isn’t sure.
“Instead, I need you to let me in. I’m coming back to Holger’s house. I’ll be there tomorrow. You need to unluck the hatch that you and your mom came in through. Can you do that?”
“I … I … can’t,” Dennis says, shaking his head. “Mom would kill me.”
“That’s why you need to do it without your mom noticing. I know this is a lot to ask, but—”
Dennis shakes his head even more violently. “No! No, I’d never do that. I’d never trick Mom like that!”
Dan keeps his voice calm. “I understand, Dennis. But you need to trust me. The reason I ask you to do this, is because your mom won’t let me in no matter what I tell her. Only you can let me in. Once I’m in, I can make your mom understand why I need her help. I believe she might be the only person in the world who can find a way to stop what’s happening before it’s too late. I give you my word that I won’t hurt you or your mom. I swear to that. Do you believe me, Dennis?”
Oddly, Dennis finds that he does.
And then, suddenly, finally, it falls into place.
“You … you are … it was you … in the car! I saw you from the upstairs window. You and your friends were the ones who stayed here before me and Mom came!”
He expects Dan to deny it or at least sound guilty, but he simply says: “You’re right, Dennis.”
Dennis frowns. “So how do I know you aren’t just coming to take the place back from us? Maybe … maybe you and your friends are making some sort of clever plan to throw me and Mom out of here!”
“We have no intention of doing that. You need to trust me.”
“How can I trust you when I don’t even know you?”
A longer pause again. Dennis is about to ask if the guy is still on the line, when he finally speaks.
“I will be the only one coming into the house. And I won’t bring any weapons. I’ll let your mom decide what to do with me. If she wants to kill me and throw me out the window like she did with Holger, then I won’t be able to stop her.” Dennis can hear the guy take a breath before he goes on: “That’s how you know we aren’t coming to take the house back. That’s how you know you can trust me, Dennis.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Iver sits on the chair in the corner and watches the toddler play. He can’t help but smile.
The little guy is exploring the room, investigating every piece of toy in turn, now and then looking up at Iver and smiling tentatively, as though to ask: “I can play with this one too?”
There really are a lot of toys; Agnete had him drag out a veritable suitcase from a closet in her bedroom, which turned out to contain everything from teddy bears to race cars.
They’re in the upstairs bedroom, and Iver is thankful for the second floor; up here, the they can’t hear the zombies working the downstairs windows. Which means with a little luck, they’ll actually be able to sleep.
The thought makes Iver yawn, and he checks his watch. It’s eight o’clock. The sun is beginning to move towards the horizon, sending that last blaze of orange light in through the windows.
If Iver only looks at the little guy shuffling around playing with the toys, he can almost fool himself into believing the world is a safe place.
He called his mom earlier, when he finally was able to get reception. She had been worried sick for him ever since she heard about the ferry. He assured her he was fine. She was too, in fact; on her way to Finland on a bus with Aunt Ada. The Finnish government were setting up safe camps up north, where they would be able to house several thousand people and where the infection shouldn’t be able to get in.
Iver hopes very much that will hold true.
He can still taste the dinner that Agnete made for them. He feels tired enough that he could lie down right now and sleep.
“You’re not tired at all?” he asks.
The boy looks over at him with a questioning look.
“When do you usually go to bed?”
The toddler holds up a play phone, smiling, as though saying: “I think it’s for you.”
Iver holds out his hand, and the toddler comes waddling over, placing the phone in his palm.
Iver pretends to dial a number. “So, who should we call? Your mommy?” The word slips out before he can think, and he can feel the blood drain from his face. The boy doesn’t seem to notice, though; he just looks up at Iver with anticipation, waiting to see what will happen.
Iver clears his throat and holds the phone to his ear. “Hello? Yes, this is Iver. What’s that? Oh, okay.” He hands the phone to the boy. “They want to speak with you.”
The toddler smiles widely and takes the phone without taking his eyes off of Iver’s face. Iver can tell from looking into his eyes how he’s trying hard to figure out what he’s supposed to do. Then he places it against his ear.
Iver smiles and nods. “That’s right. That’s how you do it.”
“’ello?” the boy says, surprising Iver in how accurately he mimics the word. “’ello?”
“You’re so clever,” Iver says, feeling a lump form in his throat. Before he can help himself, he reaches out a hand to stroke the little guy’s golden hair.
“’ello?” the boy says again, turning to waddle back over to the toys, the phone still held against his ear.
Iver watches him and forces back tears pressing behind his eyes. The thought of the little guy never getting to see his mom again is too much to bear.
“What are you going to call him?”
Iver snaps his head around to see Agnete standing in the doorway. The old lady has come up the stairs very quietly. She’s looking at the toddler, smiling, holding a bottle of milk.
“I … I don’t know,” Iver says, discretely wiping his eyes in his sleeve. “He already has a name. I can’t just … rename him.”
“Well, we’ll have to call him something.” Agnete comes into the room. “Hold on, I just got an idea.” She hands Iver the bottle, then goes to the toddler and kneels down. She checks the inside of his shirt collar at the back of his neck, pulling out the little white flap with the wash instructions. “There you go. Adam.”
Iver can see the name written in black marker on the flap. “Why … why would they write his name there?”
“It’s something you often do when they begin in day care. So the childminder can tell the clothes apart if she needs to change it.”
/>
“Oh. So his name is Adam?”
The boy looks over at him.
“Adam?” Iver repeats. “You know that name?”
“Adum,” the boy mimics.
Agnete chuckles. “Well, Adam, it’s time for bed now.” She takes the bottle from Iver, then places a hand on his shoulder. “Chris wants to have a word with you downstairs.”
“He does? Oh, okay. Well, what about …?”
“I’ll tuck him in. You just tell him good night.”
Iver gets up, and Adam looks at him. “Well, good night, little guy. I mean, Adam. Good night, Adam.”
He turns and leaves, closing the door softly behind him, then walks downstairs.
As soon as he reaches the living room, the sound of the hands groping the windows become audible.
Chris is sitting on a chair, his elbows resting on his knees. The rifle lies on the table next to him.
“You done playing with the baby?” he asks, not looking at Iver.
Iver ignores the snarky tone. “What do you want to talk about?”
Chris leans back and sighs. “Sorry. It’s been a long fucking day.”
Iver nods and comes closer. “I know. Where’s Charlotte?”
“Sleeping. She’ll be taking the first shift.”
“I see.”
Chris is quiet for a while. Iver waits for him to say something.
“It’s a shame we didn’t have time to find anything to block the rest of the windows with,” Chris says.
“I know.”
Another pause.
“Look, I get it,” Chris begins. “About the boy. Why you want to protect him. He’s the future and all that. I was dating this chick, and she had a kid too. A one-year-old. I really grew to like the little guy.” Chris throws out his hand. “Hell, I guess I’m technically still dating her. I just assume she didn’t make it. I tried calling her from the lifeboat, but … she didn’t pick up.”
“Oh.” Iver is too surprised to say much else. “Was she … aboard the ferry?”
“Nah, she lives in Copenhagen.”
Iver heard the news about Copenhagen being overrun already the day before yesterday.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” he says.
“Yeah, me too.” Chris sighs again, then glances over at Iver. “You think I’m an asshole.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
“Well, I wouldn’t—”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. We had this saying in my unit: Assholes outlive everyone else. I think that’s true. Especially in situations like this.” He nods towards the windows. The drapes are pulled shut, but Iver can still make out the contours of the deads outside. There seems to be more of them than when Iver left.
“How many are out there now?” he asks.
“Too many,” Chris says. “And I think more will be coming throughout the night.”
He gets to his feet, takes the rifle and places it on the floor. “Give me a hand, will you?”
Iver follows his lead as they tip over the table, putting in on its side. Chris then picks up a screwdriver Iver didn’t notice until now and begins dismantling one of the legs.
“What are you doing?” Iver asks.
“Pull the curtain aside on the left-hand window,” Chris says. “You’ll see.”
Iver frowns. Then he goes to the window. The figures outside begin to crowd around him and move more eagerly, as though they can sense him coming closer.
He glances over at Chris, who’s busy unscrewing the legs from the table. Then he takes hold of the curtain and pulls it aside just a few inches.
It’s all he can do to ignore the blind, dead faces staring in at him, growling and biting at the glass, staining it with drool and blood.
Then he notices something even more terrifying: the starshaped crack in the glass. As the undead press up against the window, it produces a harrowing whine, as though threatening to break any second.
Iver lets go of the curtain with a gasp and steps back. He glares at Chris. “They … they broke the window!”
“They sure did. I think one of them tripped and banged his fucking head against it. I think that’s how it happened.”
“But … but we need to do something!”
“Whaddaya think I need this for?” He pads the now legless table. “Help be lift it.”
Iver grabs hold of the table and they lift it over to the window, placing it on the sill.
“Now,” Chris says, putting his hand in his pocket and producing a bunch of screws. “As soon as we pull the curtain aside, they’ll begin flipping out. So we need to be quick. Let me just get these ready.” He drives a screw halfway into each of the top corners of the table. Then he nods at Iver. “Right. I’m ready when you are.”
Iver looks at the curtain, feeling his heart pump away in his chest. Then he grabs it, counts out loud to three and yanks it aside all the way.
There are even more out there on the terrace than he thought. At least twenty that he can see. They’re standing in rows, pressing and shoving to get in front of the others, to get to the broken window.
Then Chris cuts the view as he pushes the table up against the window, holds it with his shoulder and drills the screws into the frame, fastening the table against the glass.
“There,” he says, stepping back. “Will take them a little longer before they can make their way through that.”
Iver looks over at the next windows—the table is only covering one and a half of the four windows. “What about those?”
“Those will probably crack sooner or later, too,” Chris says, picking up the table legs. “And I’m afraid we don’t have enough tables to cover the whole house.”
“And when they do?” Iver insists. “What happens when one of the windows breaks?”
“Then we’ll have a real fucking problem on our hands. Unless we start shooting the fuckers before that.”
“Okay, so why don’t we?” Iver asks, flinging out his arms. “Why haven’t we already?”
“Because there’s too many of them and too few bullets,” Chris says plainly. “Killing them off as a precautionary measure is a luxury we can’t afford. If we did that, then we’d have no ammo left for when we really need it.”
Iver stares at Chris as he picks up the rifle, then sits back down, casually placing the weapon across his lap.
“I feel like there’s something you want to tell me,” Iver says, squinting.
“You’re not as dumb as I thought.”
“Fuck you.”
Chris smiles. “Take a seat.”
TWENTY-NINE
Soon as he disconnects, Dan turns around to look at the others. They’re all staring back at him. For a long moment, no one says anything.
Then William clears his throat. “Were you serious just now? About you going back there?”
Dan shrugs. “I have to, yeah. It’s the only way. I know it. I can’t explain why, I just do.”
Talking with Dennis has only confirmed the feeling in his gut. Dan never really believed in anything. Not in God, not in fate, not in karma.
But these last days have drastically challenged his perception of the world and what operates behind the scene.
Losing your entire family in a matter of days is bound to change how you view things. It’s like he can see things more clearly now. Like there’s suddenly nothing in the way of him receiving the message something has been trying desperately to send him ever since he stepped into that last house on the paper route.
Of course, there’s a chance Dan is making all this up; he’s well aware of that. It could be simply his grief. He could be losing his mind. Hell, he might have already lost it.
But it doesn’t feel like it.
And besides, what has he got left to lose? His life? That strangely doesn’t seem all that important any longer. It’s such a fickle thing anyway, life; one second it’s there, and the next it can be going, slipping away from between your fingers like smoke, revealing the fact that you never
had any real say in the matter to begin with.
“Dan, look,” Sebastian says, sighing. “I’m sorry, but we can’t do that. We’ve got a good chance to get away here. It would be madness to turn around.”
The others nod in silent agreement, watching Dan for his response. And he realizes just how much of a say he really has over the group. He’s never known that feeling before. He’s always been one of the quiet guys at the back. But here he’s the one who’s lost the most, who’s been fighting for the longest, who’s got the most experience.
And that gives his words weight.
That makes the others care for what he has to say, even if might sound crazy.
Dan is keenly aware of this strange new feeling of being taken very seriously, and the last thing he wants is to abuse his power. So he says: “I understand. I would never ask any of you to risk your lives for me. If any of you want to come with me, I’d appreciate it. If not, I’m totally fine with it. Really.”
The rest of the group exchange looks.
Sebastian looks back at Dan, places both hands on Lærke’s shoulders and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, buddy. I couldn’t go even if I wanted to.”
Dan nods.
Nasira steps forward and holds out both palms. Dan hesitates for a moment, then he takes her hands. She bends forward and kisses his knuckles, then whispers under her breath: “God is speaking to you. You’re right to listen.” She looks up at him, and for the first time, Dan sees tears in her eyes: “May He be with you and protect you. May His light guide you and help you see.”
“Thanks, Nasira,” Dan says.
She lets go of his hands and steps back over to Ali.
Josefine throws out her arms. “I’ve seen too much death. I’m sorry, I just can’t go back there.”
“I understand, Josefine,” Dan says.
Farthest to the right is William. As Dan turns his head to look at him, he sees William staring at him with lips pressed firmly together. “You’re really going, aren’t you?”
Dan nods.
“And I can’t say anything to change your mind, can I?”
Dead Meat Box Set, Vol. 2 | Days 4-6 Page 54