Handling The Undead

by John Ajdive Lindqvist

  If this is the way it is.

  When Flora had returned from the telephone and told her what she wanted to know, Elvy had imagined that silent army of the resurrected, hundreds, thousands striding in dignity down the streets, a beautiful sign of what was to come. Even though she’d known better. She walked over to the bedroom door. Paper sliding, being turned. Unclipped toenails on bare feet, the icy hands, the smell. No exalted host of angels, but flesh and blood bodies forcing their way all over the place, creating problems.

  But the ways of the Lord…

  ·… are mysterious, yes. We know nothing. Elvy shook her head, said it out loud, ‘We know nothing’, and that would have to suffice. She walked out on the verandah to look for Flora.

  The August night was dark and not a breeze was moving the leaves. It is night but so still that the light burns without flickering. When Elvy’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, she picked out Flora’s dark silhouette leaning against the trunk of the apple tree. She walked down the stairs and over to her.

  ‘You’re sitting out here?’ she said.

  It wasn’t really a question; Flora didn’t reply. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said and got to her feet, picking a half-ripe apple from the tree and tossing it back and forth between her hands.

  ‘What have you been thinking?’

  The apple went up into the air, hung for a moment in the light from the living room and then fell back into Flora’s hand with a slap.

  ‘What the hell will they do?’ Flora said, and laughed. ‘Everything is different now. Nothing makes sense. You know? Everything they’ve based all their shit on… pfff! Gone! Death, life. Nothing makes sense.’

  ‘No,’ said Elvy. ‘That’s true.’

  Flora’s bare legs took a few prancing steps across the lawn.

  Suddenly she sent the apple high and far into the air. Elvy watched it fly in a wide arc across the hedge and heard it thud onto the neighbour’s roof, roll across the brick tiles.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ she said.

  ‘Or what? Or what?’ Flora threw her arms wide as if she wanted to embrace the night, the world. ‘What will they do? Call in the National Guard, arrest someone? Call the Pentagon and ask them to bomb the place? I want to see…I really want to see how they fix this one.’

  Flora picked a new apple, threw it in the other direction. This time it didn’t hit a roof.

  ‘Flora…’

  Elvy tried to lay her hand on Flora’s arm, but the girl pulled away.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘You think this is Armageddon, don’t you? I don’t know the story, but the dead come to life, the seals are broken and the whole deal and then it’s all over-that it?’

  Elvy felt a strong resistance to this description of her beliefs, but said, ‘Well… yes.’

  ‘OK. I don’t believe it. But say you did believe it, then what the hell does it matter if an apple gets on a neighbour’s roof?’

  ‘Show some common courtesy. Please Flora, pull yourself together.’

  Flora roared with laughter, but not meanly. She hugged Elvy, rocking her side to side as if she were a foolish child. Elvy could take that. She allowed herself to be rocked.

  ‘Nana, Nana,’ Flora whispered. ‘You think the whole world is about to end and you’re telling me to pull myself together.’

  Elvy snorted. It actually was quite funny. Flora let go of her, took a step back and held her palms pressed together in front of her, bobbing in an Indian greeting.

  ‘Like you said before, I don’t share your beliefs. But what I believe, Nana, is that there is going to be a fucking incredible amount of mayhem. You should have heard the woman’s voice, at the call centre; It was as if the zombies were panting down her neck. It is going to be chaos, it is going to be something else, and damn if I don’t think that’s good.’

  The ambulance arrived like a thief in the night. No sirens; not even the emergency lights. It glided up the street in front of the house, the front doors opened and two paramedics in light blue shirts stepped out. Elvy and Flora walked out to meet them.

  The one who had come out of the driver’s side nodded to Elvy and pointed at the house.

  ‘Is he in there?’

  ‘Yes,’ Elvy said. ‘I…I locked him in the bedroom.’

  ‘You’re not the only one, believe me.’

  They pulled on rubber gloves and continued up the stairs. Elvy didn’t know what to do. Should she follow them in and help or would she be in the way?

  She stood there, rocking on her feet, when the backdoors of the ambulance opened and yet another man stepped out. He was quite unlike the paramedics; older, rounder. His shirt was black. He stood for a moment outside the ambulance and took stock of his surroundings. Or rather, enjoyed them. Perhaps he had been shut in too long.

  As he turned to the house, Elvy saw the white rectangle in his collar, and she wiped her hands on her robe preparing herself to greet him. Flora whistled, but Elvy paid her no attention. This was senous.

  The man arrived swiftly at house – his gait was surprisingly energetic for someone so rotund – and stretched out his hand

  ‘Good evening. Or good morning, perhaps. Bernt Janson.’

  Elvy took his hand, which was warm and firm, curtsied and said, ‘Elvy Lundberg.’

  Bernt shook hands with Flora as well, and went on ‘Yes, I’m a hospital chaplain at Huddinge normally, but tonight I’m out riding around in an ambulance.’ His expression became more grave. ‘How are you coping with this, then?’

  ‘Fine,’ Elvy said. ‘We’re doing fine’.

  Bernt nodded and kept silent to let Elvy continue. When she didn’t, he said, ‘Yes, it’s an extraordinary situation, this. Many people are finding it extremely disturbing.’

  Flv y had nothing to add. She really had one question, which she now posed.

  ‘How can this be happening?’

  ‘Well,’ Bernt said, ‘that’s something everyone’s wondering, naturally. And unfortunately I can only say: we don’t know.’

  ‘But surely you must know!’

  Elvy’s voice took on a more forceful note and Bernt looked surprised.

  ‘How… do you mean?’

  Elvy glanced at Flora, forgetting that her grandchild was not

  the person from whom to seek support. Even more irritated, she stamped her foot into the paving and said loudly, ‘Are you standing here in front of me, a minister of the Church of Sweden, and telling me that you do not know what this means? Do you have a Bible on you, shall I look it up for you?’

  Bernt raised his arm to placate her. ‘I see, you mean…’

  Flora left them and walked into the house. Elvy didn’t notice.

  ‘Yes, I do. You can’t seriously mean that this is just an unusual

  occurrence, like… snow in June. Can you? “On the last day the dead shall rise from their graves”… ‘

  Bernt made a calming gesture. ‘Yes, well, perhaps it’s a little early to comment on… these matters.’ He looked up and down the street, scratched the back of his neck and lowered his voice, ‘But of course these things may turn out to have a greater significance.’

  Elvy did not give up. ‘Don’t you believe it?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes…’ Bernt looked at the ambulance, took half a step closer to Elvy and said, right next to her ear, ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘Well then, say so.’

  Bernt resumed his earlier posture. He looked somewhat more

  relaxed now, but still spoke in a low voice. ‘Yes, that opinion is not completely comme it faut, so to speak. That is not why I am here. It wouldn’t be acceptable for me to go around in this kind of situation

  and… preach.’

  Elvy understood. She may have felt it was cowardly, but of course most people would not want a doomsday preacher on a night like this.

  ‘So you do believe,’ she said, ‘that this is the Second Coming. All of that. That it will be as it’s written?’

  Now Bernt could
no longer retain his composure. His face broke out in a wide, joyous grin and he whispered, ‘Yes! Yes, I believe it will!’

  Elvy smiled back. At least now there were two of them.

  The paramedics returned with Tore between them. Both wore expressions of controlled revulsion. As they came closer, Elvy understood why. The front of Tore’s shirt was damp, spotted with a yellowish fluid, and a stench of rotting organic matter enveloped him. He had started to defrost.

  ‘Well, now,’ Bernt said. ‘Here we have…’ ‘Tore,’ Elvy said.

  ‘Tore, I see.’

  Flora came after him. She had been in the bedroom and collected her clothes, her bag. She walked up to Bernt, looking him up and down. Bernt did the same; his eyes locked for one second with Marilyn Manson’s, and Elvy clasped her hands in front of her chest, tried to send Flora a telepathic signal that this was not the right moment for a theological discussion. But Flora’s question was of a more practical nature.

  ‘What are you doing with them?’ she asked.

  ‘We… For now we’re taking them to Danderyd.’

  ‘And then? What will they do?’

  Tore had been led into the ambulance and Elvy said, ‘Flora, they are very busy…’

  Flora turned to Elvy. ‘Aren’t you interested? Don’t you want to know what they’ll do with Grandpa?’

  ‘It is, of course…’ Bernt cleared his throat, ‘a very natural question. And the fact is that we do not know. But I can assure you that no one will do anything with them, so to speak.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Well…’ Brent frowned. ‘I didn’t know what you meant, but I assumed…’

  ‘How can you be so sure, then?’

  Bernt shot Elvy a look, these young people, which Elvy returned half-heartedly. One of the paramedics had stayed with Tore, but the other came over to them and said, ‘Loaded and ready to go.’ Bernt made a faint grimace and the man grinned and said, ‘You done?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bernt turned to Elvy, ‘Perhaps you’d like to accompany us?’ When Elvy shook her head, he said, ‘No, no. But someone will be in touch as soon… as soon as we know something.’

  He shook Elvy’s hand goodbye. When he stretched his hand out to Flora, she took it and said, ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Well,’ Bernt said, looking at Elvy, ‘I’m not sure that’s appropriate.’

  ‘Just into town,’ Flora said. ‘A lift. I’ve already asked.’

  Bernt turned toward the ambulance driver who confirmed this with a nod. Bernt sighed, turned to Elvy. ‘If that’s all right with you.’

  ‘The girl can do as she likes,’ Elvy said. ‘I bet she can,’ Bernt said.

  Flora walked over and hugged Elvy. ‘I have to go talk to a friend.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. As long as you’re going to be OK, that is.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Elvy stayed at the gate and watched Flora climb into the back of the ambulance with Bernt. She waved, and thought about the smell. The doors were closed. The ambulance engine started, the flashing lights were turned on for an instant, then immediately switched off. Slowly, the ambulance backed up into the driveway of the house opposite, turned and-Elvy’s fingers splayed, her eyes widened and an ever-intensifying feeling drove through her body like a stake: Tore. She staggered slightly, bracing herself against the fencepost. Tore was here. The same trace impression that had lingered in his room, slowly receding, was in her head at full force. He filled her and in her head she heard his voice:

  Mum, help me! I’m stuck… I don’t want to go away… I want to

  stay home, Mummy…

  The ambulance turned out of the driveway.

  Mum… she’s coming, she…

  And Tore’s voice was on its way out of her, shedding her like a skin. But if his voice had been strong, as if amplified, she could now discern Flora’s weaker voice through the din.

  Nana… can you hear it? Are you the one he…

  Elvy perceived physically how the field dissolved and her body became her own again, and only had time to sendI hear

  – before it was gone and she was just Elvy, leaning up against the fencepost. The ambulance accelerated down the street and she only glimpsed it as a white blotch before her head fell down, forced down by the whining of a thousand mosquitoes pressing in through her ears and the headache flaring up like red suns on the inside of her eyelids.

  But she had seen it.

  She squeezed the post to stop herself from falling to the asphalt. Her head pressed down, she was unable to open her eyes in order to get a better view. She was not allowed to. It was forbidden.

  The pain only lasted a few seconds, then disappeared immediately. She lifted her head, looking at the point where the ambulance had been a moment before.

  The woman was gone.

  But Elvy had seen her. The second before the ambulance had disappeared from her field of vision, she had seen-out of the corner of her eye-a tall slender woman with dark hair, emerge from behind the vehicle and stretch her arms toward it. Then the pain had forced Elvy to look away.

  She gazed up the street. The ambulance was just up at the bend by the big road. The woman was gone.

  Is she… inside the ambulance now?

  Elvy put her hand against her forehead and thought as hard as she could:

  Flora? Flora?

  No answer. No contact.

  What had the woman actually looked like? How had she been dressed? Elvy was unable to visualise her. When she tried to conjure up the face, the body that she had seen for a split second, her mind could gain no purchase on the image. It was like trying to recapture a memory from early childhood; you could snare a certain detail, something you had latched onto. Everything else lay in shadow.

  She could not see the face, the clothes. They were gone. She could only say one thing with any certainty: something had been sticking out between the woman’s fingers. Something that gave off a faint reflection in the streetlamp. Something thin, something metallic.

  Elvy ran into the house in order to try to reach Flora by conventional means. She dialled her mobile.

  ‘The person you are trying to reach is unavailable…’

  Racksta 02.35

  Mahler was awakened by voices, the clatter of metal.

  For a moment he was disoriented. He sat up. There was something in his lap. His body ached. Where, and why?

  And then he remembered.

  Elias was still lying across his knees, unmoving. The moon had wandered as Mahler sat there, was now more or less obscured by the tops of the spruce trees.

  How long? One hour? Two?

  There was a squeaking sound as the gates opened and a number of shadows slipped into the open area in front of the chapel. Flashlights were turned on and beams of light danced over the flagstones. Voices.

  ‘… too early to answer at this stage.’

  ‘

  But what will you do if that turns out to be the case?’

  ‘First we’ll listen and try to determine how… widespread it is, then… ‘

  ‘Are you planning to open the graves now?’

  Mahler thought he recognised the voice of the person asking the uestions. KarlErik Ljunghed, one of his colleagues from the paper. He didn’t hear the reply. Elias lay still in his arms, as if dead.

  As long as they didn’t shine their lights toward the wall they wouldn’t spot him. He was sitting in almost total darkness. He shook Elias gently. Nothing happened. Terror blossomed in his chest.

  All this, and then…

  He found Elias’ dry, hard hand, put his index and middle finger in it, and pressed. The hand closed, squeezing his fingers. Five flashlights moved in toward the cemetery, with the shadows in a line.

  His body was stiff as a board after this period of sitting, and while he had been unconscious his spine had been replaced with a red-hot iron rod. Why didn’t he let his presence be known? KarlErik could have helped him. Why didn�
��t he call out to them?

  Because…

  Because he shouldn’t. Because it was them. The others.

  ‘Elias…Ihave to put you down.’

  Elias didn’t answer. With a feeling of loss, Mahler drew his fingers out of his grip and softly coaxed him onto the ground. By tensing his back against the wall and only using his thigh muscles, Mahler was able to get to his feet.

  The lights were dancing along toward the grave area like excited spirits, and Mahler listened for sounds from new visitors. The only thing he heard was the distant voices of the recent arrivals, and very faintly the sound of ‘Eine kleine Nachtmusik’ from the phone in his car. The hint of a morning blush coloured the sky.

  ‘Elias?’

  No reply. The little body lay stretched out on the stonework, a child-shaped condensation of darkness.

  Can he hear me? Does he see me? Does he know that it’s me?

  He crouched down, got his hands in under Elias’ knees and neck, stood up and walked toward the car.

  ‘We’re going home now, buddy.’

  There were now three more cars in the parking lot. An ambulance, an Audi with the newspaper’s logo on it as well as a Volvo with a strange licence plate. Yellow numbers on a black background. It took a moment before Mahler made the connection: a military vehicle.

  The military? Is it that widespread?

  The presence of the military car strengthened him in his belief that he had done the right thing not to reveal himself. When the military comes into the picture, something else goes out the window.

  Elias was light, light in his arms. Unnaturally light in view of how…large he had become. His stomach protruded so far that the bottom buttons of his pyjamas had been torn off. But Mahler knew that inside there was only gas, created by the decomposition of the intestinal bacteria. Nothing that weighed anything.

  He laid Elias carefully in the back seat and laid back the driver’s seat as far as it would go so that he could sit with his back outstretched, almost lying down himself, as he drove out from the parking lot. He wound the windows down on both sides.

  His apartment was only a couple of kilometres away. He talked to Elias the whole way, but got no answers.