No, Dan thinks. No, you don’t!
“Time’s up,” the guy announces.
“It’s him,” Eli says, pointing at Sebastian. “He’s the pilot.”
THIRTY-THREE
It’s eight o’clock in the evening, yet the sun is still scorching hot, the light stinging Dennis’s eyes as he climbs up the hatch to the vegetable garden.
Silas follows right behind him, carrying the toolbox he brought from the bunker. “Take this,” he says, handing it to Dennis.
Dennis takes it, and Silas ducks back down to get the rifle. He climbs up and closes the hatch.
“Bring the box,” he says, walking to the place where he cut open the fence. He crouches down to look at the opening, the rifle resting across his thighs. “I’m not sure we can stretch it together again—it was very tight to begin with. I think we need to sew it up. Put down the box and open it.”
Dennis does as he’s told, and Silas places the rifle against the fence, barrel up. It’s still within arm’s reach, but even if it wasn’t, Dennis wouldn’t dream of going for it. It would be very stupid, as he has no idea how to use it, and Silas could easily out-wrestle him. Even though Dennis is actually an inch taller than Silas and also a few pounds heavier, he’s sure Silas is stronger.
Besides, he’s afraid that Silas might do something to hurt Mom if Dennis acts out of line.
So, he just stands there, under the baking sun and watches as Silas goes to work, using the utensils from the box. He takes out a roll of thin steel wire and a pair of pliers, then he fastens the end of the wire to the top of the opening in the fence and starts to close it by wrapping the wire around the edges and tightening it as he goes along, pulling the edges of the opening together.
Dennis recalls what Mom whispered in his ear. Those seven words burned themselves into his memory.
He didn’t understand it, though. It was so weird that he for a moment considered if he might have misheard her.
But he hadn’t. Mom had really asked him to bring her a strand of Silas’s hair.
Dennis has no idea how you would go about plucking a hair out of someone’s head without them noticing.
He looks at Silas’s hair. It’s dark brown and shiny and long enough to touch the top of his ears. The way he’s sitting, with his back halfway turned, Dennis could actually reach right over and pull out a hair.
Except Silas would most likely feel it—and how would Dennis explain it?
A butterfly flaps against Dennis’s ear, causing him to turn his head. And that’s when he sees the dead person crossing the lawn.
It’s an old guy with a potbelly, which is visible because his shirt is ripped open. His left cheek is mostly missing, causing the eye to sag and revealing the white bone and a row of yellow teeth. He reaches out a hand missing all but one finger as he approaches the fence separating the vegetable garden from the rest of Holger’s lawn.
“Silas!” Dennis croaks, staggering backwards. “Look!”
“What?” Silas says, looking up at him, squinting. “What is it?”
Dennis can only point.
“Oh, we’ve got company,” Silas says in a casual voice and gets to his feet, grabbing the rifle. “You see, Dennis? It was a good thing we went to fix the fence right away, huh?”
Dennis backs away, almost tripping over a row of pea stalks as he stares at the dead guy who now reaches the fence and walks right into it, trying to squeeze himself through. He pushes his face against the metal grid, snapping his teeth and growling hungrily at them, causing the fence to rattle.
Silas doesn’t seem bothered at all; he takes his time placing the rifle at his shoulder, just like Dennis saw him doing on the surveillance camera when he was standing on the truck bed, then he aims it at the head of the dead guy, who’s less than ten feet away—Dennis can even smell him, the stench of meat going bad reaching him on the warm air.
“What was it he said in that movie, American History X?” Silas asks, still pointing the rifle at the dead guy, moving it slightly as the dead guy rocks back and forth, trying to force his way through the fence and get at Silas. “Oh, yeah! ‘Now, say goodnight’ …”
Dennis understands hardly any English, but he doesn’t have time to worry about what Silas just said, because half a second later, the shot rings out with a deafening bang.
Dennis jumps and covers his ears, but it’s too late, the sound has already caused a shrill ringing which seems to reverberate inside his skull.
The skull of the dead guy, however, is suddenly open like a soft-boiled egg, the top quarter missing completely.
The dead guy stands there for a moment, no longer moving, his expression empty. Then his knees buckle and the rest of his body collapses like a house of cards.
“Boo-yah!” Silas cries out, laughing. “I never get tired of that! It’s like being a real-life game of Counter Strike, except the opposite team has no weapons—how cool is that?” He turns to Dennis, and his smile fades. “Hey, you got that scared-shitless expression again, Dennis.”
Dennis can barely hear the words over the ringing in his ears, and he can’t get his eyes off the corpse on the other side of the fence.
“Hey!” Silas walks closer and snaps his fingers in front of Dennis.
Dennis blinks and looks up at Silas.
Silas’s expression is earnest for once. “I’m telling you, man, you gotta man up if you’re gonna make it. The world was never a nice place and it lately turned a whole lot shittier, so get yourself together, okay?”
“O… okay,” Dennis manages.
Silas watches him for a moment, brooding. Then he asks: “How old are you, anyway?”
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen? Holy shit! You act like a nine-year-old. No offense, I’m just telling you.”
“I had a brain—”
“I know, that brain fever thing. But still, you’re way too soft. I’m not talking about intelligence here; I’m talking about balls.” He pokes a finger in Dennis’s stomach. “Grow a pair, and do it soon. Just friendly advice.”
Dennis nods.
“Now, let’s get on with this before any more of those assholes show up,” Silas says, turning around and going back to work on the hole in the fence. Just as he’s about to kneel back down, a movement catches his attention, and he turns his head. “Oh, fuck. Too late.”
Dennis follows his gaze and sees three—no, four—dead people come waddling through the trees separating Holger’s property from the surrounding fields.
“Well, I can’t work with those pricks breathing on me,” Silas says, picking up the rifle again.
This time, Dennis covers his ears by placing his sweaty palms over them and squeezing firmly.
The shots are a lot less loud this time—partly because Dennis this time was expecting them.
Silas puts down the three front-runners before they can even cross the lawn. Then he reloads the rifle, pulling out shells from his pocket, whistling as he does it.
“Three down, one to go,” he says, raising the weapon again. Then he hesitates. Lowers the rifle slightly. Turns his head and looks at Dennis. “Come over here.”
“Me?” Dennis asks, utterly surprised.
“No, the guy standing behind you.”
Dennis looks back, but sees no one.
Silas sighs. “Jesus, dude. Come over here.”
Dennis really doesn’t want to come closer to the fence, but he doesn’t want to disobey Silas either, so he walks to him, his legs feeling weak.
The dead person is a young woman limping on her right leg, where most of the thigh muscle has been eaten away, making it look to Dennis like a pirate’s leg.
“Stand here next to me,” Silas instructs him.
Dennis does as he’s told, looking at Silas hesitantly.
“You ever used a rifle?” Silas asks.
“No.”
“Well, it’s easier than you think. Here, take it.” Silas offers him the weapon.
Dennis steps back, horrifi
ed. “No! I don’t want to.”
“Sure, you do. Consider this your rite of manhood. You’re going to kill the last one.”
Dennis shakes his head frantically.
“Take it, Dennis.”
There’s a tone in Silas’s voice which reminds Dennis of how Mom talks when she’s in no mood to tolerate any backtalk, and even though he wants to back away, he forces himself to stay.
“Please don’t make me,” he pleads, almost on the verge of tears.
The dead woman is limping her way past her fallen comrades and is now headed for the fence.
Silas lowers the rifle, and for a moment, Dennis feels relief rush over him, as he’s sure Silas has changed his mind. Then, he slaps Dennis hard on the side of the face.
“Ow!” he cries, touching his stinging cheek, staring at Silas with hurt and shock.
Silas’s face is expressionless. “You’re going to take the rifle, and you’re going to shoot that thing out there. And if you say no one more time, I’m gonna slap you again.”
Dennis looks from Silas to the rifle and out at the woman, who’s almost at the fence now.
“I … I don’t know how to … to do it …”
“I’ll show you how. It’s very simple. Here, take it and put the heel against your shoulder.”
Dennis reaches out one shaking hand.
“Both hands,” Silas commands. “It’s heavier than it looks.”
He’s right; Dennis is surprised at the weight of the weapon as Silas hands it to him.
He shifts it around like it’s a dangerous snake and lifts it awkwardly, trying to place it like he saw Silas do.
“Christ, you look like a nun handling a dildo,” Silas scuffs, grabbing hold of him and guiding the rifle to his shoulder. “There you go. Push it back firmly, like this, or it’ll slam your shoulder.”
Dennis squeezes the butt of the handle into the soft part of his shoulder, then looks out over the barrel, closing one eye like he saw Silas do. He really doesn’t want to look at the dead woman, so he focuses instead on the tip of the gun, causing everything else to go mercifully blurry.
“Great, now, when you’re ready, pull the trigger.”
Dennis fumbles for a second, then his finger finds the trigger, curling around it, tugging at it gently. It doesn’t move at all.
“Come on,” Silas says. “You’ll tire out if you wait too long.”
“I … I think it’s locked or something,” Dennis mutters, his voice shaky, not daring to take his eyes off the tip of the gun.
“It’s not locked, you just need to pull harder.”
Dennis increases the pressure on the trigger, and to his surprise, it actually moves back a few millimeters.
The woman reaches the fence and walks right into it, beginning to grope at the metal, trying to push her way through.
“Shoot her now, Dennis,” Silas commands in his ear. “Before she does any damage to the fence. Remember to aim for the head.”
Dennis takes a deep breath, holds it, closes his eyes and squeezes the trigger as hard as he can.
The sound is just as deafening, but Dennis hardly notices. He only feels the pain as the gun thrusts itself backwards into his shoulder, causing him to spin halfway around and sending him to his hands and knees.
“Whoops,” Silas says somewhere nearby, grabbing the gun from him before it can touch the ground.
Dennis blinks and looks around, completely baffled, as he gets back to his feet. “Ooh, my shoulder,” he moans, rubbing the sore spot where the gun slammed him.
The woman is still working the fence, biting and clawing at the metal. Dennis can’t see any bullet holes in her.
He looks at Silas, expecting him to stare back at him with menace, but to his surprise, he sees Silas smiling broadly, revealing a row of crooked, but surprisingly white teeth.
“That wasn’t half bad for a first try. I’m afraid you missed the mark. But you might have killed a seagull somewhere. You want to try again?”
Dennis shakes his head emphatically, afraid that Silas will make him do it anyway. But Silas just shrugs.
“I figured as much. I’ll take out this bitch; you’ll get another chance soon enough.”
He slings the rifle up and pulls the trigger almost without taking aim. The woman’s forehead opens like a tin can, spraying a grayish mush in all directions. She immediately stops moving, but stays standing for several seconds with a blank look on her face. It’s not until the ring of the gunshot has died out that she finally sags to the ground.
“Come on,” Silas says. “Let’s get back inside. This fucking heat is killing me anyway.”
Dennis follows Silas back to the hatch, his head feeling weirdly hollow, like his thoughts have all been blown away.
As Silas crouches down to open the hatch, Dennis’s eyes catch the glimmer of a hair stuck to the back of his shirt. Without thinking, he reaches out his hand and plucks it off.
Silas turns his head and looks up at him. “Did you just touch me?”
Dennis is a terrible liar. And he’s even worse at coming up with anything when someone puts him on the spot. He always gives himself away by stuttering, mumbling and blushing. He’s not at all like Mom in that way; she can say anything without revealing anything.
But for some strange reason, at that moment, he’s able to stay completely calm as he discretely hides his hand and simply shrugs and tells Silas: “Sorry. There was a bug.”
Silas eyes him for a second longer, then he waves impatiently. “Come on. You first.”
Maybe I am a little like Mom after all, Dennis thinks to himself as he climbs down the hatch, clutching the strand of hair between two fingers.
THIRTY-FOUR
“You shut the fuck up,” William says, rounding on Eli, and Eli can’t help but pull back.
He’s surprised at himself for having spoken; it happened before he could think. It was The Demon Voice. It simply jumped out of his mouth, made him speak on its behalf.
The guy with the rifle smiles. It’s an ugly smile, one of those only affecting one side of the mouth. “I knew it.”
“He’s lying,” Sebastian says in a surprisingly calm voice, almost a note of humor in it. “The only flying I’ve ever done was as a passenger going on a charter trip.”
His daughter—Eli can’t remember her name—is peering out from behind her dad, her blue eyes big and terrified.
“Really?” the guy asks. “Then why does your friend here say otherwise?” He nods towards Eli.
“He wants to save his own ass, I guess.” Still, absolutely no wavering in Sebastian’s voice or expression. Eli figures keeping one’s cool in stressful situations must be a skill they teach pilots. “But I promise you, I can’t fly that thing over there to save my life.”
“Really?” the guy repeats—obviously, that’s a favorite question of his. He turns towards Eli, giving him an intense look. “Are you lying to me, sir?”
Eli hesitates, unsure what do say. He doesn’t want to rat out Sebastian, but it’s really too late; he can’t backpedal now.
Cat’s already out of the bag, that sinister voice tells him. Would be madness to turn back now.
Eli shakes his head and says in a low voice: “I’m not lying. He’s the pilot.”
He can sense the scowling looks coming from all sides, burning. He feels his cheeks blushing fiercely and he shrinks, wishing he could turn himself invisible.
The guy with the rifle turns back to Sebastian, then comes closer, and the group draws back.
Sebastian, however, stays his ground.
The girl gives off a whimper.
For a terrible second, Eli thinks the guy might hurt them. That wasn’t Eli’s intention at all; he just wants really badly to get out of here. At least that’s the reason he keeps telling himself. In reality though, there’s something with an even harder pull on him.
Ever since he saw the helicopter, he’s been itching to get to it. Once, when he was stoned out of his mind, he saw a do
cumentary about how medical helicopters are operated—and he recalls very clearly all the drugs they keep inside.
Axe and Malthe never did anything harder than weed; they didn’t need to. They didn’t do it to drown out anything, after all.
Eli did.
As soon as the effect started to dwindle and the images of his dead mother began creeping back into his sleep, Eli moved onto harder things.
By the time he met Claus, he was an all-out junkie.
Claus saved his life. He got him clean.
And now.
Now Eli can’t think of much else than the sweet relief waiting just fifty feet away.
Keep cool and you’ll get it.
Amazing how familiar The Demon Voice sounds, Eli muses. How intimate. Just as strong and persuasive as he remembers. It’s like it never really left him, but just went into hibernation somewhere right below his conscious mind. And now, when he needed it, it woke back up.
“It’s okay, honey,” Sebastian says, pulling Eli back to the present. Sebastian is talking to his daughter, who’s clutching his shirt. “He’s not going to hurt me.”
“No,” the guy says, stopping a few steps in front of Sebastian. “I’m not. But I’ll take your wallet.”
Sebastian doesn’t move except tilt his head slightly. “Are you robbing me?”
“Just hand it over.”
Sebastian still doesn’t move.
The guy takes a deep breath. “Look, mister, I’ve had the worst day of my life. And I really don’t want to hurt anybody here. So don’t twist my arm, okay?”
He doesn’t move the rifle, which is pointed casually at Sebastian’s feet. But Eli notices his eyes dart briefly to the girl before returning to Sebastian.
And Sebastian obviously gets the message. “It’s in the car. Let me get it.”
The guy nods.
Sebastian takes his daughter’s hand and they walk around the car to the driver’s door. Sebastian opens it, reaches inside and gets his wallet. He throws it to the guy who catches it in one hand.
The guy opens it and goes through the contents. The one-sided smile comes back as he pulls out a white card. “Sebastian Møller, Sterling Airlines. Sounds like a pilot’s license to me.”
Dead Meat | Day 5 Page 19