Dead Meat (Book 1): Dead Meat [Day 1]

by Clausen, Nick

  DEAD MEAT

  DAY 1

  Dead Meat: Day 1

  © Nick Clausen, Denmark 2017

  English Edition 2019

  Proofread by Diana Cox

  The author asserts his moral rights to this work.

  No reproduction in any form without the express permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  DEAD MEAT

  DAY 1

  THE FOLLOWING EVENTS TAKE PLACE ON

  SATURDAY, JULY 26,

  SOMEWHERE IN DENMARK.

  ONE

  Thomas tries to block out the sounds. Tries to keep his head clear. To think straight. But it’s difficult. Jennie is complaining about the pain. Dan is sobbing. And from the other side of the door comes the relentless sounds of scraping nails and low moaning.

  “It really hurts,” Jennie moans. “I think I need to go to the ER. Could you try calling them again, Thomas?”

  “I tried calling a hundred times already,” Thomas mutters without looking up at her. “I keep telling you: there is no signal down here.”

  The basement is stiflingly warm and stuffy. Cobwebs are hanging in threads from the ceiling. The room is crammed full of old furniture, cardboard boxes, worn-out books, and cast-off clothes. The windows are sitting high and are too narrow for a person to pass through—not even Dan is able to squeeze out. A few rays of dusty, orange sunlight are streaming through, reminding them of the scorching hot summer day outside. The heat wave is going on its third week.

  In the middle of the room hangs a naked lightbulb. Thomas wonders how much light it will provide if they’re still here come nightfall.

  Another low moan from the other side of the door.

  Dan wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Do you … do you think we should put more stuff in front of the door, Thomas? That box doesn’t look very heavy.”

  Why do I have to make every little decision? Thomas thinks. Who the hell named me captain? He bites back the anger and says in a moderately calm voice: “The box is heavy enough—it’s full of porcelain. I almost couldn’t drag it over there. She won’t be able to move it.”

  “But—”

  “But it doesn’t really matter,” Thomas interrupts, “since the door is locked and the key is on our side. She’s been out there for”—he checks his watch—“forty-five minutes now, and so far, she hasn’t tried to pick the lock. She hasn’t even grabbed the knob. I don’t think she has much brains left, so don’t worry about the door.”

  Jennie gives off another groan of pain. “What the hell’s even happened to her?”

  “She’s a fucking zombie, that’s what’s happened to her,” Thomas grunts. “Haven’t you ever seen a zombie movie? Dawn of the Dead? World War Z? Ring any bells?”

  “Zombies aren’t real,” Jennie sneers. “And don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, just because I don’t watch the same nasty movies as you do.”

  “Can’t believe you two are dating,” Dan mutters.

  Thomas sends him a look, but can’t help but smile despite himself. He likes Dan. And Dan is right. In fact, Thomas and Jennie probably would have broken up this morning, if the day hadn’t turned to shit. Thomas had set his mind: He was going to tell her straight up that he didn’t want to go out with her anymore. That was the reason he agreed to go on the paper route with her in the first place. He didn’t know she had also talked Dan into coming along.

  “Jesus, it’s still bleeding,” Jennie complains. “How can it still be bleeding? It’s just a scratch.”

  Thomas looks over at her and sees her uncoiling the towel from around her arm. “What are you doing?” he says. “You need to keep it tight.”

  She darts him a sour look. Her mascara has left dark traces down her cheeks. “So, you’re suddenly a doctor, are you?”

  Thomas is very close to being fed up. He tries to find a way to get them out of this basement, tries to think, but he keeps getting interrupted. And the noises from the door are starting to get on his nerves. A drop of sweat rolls down his nose. He blows it away, thinking: Of all the ways I could have spent my Saturday …

  “Hello?” Jennie says loudly, waving at him. “I’m talking to you.”

  “What?” Thomas asks through gritted teeth.

  “I don’t think this stupid towel is working. We need to find some bandages or something. There has to be a first aid kit around here somewhere. Check those shelves over there, Dan.” She drops the towel on the concrete floor and points.

  Dan gets up.

  “Sit down, Dan,” Thomas says. “There is no first aid kit. I already checked.”

  Dan hesitates, unsure whom to obey.

  Jennie rounds on Thomas. “And what if you missed it? You didn’t really look, did you? You’re not the one bleeding, after all, so why would you even give a fuck?”

  Thomas is on his feet and strides to Jennie in three long paces. He bends down, grabs the towel and wraps it around her arm. “Put that thing back on,” he sneers.

  Jennie begins to struggle. “Don’t! Let go of me!”

  Thomas manages to tie a knot, tightening it fiercely. “There! That’s how tight it should be. Got it?”

  Jennie gives off a cry and tries to pull her arm away, while taking a swing at him with the other hand. Thomas catches her wrist and is just about to twist it, when Dan shouts: “Stop it! Both of you! Stop!”

  The struggle stops. For a moment, Thomas and Jennie just scowl at each other. Then Thomas turns to walk away—but then he notices something. “What the hell? What’s wrong with your skin?”

  Jennie turns her back to him. “Mind your own business.”

  “Jennie,” he says. “Show me your arm.”

  Apparently, she picks up on something in his voice, because she turns back and holds out her arm hesitantly. “It’s still bleeding,” she mutters.

  And it’s true: a thin stream of pink blood runs from the cut in Jennie’s forearm and drips to the floor. But the blood doesn’t concern Thomas—he’s looking at her skin. Jennie is tan all year round, as she regularly goes to tanning salons. But around the cut the color seems to be draining from the skin, leaving a pale, greyish hue.

  “I hadn’t noticed till now,” she says uncertainly. “You think it could be … blood poisoning or something?”

  “I don’t think blood poisoning sets in that fast. What did you say she cut you with?”

  “A knife.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, it all happened so quickly, I didn’t really get a chance to …”

  “What kind of knife? Did you see it?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I didn’t see it, but I felt it. When she attacked me.”

  “What did you feel, exactly?”

  “Why? Does it matter?” Jennie shakes her head in annoyed confusion. “What’s wrong? Why are you both staring at me like that?”

  Dan has joined them, and like Thomas, he looks at his sister with wide, knowing eyes. “I don’t think she had a knife,” he says stiffly. “Why would she use a knife? She’s a zombie. Zombies don’t use weapons.”

  It’s so obvious, Thomas should have seen it earlier. But the situation is so surreal he didn’t give it a second thought.

  “Tell us w
hat happened, Jennie,” he says, and for the first time in a long time, his voice is soft, almost loving.

  Jennie’s lip starts to quiver. “It happened just as we entered the living room. I … I heard her come from behind, so I spun around. She tried stabbing me, but she tripped over something … like, an ottoman, I think. And when she fell down, that’s when the knife cut me.”

  “But you didn’t actually see the knife?” Thomas asks.

  “No, but …”

  “Her fingernails were long,” Dan whispers. “I noticed.”

  Jennie looks at the cut on her arm. “All right, maybe it was her nail and not a knife. What difference does that make?”

  What difference? Thomas thinks. What difference?

  Jennie wasn’t lying; she really hasn’t watched any zombie flicks. If she had, she would have known right away what a cut from a fingernail means.

  But Dan knows—Thomas can tell from the look of terror and disbelief on his face, as he turns his head and stares blankly at Thomas. It’s like an unspoken question passes between the boys in that moment. Two small words.

  How long?

  “What is it?” Jennie asks, audible fear in her voice now. “Why are you just staring at each other? Hello? Talk to me!”

  TWO

  The temperature in the basement steadily rises, as does the pain in Jennie’s arm—and not a minute passes without her telling them so. The skin on her forearm gradually changes color. It’s starting to take on a greenish tone.

  Dan just sits by the wall, staring at nothing. Thomas can see his lips moving, like he’s silently talking to himself.

  Thomas glances at Jennie, who keeps checking her phone for a signal. Of course she didn’t believe him when he explained to her how serious the situation is. That the infection will probably become fatal within a few hours. That she will most likely end up like the lady outside the door. Jennie kept stubbornly saying it was only blood poisoning and that she just needed to go to the hospital.

  But Thomas knows her too well. He can tell she’s scared.

  He hides his face in his sweaty palms. How did they end up here? Less than an hour ago they were in his car, driving down the road, sweating and listening to music.

  They’re almost at the end of the route, only four stops left.

  Dan is in the backseat next to the box of newspapers.

  Jennie has tilted back her seat and put her feet up on the dashboard. “I can’t believe you bought a car without air-conditioning. Honestly! What’s the point in having a car if it doesn’t have air-con? We’re burning up!”

  Thomas pretends not to hear her and concentrates on the GPS. They’re a few miles outside town. The house appears at the end of the long, dusty gravel road. He parks in the courtyard.

  “It’s your turn, Dan,” Jennie says. “If she doesn’t come to the door, just go inside and put it on the table in the scullery. That’s what I usually do.”

  Dan obediently leaves the car and trudges to the front door, a rolled-up newspaper in his hand.

  Thomas turns down the radio slightly and looks sideways at Jennie. She’s wearing sunglasses, so he can’t see her eyes. Good. That’ll make it easier. He’s just about to say it. The words are on his lips.

  “I don’t think it’s working out between us anymore.”

  But he can’t get them out. He just can’t. The moment is not right.

  Instead, he says: “Who lives here?”

  “Some older lady,” she yawns. “She’s kind of weird. I think she suffers from dementia or something.”

  “Does she live alone?”

  “Yeah, can you believe it? I mean, who the hell wants to live out here in the middle of nowhere all by themselves?”

  At that moment, Dan screams from inside the house.

  Thomas and Jennie look at each other for a brief second. Then they each open their doors and jump out. They run to the front door.

  As soon as Thomas enters the house, time seems to speed up tenfold. He briefly notices the weird décor: colorful stones and crystals everywhere, faces cut out of wood, a large bamboo flute, dried flowers dangling from strings in the ceiling. He also registers a bad smell. But there’s no time to think before the woman steps out a few feet in front of him.

  Thomas has played a lot of Resident Evil and watched every episode of The Walking Dead—he knows what a zombie looks like. Her eyes are pale yet piercing, her mouth contorted into a snarl, the grimace made even more pronounced because of the missing piece of her lower lip. It looks like it might have been torn off, revealing the grey teeth and pink gums. Blood has run down her chin and stained the front of the dress, which once was white but now looks more like a butcher’s apron. Her long, silver hair hangs in a thin, whiplike braid.

  She reaches out her arms and staggers towards him on boney, wobbly legs, while producing a low rumbling growl from deep down her throat.

  Then, everything turns to chaos. Tipped over furniture, yells and screams, grabbing and pushing.

  Jennie screaming: “She cut me! She cut me!”

  Thomas tries to get to the front door, but is cut off, and suddenly they’re all cornered. A door behind them. Thomas yanks it open, revealing a dim staircase leading down to the basement. They have no other choice. They flee down into the darkness.

  And now, here they are. In the dim, dusty heat. The zombie lady has followed them down the stairs and is now waiting on the other side of the door. Scraping and moaning, scraping and moaning.

  Jennie gives off a tortured sound. She wipes her forehead. “Christ, I’m sweating buckets. I think I might have a fever. I really need to see a doctor.” She glances at the door. “Doesn’t she ever leave?”

  Thomas just shakes his head.

  “Well, she has to leave sometime,” Jennie persists. “Doesn’t she get sleepy or something?”

  “Nope. She’ll keep at it until she rots.”

  Jennie wrinkles her nose. “Don’t say stuff like that. The smell down here is bad enough.” She gets up and goes to the door. “Hello? Can you hear me? Could you please move away from the door? I need to get out. But please don’t try to hurt me, okay?”

  The scraping noises grow louder, more eager. Like the zombie can sense Jennie standing right on the other side.

  Thomas gets up. “Don’t open the door.”

  Jennie rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to open the door as long as she’s out there. Do you think I’m a complete moron?”

  “Actually, yeah, I do think that, since only a moron would try talking sense into a zombie.” He jabs himself with a finger in the temple. “She’s not a person anymore. She’s a walking corpse. How many times do I need to tell you? The only thing on her mind is fresh meat. She wants to—”

  “Yeah, I know, she wants to eat us all alive,” Jennie sneers. “Right, whatever.” She goes back to the chair and slumps down. Then, she lights up. “Hey, what if we’re completely quiet?”

  “You’re the only one still talking,” Thomas remarks as he sits back down.

  Jennie pretends not to hear him. “Maybe she’ll forget about us if she can’t hear us. Maybe she’ll go back upstairs. You know, to look for someone else to … eat.”

  The idea has actually crossed Thomas’s mind. “It depends on whether her senses are still working, or if she’s driven by instincts. Maybe she doesn’t need to hear us, maybe she can simply sense we’re here.” He looks at Dan. “What do you think?”

  Dan blinks, obviously surprised to be asked for his opinion. “Well … I don’t know. I guess it’s worth a try.”

  “Right,” Jennie says. “From now on, no one makes a sound.”

  They all fall silent. All except for the zombie. It goes on scraping, moaning.

  Tirelessly.

  Insatiable.

  THREE

  Half an hour passes by.

  Dan looks briefly in a box of books before lying down on a blanket, curled up like a dog. Thomas is slumped over on his seat, almost nodding off despite the heat. His
clothes are sticking damply to his skin, his mouth is dry. Both of the two narrow windows are open wide, but only a warm, lazy breeze seeps in.

  Jennie is the first one to break the silence. “Right, it’s obviously not working,” she snaps. “She’s not going to leave.” She sighs. “I’m just … so … fucking … thirsty! Honestly, I’m going to die if I don’t get something to drink soon.”

  We’re all going to die if we don’t get something to drink soon, Thomas thinks, wiping a dangling drop of sweat from his brow.

  “Look,” Dan says, getting up. “I found this in one of the boxes.” He comes over, holding out an old photo album for the others to see.

  “It must be her when she was young,” Jennie says, as Dan flips through the pages, pointing to a slim woman with long, blonde hair.

  The photos tell a story of the woman going on a journey to somewhere warm and tropical. The locals are black.

  “Where is it?” Jennie asks. “Africa or something?”

  Dan slips out one of the photos and checks the backside. “Haiti, it says.”

  The photos show a wedding. Not a traditional one in a church with a bride in a white dress. Instead, the woman is standing with her black husband under the open sky on a beach at sunset. All around them, the guests are dressed and painted in what seems to be the traditional local outfits.

  “She married one of them,” Jennie says. “How sweet.”

  Dan flips through the pages. Pictures of the woman and her husband in this house. A picture of the woman with a large, pregnant belly. A family photo: the woman, her husband, and a half-black boy. The woman’s hair grows silvery, her skin starts to wrinkle, and her son becomes a man. Him kissing a redhaired woman. The last of the photos shows a small, mulatto girl, smiling between her mom and dad.

  As they reach the end of the album, the spell is broken, and Thomas gets to his feet. “Listen, I think I know how we can get out of here.”

  Jennie gives off a tiny exclamation of excitement, and Dan straightens up.