Dead Meat (Book 3): Dead Meat [Day 3]

by Clausen, Nick

  William throws himself behind the wheel, just as he catches a glimpse of Janus out of the corner of his eye. His friend has crossed the parking lot and almost reached the street. Exactly what he’s aiming for is hard to judge, because he keeps changing direction, as though the passing cars all tempt him and he can’t decide which one to go for.

  Like a kid in a candy store.

  William pulls the car into first gear and checks the traffic before turning out onto the road. He notices the doors to the supermarket open once more, and he forgets everything else for a moment, as he stares at the group of undeads who come staggering out into the parking lot.

  He knows the girl who died on the backseat of the station wagon. And Sofie, even though half her face is missing. The others are unfamiliar to him. There’s an old lady, her bloody handbag miraculously still dangling from her shoulder; a younger woman dragging one chew-up leg behind her; a pimply teenager whose clothing reveals that he used to work in the store; and two small boys, whom William feels genuinely sick just looking at.

  His gut clenches up as the zombies spread out into all directions. If he’d still had a frail hope that the catastrophe could be somehow stopped, it dies in this moment.

  He jerks the wheel and pulls out into the lane, causing the car coming up behind him to slam on its brakes and honk its horn. William barely notices. His eye catches Janus, who’s walking right out onto the road. A yellow van swerves to avoid him, but it’s too late. There’s a loud bang, and Janus is thrown several yards, tumbling round and round like a rag doll.

  “Fucking hell,” William whimpers as he guns it and heads down the road. He doesn’t want to look in the rear mirror, but he can’t help it.

  He sees the traffic jamming up around the accident.

  He sees the zombies all headed for the concerned drivers getting out of their cars to stare at the poor young man who just got run over.

  And he sees Janus, who laboriously gets up without any signs of pain or discomfort and attacks the driver of the van, who has come rushing to help him.

  TEN

  William keeps darting glances at the girl on the backseat, even though she makes no sounds and doesn’t move. As far as he can tell, she wasn’t hurt before she passed out—but she was in a car with a zombie, so William can’t be sure she’s not infected.

  Perhaps I ought to check her for any scratches … or simply kick her out …

  He looks again at her in the mirror, but the mere thought of undressing her while she’s unconscious makes him feel dirty. And to put her out on the sidewalk and just leave her to whoever finds her, dead or alive … well, he’s not willing to go that far just yet. So, he has no choice but to wait until she wakes up.

  He arrives at a new intersection, stopping at the red light. Next to him, in the other lane, a city bus is also waiting. William glances up and sees an elderly lady staring blankly out the window.

  She has no idea what’s going down. As far as she knows, it’s just a regular fucking Monday.

  The thought makes him shiver. A woman in runner’s clothes comes jogging by, a yellow Lab running next to her on a leash. The sight of the dog produces a jolt in William’s stomach.

  “Oh, fuck! How could I forget him?”

  The thought of Ozzy alone in the apartment makes his heart race. He looks up at the light, still red, as his thoughts start churning faster and faster. If he makes a right here, he could reach the apartment in a couple of minutes. But that will bring him back towards the hospital.

  He squeezes the wheel, breathing heavy through his nose. He can’t leave his buddy, but he can’t risk his own life, either.

  In the movies, zombies usually aren’t interested in dogs—and besides, the front door is locked, which means Ozzy probably isn’t in any immediate danger. He’s got food and water enough for tomorrow evening. But maybe William won’t get a chance to go get him before then. Maybe the town will be shut down completely within hours. This could be his last chance.

  You can’t do it, a rational thought urges him. You can’t risk your life for a dog.

  He would do it for you without blinking, says another—and a lot less rational—thought.

  William bites down hard. The light switches to yellow just as another song begins on the radio. It’s Iron Man.

  William glares at it, muttering: “If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is …”

  And when the light turns green in the next second, William waits for the bus to go forward, clearing the way for him to turn right. But the bus only moves a few feet before the driver stops and hits the horn.

  William stretches his neck to see what’s going on in front of the bus. He gets a glimpse of a middle-aged man trudging out into the road. His skin has the unmistakable greenish hue, and from a crater in his belly dangles what looks like threads of oversized spaghetti. The man’s shorts, which once were probably beige, are now soaked with blood and have traveled down to his knees, revealing his undies and causing him to walk in an almost comical, duck-like fashion, small steps, bopping from side to side. He stops in front of the bus and reaches up his hands, leaving bloody stains on the front shield. He morbidly reminds William of a giant baby who wants his parent to lift him up.

  The bus driver gets out.

  “No, no, no!” William slams the horn and fumbles for the button to roll down the window. “No, stay away from him! He’s—”

  But it’s too late. The zombie has already lunged at the driver and wrestled him to the ground.

  A car suddenly honks impatiently behind William, the driver probably annoyed at the unexplained hold in traffic, completely unaware of what’s going on in front of the bus. Another driver from the opposite side has stopped his car and comes rushing to help. He grabs the zombie to drag him away from the driver, but only manages to get himself bitten at the wrist.

  As William stares at the scene, his head is suddenly drained of all thought. He can only sit there and glare in dumb amazement and horror. He realizes just how fast this thing will spread. How soon everything will turn to chaos. He had somehow naively figured that zombies had by now become a known phenomenon; that regular people would recognize the danger, that they had watched at least a few fucking episodes of Walking Dead. Afterall, it only took him a split second to react when he faced the girl in the basement of the hospital. But apparently, not all modern people.

  Maybe it’s a cultural thing, William muses as he still just sits there, staring at more cars stopping. Maybe, if this had been happening in the United States, it would have been different. But most modern Danes, with their down-to-earth, no-nonsense take on life, don’t seem to acknowledge the undead when they see them.

  The car behind him honks again, jerking William awake. The intersection has almost been blocked now, and in a matter of seconds, he will be caught in a jam. So, William decides to give a fuck about traffic laws and floors the gas pedal, racing forward, then twisting the wheel to the right. The shorts-wearing zombie has lost interest in the bus driver and is now getting up to go after the unlucky Samaritan who’s standing there, clutching his bleeding wrist.

  William sees the shot, and before he has time to think about it, he jerks the wheel and catches the zombie with the corner of the front bumper, sending it flying across the sidewalk.

  William doesn’t slow down, but races out of the intersection and down the street, his heart thumping in his chest and a sudden burst of energy bubbles up through his throat.

  “Fuck you, you piece of shit!” he yells at the rear mirror. “The living finally scores a point!”

  William turns up the radio and Ozzy Osbourne.

  ELEVEN

  When he drives into the parking lot in front of his block three minutes later, the adrenaline has run its course, Iron Man has caused death and destruction, and William has turned down the music.

  He cruises around the lot a few times as he peers out, checking every direction, before stopping by the door to his stairway. No zombies in sight, only a couple
of kids playing at the playground on the lawn next to the parking lot.

  William pulls the hand brake but leaves the engine running and unbuckles the seat belt. He just sits there for a moment, considering. The girl on the backseat hasn’t stirred the slightest; she’s still just breathing calmly.

  Right, you can do this. It’s only three floors. You’ll be gone less than two minutes.

  He takes a deep breath. Then he turns the key and pulls it from the ignition. Silence descends immediately as the engine dies. Only the happy cries from the boys and the distant background noise of the town can be heard.

  William gets out and jogs to the door. Upon entering the empty stairway, he stops and listens for a second, then he begins the climb three steps at a time. Panting and heart thumping, he stops in front of the door to his apartment.

  He rattles the key and says in a low voice: “It’s me.” Then, he unlocks the door.

  Ozzy, who was sitting perched right on the other side, licks his hand in a happy greeting. Had the German shepherd not heard the keys and William’s voice, the welcome would have been quite different. William has been training Ozzy with a retired police dog handler.

  “We gotta hurry,” he says, squeezing past the dog in the narrow hallway. “We’re going for a ride.”

  Those last four words cause Ozzy to become even more excited, and he immediately jumps up to snag his leash from the nail next to the door. William goes to the kitchen and grabs the bag of dog food. He looks at the fridge, feeling his stomach rumble. It’s almost noon, and breakfast feels like a very long time ago.

  He puts down the bag and throws together a couple of sandwiches. He also grabs four canned beers and stuffs everything in a plastic bag. He brings it and the dog food back out to the hallway, where Ozzy is sitting with his leash in his mouth, tail wagging.

  “Good boy,” William says, taking the leash from him. “Let’s go.”

  Ozzy slips out onto the landing, and William locks the door behind them. They hurry downstairs and out into the sunshine and the merciless heat. The parking lot is still empty, the boys are still playing, the girl is still sleeping on the backseat.

  William throws the bag of dogfood into the trunk. “Now you, buddy. Up!”

  The German shepherd jumps up and sits down.

  “Good boy,” William says. He’s just about to close the trunk, when something catches his eye. From the other side of the playground a lone figure comes walking across the lawn. Even this far away William can see the outstretched arms and the head which is bopping from side to side. A woman, judging from the hair. And she’s headed straight for the boys.

  “Oh, fuck me …” William runs across the parking lot. “Hey! You guys!”

  The boys, who are in the business of throwing handfuls of sand up the slide, turn quickly and look at him guiltily, both of them instinctively hiding their hands behind their backs. They can’t be more than eight, maybe nine years of age.

  “We weren’t doing anything,” one of them blurts out.

  William stops in front of them and points to the zombie. “You see that woman over there? She’s a zombie.”

  One of the boys gasp out loud. “Wow, that’s crazy! A real zombie!”

  “You’ve got to get home right away, all right?” William goes on, talking fast. “Right this minute. Tell your parents to lock the doors and turn on the news. You got that?”

  The boys stare from him to the woman, who’s already reached the playground and now staggers into the sandpit. The soft ground doesn’t seem to make it easier for her to walk, but she steers adamantly towards the boys.

  William is just about to shout at them to get them moving, but luckily, the boys already seem to have caught on, as they’re backing away.

  “Go!” William tells them. “Get out of here! Run!”

  One of the boys turns and runs towards the apartments. The other sends William an uncertain look. “But … my parents aren’t at home,” he says, his voice shaky.

  “Then go home with your friend! Hurry!”

  The zombie woman is wobbling her way past the sand, closing in, less than ten yards away now. She snarls and opens her fingers in an eager gesture. Most of the back of her neck is missing, and her hair has been almost pulled from the skull.

  The boy finally turns to run, but smashes directly into the swing set, giving off a cry and falling down.

  William, who already turned to run himself, stops abruptly. “Fucking hell …” He sprints over to the boy, grabs him by the arm and tries to pull him to his legs, but the boy is hazy after the collision, so William ends up dragging him along through the sand.

  The zombie woman snarls even louder, upping her speed, like she’s sensing the opportunity. She’s gaining on them. William can’t drag the boy fast enough, and there’s no time to pick him up. Instead, he shouts pointlessly at the woman. “Stay the fuck away!”

  The zombie bends over to grab the boy’s sprawling legs, misses and takes another few steps, misses again, narrowly, almost losing balance but stays on her feet, going for a third try. William gives one last hard tug at the boy’s arm, hoping to get him out of reach of the zombie—but he loses his grip, and they both fall down.

  For one long, terrifying moment, William realizes there’s only one outcome left. The boy can’t make it up in time. The zombie is already bending down, grabbing his foot. The boy screams as her mouth descends upon his bare leg.

  Then, everything speeds up, as something big and brown comes flying in from the side, hitting the woman and knocking her sideways.

  William glares dumbly at Ozzy, who’s sunk his teeth deep into the lower arm of the zombie, ripping and tearing at it like he’s trying to pop it right out of the socket. The woman barely seems to notice the dog, she simply tries to get back to the boy, still clutching his shoe in one hand, but now she’s being dragged the opposite direction in a series of violent tugs from Ozzy.

  Holy shit, he’s stronger than me, William thinks in amazement, still not able to act.

  The boy, who’s begun bawling, gets up and makes a clumsy one-shoed run for the apartments. William jumps to his feet and runs to the car, glancing back at Ozzy who’s still holding onto the zombie.

  When he reaches the open trunk, he sticks two fingers in his mouth and gives a short, loud whistle. “Release, Ozzy! Heel!”

  The dog immediately lets go of the woman’s torn-up arm and sprints to him.

  “Up!” William says. Ozzy obeys and jumps into the trunk, even though he keeps darting eager glances back at the zombie woman, who’s taken up pursuit. “Good boy,” William says, slamming the trunk.

  He rushes to the driver’s door and throws himself behind the wheel. From the trunk, Ozzy has started whimpering uneasily, as he stares out at the woman approaching the car.

  “It’s okay,” William says, turning the key. “Calm down, Ozzy, we’re leaving.” He’s mostly talking to calm down himself. His whole body is trembling from adrenaline, cold sweat is running down his back, like a junkie doing a cold turkey. He slams the car into gear and guns it.

  As they leave the parking lot, he sees the zombie in the rearview mirror, following the car another few yards. Then, she slows down, apparently losing interest, before turning away and heading towards the apartments, obviously sensing more accessible prey.

  “Hope she can’t get the front doors open,” William mutters to himself, wiping a flood of sweat from his forehead.

  He thinks about the boys and how surprisingly fast they got the message. As soon as he said the word “zombie,” they knew exactly how dangerous the woman was. The term obviously wasn’t new to them; they’d probably blown out several zombie brains playing computer games.

  Long live the youth, William thinks, reaching into the bag for a beer. They just might have a chance of surviving this …

  TWELVE

  Thorsten curses to himself in a low voice as he glares up at the red numbers of the elevator slowly counting down.

  Goddamned punks.
You just can’t count on young people nowadays …

  Thorsten is only three years from retirement—actually, he’s too old to still be working as a porter, but he’s been taking good care of himself, minding his back and not overworking himself, so he’s still feeling in pretty good shape.

  Still, it pisses him off to have to run double speed because two of the younger porters decide to just leave in the middle of a very busy day.

  Normally, Thorsten never would work in the basement, but someone needs to do the work left by the two deserters. At least until they get hold of a replacement.

  If those punks don’t get the slip for this, I’ll make sure they at least get a talking to they’ll never forget.

  The elevator stops and the doors slide open, revealing the basement, and Thorsten strides down the hall. He’s worked at this place for ages, and he knows the building better than his own home, so he doesn’t need to—

  Thorsten stops abruptly as he notices the writing on the door. It’s done with black marker in a quick handwriting.

  “What the hell is this now?”

  He steps closer, frowning. It’s got to be a joke. Some kid must have snuck down here … except for the fact that the text is placed too high for a child to have done it. Could it be someone from personnel, then? Who on earth would do such a thing? The young porters might not be the most well adjusted, but Thorsten still has a hard time imagining one of them doing this.

  The handle suddenly jumps twice, causing Thorsten to jerk backwards. He didn’t expect anybody to be in the room. He grabs for his keys, but then hesitates.

  Either it’s a distasteful joke, and someone is waiting to surprise him—or it could be something more serious. Perhaps someone got locked in against their will.

  “Hello?” he asks loudly. “Who’s in there?”

  No answer from the room, except for another jerk of the handle.

  “I’m going to unlock the door now!” he calls out. “But I’m not in the mood for any surprises, you got that?”

  Still, no answer.