by Willow Rose
46
Malene felt sore. Her body was hurting badly when she woke up. Where was she? She blinked her eyes several times to see better. Then she gasped. Suddenly, she remembered everything. The guy, the poet, had taken her away from the others. She had tried to fight him, she had kicked and tried to scream, but he had kept her in the cave, held her down till she ran out of strength. He had been caressing her hair and cheek while calling her Rikke. Who was this Rikke, and why did he call her that?
Oh, my God! He’s going to kill me!
He didn’t seem to notice she was awake. What was he doing over there anyway? Malene stretched her neck to see better. He was working on something and whistling. What the hell was he up to now, the crazy bastard?
Think quickly, Malene. This is your chance to get away. He’s not watching you. He’s busy doing something else. Run!
If only she could get into one of the tunnels. She could hide in there till he gave up looking for her.
What is he doing over there? What’s on the floor?
Malene couldn’t see much, since he was the one holding the flashlight. His body cast a grim shadow on the wall of the cave. Malene tried to move, to slide carefully across the ground, thinking he might not notice her if she stayed close to the ground. It was when she tried to move that she saw it.
What the hell has he put on my leg?
It was a chain. It was heavy, and as she moved, it made a sound. Thomas didn’t seem to notice. She looked at the chain that continued into the darkness. Where did it end? What had he chained her to? She had to get closer. Malene tried to slide further across the ground, hoping the chain wouldn’t make another noise.
Thomas was singing loudly, like he was enjoying himself and what it was he was up to.
Chop chop, Sweet Charlotte
Chop chop, till he’s dead
Chop chop, Sweet Charlotte
Chop off his hand and head.
What was he singing? It sounded like that old song from that old movie Malene’s dad used to show her. The one with Bette Davis.
Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte.
Only the lyrics were different. Like a ghoulish version. It gave her the chills. Malene took in a deep breath and tried to follow the chain to see where it ended. But as she did, she finally got close enough to see what Thomas was up to. In front of him on the ground lay Mr. Bjerrehus. Or what was left of him. He was being chopped into pieces, the meat of his stomach and leg being cut off by a butcher’s knife in Thomas’ hand, while he sang his little song. Malene felt nauseated. She gagged, and a few seconds later, she threw up.
Thomas heard her and stopped singing. He turned his head and looked at her. “Ah, you’re awake. I’m preparing a feast for the two of us. You know…to welcome you home.”
Malene stared at the dead body on the ground and felt sick again. She threw up yellow gastric acid. It burned in her throat.
“Don’t look so outraged,” Thomas said. “I didn’t kill him. At least, I don’t think I did, ha ha. I found him in a cave. I might have killed him. Who knows, right? At least we have something to eat.”
Malene whimpered as Thomas picked up a piece of Mr. Bjerrehus and showed it to her. Blood was dripping from it.
“Looks delicious, don’t you think?”
Malene shook her head and crawled backwards. She got up and started to run. She only made it a few steps towards the tunnel before Thomas yanked the chain forcefully and she fell flat on her face in the dirt.
III
DAY 11-12, October 16th -17th 2014
Eat or be Eaten
47
We were losing hope and, worst of all, we were running out of food. After eleven days underground, our bodies had started to change drastically. The skin now hugged the bones on our faces, and our ribs all showed. When we walked, our legs trembled. Knowing a lot about the subject, David had explained to me that without roughly a hundred and twenty grams of glucose a day, the human brain starts to malfunction and our bodies had started to eat our muscle mass. We slept constantly to not feel the hunger. Even our prayer time had stopped.
We never did find Malene or Mr. Bjerrehus, nor did Kurt ever come back from running off. I wondered what had happened to all of them, but didn’t have the strength to look anymore.
On this morning on the eleventh day, I reached the bottom of the pit when I picked up an empty can of tuna and licked the inside again and again.
I had made another trade with Brian, and we still had a little water left, but none of us could go much longer without food.
Afrim’s mother was doing the worst. She was all skin and bones and hardly awake at all anymore. I could see the anxiety in Afrim’s eyes, and feared the worst. She had only a day or two more left in her, if that.
On the eleventh day, Brian came to us. He could barely walk as he came through the tunnel, flanked by Lars and Kurt, who apparently had joined them after running away from us. His wife, Annette, was happy to see him, but kept her distance. He smiled at her, but went to sit with Brian, not her.
“We’ve finally run out of food and water,” Brian said, sitting down next to me. He had lost a lot of weight. “There is no more.”
“No more water either?” I asked. “It was a big tank.”
“Not big enough, apparently. Maybe there was another hole in it, I don’t know, but the water is gone. We ran out of the last of the food this morning. And we’re hungry.”
“We all are, Brian,” David said.
“Where is Thomas Soe?” I asked.
Brian shrugged. “We lost him some days ago. He was just gone when we woke up. We thought he would be back eventually, but he never showed up.”
“Same thing happened to Mr. Bjerrehus and Malene,” I said.
“You think they might have found a way out of here?” Kurt asked.
I shrugged. “Or they’ve gotten lost somehow. I don’t know.”
“It’s strange,” Kurt said. “I believe there’s someone or something else in these tunnels. When I left from here, I wandered the tunnels for a day and a half. I heard strange noises, especially at night. Voices and singing. I heard footsteps and, I swear, someone was watching me while I slept. I woke up with a gasp and there was someone in the darkness with me. I swear there was. He was standing really close to me. I could hear him breathe. Thinking of what happened to poor Michael West, I started yelling and slamming my fist into the darkness, hoping to hit him. I did. My fist struck something and there was a sound like someone fell backwards. Then I heard footsteps, like someone running, and he was gone. I swear, I was certain he would have killed me.”
“Could it be Mr. Bjerrehus?” Mrs. Sigumfeldt asked.
Kurt laughed. “No, he would certainly have killed me if he had the chance. He hates my guts as much as I hate his. You can be certain of that.”
“Then, who else could it be?” I asked. “Thomas Soe? Malene?”
Kurt shrugged. “I don’t know. People seem to go crazy down here. The lack of food and water makes us lose it. I tell you, we’re going to end up eating each other.”
“Speak of eating,” Brian said. He nodded in direction of Afrim. “That dog still alive?”
“He’s holding on like the rest of us,” I said. I had a sense that this conversation wasn’t going in a good direction. “Why?”
Brian shrugged. “Just wondering.”
48
Afrim saw the look on Mr. Jansen’s face. It wasn’t pleasant. He was staring at Buster with a strange smile, very similar to that of Afrim’s aunt before she went to the hospital.
Afrim pulled Buster closer and held him tight. The dog was nothing but skin and bones. He could feel his ribs as he lifted him. Just like his mother. Afrim sniffled and looked at her. She hadn’t spoken to him for two days. She had been awake for maybe a few minutes, in total, those same two days. Afrim knew she was doing poorly, and every day, he prayed to whomever would listen to please, please keep his mother and dog alive. But he knew there wasn’t much time left.
Afrim watched as Mr. Jansen came closer. He sat next to Afrim and looked at Buster. “So, how’s the dog?” he asked.
“Hhhe…he’s alright,” Afrim said.
Mr. Jansen touched Buster. He petted him on the back then felt his stomach. Buster didn’t even move.
“Not much meat left on him, huh?”
Afrim shook his head, while staring at Mr. Jansen. He had never liked him much. Afrim had heard Mrs. Jansen screaming at night and Mr. Jansen yelling at her. She would scream for him to stop hitting her. Why he didn’t stop, when she was obviously in pain, Afrim didn’t understand, and he had asked his dad about it.
“Some men don’t know how to appreciate a woman properly,” he had told Afrim.
“Can’t you teach him, Daddy? ‘Cause she sounds like it hurts a lot,” Afrim had said. “Why doesn’t anyone help her? Everyone can hear her screaming, can’t they?”
Afrim’s father thought about his answer for a while. “Most people like to mind their own business. They don’t like to meddle in other people’s lives.”
“But why? I don’t understand.” Afrim had asked.
His dad didn’t have an answer. Later that same day, Afrim’s mother had tried to reach out to Mrs. Jansen, and had asked her to come over for a cup of coffee, but Mrs. Jansen had told her she couldn’t. Her husband didn’t want her to be around those Muslims.
“She doesn’t want our help, Afrim,” his mother had said when she came back and slammed the door in anger.
So, they had done what everyone else in this neighborhood did. They had pretended they didn’t hear her screams at night and moved on with their lives.
“He won’t live much longer,” Mr. Jansen said now to Afrim.
Afrim pulled Buster closer, so Mr. Jansen wouldn’t touch him anymore. Mr. Jansen smiled, then got up and walked away. When naptime came and Afrim was supposed to go to sleep like the rest of them, he stayed awake and watched over Buster. Mr. Jansen was sitting at the end of the cave, keeping an eye on Afrim, while everyone else dozed off. When it was just the two of them, Afrim felt a chill roll down his spine. Mr. Jansen kept staring at Afrim and Buster, and then he got up and walked toward them again.
“Give me the dog,” he whispered.
Afrim shook his head in desperation. “No. No. You’re not getting him. He’s my dog!”
“Sh, keep it down. We don’t want anyone to wake up, now do we? Listen, kid. I know you love him, but he’s going to die anyway. We might as well get something out of it. There’s still meat on him. It could keep us alive for days. I tell you what, you give me the dog, and I’ll split the meat with you. You can feed that mother of yours and help her stay awake. I have fire. We can roast the meat. It’ll be much better than just watching him die. Either way, we’ll eat him.”
Afrim whimpered. He felt tears pressing on his eyes. The thought of anyone eating his dog made him cry.
“Please. Don’t touch my dog.”
“It’s okay. He won’t feel a thing. It’s for a good cause. He’ll keep us alive, remember? Keep your mom here alive so she can be with you when we get out of here.”
Mr. Jansen reached over and grabbed Buster by his tail. He lifted the skinny dog into the air and smiled. The dog whined.
“What a nice piece of meat,” he said.
“Please, sir. Please give me my dog back,” Afrim cried. “I love Buster, please don’t take Buster from me.”
“I’ll make sure to be quick,” Mr. Jansen said, and grabbed Buster’s neck. “I’ll snap his neck quickly, so he won’t feel a thing. It’s the most humane thing to do, really. Put him out of his suffering. You don’t want to watch him starve to death anyway, do you?”
Afrim cried harder. “Please…please, sir…please, don’t…”
“Sorry, kid,” Mr. Jansen said when another voice suddenly echoed loudly through the cave, waking up most of the people.
“Put the dog down!”
Mr. Jansen froze. So did Afrim. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was his mom. She had managed to push herself to her elbows and was looking at Mr. Jansen. “Give the dog back to my boy. It’s all he has.”
Other eyes were on them now. Rebekka was on her feet and approaching them. So was David.
“What’s going on here?” she asked.
Mr. Jansen shook his head. “I’m not dying of hunger while the dog lives,” he growled. “It could feed all of us. Think about it.”
David pulled his knife. “Give Afrim his dog back.”
“What? You’re going to kill me over a dog?” Mr. Jansen said.
“Might as well,” David answered. “You eat a lot more than the dog does.”
Brian Jansen looked at Afrim. Afrim stared at Buster while crying.
“Screw you,” Mr. Jansen said, and threw the dog to the ground. “Screw all of you. You’ll regret it when we all starve to death.”
“Buster!” Afrim yelled. The dog whined, then got back up on its feet and ran to him. Afrim was so busy taking care of his dog, he didn’t notice his mother breathing in her last breath before her head fell to the ground with a loud thud.
49
“Mom? Mom? Please, wake up, Mom?”
Afrim’s voice was breaking. So was my heart. I ran to his mother and felt for a pulse.
“Is she…?” David came towards us.
I nodded slowly. The light in Afrim’s eyes went out. “No,” he said, while shaking his head in desperation. “No!”
“I’m sorry, kid,” I said, tears burning my eyes.
“NOOO!”
Afrim threw himself on top of his mother’s dead body, crying and sobbing. “Don’t leave me, Mom. Don’t leave me down here. Please, come back. Please!”
I grabbed Afrim in my arms and pulled him away from the body, while David removed his mother and put her in with the others who had passed away.
It was hard for me not to burst into tears. I held Afrim tightly in my arms. I felt such a deep anger rise inside of me. I couldn’t believe how unfair it was. I thought about my own children and cried even harder. They had to be missing their mother so much. Had they given up hope by now? Had Sune told them I was gone? Were they crying and sobbing helplessly like Afrim was?
I couldn’t bear the thought.
“Shhh,” I said, and put him on the ground with his back against the cold limestone wall. I stroked his hair gently. But it didn’t matter. He was inconsolable. It wasn’t until Buster came to him and crawled onto his lap that Afrim calmed down.
My eyes met David’s as he returned. He had been crying too. His eyes were red.
“What took you so long?” I whispered, when he sat next to me.
“I had a meeting with God,” he said. “Had to tell him how I felt about this.” David clenched his fist. “I am just so…angry! I mean, of all the things I’ve been through lately…this is, by far, the worst. At least I was alone when I was kidnapped. It was just me, you know?”
“I know what you mean,” I said.
Brian was sitting across from me, still scowling at the dog. I couldn’t believe him. I felt so tired, but kept myself awake to keep an eye on him.
“Maybe we ought to sleep in shifts from now on,” David suggested, when he saw me staring at Brian Jansen. “This guy isn’t going to let go of this anytime soon. Others might get ideas as well. Hunger has that effect on some people. When faced with deathly hunger, all humanity ceases to exist. It’s only about survival.”
I threw a glance around the room and realized there was more than one set of eyes fixated on Buster. I suddenly wasn’t so sure we would be able to protect him much longer, even though we had the advantage of having the knife. If there were enough people and they ganged up on us, we wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Let’s try that,” I said. “You go first.”
“Are you sure?” David asked.
“Yes. I’m too upset to sleep anyway. I’ll be fine.”
“Wake me up if they try anything, alright?” David said, and handed me th
e knife. I made sure everyone saw that I had the knife, then pulled Afrim and Buster closer to me, so they knew I would be protecting the two of them.
David leaned his head back and closed his eyes. For a minute, I envied him. I was so tired and really wanted to sleep as well. But I had a responsibility. I wasn’t going to let Afrim down.
When David had been asleep for a few minutes, murmurs started among the men. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but their debate was lively. Brian got up from his spot and walked across the ground. At first, I thought he was coming towards me and Afrim, and I clasped the knife in my hand, while preparing myself for the confrontation. As he came closer, Brian gave me a look, then walked right past me. Kurt and Lars followed him.
50
She couldn’t stand it anymore. She couldn’t stand simply sitting there doing nothing while her stomach hurt from hunger and her son constantly slept because he had no more strength to stay awake.
With a deep sigh, Mrs. Sigumfeldt stared at the dog. She wasn’t the only one eyeballing the dog, thinking it could keep them alive for a little longer. She was certain everyone in the cave was thinking the same thing. Except for that Rebekka woman and the handsome David Busck, who Mrs. Sigumfeldt remembered having seen on TV. He was much more handsome in real life. Even better looking than Michael West had been.
The bastard.
Tine Sigumfeldt couldn’t believe he had abandoned her like that. Hadn’t he cared for her at all? After all those years of coming to her house and sleeping with her when Mr. Sigumfeldt was away on business trips. Didn’t they mean anything?
He never loved you, you fool. You were nothing but sex to him. He used you, that’s all.
The thought made Tine Sigumfeldt angry. She had really liked him. Him coming to her house had always been the highlight of the month for her. The kids never knew he was spending the night. She made sure he arrived when they were asleep and left before they woke up. But not on the morning of the collapse. That particular morning, Tine’s youngest son, Frederic, had been awake early. He had knocked on the door to Tine’s bedroom at five thirty and told her he had a bad dream. Tine had put him back to bed and tucked him in, but knew he wouldn’t sleep. The dream had been too bad. Tine had to sit at his bedside, holding his hand until it was time to get up. Afterwards, she had sneaked back to her bedroom and told Michael West to wait till they had left the house to go to school.
