Martin takes a deep breath. “Good. Let’s go check them, then.”
To his surprise, Oskar shakes his head. “We won’t find anything. They’re not contaminated. Look at them. They’re way too calm. If one of them got bitten or scratched, they would be panicking.”
Martin looks over at the couple. They’re standing close to each other, talking. Dorte is rubbing her bare arms. Peter puts his arm around her waist, trying to console her.
“Then why did you—”
“Because I don’t trust him. He’s a sleazebag. Didn’t you hear him? He works in a bank. You can’t trust anyone who works in a bank. I bet you he’s hiding something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But you should check the trunk.”
“Come on, man. There’s no—”
“That’s the deal,” Oskar cuts him off. “If you check the trunk and they aren’t hiding something, then I’ll look the other way as they pass.”
Martin throws out his arms. “What would they be hiding?”
“The fuck should I know? A zombie, maybe.” He stares at Peter, who takes off his glasses and wipes them on his T-shirt. “I’m telling you: he’s hiding something.”
Martin shakes his head. “Fine, if that’s what it takes.”
“Just be ready, okay?” Oskar gives him a meaningful look. “When you open it.”
Martin tries to smile. “You’re paranoid.”
“Paranoid people tend to live longer,” Oskar says, no humor in his voice.
Martin goes back over to the couple. “Okay, listen.”
They both look at him hopefully.
“We’re going to let you pass …”
“Thank you!” Dorte exclaims.
“Thank God,” Peter sighs.
“If,” Martin goes on, “you let us check the trunk of the car.”
Dorte’s smile fades somewhat.
Peter’s relief turns to suspicion. “Why? You think we’re hiding something?”
“We don’t know; that’s why we need to check.”
Peter looks to Dorte. “I thought you said he would trust you.”
The words ignite something in Martin’s stomach. He can’t help but feel good at the thought of Dorte trusting him to trust her—even after all these years. Even though they never became more than friends, Martin has always felt a special connection to her, and what Peter just said confirms that Dorte has always felt the same way.
Dorte looks at him, and her smile returns. “There’s nothing in the trunk, Martin. I promise you; we’re not hiding anything.”
“I believe you,” Martin says, smiling back at her. “But my partner is kind of … paranoid.” He sends Oskar a glance, but Oskar apparently doesn’t hear him; he just stares at Peter. “We agreed to let you pass on that one condition; that you let us see the trunk of the car.”
Dorte looks at him for a moment, then she looks at Peter and shrugs. “Okay, fine. Open the trunk, hon.”
Peter shakes his head as though reluctant to oblige, but he still goes around to the back of the car. Martin follows him, the rifle feeling heavy at his side.
“This is really not cool,” Peter says, low enough that only Martin hears him. “We’re wasting time. Dorte’s dad could be dead when we get there.”
“All the more reason to hurry up and show me that trunk,” Martin says.
Peter shakes his head again, then grabs the trunk and opens it.
Martin realizes just how tense he had gotten as he sees the empty trunk. His shoulders sink down an inch.
“See anything, Martin?” Oskar calls.
“No, it’s empty.”
“Just like we told you,” Peter adds. “Can we please go now?”
“Sure, you—”
“Backseat!” Oskar calls out.
Martin looks over at him.
“Check the backseat.”
“Come on!” Peter exclaims.
Martin goes and looks in through the window in the back door. A bunch of clothes are thrown on the seats. “Nothing,” he calls to Oskar. “Just some clothes.”
“Satisfied?” Peter says, eyeing him with a sour look. “Or you want to check the undercarriage too?”
“No, that’s fine,” Martin says. “You can go now.”
“Thank you.” He immediately heads for the driver’s side door. “Let’s go, hon!”
“I’ll move the jeep,” Oskar says.
Dorte makes her way around the car, passing Martin on the way. She stops briefly and smiles at him. “Thank you, Martin. I won’t forget it.” She squeezes his arm; even through his sleeve, the touch makes him jittery.
“Sure. Say hi to your dad from me.”
“I will.”
They look at each other for a brief second, then the connection is lost as she heads for the passenger side door. Martin suddenly feels a sting of panic at the thought of her leaving. He might never see her again. He feels like he needs to say something, anything, just to keep her a moment longer.
“How’s Rikke doing?” Martin asks, just as Oskar starts up the jeep.
Dorte looks back and smiles. “She’s fine; she’s with Dad.”
“She is? I thought you said your dad was alone.”
She frowns. “No, I don’t think I did.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll see you around.”
“See you, Martin.”
He steps back as Peter turns the headlights back on; they’re almost redundant now, as the morning has grown lighter in the few minutes since they arrived.
Oskar moves the jeep out of the way, and Peter drives forward.
Martin looks in through the side window at Dorte. He is hoping for one last smile, but Dorte doesn’t look out at him, she just stares straight ahead. Instead, another pair of eyes meet his, as a pale face peeks out from under the pile of clothes on the backseat.
It’s only a split-second.
But Martin recognizes Rikke’s face.
Then Peter floors it and races past the jeep, headed out the highway at full speed.
Martin just stands there, glaring after them, thoughts going back and forth in his mind, as Oskar backs the jeep out into the middle of the road once more and shuts off the engine.
He jumps out, slams the door and says, as he walks over to Martin: “I could have sworn that guy was hiding something. Maybe I was wrong after all. I just still have the feeling that … Hey, Martin? What’s up?”
Martin doesn’t answer. He barely hears Oskar. All he hears is a rapid replay of recently spoken lines.
“I thought you said your dad was alone.”
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“Check the backseat.”
“Nothing. Just some clothes.”
“I promise you; we’re not hiding anything.”
“I believe you.”
“You’re in love with her. That’s the exact opposite of trust.”
Oskar snaps his fingers in front of Martin’s face.
“Hey! She’s gone now. You can stop staring.”
Martin blinks and comes to. The car is just a couple of tiny red lights in the horizon now.
“What’s up with you?” Oskar says, eyeing him.
“Nothing,” Martin manages to say, shaking his head. “Nothing, I’m fine.”
TWO
“How are you doing back there?”
Dorte turns in her seat to look at her sister, who’s sitting in the pile of clothes.
“You keep asking me that,” Rikke says, a trace of annoyance in her voice. “And I keep telling you, it’s the same.”
“Still no fever?”
“No.”
“Could you check with the thermometer again, please?”
Rikke rolls her eyes. “Yes, Doctor.” She puts away her phone and places the thermometer in her mouth, then crosses her arms and looks out the window at the freeway speeding by. Barely any cars are out at this time of the night, but for the occasional truck. The sky is already orange from the dawning day
.
Dorte watches her sister with affection. Rikke is only sixteen and still very much a child in Dorte’s eyes. Yet she can tell she is only acting like this because she’s genuinely anxious.
The thermometer beeps.
“What’s it say?” Dorte asks.
Rikke takes it out and looks at the display. “Ninety-eight point eight—just like last time.”
“Those things aren’t very accurate anyway.”
“Come on, it’s like you want me to a fever!”
“Hey, your sister is only trying to help you,” Peter says, glancing at Rikke in the rearview mirror.
“I told you, he barely touched me,” Rikke says, holding out her arm. “See? It’s only a little reddish.”
Dorte studies the skin right above the elbow, where the two scratches run across Rikke’s arm. To Dorte, it actually looks a little more reddish than it did just twenty minutes ago. Apparently, Rikke notices the same, because she lowers her arm again and finds her phone.
“You’ll be okay,” Dorte tells her. “We caught it in time. And as soon as we get to the institute, I’ll give you a vaccine.”
“I’m not even sick,” Rikke says, less defiant now, but still not looking back at Dorte. “I feel fine.”
“That’s good. It means the virus didn’t reach your CNS yet.”
Rikke raises one eyebrow. “My what now?”
“Central nervous system.”
“Oh. Sorry, I don’t know the lingo.”
“How did it happen again?” Peter asks, suppressing a yawn.
Rikke already told them, and Dorte suspects Peter only asks to keep himself from falling asleep. She still can’t believe it; less than two hours ago, they were at Peter’s house, watching the latest updates on the news channel; they had just had a glass of wine and were ready to go to bed.
That’s when the doorbell began ringing insistently.
Outside stood Rikke, pale-faced, clutching her little white poodle to her chest.
“I don’t know,” Rikke says, shaking her head. “He came out of nowhere. This old guy. I tried to avoid him, but the front door jammed, so he grazed my arm with those nasty, long fingernails before I could make it inside again.”
Peter shakes his head. “I don’t get it. Why would you go out into the street when you knew the police had—”
“I had to let out Daisy so she could take a pee! What was I supposed to do? She can’t exactly use the toilet, can she? Besides, I was very careful. I only just stepped outside.”
“Not careful enough, it seems,” Peter mutters.
“Yeah, well, at least it’s not you who got scratched by one of those things, is it?” Rikke sneers.
“No, but it’s me driving around in the middle of the night, breaking the law!” Peter argues back.
“I’m very sorry to inconvenience you. You can just drop me off at the next exit.”
“Maybe I will if you keep up that tone of voice.”
“Okay, that’s enough!” Dorte interjects, just as Rikke is about to retort. “We’re all upset about the situation, no wonder. But we need to keep our heads straight. No more arguing, both of you. All right?”
Neither of them answers. Peter concentrates on the road, and Rikke is once more lost in her phone. They aren’t exactly pals at the best of times, let alone when being forced into a car together in the middle of the night.
“I’m just really not okay with this,” Peter murmurs. “The way we had to lie to those soldiers … I mean, there’s a damn good reason why they set up military roadblocks.”
“Sure there is,” Dorte nods. “It’s to keep the virus from spreading too fast.”
Peter takes his eyes off the road to look at her for a moment. “What do you mean, ‘too fast’? Obviously, they don’t want it to spread at all.”
Dorte shakes her head. “That’s not how it works. Remember what they said the last time there was a flu epidemic? They told people to keep good hand-hygiene, to not shake hands or hug and to not gather anywhere with more than a thousand people at a time.”
“Sure, I remember.”
“Well, all that wasn’t to stop the virus from spreading; it was just to slow it down.”
Peter scuffs. “Hon, I think you’re being paranoid. I know you work with these types of things, but still—”
“It’s not paranoia, Peter. It’s not even a secret. It’s really just standard protocol. You can’t stop viruses like these, not once they’re this far advanced.”
“Okay, so why slow it down? Why not just let it burn through and get it over with?”
“Because that would put a lot of pressure on the healthcare system. They want to spread it out over as much time as possible, so they’ll get a steady trickle of infected patients instead of a whole bunch all at once.”
“Hmm, makes sense, I guess.”
“It also bides them time to find a vaccine, if they haven’t already.”
Dorte senses Rikke leaning forward on the backseat. “You think they already have a vaccine? But they said on the news—”
“You can’t always count on what they say. Maybe they didn’t want the hospitals to be flooded with healthy people wanting to be vaccinated.”
There’s obvious relief on Rikke’s face.
“But … what if they haven’t made a vaccine then?”
“Don’t worry,” Dorte tells her. “Whatever you have, I’ll cure it.”
Rikke smiles bleakly, and Dorte returns the smile. But she also notices her sister has grown noticeably paler since she last looked at her. She is just about to ask her to take her temperature again, when Peter asks:
“Do I take this exit?”
Dorte checks. “Yes. Then left the next time. We’re almost there.”
“Won’t they call the authorities as soon you tell them what happened?” Rikke asks.
“We’re not telling anyone about you until I’ve given you the vaccine,” Dorte says. “Besides, no one will be there at this hour.”
“At the hospital? Aren’t there always people there?”
“We’re not going to the hospital. Straight ahead here, Peter.”
The red building comes up ahead; all the windows are dark and no other cars are parked here. By 7:00 AM, the place will be teeming with med students. That’s plenty of time; by then, Dorte will have found a vaccine for Rikke. Either that, or—
She pushes the thought hard aside and tells Peter: “Pull over here.”
Peter parks the car, and they get out.
Dorte slips an arm around Rikke without even thinking, and her sister scuffs.
“I can still walk, you know.”
But she doesn’t resist, and Dorte doesn’t take her arm away.
Dorte scans her ID card and types in the six-digit code. The door clicks, and she pulls it open. Peter follows them into the building as the automated lights come on, revealing a long, blue hallway.
“What is this place, exactly?” Rikke asks.
“My workplace,” Dorte says. “Come with me.”
THREE
“Where’s Peter?” Rikke asks.
“He went to get coffee,” Dorte says, opening a cabinet and going through the shelves. She brings a box of things to where Rikke is sitting, looking at her phone. “Do you ever give that thing a rest?”
Rikke sighs and puts the phone back in her pocket. “Everyone is sleeping anyway.” She yawns, then gazes around the lab. “So, what is it you do here?”
Dorte stops for a moment; seeing her sister here, sitting on a stool next to the shiny steel table and the rows of glass cabinets filled with medical equipment, gives her a sense of unreality. She has spent so many hours here, but her work has always been firmly separated from her family life.
“I do research and tests,” she says. “The others mostly work with animals, but I’m specializing in treatment of zoonotic viruses and bacteria infections in humans.”
“And what’s that?”
“That’s diseases you get from animals.
”
Rikke snorts. “Well, if only it was an animal that scratched me.”
Dorte puts on the rubber gloves. “Zoonotic diseases can transfer from human to human, too.”
“Oh. So you’re saying this whole thing started out with an animal biting someone?”
“It’s more likely it got transferred via feces,” Dorte says, as she finds a syringe and tears off the paper.
“Yuk! So someone ate poop?”
“Not exactly. But someone probably got into contact with animal droppings. From a bat or maybe a bird. That’s how most of the great flu epidemics got started. Give me your arm, please.”
“You keep talking about the flu,” Rikke says. “Isn’t this something completely different? I mean, they’re saying on Facebook it’s zombies.”
This time, Dorte snorts. “That’s just people being scared.”
“Yeah, I thought so too, until … until I saw that guy. The old man who scratched me.” Rikke looks down at the two red lines on her arm, both now glowing a deep red, the skin pink around them. “He looked really … dead. I don’t know how else to put it. The way he moved … and his eyes. They were all, like … empty.”
Rikke shivers as Dorte rubs her skin with an antibacterial napkin.
“Hold still, please.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Rikke says, then: “Ouch!” as Dorte inserts the needle. Rikke’s eyes grow distant as she goes on: “That’s what made me freeze up, you know; his eyes. They reminded me of a dead fish. I just couldn’t believe those eyes had ever belonged to a human being.”
“Zombies aren’t real,” Dorte says softly. “There’s nothing supernatural going on. The infected people are simply suffering some paralytic stage in the disease, where they’ve lost control of speech and movement. You see the exact same thing happen with most cases of rabies. It looks scary, but it’s just a disease. And it can most likely be cured with a simple vaccine.”
She takes out the needle and puts a Band-Aid on Rikke’s arm.
“What was that they called it?” Rikke asks. “The rap-something-virus?”
“The Rhabdovirus. They’ve named it after the family of viruses also containing rabies. Which means it’s not just my theory, other experts agree.”
Dead Meat Box Set, Vol. 2 | Days 4-6 Page 2
