Mille doesn’t answer. She looks out at Torben. Behind him, on the other side of the street, someone is out walking their dog. An old lady, judging from the hunched-over posture. The dog is small and black and walks very slowly. It’s probably even older than its owner.
“I was thinking,” Mom goes on, a slight tone of hesitation in her voice now. “I was thinking that you could try calling Kim. You know, maybe he’ll pick up when it’s you calling.”
Mille looks at her. “You want me to call him and convince him to come with us?”
Mom shrugs. “You could at least offer him the chance. If the virus reaches Sweden, they certainly won’t be safe in Stockholm with all those people living so close.”
Mille bites her lip. “I don’t know, Mom. I have no idea how he’ll react if I call him.”
“Well, isn’t it worth a shot?” Mom asks, leaning a little towards her. “Maybe if we all—” She stops talking as something catches her eye behind Mille. She squints. “Say, is that … oh, no!”
Mille turns her head. The old lady has come closer and is now crossing the street, headed straight for the car. Except it’s not an old lady. It’s a tall, bald, middle-aged man. The reason he’s walking hunched over is that someone has torn open his rib cage, causing his torso to sack forwards. He’s craning his neck back just enough for Mille to see his face and his dead, white eyes. The dog on the leash isn’t a dog on a leash, either; it’s a string of intestines being dragged from the man’s open wound, with a bloody lump—which could very well be his stomach—at the end of it.
“Shit,” Mille says. “He’s going for Torben.”
“Torben!” Mom screams, climbing halfway over Mille to bang the window. “Torben, look out! Behind you!”
Torben is too slow in turning around. When he finally does, the zombie is over him. Mom screams. Torben utters a grunt of surprise, drops the hose and grabs the guy’s wrists, barely managing to keep them away from his face. Instead, the zombie tries to bite Torben’s fat neck, snapping its teeth inches from his skin.
“You get off me!” Torben roars and pushes the zombie back hard, but not hard enough. The dead guy just stumbles a few steps backwards, then lunges forward again. Torben has no time to move out of the way and is pinned against his own car. Mom screams piercingly.
Luckily, though, the zombie trips on its own intestines and falls clumsily to its knees, giving Torben just enough time to move sideways and get out of reach. He waddles around the car, a look of shock on his face, opens the door and throws himself behind the wheel.
“Oh, good God,” Mom breathes, grabbing Torben’s shoulders. “Are you okay, honey? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Torben growls, shaking Mom’s hands off of him. “Let’s just get out of here.”
He puts the car in drive, just as the zombie finally gets back up and attacks Mille’s window, smearing saliva all over it.
Mom screams again, as Torben guns it and races out on the road.
“Goddamnit,” he mutters, rubbing his neck, and keeps checking the mirrors. “I didn’t know they had already reached this far.”
“I’m so relieved you’re okay, honey,” Mom says, fighting back tears. “That could have gone horribly wrong. I’m so glad you reacted fast.”
“Not fast enough,” Torben mutters. “I touched the damn thing.”
“Yes, but that’s not enough to get infected, is it?” Mom asks, looking from Torben to Mille.
Mille shakes her head. “It only spreads through blood.” She leans forward. “Did you get any scratch marks?”
Torben checks his hands one at a time, turning them over, even spreading the fat fingers. “No, I’m fine,” he finally says, a note of relief in his voice.
“Oh, thank heaven,” Mom exclaims, clutching her chest. “We’re okay. We’re okay. Good thing we’re leaving the country, too. This thing will be everywhere in a couple of days.”
“I think it’s more like hours,” Torben murmurs, clutching the wheel as he races through the streets of Frederikshavn way past the speed limit. Not many people are out, and no cars, either.
Not until Torben turns down to the harbor, that is.
Mille sees the forest of headlights from some distance away. The cars are lined up in several long queues, all waiting to board the ferry.
Torben whistles. “Guess we’re not the only ones who got the idea of going to Sweden.”
“Jesus,” Mom whispers. “Good thing we got a ticket, huh?”
Torben drives up to the shortest queue and stops. The lines are moving slowly, letting the cars onto the ferry one at a time.
Mille can see the people in the other cars, entire families crammed in between piles of baggage, their faces serious.
I hope none of them are sick, she thinks and feels an icy chill down her back. The last thing I want is to be trapped on a ferry with someone turning into a zombie …
The lines pick up speed, and within ten minutes, they drive aboard the ferry. Torben parks the car at the place assigned to them by the crew member waving an orange flag.
He stops the engine. “Right, let’s get out and find something to eat. Then, if we’re quick, we can grab a couple of hours shut-eye.”
They leave the car. Mille takes one of the bags from the trunk. She follows her mom towards the door leading to the upper decks, where a lot of other people are already streaming. She’s hit by a peculiar feeling of being a little girl going on a vacation with her mom.
Mom turns around. “Hold on, where’s Torben?”
Mille looks back. “There! By the van.”
Torben has stopped by the side-view mirror of a yellow van. He’s pulling out his collar and apparently examining his neck in the mirror.
“Torben!” Mom calls out.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he calls back and joins them. His expression is grave. “I felt something sting. Well, looks like I wasn’t too lucky after all.” He pulls out his collar to reveal a bright pink scratch.
Mille feels her stomach fall.
Mom gasps. “Oh, no …”
“It’s okay,” Torben assures her, talking in a stern voice. “They have disinfectant aboard. We’ll clean it up and I’ll be fine.”
Mille can’t tell if Torben believes what he’s saying, or if he’s trying to convince himself. The way his eyes keeps darting back and forth suggests at least part of him knows this is really bad news, and that disinfecting the wound won’t do squat.
“Come on,” he says, cutting Mom off as she’s about to say something. “The sooner we get it fixed, the better.”
“No,” Mille says, shaking her head. “You can’t go, Torben. You’ll have to get off the ferry.”
Torben looks at her like she’s a dog who just peed on his shoes. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll bring it to Sweden. You can’t do that.”
Mom looks from Mille to Torben, her eyes wide and terrified. “Oh, no … no, no, no …”
“Nonsense,” Torben scuffs. “I’ll be fine. They have doctors onboard, too.”
“They can’t do anything to help you,” Mille says. “Please listen to me. You can’t do this, Torben. You’ll have to get off.”
There’s a loud whistle from upstairs just at that moment. Torben looks up, then back at Mille. “Guess I have no choice. We’ve just left shore. Now, enough talking.” He pushes past them and heads for the door.
Mom is about to follow him, but Mille grabs her arm and looks her in the eye. “Mom, listen to me. I really need you to listen. There’s only one way this will pan out. We can’t let this happen.”
Mom’s face jerks in a series of different expressions. “I … I don’t know … I think we’d better follow him …”
She’s about to turn, but Mille tightens her grip. “Please, Mom. Please believe me. If you still love me, you’ll believe me when I say Torben is going to die. I know it’s hard to hear that. But if we don’t do something quickly, he might take everyone on this ferry with him.
”
“Excuse me,” a male voice says from behind them. “Could you please move?”
A man with two suitcases and his wife standing behind him is trying to get past.
“One moment,” Mille says, looking back at her Mom. “Tell me you believe me, Mom. For once, do what’s right. Please!”
Her mother fights herself for another couple of seconds. Then, for the first time since Mille got into Torben’s car, she sees a flash of her old mother, the mother she remembers, the volatile, closed-off, emotionally wrecked mother who raised her and drove her out like she had driven out Mille’s father and older brother before her.
“Don’t be silly,” Mom says in what’s almost a snarl. “You listen to Torben now. He knows what he’s doing. It’ll be fine. Stop making a scene.”
Mille lets go of her mother’s arm, but her mother grips her in turn and drags her along.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Nasira ought to be feeling tired, but she isn’t. In fact, she feels more awake than ever, although it’s close to midnight.
She’s sitting comfortably with Ali on her lap, her temple leaning against the cool car window. Outside, the lights of the freeway zip by. Only a few other cars are out.
She seems to be the only one awake except for William who’s driving the car.
Now that they have left Aarhus behind and are driving south, the dead people are no longer walking on the road.
Once or twice, groups of large, black helicopters have flown by overhead, and they’ve also passed quite a few military vehicles going the opposite way. Some of them had foreign license plates. William said they had probably called in reinforcements from Germany and other of the neighboring countries.
By all measures, it’s been the craziest day of Nasira’s life. And that includes those days she spent as a refugee before they came to Denmark, crossing the Mediterranean on an old fishing boat during a storm which caused them to almost capsize several times. Crammed in with a dozen other Muslims, they had run out of drinking water hours before, and the floor of the boat was soaked with diarrhea and puke.
But they had all come out of it alive; Mom, Dad, herself and Ali, who was but an infant back then, wrapped in a cloth sling, sleeping against Mom’s chest.
That was more than could be said about today. Both Mom and Dad had already died, and Nasira would soon follow them to the afterlife.
Initially, she had thought it would happen within hours. She even considered telling the others and asking William to stop the car so she could get out. And she would have, had she begun to feel even the slightest ill.
But she doesn’t feel ill at all.
In fact, she feels vibrant and alive. Peaceful, even. There is no more fear. No more worry.
It is odd. And at the same time, it makes sense. Facing death is a gruesome thought if you have no faith, if you don’t know God. Nasira knows him intimately. And that’s why she doesn’t fear what will happen to her. She knows it’s all part of His plan. Besides, she will meet up with her parents.
The only thing that causes her concern is the thought of Ali. Luckily, he will be in the hands of good people. She knows both Henrik and Dan from down the street, and they are both honest, humble men. They will take care of Ali once Nasira has left this earthly world; she doesn’t even need to ask to know they will.
Of course it’s sad he will have to grow up without his parents or any siblings, but thousands of children from where they came from have suffered that same fate and made decent lives for themselves despite it. She’s sure Ali will do the same; he is a strong boy.
She looks down at him and smiles. He’s leaning against her shoulder, eyes closed, brows slightly furrowed. As though he can feel her gaze, he opens his eyes.
“You still awake?” he whispers in Arabic and yawns.
“I can’t sleep.”
“How long have we been driving?”
“A couple of hours. It’s late. You should sleep some more.”
“I’m not sure I can sleep anymore.” He considers for a moment, looking out the window, then back at her. “I think it’s because we didn’t say prayer before I went to sleep.”
“Oh,” Nasira says, smiling. “Well, we can say it now if you’d like.”
“I would. I want to … to pray for Mom and Dad.”
“That’s a good idea.”
His lower lip begins to quiver. “Are they … are they with God now, Nasira?”
“Of course they are.”
“And there’s no pain with God, is there?”
“No. Only peace and joy. Pain is only for the living.”
“Good. I don’t want them to be suffering.”
“Would you like to begin the prayer?”
Ali nods and takes a deep breath. Then he recites the words they say every evening. Nasira closes her eyes and listens. Ali ends the prayer by thanking God for taking care of their parents.
When he finishes, Nasira opens her eyes again and notices the woman next to her has opened her eyes and is looking at them.
“Were you … praying?” she asks in a low voice.
“Yes. Sorry if we woke you.”
“No, that’s fine. I think it’s a great time to be praying. Even though I don’t really believe in God myself.”
Nasira smiles. “Don’t worry; He believes in you.”
Dorte returns the smile. “Well, that’s nice to know. I think I’ll be needing some forgiveness.”
“He forgives you when you forgive yourself.”
Dorte sends her a curious look. “Are you Muslims?”
“By custom, yes, but we don’t really identify with any particular religion. That’s why we had to leave our home country and come here. Our father was a preacher, but a controversial one.”
“Oh, I see. Where is he now?”
Nasira smiles again. “With God.”
Dorte’s expression goes from curious to sad. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I … I didn’t know.”
“How could you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I …”
“It’s fine,” Nasira assures her, putting a hand on her arm. “We have all lost someone recently, haven’t we?”
A host of different emotions seem to fight on Dorte’s face for a moment, then, resolve wins. “I guess so.” She looks out the window briefly. “I can’t help but think I might have caused this thing to run out of control. And just because I thought I could cure my sister.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad reason to me.”
Dorte shakes her head. “That’s not how I see it. My sister was one person, that’s nothing compared to how many people are now … are now …” She squeezes her lips together, then whispers: “What have I done?”
Nasira notices William look in the rearview mirror. “Hey, it could have gotten out in a million ways. It was just a matter of time. I never believed for a second they could contain it.”
Dorte wipes her eye discretely. “If I had just found that damned cure, it wouldn’t all have been for nothing. And my sister and my fiancé would still be alive.”
“I’m not even sure there is a cure,” William says.
“What do you mean?” Dorte asks.
“You know that creepy Voodoo-ritual I told you about? The one Dan suspects started this whole thing? Well, he’s convinced it’s not a real, like medical sickness, but more like a … I don’t know, a curse or something.”
Dorte’s expression goes blank. “That … that’s silly.”
“I know, but …” William shrugs. “We’ll see if they find a cure or not, then we’ll know for sure.”
“I don’t think they will,” Dorte says. “I ran every possible test on my sister while she was still alive and I took further readings from my fiancé after he died. I found nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
William looks at her in the mirror. “Well, I guess that supports Dan’s theory, then. Maybe it’s not a virus; maybe it’s something spiritual.”
“Of course it is,” Nasira says.
Both Dorte and William look at her. Ali too. Nasira notices he’s following the conversation.
“I looked into my mother’s eyes as she died,” Nasira says calmly. “I felt her soul leave her body. Then something else took over, and it made her able to move again. But it wasn’t her.”
“What do you think it is, then?” William asks. “A curse?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Nasira says. “I never thought the body could go on without the soul, but for some reason, God has allowed for a strange exception to the rules of nature. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s more like a possession. Something evil drives out the soul and replaces it.”
A few seconds of silence follows inside the car.
“If I hadn’t seen what I saw,” Dorte says, “I’d say you were crazy. But honestly, I have no better explanation.”
“So, you say this is God’s work?” William goes on. “Is he the mastermind behind this?”
“Naturally. He’s the mastermind behind everything.”
“Do you know why he would do such a thing? I mean, this doesn’t seem like something a nice god would thrust upon the world.”
“Every seemingly bad thing God does, is a blessing in disguise. Because within is the possibility to find Him.”
“What?” Dorte says, frowning. “You mean, like dying?”
“No, no. By surrendering to His will.”
“I don’t like that word,” William says. “Surrender. It sounds like defeat to me. I’m not into that. I’m going to keep fighting to stay alive.”
“Sure, keep fighting,” Nasira says, smiling. “That’s what God wants from you. Surrender is something else. Surrender is accepting that whether you win the fight or not, is not up to you. You trust in God, and what will be will be.”
“So what’s the point?” William argues back. “If it’s like, predetermined or whatever, why would we even try?”
Nasira reaches over and puts a hand on William’s shoulder. “Because that’s why you’re here, William.”
He eyes her in the rearview mirror for several seconds, then mutters: “I’m beginning to see why you guys were chased out of your own country; you’re nuts.”
Dead Meat Box Set, Vol. 2 | Days 4-6 Page 18
