It’s been at least ten years since old Per Rasmussen has been behind the wheel, but Josefine just smiles.
“Speaking of,” he goes on, “how’s the trip? I can’t believe you came all this way to see me.”
“I do that every weekend, Dad. It’s no big deal, I told you.”
“You should’ve stayed home. Spent your time productively instead of looking at me lying around.”
Josefine is still trying to discern how much her father is aware of the situation. He’s surprisingly clearheaded right now; at least he knows he’s in the nursing home, but does he also know what happened earlier this morning? Does he remember getting scratched by one of the other old people? Has he got a clue that most of them are already dead and that he has only hours to live?
“Why don’t you come inside?” her father asks. “Don’t stand around out there.”
“I … I can’t, Dad.”
“Why not? You haven’t picked up smoking, have you? That’d break your old dad’s heart, you know.”
“No, it’s just … the rules …”
“Ah, to hell with their rules. This room is mine, and I decide who enters. Come on in, honey.”
Josefine decides that he probably doesn’t realize the full scope of the situation. If he knew there was only a slight chance of him infecting her, he would’ve never asked her in.
“I’d love to come inside, Dad, but …” Her eyes fall on the terrace door as she speaks. The window right next to it is ajar; just enough for her to slip her hand inside and reach the lock.
“But what?” her father asks, coughing again.
Josefine makes a quick decision. One that very well may seal her fate. But she makes it anyway. She heard them say on the news last night that the infection most likely spreads through blood only, like AIDS. So as long as she doesn’t touch his wound, she should be fine.
She slips her hand through the open window and unlocks the terrace door.
As she steps into the room, she immediately notices the smell of fever. The air is warm and sour and salty. And as she approaches the bed, she notices the pearls of sweat beading her father’s forehead. His cheeks are red and his eyes are puffy.
“You hot, Daddy?” she asks. “You want me to get you something cool to drink?”
“That’d be lovely,” he says, smiling up at her.
She takes his cup from the table and goes to the tiny bathroom, fills the cup with icy water and goes back to him.
Seeing the cup, he instinctively tries to reach for it, but the strap stops his arm. He looks down at it, frowning.
“Here, let me help you,” Josefine says quickly, holding the cup to his lips.
Her father closes his eyes and drinks deeply, emptying the cup. Afterwards, he sighs. “Lord, that was just what I needed.”
How long has he been lying here without anyone checking on him?
Josefine isn’t too surprised, though. Even at the best of times, the nursing homes have a reputation of being understaffed, and now, under these crazy circumstances, with everything falling apart …
“So, how are things?” her father asks, sounding heartbreakingly cheerful, as though he takes this to be any other ordinary Wednesday.
“Things are … good,” Josefine says, forcing a smile. “You know … same old, same old.”
“Come on, now, when did you start lying to your old dad?” he says, tilting his head. “I can tell something’s bugging you, sweetheart.” He winks at her and lowers his voice. “Hey, you can tell me. Honestly, it’s okay. I’ll probably forget it by tomorrow.”
Josefine breaks into laughter which quickly turns into sobbing. And she realizes then and there that she was actually hoping the whole way up here that her father would’ve had one of his bad days, that he wouldn’t really be here, because this, seeing and hearing her real dad, the one she’s known for as long as she can remember, and then having to say goodbye to him, that’s too much to ask.
I can’t bear to see him like this, she thinks, then immediately realizing that the thought spoke in her mother’s voice, and that’s enough for her to stop crying. No. I won’t bail on him. And I won’t be a sobbing mess, either. He deserves better.
She looks her father in the eye. He’s calmly waiting for her to speak.
“It’s bad, Dad,” she begins. “And I think it’s only just starting. I think it might turn really, really bad. Maybe irredeemably.”
“Oh, come on now, nothing’s that bad. You make it sound like it’s the end of the world.”
“I’m afraid it might be,” Josefine whispers.
“Huh,” her dad mutters. “It’s really that bad?”
She nods. “It is. And I have no idea what to do, Dad. Soon it’ll just be me and Mom, and you know her, she won’t face facts no matter how much you scream at her.”
Josefine realizes too late she just told her dad he’s dying, but that doesn’t seem to shake him. Perhaps he knows more about the situation than he’s letting on, because he simply shrugs.
“You can’t save everyone, sweetheart. Especially not the stubborn ones like your sweet old mother. Don’t get me wrong, she’s the love of my life, but you can’t force people to get with the program, not even people you love. You just have to try your best and what will be will be, right?”
“Right,” Josefine agrees, discretely wiping away a tear with her thumb. Lucky she decided not to wear any makeup today, or her mascara would be running by now.
“You remember when this awful disease started to take a toll on me?” her father goes on. “Well, it damn near destroyed your mother. I mean, you’d think just from looking at her she was the one who’d just been diagnosed. I had to be the one to keep it together, for the both of us, you know? I had to tell her things would be all right. That we’d had a good run, that now wasn’t the time to be sad. I mean, it’s almost greedy, you know? This thing about wanting to live to be a hundred and never falling ill—who are you to demand that of life? Why not focus on all the good things you’ve been given instead? I tell you, that’s what I spend my days thinking about now—on the days I’m able too, at least.” He smiles briefly, then turns serious again. “What I’m trying to say is, you’ve got what it takes, sweetheart. And no one can take it away from you.”
Josefine nods and looks down, feeling like a little girl, as she always does when her father gives her advice.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispers. And before she can think to stop herself, she reaches out and takes his hand.
It’s hot and clammy, but he squeezes back with surprising strength.
They’re quiet for a minute or so. It’s almost like a lot of things pass between them, unspoken. All the words she wanted to say simply leave her and float away. And she senses her father feeling all of them.
When Josefine looks up at him again, his eyes are closed, his mouth open slightly. His breathing has grown deeper and rattlier. It looks like he’s sleeping. But then he suddenly opens his eyes, sees her and smiles.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Daddy.”
“I must’ve nodded off.” His voice is noticeably weaker.
“That’s okay. You can sleep if you’re tired.”
“I didn’t hear you come in. Where’s your mother? She’s not with you today?”
“No, she’s …”
“So, how are things?”
Josefine swallows, realizing that her dad has gone. “Fine, Dad. Just fine.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”
He smiles, blinks, then blinks once more, and this time, he doesn’t open his eyes again.
SIX
Returning to the larger hallway, Mille finds the stream of passengers dragging along luggage and younger family members has grown thinner as most of them seem to have found their cabins.
She has no idea where to find crew members or even how to identify them, so she starts walking briskly towards what she takes to be the front-end of the ship.
She can feel the fer
ry moving under her feet now, and glancing out the windows, the water gliding by confirms to her that they are headed out to sea.
If I don’t make them turn back in time and get everyone off the ship, we’ll become like a zombie Titanic …
The thought makes her pick up the pace. She reaches a dining area with a buffet, but it’s currently closed and no one is there.
She goes on to find another staircase and decides to go down a deck, when someone comes around the corner and almost crashes into her.
“Whoops!” a tall, young, gangly guy exclaims. “Sorry about that. Didn’t see you.”
He’s talking Swedish and smiling at Mille for just a second, before moving out of her way, allowing her to pass.
He can’t be more than thirty, and he’s got a bad case of acne. But he’s wearing a bordeaux-colored vest with the logo of the ferry company on his chest.
“You work here?” she asks.
“I sure do.”
“Thank God. I need your help.”
“Sure, what can I do for you?”
Mille isn’t used to hearing Swedish, but it’s close enough to Danish that she gets the gist of what he’s saying, helped along by his tone and facial expression.
“It’s very important,” she says, lowering her voice as a few more people come up the stairs and pass by them. “There’s an infected person aboard the ferry. It’s my mother’s boyfriend. He’s got the virus-thing that they’re talking about in the news—you’ve heard about it, right?”
Even before he can answer, the boy’s face tells her with abundant clarity that he’s more than aware of what she’s talking about.
“Oh, no,” he says. “Are you sure? I mean, they told us they checked people before boarding them …”
“We weren’t checked at all,” Mille says, shaking her head. “I don’t know, we got here at the last minute, maybe we slipped past.”
The boy utters what must be a Swedish curse, then looks down the hallway and bites his lip. “This is not good. This is not good at all …”
“I know,” Mille says, almost ready to cry with relief that someone believes her, and that she now at least can put half the burden on this guy’s skinny shoulders. “What do we do? We’ve got to make them turn back, right?”
He nods. “I think we need to go straight to the captain with this.”
“Straight to the captain with what?”
Mille spins around at the Danish voice, which is so raspy that she’s surprised to find it belonging to a girl only a few years older than her. Her haircut is short and she’s wearing a vest matching the boy’s.
“Charlotte,” the boy says. “This woman just told me some pretty bad news.”
“Oh?” the girl says, looking from him to Mille. “And what’s that?”
“There’s an infected person on the ferry,” she tells her.
“Infected?” the girl repeats, frowning. “With what?” Before Mille can answer, comprehension dawns on the girl’s face. “Oh, shit! Tell me it’s not that Rhabdo-thing?”
“It is,” Mille says gravely. “He’s not … turned yet, but I suspect he will within an hour.”
“Fuck me,” the girl says, looking around as though searching for the nearest exit.
“We need to warn Sorensen right away,” the guy says, about to leave, waving at them both. “Come with me.”
“No, wait!” Charlotte exclaims.
The boy blinks. “Why?”
The girl darts another look around, as though to make sure no one else is within earshot, then steps away from the stairs.
Mille and the boy follow her, leaning in as she waves them closer and whispers in a hoarse voice reeking of stale coffee: “We need to think this through. If we go and tell the captain, what do you figure will happen?”
The boy shrugs. “He’ll turn back, of course. We won’t be allowed to land in Sweden when someone aboard is—”
“Exactly. But what makes you think we’ll be allowed to land back in Denmark?”
The boy blinks.
“We won’t,” the girl hisses. “We’ll be quarantined at sea. There’s no way in hell they’ll ever land a ship containing the virus anywhere.”
The boy bites his lip. “You may be right … I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Then what if we can isolate the person?” Mille interjects. “He’s still pretty healthy, I don’t think he’s even contagious yet. We could just get them to lock him up somewhere he can’t get into contact with anybody, can’t we?”
The boy frowns. “I think that would be against maritime law. You can’t detain someone unless they’re threatening to sink the ship or—”
“Oh, fuck your maritime law!” Charlotte snarls. “This is a fucking emergency. The whole country is already in lockdown. I’m sure they’ll let us lock him up.”
“But that will have to be the captain’s decision,” the boy goes on. “We need to bring this to him immediately, the sooner the better, so he can contact the authorities and find out what needs to be done.”
“And by the time that’s decided?” Charlotte asks, her eyes wide now. “And they find this guy? Do we even know where he is?” She snaps her head to look at Mille.
“Uhm, cabin B55, right down the hallway,” Mille says, pointing.
“And what if he’s gone when they come for him? Or dead? He could be dead as we speak, right?”
“I don’t think it—”
“This fucking thing is spreading like crazy!” the girl goes on, paying no more heed to Mille, but looking back at the boy again. “It’d be better to seal off the whole deck …”
“That would condemn a whole lot of healthy people,” Mille says.
“And still, it would be the captain’s decision,” the boy repeats.
Charlotte doesn’t seem to listen; she’s running her hand through her hair repeatedly and begins mumbling. “Shit, I knew it … I knew it when they said the borders might be shut down … I should’ve called in sick, but I thought it’d be safer to get to Sweden and just stay there until this thing blows over … and now look!”
“I’m sure they’ll figure out a way to deal with this,” Mille says, trying to get through to the girl, who’s looking like she’s about to panic. “Even if they quarantine the ship, they’ll probably let us non-infected leave and get back to—”
“Back to where?” Charlotte exclaims, staring at Mille. “To Denmark? Where the shit is already running wild? No, they won’t let us go anywhere. We’ll be trapped on this ship.”
“They might let us leave,” the boy argues. “Perhaps they’ll test us or something first, but I’m sure they won’t just let three thousand people strand out here.”
The girl grinds her teeth and spits at him: “They couldn’t deal with it on land, why the fuck do you think they’ll be able to on a ship full of people? The only difference is, out here, there’s nowhere to run!”
“Okay,” Mille says, trying to keep her cool. “You don’t want to take this to the captain, right?”
“No, I don’t. Because if we do, they’ll shut down everything, and we’ll be at the mercy of whatever they decide. I mean, maybe they’ll get it under control, fine, I’ll give you that—there’s a chance. But are you willing to risk your life on that?”
“What do you suggest we do, then?”
Charlotte thinks for a second, clicking her jaw. Then she says firmly: “We bail. We launch a lifeboat and get the hell off the ship as soon as possible.”
“That would be cowardly,” Mille says before she can help herself. “We can’t leave the rest of the people here unknowing about the threat.”
“Fine, then we call them once we’re far enough away.”
The boy is about to say something, but Mille cuts him off by raising her voice.
“Let me tell you something. I already bailed on a bus full of my classmates. You know what happened to them? They’re dead. Every last one of them. I’m not bailing again.”
“That’s fine, you play
the hero,” the girl snaps. “But I’m leaving.”
“Charlotte, wait,” the boy says, but Charlotte has already turned to leave, and she runs downstairs.
Mille looks at the boy, and he looks back at her.
“You still want to tell the captain?” Mille asks.
The boy doesn’t look so certain anymore. “Maybe … we should secure the guy first. You know, just so we don’t risk him infecting anybody else.”
Mille nods. “That’s a good idea.” And when the boy is about to run down the hallway, she grabs his arm. “Wait. It’s better I do it alone.”
He looks at her. “You sure? I mean, what if he doesn’t … agree?”
“He definitely won’t. That’s why we need to be sneaky about it. If he sees anyone else than me, he’ll freak out.”
“Okay, well … I could still come, but just stay back? And if you need help, you can call out to me.”
Mille nods. “That’s fine. Come on, then.”
Mille is about to run, when the boy holds out a hand. “I’m Iver, by the way.”
She smiles and takes his hand. “Hi, Iver. I’m Mille.”
SEVEN
The room falls completely quiet. It’s like a vacuum. Like sounds never existed.
Josefine watches her father take his last breath before his chest stops rising and falling.
And then she just sits there for a minute, still holding his hand, feeling the warmth leaving it.
Something begins to stir at the back of her mind, some incessant thought telling her to remove her hand, to get away from the bed, to leave the room.
At first, the thought annoys her, but then she realizes it’s simply her mind trying to protect her, and she decides to follow its advice.
She squeezes his hand one last time, then gets up and steps back.
And at that exact moment, there’s a rattling of keys, a snap of a lock, and then the door to the room is opened briskly. A man—at least Josefine assumes it’s a man, judging from his height—all dressed in what looks like a medical spacesuit, stares at her from the doorway.
Dead Meat Box Set, Vol. 2 | Days 4-6 Page 22
