“It’s time. I can feel it.”
No, Dan thinks.
“All right,” Dan says.
“You ready to say goodbye?”
Never, Dan thinks.
“I guess so,” Dan says.
Dad pulls him in tighter, placing both arms around him, hugging him like he hasn’t done since Dan was very little.
And Dan takes it in like a little kid who has had a fall and needs to be comforted. He squeezes Dad, breathes in the smell of him, feels the realness of him.
“I love you, Dan.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
The hug seems to go on forever, and in a way it does. In a way, time doesn’t exist in that hug.
And yet it ends.
After a long, long time, Dad slips out of Dan’s arms, leaving them to slump down into Dan’s own lap, and Dan doesn’t move them, can’t move them. He can’t open his eyes either. He hears William’s voice, and Josefine’s, both speaking softly to Dad.
“Come on, now.”
“Here, take my hand.”
Then there’s only the sound of the helicopter, and Dan lets that sound fill up everything, floats away into it, and somewhere nearby and very, very far away, a door opens and then closes again a moment later, and then there’s nothing.
Nothing at all.
TWELVE
Iver must have been sleeping, because he’s suddenly jerked awake as the lifeboat comes to a sudden halt. The soothing sound of the waves caressing the outside of the hull is for a moment drowned out by a harsh scraping of sand.
“Damnit,” Chris growls from the front end of the boat, where he’s operating the controls. “I told you to give me a heads-up before we got too close to the shore!”
Charlotte is standing at the other end of the boat atop the three-step ladder which allows her to look out the rear window. “It’s not exactly easy to see how deep the water is,” she bites back at him. “Besides, nothing happened.”
Iver feels his buttocks ache from sleeping sitting upright. The toddler is resting on his lap, wrapped in a blanket, his thumb securely lodged between his lips.
“We could have easily capsized,” Chris grumbles and gets up.
“But we didn’t, did we? Let’s get out of here.” She looks to Iver. “Good, you’re up. Bring the kid.”
“Where … where are we?” Iver says, straightening his back. “Frederikshavn?”
“Frederikshavn?” Charlotte shows her teeth in a sneer. “Are you crazy? Why would we go back there? That place is overrun by now.”
“Okay, well, where are we then?” It’s not until now that Iver notices the sunlight streaming in from the window above. “Wait, is it morning?”
“That’s what you call it when the sun rises, yeah,” Chris says and opens the door, letting in more of the light.
“How long did we sail for?” Iver asks, getting to his feet, careful to place the toddler against his chest.
“Almost seven hours,” Charlotte tells him with a grin. “Welcome to Anholt.”
“Anholt?” Iver has heard the name before—it’s a small Danish island—but he couldn’t place it on a map. “Where’s that?”
“Well, where are islands normally located?” Chris asks, right before he jumps out of the boat, audibly landing in water.
Charlotte flashes her phone in front of his face for a second. On the screen is a map of the Kattegat, the sea between Denmark and Sweden. Right in the middle is a red arrow pointing to a tiny dot.
“We couldn’t go to Denmark, and we couldn’t go to Sweden, either,” she says, putting her phone away with a shrug. “We were headed for Sweden at first, actually, but then we heard over the radio that the infection had reach them, too, so we changed course.”
“Okay, but … why Anholt?”
She shrugs again. “Seemed like the obvious choice, really. Little over a hundred residents. Twenty-five miles of water all around. We can ride out the shitstorm here.”
“But … but what about … I mean, our families? My mom is in Oslo, I can’t just stay out here until—”
“Look, you’re welcome to take the boat and go wherever you please!” Charlotte says, throwing out her arms. “Just expect to meet dead people trying to eat you, because they’re all over the place! Denmark, Sweden, Germany … they’ll be in Norway by this afternoon, I promise you that. If you want to survive, I strongly recommend you come with us.”
She leaves the boat before Iver has time to reply. The toddler moves in his arms, and Iver looks down to see him yawning.
“You waking up?”
The boy looks up at him, blinking sleepily. To Iver’s surprise, he doesn’t start crying right away. Instead, he smiles tentatively at him.
Before they went to sleep, Iver and the boy shared a pack of crackers and a bottle of water. There are still crumbs at the side of the boy’s mouth, and Iver brushes them away before he steps out of the boat.
The sunlight is blinding, shining down from the vast blue sky overhead. It’s probably only nine o’clock, yet the air is already warm.
Iver squints and looks around. The boat has landed on a beach very close to the sand. A few miles down the coastline, he can make out a lighthouse, and in the other direction there seems to be a harbor in the distance.
Chris has already made his way onto the beach, carrying a big bag over his shoulder. He’s holding a lit cigarette between his lips.
Charlotte is standing in the water, bending over to wash her face.
Iver steps down the ladder and into the water, immediately soaking through his shoes and socks. It’s lukewarm, so he doesn’t mind. He carries the boy to land. As they pass by Charlotte, she remarks: “We decided not to land at the harbor.”
“Why not?”
“We didn’t want to risk the people living here deciding they didn’t want any newcomers.”
“Why wouldn’t they want that?”
Chris takes a deep drag, then answers: “They might have already taken precautions to defend the island. That’s what I’d be doing if I lived out here and the world was turning to shit all around me.”
To Iver, that sounds like something soldiers in an American movie would do, not regular old Danish people living on a peaceful island. But he doesn’t say anything.
The toddler begins whimpering.
“What’s up with him?” Charlotte asks.
“I think he might be hungry,” Iver says.
“Here, I brought some food,” she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a packet of beef jerky.
Iver looks at it. “Uhm, thanks, but … I’m not sure he can eat that.”
“Why not?”
“He hasn’t got too many teeth.”
“Oh. How about a banana, then?”
“I’ll give it a try. Thanks, Charlotte.”
Iver takes the banana and begins peeling it. As soon as the toddler sees it, he reaches for it and takes a big bite.
“Huh,” Iver says and can’t help but smile as the toddler wolfs down another bite, hardly wasting any time chewing. “Guess bananas are a hit with toddlers.”
THIRTEEN
They’ve only walked inland for twenty minutes when Iver sees the blue coastline in the horizon, past the green meadow.
“Wait, is that …?” He stops and looks back towards the beach. Between the dunes he can also see water. “Is that the other side of the island?”
“It is,” Charlotte nods, passing him.
“But you can literally see from coast to coast,” Iver says, pointing.
“Of course you can,” Chris says, glancing back. “I told you, it’s a very small island. Only a couple of miles wide.”
“Huh,” Iver says, wiping the sweat from his forehead. The day is already getting hotter. The toddler is resting against his chest, wrapped in Iver’s shirt, which he has turned into a makeshift carrier. The little guy has been quiet until now, looking out over the landscape.
Iver’s back is beginning to ache, and he hopes the
y won’t have to walk much longer. Neither Charlotte nor Chris have said anything about where they’re going, and Iver is weary of asking, as everything he says is met with a snarky remark.
So, he just keeps on walking.
As they pass the next one of the small hills covering the open fields, a gravel road appears in front of them. A few hundred yards up road is a house. A small car is parked in front of it.
“Looks like they’re home,” Charlotte says, taking a swig out of her water bottle. “Do we go talk to them?”
“We have no choice,” Chris says, patting his backpack. “We need to make friends with the locals, or we’ll run out of food by tomorrow.”
Plus, we have a baby to look after, and we can’t do that on our own, Iver thinks to himself. Both Charlotte and Chris have obviously written the toddler off as Iver’s responsibility. Which is fine with him—he wouldn’t trust the little guy to either of them anyway.
They walk onto the road and begin heading for the house. Farther down the road Iver can see more houses, and it looks like they turn into a village.
A rumble of an engine comes from behind, and Iver turns to see a few cars coming. “Look out,” he tells Chris and Charlotte—unnecessarily so, as they have also heard the cars. They step to the side of the road.
The cars pass them by, slowing down only enough for the people inside to glare at them with no attempt of hiding their interest. Iver sees an old guy, two old women, a younger man with a beard, two little boys and a teenage girl. It looks almost like a big family road trip.
“Well, now the locals know we’re here,” Chris says as the dust settles and they walk on. “I bet you they could tell right away we were outsiders.”
“They didn’t look very welcoming,” Charlotte remarks. “And they didn’t stop and ask if they could help us, either. You think they already know about what’s going on?”
“About the ferry?” Chris shrugs. “Maybe. But they definitely know what’s going on in mainland Denmark. And they probably figured out it’s only a matter of time before outsiders will try to come here for refuge.”
The toddler starts moving against Iver’s chest, whimpering.
“You thirsty?” he asks, offering him a sip of his bottle. But the toddler turns his head away. “No, you’re probably hungry. Sorry, but I’ve got no more bananas.”
He walks on as the toddler keeps whimpering, catching up with Charlotte and Chris as they reach the house.
Just as they step into the driveway, the front door opens, and an old guy—around Iver’s grandpa’s age—comes out. He’s holding a shotgun.
“Whaddya want?” he asks, not raising the weapon, but squinting at them suspiciously. “Why are you here?”
“We’re survivors of a shipwreck,” Chris says, holding up his arms. “We only want help and—”
“What shipwreck?” the guy says, his eyes growing even smaller. “We didn’t hear of any shipwreck. You were on the ferry, weren’t you? And I bet you’re all infected too!”
“No,” Charlotte says, stepping forward. “Please, sir, we’re not infected. We have a baby with us, and he really needs—”
“I don’t care about your baby!” the guy snarls, raising the shotgun, causing Charlotte to stop dead in her tracks. “Get the hell away from my house! And get off my island!”
A car comes rolling up and stops right beside them. The window rolls down and an old lady pops her head out. “What in God’s name is going on here?”
For a moment, Iver is sure the woman is about to yell at them too. But she looks at the old guy scornfully.
“Why are you pointing that thing at these kids, Fred?”
“They’re carrying that nasty disease!” the old guy cries out. “They’ve come here to take over my house! It’s just like they said at the meeting they would!”
“That’s not what they said at all! Were you even listening?”
The old guy bares his teeth—or what’s left of them—in an angry snarl. “Don’t you get smart with me, Agnete! I know what these punks are after! They’re nothing but trouble, and they’re not welcome on my island!”
“It’s not your island, Fred,” the woman says, and then she looks at Iver. “Oh, goodness! You have a baby.”
Iver nods. “I think he’s hungry. I tried giving him something to eat, but—”
“You get the hell off my property!” the old guy bellows, stabbing at them with the shotgun like a prodding rod used on cattle. “I’m not telling you one more time!”
They move out of the driveway and closer to the woman’s car. She uses her hand to shield her eyes as she looks at them one at a time. “Where are you from? The ferry?”
“No, we—” Chris begins.
“Yes,” Iver says. “We were aboard the ferry.”
Chris sends him a burning look.
“But we got off in time,” Iver goes on, ignoring him. “And none of us are infected. We would have been long dead by now if we were.”
“Don’t you believe them, Agnete!” the old guy shouts from his doorway. “You’ll regret it if you do! They’re only after your food and your house! You won’t be able to feed four mouths for long!”
“Go inside, Fred!” Agnete calls to him.
Fred mutters something, then slams the door.
“I see you’ve met my neighbor,” Agnete says, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t let him bother you; we’re all a little on edge now, with what’s happening across the water.”
The toddler gives off a whimper, and Agnete looks at him.
“Poor boy! We need to get him out of the sun. Hop in!”
She rolls the window back up with no further questions. Chris and Charlotte and Iver exchange looks of surprise.
“Did she … did she mean all of us?” Charlotte asks.
When they hesitate, the old woman waves at them impatiently.
“I guess so,” Chris says, shrugging.
Iver opens the back door, unties the toddler and gets in. Charlotte gets in next to him and Chris takes the front seat. The inside of the car is perfectly clean, not a trace of dust or dirt, and it smells of lavender. An old folk song is playing softly on the radio, and the air conditioner makes for a pleasant, cool atmosphere.
Agnete puts the car in motion and looks around at them. “You’ll have to excuse old Fred. He’s not been in a particularly friendly mood lately. His wife died just a few months ago. Took a real toll on him. And now this.”
“Oh,” Charlotte mutters, apparently not knowing what else to says.
“Thank you for helping us,” Iver says.
“Don’t mention it,” Agnete says, sending him a brief smile. “We all need to help each other in times like these. I suppose a lot more people will be coming soon.” Then, before anyone can reply to that, she looks at Iver in the mirror. “Is he yours?”
“Oh, no,” Iver says, shaking his head. “No, I’m only eighteen,” he adds, as though that explains anything.
“Well, I was only seventeen when I had my first son,” the woman smiles at him. “Whose is he then?”
“He’s … uhm … his mother …” Iver looks at the toddler, then back up at Agnete. “She didn’t make it.”
“Oh, poor thing,” the old woman says, and Iver can’t tell if she means the mother or the toddler. “Well, we’ll take good care of him now.”
Iver feels a deep gratitude and sense of relief.
They reach the next house, surrounded by trees and located right at the edge of the village, and the woman pulls into the driveway and parks the car.
“Okay, here we are. You mind helping me bring in the bags from the trunk? I just came back from the meeting in the town hall, and they dealt out supplies. I took as much as I could carry.”
“What meeting?” Chris asks.
“They called us in this morning,” Agnete says, unbuckling. “They’re going to try their best to organize things so we can all get through this together.”
“They?” Chris asks. “Who are ‘they’
?”
“The police, the firefighters and the chairman of the civic association. Come on now, we can talk once we get inside.”
FOURTEEN
Iver isn’t particularly surprised to find that Agnete’s house is just as neat and tidy as her car.
There are a ton of trinkets everywhere, and nothing is out of place. No trace of any mess, neither in the kitchen nor the living room. Even the shoes in the scullery are lined up in a perfect row.
Those supplies in the trunk, which according to Agnete was “as much as she could carry,” turns out to be four large shopping bags stuffed with groceries and household items. Chris and Charlotte take two each and bring them into the kitchen.
As soon as she’s placed the car keys neatly on the shelf next to the fridge, Agnete takes the toddler from Iver.
“Oh, hello there, you pretty thing. You look hungry. Here, let me fix you something.” She opens the fridge, and says to Iver: “Could you grab me a bottle in the top cupboard over there?”
Iver—rather confused—opens the cupboard and sees four baby bottles lined up. He takes one and hands it to Agnete, who’s opening a carton of full fat milk, which she pours into the bottle.
“You’re probably used to baby formula, but wait until you try this, little buddy. This is how we fed you in the old days, and I promise you, it’s even better!”
Iver watches in silent awe as the old lady prepares the bottle by unscrewing the top, filling it with milk, screwing the top back on and heating it in the microwave, all of which she does one-handed while holding the toddler on her hip with the other. The boy seems to have taken to her right away, probably because he can feel she’s a natural at dealing with babies. While the microwave is running, Agnete speaks to the toddler and caresses him.
“You’re really good at that,” Iver says, smiling.
“Well, I raised seven children of my own, so I should have picked up a thing or two along the way.”
“Seven?” Iver says.
“Uh-huh. All of them boys. Can you believe that? Me and Henning desperately wanted a girl, but no such luck.”
“Where’s your …?”
Agnete guesses the rest of the question. “Henning died ten years ago. It’s just me know.”
Dead Meat Box Set, Vol. 2 | Days 4-6 Page 48
