Date: 2021-04-03 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Zombies
Description: The dead have awakened. The world is ending. This is day seven. Our survivors face daunting odds in their quest to find a way to save the world from the brink of collapse. The dead are growing in numbers rapidly, and hope seems like a distant dream.

Dead Meat: Day 7

Nick Clausen

Editor: Diana Cox

First Edition 2021

Copyright © 2021 Nick Clausen

Kindle Edition

The author asserts his moral rights to this work.

Please respect the hard work of the author.

No zombies were harmed in the making of this book.

The following takes place on

Friday, August 1

ONE

“Try again, Dan.”

Dan is looking at the snowflakes drifting down from the dark sky, slowly covering the driveway. It’s only four in the afternoon, but the sun has long gone down. The neighbors’ houses are covered in Christmas lights, illuminating the street. Somewhere, a radio is playing. Dan can’t wait till he gets to open his presents. Only a few more hours now, and then—

“Dan?”

Dan turns around to see Dad standing by the open hood of the car, his sleeves rolled up, his hands black from oil.

“Huh?”

“Could you turn the key one more time, please?”

“Sure, Dad.”

He opens the driver side door and leans in, finds the key and turns it. The car gives off a series of dry coughs.

“Damnit,” Dad mutters. “That didn’t work either.”

Dan goes to the front of the car. Looking down into the engine, he has no idea what’s what.

“When’s Jennie coming home, Dad?”

“She should be here any minute now,” Dad says, leaning in with the flashlight. “Hand me the wrench, will you?”

“The big one?”

“No, the smaller.”

Dan takes the wrench from the toolbox and passes it to Dad.

Dan is excited at the thought of Jennie joining them for Christmas. Ever since she went to continuation school, he hasn’t seen a lot of her. They text now and then, but she seems too busy with all her new friends. She’s even got a boyfriend now. Tommy or Thomas or something. He’ll be joining them. Dan is a little nervous at the thought of meeting him.

“Aha, think I finally found the problem,” Dad says, pulling out a piece of faulty wire. “I’ll have to replace this.”

Dan is about to answer when he hears a car pulling up to the curb. It’s a cab. Dan’s heart leaps.

“Jennie!” he says. “Jennie is here!”

“Oh, that’s great,” Dad says, straining to reach something inside the engine.

Dan goes out to the driveway to greet Jennie, but as the back door opens, he stops. No one’s in the cab. The backseat is empty.

“Merry Christmas, you guys!”

Jennie’s voice comes from somewhere nearby. But faint. Like an echo blowing in the wind.

Dan frowns and looks around. “Jennie?”

A sound from behind causes him to turn around. The front door is open. Mom is supposed to be standing there, wearing her apron, looking out with a big smile.

But the doorway’s empty.

“Welcome home, honey!”

Mom’s voice is a distant echo as well.

Dan begins to feel eerie. Something is off here.

“Dad?” he says, turning back to the car. The hood is still open, the tools and the flashlight are still there. But now Dad is gone, too. “Dad?” Dan turns around. “Mom? Jennie? Where are you guys? Hello?”

No answer.

He’s completely alone in the driveway. The snow keeps falling quietly.

“Dan?”

Dad’s voice. It’s only a whisper in Dan’s ear. He looks around confused. Fear is starting to creep in. “Where are you, Dad?”

“It’s okay, Dan.”

“What happened?”

“You know what happened.”

“No,” Dan says, shaking his head, as a terrible realization begins to dawn on him. It’s way too terrible to take in. “No, I don’t want you to go, Dad. Not you too.”

“It’s okay,” Dad’s voice tells him again. “I had to go. You know that.”

“No, Dad. You can’t just disappear like that. You can’t!” Dan begins crying. “I’ll never let you go. Never!” He looks around, sobbing. “Dad? You still here?”

“You can come find me if you like. It’s not too late.”

Dad’s voice is even farther away now, barely audible.

“I will! I will come and find you, Dad!”

“All right,” Dad says, and Dan can hear the reassuring smile on his voice. “I’ll see you then.”

“I will find you, Dad. I promise!”

Then there’s suddenly another sound in Dan’s ear. It’s a deep, ominous growl. Like an angry wolf about to attack.

Dan spins around to see what makes the sound, and—

TWO

Iver looks up and sees the hatch in the ceiling above the dining table.

I could hide in the attic, he thinks—then, as Fred kicks the door again, causing the bookcase to almost topple over: No, I’ll get myself trapped up there.

He decides instead to try a trick he saw in a movie once. He jumps up onto the table, pulls the hatch open, and then, instead of climbing up into the attic, he jumps back down and runs for the door, squeezing himself into the corner just as Fred hits the door again and finally tilts the bookcase over with a crash.

“You little shit!” Fred growls through the opening, pushing against the door to widen the gap, the bookcase sliding reluctantly across the floor. “Look what you’ve done to my home!”

Then, with the door open halfway, Fred steps into the living room, the shotgun scanning every direction.

Iver holds his breath and stands absolutely still. If Fred turns back around, he’ll see him, and there will be no time for Iver to react before the old guy can blow his brains out.

But Fred doesn’t turn around. He steps onto the bookcase and looks from side to side, his breathing ragged. “Where are you, you piece of shit?” he whispers hoarsely.

The zombies are groping the windows, attracting Fred’s attention, masking the sound of Iver’s pulse, which is pounding so violently it must be audible. Then Iver sees Fred noticing the hatch still swinging gently back and forth.

“Oh, you little asshole,” he croaks. “I’ve got you now …”

He steps down from the bookcase, coughs wetly as he staggers over to the table and climbs up.

Iver peers out from behind the halfway open door. He sees the old guy stand up and carefully stick his head up into the opening. He looks around the attic.

“I know you’re up here! It’s over! Come on out! If you make me come up and get you, I swear you’ll regret it!”

Iver steps out from behind the door. For a brief second, he considers running back up the hallway. But what good will it do him to keep hiding? There’s still no way out of the house.

I need to get the gun from him. This might be my best chance …

So, he jumps over the bookcase and makes a run for the table, where Fred is still standing with his head through the opening to the attic.

Iver accidentally kicks a book, and Fred hears the noise. He looks down, sees Iver coming at him, and his expression goes from surprise to rage. He lowers the shotgun, which was pointed up into the attic, but the barrel hits the hatch and wins Iver the split-second he needs to reach the table. He grabs Fred’s left ankle with both hands and yanks it hard.

Fred roars as his leg is pulled from under him. He falls onto the table with a crashing bang, the shotgun goes off with an even louder bang.

Iver feels the hail going over his head for the second time, and there’s a sound of shattering glass somewhere behind him. Iver doesn’t waste any time worrying about it.

Get the gun! Get the gun! his mind is shouting at him, and he lunges for the weapon which Fred is still clutching in one hand, even though the fall has knocked the wind out of him and he’s gasping for breath, grinding his teeth.

“Let go!” he wheezes, swatting at Iver with his other hand.

Iver yanks the shotgun as hard as he can again and again, but Fred holds onto it like a dog with a bone. Not until he’s dragged onto the floor is he forced to let go, and Iver stumbles backwards, staring from Fred to the shotgun in his own hands. He fumbles to turn it over and point it at the old guy. He’s never held a real weapon before, so he simply mimics what he’s seen in the movies, and it feels somehow right as his finger finds the trigger.

Fred gets to his feet with a groan of anger and exertion, leaning against the table and glaring at Iver, his eyes watery, his face glowing red with fever, a string of spittle hanging from his lower lip.

“You goddamn piece of shit,” he growls. “You’ve fucked everything up …”

“Stay back,” Iver says, even though Fred is coming closer. “I just want to get out of here.”

Fred says something, but Iver’s attention is caught by a movement from behind the old guy. The lights are low in the living room, and because he’s been busy fighting Fred, it’s not until now Iver notices the broken window and the zombies squeezing through it.

A skinny guy has already made it inside and is getting to his feet, immediately heading for Fred. Two others are shoving to get through the opening as well, one of them being the girl who died just minutes ago out in the driveway.

“Look out!” Iver shouts.

Fred turns around and lets out a roar of surprise. There’s no time to get out of the way, so he simply leans back into the table, trying desperately to get out of the way.

The zombie reaches out his arms and Iver prepares himself mentally to see Fred getting eaten alive.

Then, to his utter surprise, the zombie steers clear of Fred and heads instead for Iver.

Fred glares after it, his face mirroring the same levels of disbelief that Iver is feeling.

He’s infected, a thought flies through his mind. They’re not interested in him anymore.

“I’m … I’m immune,” Fred says, coming to a rather different conclusion than Iver, and he gives off a short, shrill laughter before breaking into a cough.

Iver backs up, his back meeting the wall, as the dead guy speeds up, almost slipping on the books on the floor.

Iver raises the shotgun, takes aim, closes his eyes and pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

“Shit!” he shouts, looking at the weapon. “What’s wrong?”

“You asshole!” Fred shouts in a tone of amused mockery. “It’s empty!”

Iver ducks and moves sideways at the last possible moment, the zombie colliding with the wall. Iver turns the shotgun around and uses it instead as a bat, swinging at the zombie, connecting with its cheekbone and sending it to the floor.

Both the girl and two others have made it through the window now, all three of them are coming this way, waddling eagerly right past Fred, as though he wasn’t even there, headed for Iver like slow, heat-seeking missiles.

“You get ’im!” Fred cheers them on. “You kill that little prick!”

Iver goes for the door, but the zombie he just knocked over is getting back up and is blocking the way.

Instead, he runs the other way, placing the dining table between himself and the zombies. The girl, who’s in front, walks right into the table, then begins to make her way around it.

Fred is looking bad now, swaying, blinking his eyes slowly, and he needs to steady himself against the table.

Iver backs up, looking over at the shattered window. More zombies are squeezing through.

I’m not getting out that way …

He looks to the door instead. Reaching it would mean running zigzag between the four zombies closing in on him.

Not that way either …

Iver looks up at his last way of escape. The hatch in the ceiling is still open. Before he can think, Iver jumps onto the table, throws the shotgun up through the hatch, then jumps up himself. He strains to lift his own weight, kicking with both legs in the air to gain momentum.

His right foot hits something, and a hand grabs his left shoe.

“No!” he cries out, flailing his leg wildly, almost losing his grip. Then the shoe slips off and Iver pulls himself up with one final bout of effort.

He rolls onto his back, panting and heaving. From below comes the choir of moaning and the sound of the table begin pushed back and forth as the zombies try in vain to reach the hatch.

I made it, Iver thinks, closing his eyes for a second. I’m safe …

THREE

Dan sits up with a jerk, returning abruptly to a wakened state, the half-dream, half-memory breaking up and dissolving like smoke around him.

He’s on a hilltop at the break of dawn, the grass around him is wet from dew and a white mist is hovering all around.

To his right is William, who looks like he was also just sleeping, but is now sitting upright, looking around confused and alert.

A few yards away, almost lost in the mist, is the contour of Ozzy, looking out at something not visible to Dan. His tail is low and the hairs on his back are standing up straight. He’s growling from deep in his throat.

“Ozzy smells something,” William says, jumping to his feet. “We’d better get moving.”

Dan tries to stand up as well, but his left leg is asleep from lying on the ground. He’s also freezing, which he hasn’t even noticed until now, his limbs stiff and reluctant to move. He picks up his backpack and the rod and limps after William, who is already headed down the hill.

“Ozzy!” he calls out in a loud whisper. “Heel!”

The dog stops growling and joins them, but he keeps looking back.

“You think it was a zombie?” Dan asks.

“Could have been,” William says. “Could also have been an animal of some kind. I prefer not knowing. Either way, it was a good thing we got out of there.”

They walk on in silence through the foggy air and the wet heather. Ozzy is patrolling up ahead, running back and forth to make sure they’re following.

Dan’s brain is finally waking up properly. He recalls the dream he was having just before Ozzy woke him. It was about his father. They were back home. Everything was back to normal. Almost.

“I’ll never let you go, Dad.”

That’s what Dan said in the dream. As the words echo in his mind, they somehow drive home the fact that his family is gone in a way he hadn’t grasped before, and it’s all he can do to not start crying.

He doesn’t want to cry. Not in front of William. Not in front of anyone, in fact. He needs to keep it in, to bottle up his emotions until this is over.

Because there just might be a slight chance that this whole mess can be fixed. And if it can, then Dan needs to keep it together and do what’s necessary. He needs to stay strong. Needs to keep his focus. Billions of lives might depend on it. Billions of families which might still be saved.

And if they can’t? If this crazy quest he’s embarked upon—and convinced William to join him on—turns out to be for nothing? If the curse or whatever is animating all the dead people can’t be reversed? Or if the lady at Holger’s house doesn’t even want to try?

Then Dan will allow himself to cry. But only then.

He takes a shaky breath. He has no idea if he can make it. Right now, just reaching Denmark seems like an impossible mountain to climb.

But then he calls to mind Jennie’s face. And Thomas’s. Then Mom’s. Dorte’s. Nasira’s. And finally Dad’s.

All of those people are gone because of this thing. None of them stood a chance. But they’re still here, somehow, right inside Dan’s mind. He can see them clearly, hear their voices. And he feels very connected to every one of them.

That’s how I’ll do it, he tells himself, breathing in again and this time exhaling from the bottom of his belly, letting out some of the fear and sorrow along with it. I’ll do it because I owe it to all of them.

He suddenly doesn’t feel alone. It’s not just because William is walking next to him. It’s also because none of the people he knew are really gone. Not as long as Dan is breathing. Which means there’s still hope. As tiny as it might be.

That’s what the dream was meant to tell him. That’s why he told his dad he’s never letting him go.

Dan fills his lungs once more, feeling to his surprise an ounce of courage. I’ll see this through. Even if it won’t work. Even if I die trying. Because at least that way we will have a chance.

FOUR

Iver sits up and looks back down the hatch.

Seven—no, eight—zombies are all looking back up at him with their dead, white eyes, reaching for him with bloody hands.

They’ve managed to push the table far enough to the side that, should any of them get the unlikely idea of climbing onto it, they still wouldn’t be able to reach the opening.

Iver sees Fred, who’s lying curled up on the floor, not moving and apparently not breathing, either.

Still more dead people are joining the fun as they manage to climb in through the busted window.

Iver notices Fred’s left arm starts jerking, and then the old guy opens his eyes. For a moment, Iver takes it to mean that he’s regaining consciousness, but then Fred turns his face up at him, revealing his blank eyes and snarling, yellow teeth as he gets up and joins the rest of the living dead in reaching fruitlessly for Iver.

He looks away and takes a deep breath, focusing instead on the attic.

It’s very old and dusty, the floor made of rugged planks, the naked underside of the roof tiles serving as the ceiling. There are no windows up here, which means it’s also very dark. Iver can make out a bunch of cardboard boxes and plastic bags all covered in dust and cobwebs.

There’s something else too. A big, red box which somehow doesn’t fit in with the rest of the stuff. It’s completely clean and has obviously been put up here very recently.

For some reason, Iver feels drawn to find out what’s in it, so he goes and checks. He sees a ton of bullet casings pretty similar to the ones Agnete was keeping.

Fred, you sneaky bastard. Probably put them up here in case someone broke in to try and steal them.

Iver picks up one and strains his eyes to read the text.

“Size 7,” he mutters. “Twelve caliber.”

As he hears himself say it out loud, he realizes he has no idea if the bullets fit the shotgun. There’s only one way to find out.

Iver opens the pack and takes out two shells. He saw Fred reload the shotgun and recalls how he seemed to almost break it in half. Iver fumbles for a minute, then finds a tiny handle which needs to be pushed, and then the weapon opens to him willingly.

He puts in the bullets. They slip in with no problem. He snaps the barrel back into place.

“Seems about right,” he mutters. “Better bring the bullets.”

He puts down the shotgun and looks around for something else to carry the boxes in, spotting a plastic bag. It’s full of Christmas decorations, which Fred won’t be using now. Iver empties it out and instead fills up the bag with bullet boxes.

Below him, the undead are still groaning and waddling back and forth, pushing the table and chairs around. Iver does his best to ignore the sounds.

“Okay,” he says, looking around. “Now, how do I get back?”

His eyes have gotten used to the dark by now, and he can see cracks in the ceiling where the tiles are gaping a few millimeters, letting in strips of starlight.

He goes to the nearest one and feels the underside of the tile. It can be moved a little from side to side, but it’s lodged in place and can’t be removed.

Iver picks up the shotgun, turns it around and uses the butt end to tap the tile. It moves a little. Iver taps it harder. Then even harder. And finally, the tile cracks in half. He puts down the shotgun and pries the pieces out, revealing the early morning sky.

With one tile gone, Iver can now loosen the ones next to it without having to break them. He takes out four in total. The hole is now big enough that he can squeeze through.

First, though, he sticks out his head and surveys the roof. It’s wet from dew, which means it’ll be slippery. It’s not very steep, though, and he just might be able to make it to the garage roof without slipping and sliding down. From the garage, he’ll be able to jump to the ground.

The only problem is, he can hear the zombies standing around the house, groping the windows—even though he can’t actually see them from up here, his best guess is that there are at least ten of them, probably more.

As soon as I climb down to the garage, they’ll sense me and gather around … which means I need to move fast.

Iver pulls his head back inside. For some reason, he feels he needs to check on the zombies in the living room one last time, so he does.

Fred has joined them now in staggering around, reaching for the open hatch.

“Sorry about this,” Iver tells Fred, feeling a little silly, as the old guy obviously can’t understand him. He still goes on: “Thank you for the gun and the bullets.”

He then takes a deep breath, picks up the shotgun and the bag and ties them together with an extension cord before putting them out onto the roof. He secures the other end of the cord to the lath, so that the bag and the gun won’t slide down the roof.

Then he climbs out himself.

FIVE

They’ve walked for maybe an hour without saying much. The landscape hasn’t changed; it’s still an endless stretch of hills and heather, though things have become more visible as the fog has evaporated somewhat and the sun is beginning to rise.

Ozzy is the one to break the silence.

He suddenly growls from up front somewhere.

“What is it, boy?” William calls out.

Ozzy gives a single, low yelp, as though answering the question. Dan can make out the dog’s silhouette up ahead; he’s standing motionless, tail stiff, staring out into the fog.

“Who’s that?” a shrill voice calls back. “Anybody there? Please, I need help!”

It’s a woman, Dan can tell, and she’s speaking Norwegian. He’s just about to call out to her, when William grabs him by the arm, whispering: “Don’t.”

Dan looks at him. “What?”

“Don’t answer her.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have no idea who she is.”

William pulls him over to a cliff protruding from the ground. He lets go of Dan and climbs up unto the rock, scanning the surroundings.

Ozzy growls again.

“Ozzy, heel,” William says, loading the rifle.

“Who’s there?” the woman calls out again. “Please, answer me! Hello?”

Ozzy comes slinking back while darting watchful looks in the direction of the woman’s voice. He jumps up onto the cliff, positioning himself next to William.

“Hello?” the woman keeps calling. “Anybody? Who’s out there?”

Dan sees her coming out of the fog. She’s walking without watching her step, instead turning her head back and forth, obviously trying to not get surprised by anyone. She’s wearing what looks to Dan like underwear with a coat thrown over it. As though she left home in a hurry. She’s older than he thought, maybe around his mom’s age. In her hand is a big kitchen knife. She’s holding it like you’d hold a candle, and Dan can tell right away the woman isn’t exactly an expert in blade combat.

Ozzy growls from deep in his throat, and the woman snaps her head in the direction of the sound. Her eyes grow wide as she sees William standing atop the cliff.

“Don’t come any closer,” William tells her, holding up the rifle. He isn’t exactly pointing it at her, more like showing it to her.

The woman shakes her head. “I won’t. I just need help. Please. My husband … he’s … he’s been … and now he’s … he’s trying to …”

A noise Dan doesn’t pick up on makes the woman spin around and stare out into the fog.

She looks around for a few seconds, breathing quickly. Then, satisfied that no one is there, she turns back to look at William. “I … I need your help, please.”

“I understand that,” William says, his voice oddly strained, which is pretty unlike him. “But I’m not sure we can help you.”

“Please,” the woman goes on, still holding the knife in front of her chest in that awkward position. “Everyone in town is … is infected … I just barely got away … and my husband … my Erik … oh, God …” The woman begins sobbing.

Dan can hear William take a deep breath, as though to try and steady himself. Something about the woman is obviously causing him a great deal of stress, which is weird to Dan, as she doesn’t seem at all prone to attack them. Yet William acts like the situation might get out of hand at any moment.

“He tried to … to bite me,” the woman says between sobs. “I just barely got away … I’ve been walking around out here for … I don’t know how long …”

“I’m sorry,” William says. “But—”

“We just woke up, and … and someone was in the house … Erik w-went to check, and he … I heard him s-shout …” The woman’s tale grows increasingly hard to follow as her voice breaks up into even stronger heaves and sobs.

“Listen,” William interrupts. “I’m sorry, I truly am. But I can tell from here you’ve got yourself scratched up pretty badly. I’m afraid that means we can’t do anything for you.”

The woman glances down briefly, and it’s only now Dan notices the thin, dark red lines running across the woman’s pale thigh. He finally realizes why William is so tense.

The woman tugs at her coat, trying to cover up the marks. “That’s … that’s nothing,” she says, sniffing. “It’s just … I ran into a bush …”

“No, you didn’t,” William says. “Those are marks from fingernails.”

“I’m fine,” the woman says, her crying subsiding with surprising abruptness. “I’m not infected.”

“I’m sorry,” William says. “But I need you to keep walking.”

The woman glares up at him, then she comes closer, lifting her hands in a pleading motion. “You’ve got to help me! Please!”

“No, I don’t,” William says, raising the rifle to his shoulder. “And if you don’t keep back, I’m going to need to use this. I really don’t want to, so please don’t force me.”

The woman is about to say something else, when there’s another sound—this time, Dan also hears it.

She spins around, wielding the knife, just as another figure comes staggering into view.

“Oh, God!” the woman cries out, backing away. “Erik! Oh, God, Erik!”

The man is wearing nothing but boxers. They were once white but are now soaked through with blood thanks to the giant hole in his abdomen, revealing his intestines. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, though, and just heads straight for the woman, who’s still crying out and backing up. As she turns to run, she slips in the wet grass, almost stabbing herself with the knife as she falls down.

William jumps down from the cliff and grabs Dan by the arm. “Come on! Let’s get out of here!”

“Wait,” Dan says, tugging against William’s pull. “We need to help her!”

“We can’t! She’s already infect—”

“No, she’s not,” Dan says, pointing to the woman, who’s scrambling to get back up. “If she was, then he wouldn’t be going for her!”

William darts a look at the guy just as he reaches the woman and grabs her by the coat as she gets up and tries to run.

“Fuck, you’re right,” William says, raising the rifle.

The woman is screaming and struggling to get free. Her dead husband is holding on to the coat, trying to rope her in, but she flails and thrusts and tries to slip out of the coat.

“Damnit, I can’t get a shot,” William says, lowering the rifle again. Instead, he points and shouts: “Ozzy, attack!”

Ozzy—who was obviously just waiting to be tapped in—lunges forward, closing the distance in three giant leaps before tackling the dead guy with the force of rugby player.

The zombie is thrown to the ground, but amazingly manages to hold on to the sleeve of the coat, dragging the woman down with him. Ozzy clams down on his shoulder, thrusting his head back and forth while growling. Had the guy been alive, he would have been screaming in pain. Instead, he just tries to sit up, ignoring completely the German shepherd tearing at him as he reaches for the woman, who’s landed on her side. She tries to crawl away, but her left arm is still caught in the coat.

William steps in and kicks the guy hard under the jaw, sending him onto his back. “Get away from him!” he shouts to the woman—needlessly, as she’s obviously trying hard to do just that, but the dead guy is still stubbornly holding on to the sleeve of the coat, and because of the awkward way the woman is lying, she can’t slip free.

As the guy sits back up, William flips over the rifle and uses the butt end as a piston, punching the guy in the head, sending him back down once more. He gets up again right away, only to get jackhammered a second time by William.

This could likely have gone on for several seconds—Ozzy growling and tearing, the woman screaming, William punching and the dead guy trying to get at the woman—if Dan hadn’t stepped in and grabbed the woman by her arm, helping to pull her out of the coat.

As she tumbles away, the dead guy immediately turns his attention on William, who’s towering over him and is now the closest prey.

But William seems prepared; he flips over the rifle, aims the barrel right at the mouth of the guy, then pulls the trigger.

SIX

Iver manages to slide slowly down the slippery roof tiles by clinging to the extension cord. Once he reaches the garage roof, he quickly unties the bag and the rifle. He runs to the edge of the roof and is about to jump, when a zombie comes staggering around the corner.

“Shit,” he mutters, running to the other end—the one facing the driveway. Here are three zombies already gathered below.

Iver looks back up the roof. The extension cord is still there, and he might be able to climb back up to the hole, but what good would it do?

He puts down the bag and the rifle and goes back to the rear end of the garage. He looks down to see four other zombies standing there, clawing the wall, gazing up at him with their dead eyes.

Iver runs his hands through his hair, breathing deeply, as he realizes he’s trapped.

His only option of getting off the roof is jumping down, and that would mean jumping right into the arms of the zombies. He could take a running start, of course, and simply jump over them. They are standing up against the wall, after all, so he could surpass them easily. And he’s a lot faster than them, so he would probably have time to get up and run away before they could even turn around.

But jumping that far seems risky. The garage is a fairly tall building, maybe ten or twelve feet. And although the ground is covered in soft heather, it’s also very uneven, and he could very easily sprain an ankle.

Just the thought of landing behind the zombies and not being able to get back up is enough to make his blood chill.

It would also mean he would have to leave the weapon and the ammo behind. Or he could throw it beforehand, then hope he would have the time to pick it back up.

None of those look like good prospects to Iver.

I could shoot them?

The thought isn’t very appealing, but it’s an option he needs to consider. In the dawn light, though, he can already see a lot of houses and a lot of undeads. Shooting will just draw more of them. So that’s out too.

I need someone to distract them.

His hand goes to his pocket, but finds it empty. It takes him a few seconds to recall that Fred took his phone.

“Goddamn him!”

Iver begins pacing back and forth. It’s a habit he’s had from early childhood; whenever he feels stressed and needs to think, he’ll walk around restlessly.

He can’t risk jumping. He can’t call Chris for help. He can’t even shout for anybody, as the nearest neighbor is far away. And even if someone heard him, who would leave their house when the island is crawling with zombies?

It begins to dawn on Iver just how bad the situation actually is. He’s not in any immediate danger, but he can’t get away, either.

The zombies surrounding the garage don’t seem to plan on leaving anytime soon, and he’s not carrying any food or water. His mouth is already dry. Once the sun comes up in a couple of hours, he’ll have no shade, and he’ll begin to sweat profusely.

How long can you go without water? What was that they told us at the course?

Iver can’t recall it word-for-word, but it was something about the number three. How the human body can go for three weeks without food, three days without water and three minutes without oxygen.

Sounds about right. There’s plenty of air, which means I’ll die of thirst. And it’ll take me three days to do so.

The thought sends another shiver down his spine.

Relax, there’s still plenty of things that can happen. Maybe the zombies go somewhere else. Or maybe Chris decides to go look for me.

None of those seem like likely things to happen, though. Iver is pretty convinced the zombies don’t need to actually see a living person to know they’re there; why would they gather around a house with boarded-up windows if that’s the case? No, the zombies can sense the living. They’re drawn to the nearest prey. Which means the ones surrounding the garage will probably stay right here for as long as Iver does.

And Chris leaving the house to go look for him? Why would he do that? If he can’t reach him by phone, he will of course assume Iver didn’t make it.

The thought of Adam waking up in the morning and Iver not being there is surprisingly awful. He knows logically that Agnete is there and that she’ll care for the toddler. But somehow, Iver feels like the little guy is more bound to him. After all, he was the one who got him safely off the ferry.

Iver decides to try and calm his mind. Clearing his head might allow an idea to surface. So, he sits down on the bag of ammo, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

And then, without really thinking about it, Iver begins to pray.

“Dear Father in heaven, be close to us as we seek you in the quiet of our hearts. Grant us the strength of your Spirit, the strength to wait patiently for your help in our lives …”

He hasn’t said a prayer since he was very little and would visit his grandmother, who’s long since dead but in life was a devout Christian.

“Help us to hold to all that is good. Help us to feel, each one of us, that we are your children and that we may rejoice in your fatherly care. May your will be done more and more fully in us and around us …”

Iver never really incorporated any notions of faith and considers himself an atheist, which makes it all the more surprising to find how fluently the words come to him, as though he last recited them just yesterday.

“May your will be done so that we may be given ever greater freeing and your light can dawn where there is still darkness. Amen.”

He takes another deep breath, then opens his eyes. And what he sees makes him gasp.

Out there, in the dim dawn, a pair of headlights is coming this way.

SEVEN

The shot rings out into the morning air, throwing back several echoes before dying out.

The guy sinks to the ground and stays there. Dan gets a glimpse of his face, which is now missing most of the lower part.

Ozzy lets go and steps back, panting.

William lowers the rifle.

“Erik,” the woman cries, clutching Dan’s arm. “Oh, Erik …”

She breaks into sobs and Dan tries his best to support her as her legs buckle. He feels extremely awkward holding the almost-naked woman. Luckily, William comes to his aid, picking up the coat and throwing it over her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he mutters. “It’s over now.”

The words don’t seem to console the woman, who’s sobbing uncontrollably now.

Ozzy growls. He’s staring out into the fog.

“We need to get going,” William says, addressing Dan.

“What about her? We can’t just leave her.”

William grabs the woman by the arm. “Listen up. More of them are coming. We need to get out of here.”

“Oh, Erik,” the woman sobs, looking right past William at her dead husband.

“Hey!” William says again, shaking her. “Snap out of it!”

The woman blinks and stops crying, her eyes focusing on William. “Wh … what?”

“Do you want to live?”

The woman frowns as though the question makes no sense. “I … I don’t know …”

“Well, if you make up your mind, come with us. If not, that’s okay too. But we’re leaving now.” William doesn’t wait for the woman to make up her mind, but simply lets go of her arm and begins walking briskly, waving at Dan. “Come on. Ozzy, heel.”

Ozzy obeys right away, but Dan hesitates for a second, looking at the woman. “Please, come with us.”

“I … I can’t …” the woman whispers, her face beginning to crumble up again. “Erik …”

“Don’t look at him,” Dan says, stepping to the side to block her view.

“Dan!” William shouts. “Come on!”

“Please, come with us,” Dan tells the woman one last time before leaving her to run after William.

EIGHT

Iver jumps to his feet and holds up both arms. He remembers instinctively from his training as a lifeguard not to wave, which is the international signal for help.

He’s not sure whether the driver of the car can actually see him from up here, but he has no other way of flagging them down. Except for firing the shotgun, but that could likely be interpreted as a sign of hostility rather than a plea for help.

As the car comes closer to the house it also slows down until coming to a complete halt. It’s far enough away that the zombies don’t pay any attention to it, but just keep clawing the walls of the garage, reaching for Iver.

The driver side window rolls down, and a face pops out. It’s a man in his late forties, big and broad—fat, actually—and bald. His expression is grave as he looks from the zombies to Iver. “You need help, buddy?”

His voice is deep and raspy. He speaks Danish.

Iver nods. “I could use a hand, yeah. Thanks for stopping.”

“No problem. We just got here.” The man gestures with a fat thumb towards the backseat—Iver can tell someone is sitting there. “We sailed over here from the mainland. We were hoping those dead bastards hadn’t made it out here yet.” He looks down at the zombies and frowns. “Guess we weren’t that lucky.”

Iver throws out his arms. “They can cross water, apparently. That’s how they got here.”

“Well, darn it,” the man grunts, punching the steering wheel. “Isn’t that just wonderful?”

The person in the back says something, causing him to glance back.

“I know,” he mutters. “Too late now.” He looks up at Iver again. “So, listen, buddy; we need a safe place to stay. Looks like your home got overrun …”

“This isn’t my house,” Iver says. “I don’t even live on this island; I came from a ferry.”

The man raises his eyebrows. “Oh, the one that sunk? I saw that on the news.”

“Yes. I came with a couple of others. They’re over there, in the next house.” Iver points. “I got cut off when I was looking for weapons.”

The man in the car is about to say something else, when the person in the back speaks again. The guy looks in the direction of Agnete’s house, then asks Iver: “You got room for two more over there?”

Iver shrugs. “I’m sure we can make it work.” He’s really not sure what Chris will say to him bringing back two additional people, but right now he has no choice—he certainly doesn’t want to gamble with what might be his only chance of getting down from here safely.

The person in the back speaks again.

The man behind the wheel nods, then says: “Okay, so, if I help you out, we all go back to your place—or whoever’s place it is?”

“Sure.”

“Fair enough. Hold on just a minute.” To the person in the back, the man says: “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

He then gets out of the car, leaving the engine running as he walks around to the back. He’s even bigger than Iver thought; not just tall and broad but sporting a massive gut, too. From the trunk he pulls a spade, then he steps towards the zombies.

For a silly second, Iver imagines the guy beginning to dig a hole in the ground—but instead he holds up the spade like a baseball bat. Iver can tell it’s not the first time the gardening tool has been used for that exact purpose; the blade is slightly bent and covered in something dark which he suspects is dried blood.

“Hey, you there!” the man shouts. “Look over here!”

Iver glances down at the zombies. None of them seem to even register the man’s call.

“I think you need to back up,” he tells Iver. “You’re too close for me to draw them to me.”

“Oh,” Iver says, stepping back into the middle of the garage roof. He loses the zombies from sight, but that only lasts a couple of seconds; they soon reappear as they abandon their efforts in reaching Iver and instead wobble towards the guy holding the spade.

The guy’s eyes are fixed on the nearest zombie with the intensity of a lion tamer who just stepped into the cage. He shifts his weight from side to side, muttering to himself: “Come on, you. Come on.”

As soon as the zombie comes within reaching distance, the guy steps forward and swings the spade. The blade connects squarely with dead guy’s temple and sends him to the ground. Underneath the loud sound of the blow, Iver picks up a more subtle, crunchy noise, like someone put a coconut inside a pillowcase then steps on it.

That was its skull cracking open, a thought in Iver’s head informs him.

Even as nausea rises up in his throat, the man takes a swing at the second zombie, repeating the motion perfectly and producing a similarly bone-chilling sound as the zombie sinks to the ground.

That guy is a beast. He just knocks them dead with one shot.

Iver can’t help but stare as the guy goes on to the third zombie. This time, his timing is thrown off a little bit, and the blade dips too low, hitting the jaw of the zombie instead. The crunch is there nonetheless, as most of the zombie’s teeth are knocked from its mouth and go spraying into the air. The jawbone is also visibly shattered and relocated to the side of the face, where it dangles from a very painful-looking position, like a pouch full of gravel.

“Damnit,” the guy growls, stepping back and raising the spade for another try.

“Oh, Jesus,” Iver mutters and finally manages to look away just as another crunching blow rings out.

“Leif!” a woman’s voice calls out, a note of panic in it. “Look out! There’s one coming from behind!”

Iver looks to the car and sees the woman shouting from the backseat window while pointing frantically.

Another woman—obviously dead—is waddling past the headlights and goes right for the man, who’s busy knocking down a young guy. He then spins around and goes for the woman just as she reaches out her arms to grab him.

“Damnit,” he growls, audibly panting with exertion now. “They just keep coming …”

The woman shouts again to warn him, as three more zombies approach him from different angles.

The guy goes to work. By now, he’s already standing in a circle of bodies. Just as he’s about to take a swing at the next zombie, the woman he just put down grabs him by the ankle and tries to pull his leg to her mouth. The guy cries out and kicks her under the chin, causing her head to snap back with a vicious crack. Amazingly, though, it doesn’t kill her, and as her head swings forward again—the neck obviously broken—she’s still holding on and trying to bite the man. He rips his leg free and spins around just in time to use the spade to shove away the other zombie. Then he turns back and stomps the lady zombie’s head five inches into the ground, affectively squashing her brain and stopping her from moving further.

The woman in the car screams again, warning the guy about a zombie coming from behind. But neither the woman nor the man notices the kid coming around the corner. It’s a boy, not much older than six or seven, and he moves quickly, walking along the wall, headed for the guy.

“Look out!” Iver shouts, but his voice is drowned out in another crushing blow from the spade.

The boy is within reach of the man now, and there’s no time to warn him, so Iver simply throws the bag of ammo. It connects with the back of the head of the boy and sends him sprawling.

The man spins around, notices the danger and with a brutally decisive stab of the spade, he separates the boy’s head from his body just as he’s about to get back up.

The guy darts a glance up at Iver, and Iver can tell how his face is red and shining with sweat. “You might want to jump when you get the chance, buddy!” he pants, then rounds on the next zombie, swinging the spade.

Iver realizes he’s just been standing there, glaring at the scene below for what—twenty seconds? It feels like twenty minutes. He goes to the far end of the garage and looks down. No zombies here. He crouches down, jumps and lands on the ground.

Immediately, there’s a growl from behind, and Iver turns his head to see two undeads coming around the corner of the garage. He doesn’t waste time engaging in a fight with them, but simply runs for the bag. An old lady is coming right at him, and Iver instinctively thrusts the butt end of the rifle in her chest, knocking her back. He then grabs the bag as another zombie lunges at him from the right, grabbing for his arm and missing it by mere inches.

“Let’s go!” the man shouts, knocking over one more zombie before heading for the car.

Iver needs no further invitation, but runs after the guy, dodging two more zombies grabbing for him.

Where are they all coming from? Did we attract every dead person on the entire island?

The man gets in behind the wheel, and the back door opens just as Iver reaches it. He throws in the bag and the rifle, then jumps in himself and slams the door.

“Holy hell,” the guy heaves from the front seat. “That was too close …”

“Thank you,” Iver says, swallowing. “I can’t tell you how grateful—”

He cuts himself short as he turns his head to look at the woman next to him and sees the blade she’s pointing at his throat. She’s younger than he thought, although judging from her face, she’s aged considerably these past days. Her skin is pale and freckly and her hair is flaming red, pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes are icy blue.

“What … what are you doing?” Iver asks.

“You got any wounds?” she asks in return.

Iver shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“Sure about that? All it takes is one little scratch.”

It finally dawns on Iver what she means. He glances down at his hands, turning them over. “See, there’s nothing. I told you, I’m fine.”

The man turns in the seat to look back at Iver. “He seems fine to me, Linda. I don’t think they got him.”

“He could have had a scratch already before we came,” the woman—Linda—says immediately. “We can’t take any chances.”

“Look, really, I would tell you if I was infected,” Iver says. “But I’m not. Honestly.”

He looks from one to the other. There’s a moment of silence inside the car. From the outside, there’s the scraping of nails, pushing, shoving and moaning from the undead.

“We already trusted one person who gave us her word,” Linda says coolly. “I’m not making that mistake again.”

“All right, well … what do you want me to do?”

“Strip.”

Iver raises his eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

Not a trace of a smile on the woman’s face. “Do I look serious?”

Iver sighs, then pulls off his shirt. “There.”

The woman glances down at his bare torso briefly, then back up at his face. She doesn’t lower the knife even an inch. “All of it.”

“All of it? You mean my pants, too?”

“I mean all of it.”

Iver scoffs and looks to Leif, but he just shrugs. “I guess it’s only fair, buddy.”

Iver considers for a moment. Strangely, even though he was just running from zombies a second ago, narrowly avoiding getting eaten alive, the prospect of stripping down naked in front of two strangers is almost worse. Even though he understands logically why they’re forcing him to do it, it still feels like abuse.

The image of Adam pops into his head. “So, if I do this, you promise to take me home?”

“Sure,” Leif says.

“If you’re clean,” Linda corrects, not taking her eyes of Iver.

“And if I’m not?”

She doesn’t say anything, she just nods almost imperceptibly towards the door, and Iver gets the idea.

If I got even the slightest scratch, they’re kicking me back out there …

He takes a deep breath, then bends down and begins untying his shoe.

NINE

“Holy crap. I was sure for a moment I had to shoot her.”

Dan looks at William, who runs a hand through his hair.

“I mean, shooting zombies is bad enough, but killing someone who’s still alive …” He shakes his head.

“Good thing you didn’t. She wasn’t infected after all.”

“I know.”

Dan darts a glance back, seeing nothing but the hilly landscape and the fog.

“She’s not coming,” William tells him.

“You’re probably right,” Dan mutters as they trudge on.

They’ve already been walking for twenty minutes or so since they left the woman.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” William says. “I called my mom yesterday.”

“Your mom’s in Holland, right?”

“Not anymore. She was on a plane headed for Africa.”

“Africa?”

William nods. “The government is transporting as many people as possible out of Europe. She said they’d set up some sort of camps close to a military base in Algeria. It’s out in the desert, so I guess it’s pretty safe and easy to defend.”

Dan bites his lip. “I’m glad they’re finally taking things seriously. Who knows? They might be able to save a lot people.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” William shrugs. “I mean, unless they either kill every last zombie on the face of the planet, or we find a way to stop it from spreading, it’s really a losing battle; they’ll be fighting off dead people for years. Even a military base will run out of ammo at some point.”

Dan considers it for a moment. “So much more reason for us doing this.”

William seems like he’s about to answer, when Ozzy suddenly darts a look back and gives a brief, meaningful yelp.

Dan and William both spin around.

“Huh,” William says, lowering the rifle again. “I was sure we’d lost you.”

Dan feels relief at the sight of the woman coming out of the fog, the coat still wrapped around her, her hair wet.

She looks up at them with a faint expression. “I followed your footprints.”

Dan looks down and realizes they’ve left a trail through the wet dew.

“Good for you,” William says. “You can come with us.”

The woman gives a silent nod and joins them as they walk on. A minute of awkward silence follows, as neither William nor Dan knows what to say or where to look. The woman is walking between them, glancing down at her bare feet.

“So, what’s your name?” William asks.

The woman looks up at him. “Åsaa.”

“That’s a pretty name. I’m William and this is Dan.”

She looks from William to Dan, then back again. “Are you guys Danish?”

“What gave us away?” William asks. “Our great sense of humor?”

“No,” the woman says earnestly. “It was your accents.”

“I figured,” William mutters. “I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh,” the woman says, blinking. “I heard you talking about a military camp …”

Dan and William exchange a look.

“Yeah?” William prompts, as the woman seems to forget how to end the sentence.

“There’s one in Finland, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They’re taking us there. The military. They said boats would be leaving from Bergen this morning. We were supposed to go, me and Erik, we … we were supposed to …” The words die out as the woman’s eyes grow distant.

“Bergen?” William says. “There’s a harbor in Bergen?”

The woman looks at him like she forgot he was there. Then she nods.

“How far is it to Bergen?”

The woman shrugs. “Twenty-five miles, I guess.”

William looks at Dan. “Twenty-five miles to the nearest harbor. We can probably find a boat there that can take us back to Denmark.”

“Denmark?” the woman asks, her voice rising slightly in alarm. “Why would you want to go to Denmark? That’s where it all started. They said the country is completely swamped with infected people. I really don’t think you should go there. You should come to Finland.”

“Is that where you’re going?” William asks.

The woman shrugs. “I don’t know where else to go. Everyone around here … they’re all … you know …”

“We would love to come,” Dan says, smiling meekly. “But we have to go back to Denmark.”

William adds: “It’s a long story.”

The woman eyes them for a moment. It looks like she wants to say something, then apparently decides not to, because she simply shrugs again, as though to say: “Suit yourselves.”

“So, how do we get to Bergen?” William asks.

“Do you have a phone? We can find a map.”

“No, my phone is dead.”

“Oh. Well, we just follow the road then.”

“What road?”

“The highway. Isn’t that where we’re headed?” She points ahead. “It should be coming up right behind those hills.”

William stops, then looks from the hills to Dan. “What do you say? I wanted to stay off the roads because it would be too dangerous, but if we’re going to Bergen, we’ll have to hit a road sooner or later.”

Dan nods. “I agree. Besides, we might find a ride. I mean, walking twenty-five miles would take us at least a day.”

“I was thinking the same,” William says, as he begins walking for the hills. “All right, the highway it is.”

TEN

“Satisfied?”

Iver feels immensely awkward. His cheeks are burning. He doesn’t know where to place his hands.

He’s sitting naked in the backseat. Leif and Linda have switched places, meaning that next to him is Leif, who just reluctantly inspected him at the behest of Linda, who at least has the courtesy not to turn around in the passenger seat—but she’s still eyeing Iver in the mirror.

“I think we’re good,” Leif mutters. “You can put your clothes back on.”

“Thank y—”

“Wait, did you check his back?”

“I did,” Leif says. “I checked him all over, Linda.”

“The soles of his feet?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Check the soles of his feet. I told you, I met that guy who died because he stepped on a nail or something, and it was enough to infect him.”

Leif sighs and looks at Iver in a way that says: “Sorry, dude, but we have to.”

You do anything she tells you to? Iver thinks, but wisely doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lifts up his foot and lets Leif check it. Then the other one.

“See anything?” Linda asks.

“Nope, he’s fine.”

“Okay. But we’ll keep an eye on him. If he begins to spike a fever, we’ll drop him off.”

“Jesus,” Iver says, putting on his boxers. “You know I can understand you, right?”

Linda catches his eye in the mirror. Her sky-blue eyes are narrow and catlike. She would be beautiful if it wasn’t for the ugly look of suspicion. “Then you understand why we can’t bring you if you’re infected.”

“I’m not.”

Leif climbs to the front. He’s so big, he needs to squeeze through the seats sideways, and the car sways as he drops into the driver’s seat.

“Okay, let’s get out of here before these assholes ruin my paint job completely.” He puts the car in drive and heads down the road.

Iver is busy putting his clothes back on.

“That’s the place?” Linda asks, pointing ahead.

Iver looks. “Yeah, that’s where we’re staying.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Four. And a toddler.”

“Have you got provisions? What about weapons?”

“We’ve got some food. We’re not doing too well with guns, that’s why I had to get this …” His hand goes to the seat next to him for the shotgun, but finds nothing. He looks up at Linda.

“I’m holding on to it for now,” she says calmly.

Iver frowns. “So, it wasn’t only to check if I had any scratches … you also wanted to frisk me for weapons?”

Linda doesn’t answer.

Leif brings the car to a stop outside Agnete’s driveway. “Doesn’t look like there are any dead people around. But we’ll probably draw them soon.”

“Let me go in first,” Iver says, hoisting up the bag of ammo.

“Hold on,” Linda says. “I think it’s better if Leif comes with you.”

“It’s okay, I’ll just tell the others you’re coming.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” Linda says, looking at Leif. “You go in and check if everything is all right. Then you call to me.”

Leif glances at Iver then back at her. “Why wouldn’t everything be all right?”

Linda shrugs. “We just can’t take any chances. It could be a trick.”

“A trick?” Iver blurts out.

Linda pays him no attention. “I mean, we just met the guy. For all we know this isn’t even his place.”

“Yeah, but he seems honest,” Leif says. “Besides, we saved him from that roof.”

“Exactly. Wouldn’t you act very honest if you wanted someone to save your life?”

Leif is about to say something, when Linda leans forward. “Look, we went over this already. This is how we do it.”

Leif scratches his chin, then nods. “All right. I’ll go with him.”

“You’re paranoid,” Iver mutters to Linda.

“Paranoid people live longer,” Linda says without looking back at him. “You better get going, before any zombies show up.”

ELEVEN

They reach the road within half an hour.

William was hoping to see a car or two left by the roadside. Instead, what he sees looking down from the hilltop is more like a giant parking lot.

The road is completely packed with vehicles of all kinds, placed bumper-to-bumper, all looking eager to get going.

But the queue isn’t moving, and he can tell from the quiet of the morning that none of the engines are on. Quite a few of the car doors are also open, as though the drivers didn’t bother to close them when they got out. The line of cars stretches for as long as William is able to follow the road before it disappears between the hills.

“Looks like we weren’t the only ones headed for Bergen,” he murmurs.

“Of course not,” Åsaa says. “We all got the message yesterday. About the boats leaving for Finland. It was all over the news and Facebook. It was all anyone was talking about.”

“But they all left,” Dan says, shaking his head slowly. “They all just got out of their cars and left.”

William nods. “Either they got tired of waiting and decided to walk, or something drove them out.”

A few seconds of eerie silence passes between them. William notices his companions dart glances around. Apparently, even Ozzy is picking up on the creepy atmosphere—or maybe he’s just eager to get going—because he whimpers softly.

“Well, we can forget about getting a ride,” Dan says. “Both lanes are completely blocked. Even the emergency lane.”

“I’m not walking twenty-five fucking miles,” William mutters as he scans the road. “There’s gotta be some way we can drive …” He looks at Åsaa. “Do you know of any other roads leading to Bergen from here?”

She shrugs. “The nearest one is five miles farther east.”

“That’s most likely going to be packed full as well,” Dan interjects.

“You’re right,” William says, chewing his lip. “We’ve gotta think outside the box here. What road didn’t anybody else think of taking? Åsaa, you’re our local guide. Anything come to mind? Anything at all? Like a dirt road or something. It doesn’t even need to be a proper road, just something wide enough for a car to drive on.”

Åsaa gestures to the other side of the road. “Well, there’s a hiking trail on that hilltop. I’ve walked it with … with Erik a couple of times …”

“Could a car drive on it?” William asks quickly, before Åsaa can sink back into painful memories. “Is it wide enough?”

“I … I guess so. In theory, at least. But it’s very hilly. It’s certainly not meant for cars.”

“Good,” William nods, feeling uplifted. “That means no one else would have thought of taking it.”

“I don’t even think we can get a car up there,” Åsaa says.

“What about down there?” William asks, pointing. “Looks like the hillside isn’t really that steep. I think we could do it.”

He begins walking along the road, Ozzy by his side. Dan and Åsaa follow suit.

“Are you sure we can drive up the hillside?” Dan asks. “I think it’s pretty steep for a car.”

“Depends on what kind of car we’re talking about,” William says. “Damn, there’s a lot of Teslas. Considering how much oil you guys have, you really like electric cars.”

Åsaa hardly seems to notice the remark.

Then William sees it. He stops and points. “There! That one!”

“Which one?” Dan asks, squinting.

“The BMW,” William says.

Dan still looks puzzled.

“The SUV,” William adds.

Dan shakes his head. “Those are just letters to me.”

William sighs. “It’s the big white one.”

“Ah. You think that one could drive up the hillside?”

“I know it can. It’s basically a family-friendly jeep.”

Åsaa gasps. “Look! A man’s coming!”

William follows her gaze. Almost a mile down road he can see a guy walking between the cars. He’s headed this way. The crooked walk suggests he’s either hurt or dead. None of which are appealing prospects.

“There’s more than one,” Dan remarks.

William looks farther up road and can make out at least five additional figures, all coming this way.

“I think we’d better hurry,” he says. “They’ll be here in five minutes. Come on!” He runs down the hillside, Ozzy right at his heels, the bag bouncing on his back.

He doesn’t waste time looking back to see if the others follow him, instead he focuses on not tripping and falling, as taking a tumble on the steep hillside would likely mean rolling all the way to the bottom.

Ozzy—having the advantage of four legs—quickly gains the lead and reaches the road in a matter of seconds.

William joins him half a minute later. As he steps onto the concrete, he darts a glance in the direction of the oncomers, but he can’t see them yet. Behind him he can hear Dan and Åsaa catching up. Ozzy looks at him eagerly, waiting for what will happen next.

William runs to the SUV, which is parked at a crooked angle with both front tires on the roadside, almost like the driver wanted to go off-road to escape the queue, but then changed his mind at the last second.

“Please don’t be locked,” William mutters as he makes his way to the rear door, slipping off the bag. Just as he grabs the handle, Ozzy barks up at him loud and sudden enough to cause William to jump.

“Jesus Christ, buddy! You made me shit myself!”

Ozzy glares up at him, growling menacingly, bristling like a porcupine.

“What is it?” William says, frowning and looking around quickly. “It’s okay; no one’s here. We’re just going for a ride.”

His hand is still resting on the handle and he’s about to pull it when he catches a movement through the tinted window. A girl’s face is staring out at him, biting and smearing the window in drool and blood.

“Oh, shit!” William gasps and lets go of the car handle like it just turned red-hot. He steps back just as Dan joins him. “Don’t,” William says, grabbing him by the arm. “Someone’s already in there …”

“Oh, no,” Dan sighs, catching his breath.

Åsaa catches up and stops a few paces away. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“There’s a girl inside,” William says, wiping sweat from his brow. The morning has suddenly turned warm; the fog is almost gone and the sun is climbing the sky. Ozzy is still growling and barking. “We need to deal with her before we can take the car.”

“Can’t we just take another?” Åsaa asks.

“No, I told you, we need this one,” William says, pointing at the BMW. “It’s the only one I could make out from up there that’ll take us off-road. Ozzy, will you shut up? We get it!”

“She’s not alone,” Dan says as Ozzy resorts to an anxious whimper and begins slinking around the SUV.

William turns to the car and sees two other faces now—an older boy and a younger one have both squeezed in next to the girl.

Probably her brothers. Fuck me, they’re just kids …

“Why did their parents just leave them?” Åsaa whispers, horror in her voice. Her lips begin to tremble and she shakes her head. “Those poor, poor kids …”

“Don’t go into hysteria now,” William says harshly, feeling his stress levels spike. “We need to think up a solution, and quickly. Before the other dead assholes show up.”

“Can’t you just shoot them through the window?” Dan suggests, nodding at the rifle in William’s hand.

He shakes his head. “That’s a bad idea. We’ll bust the window, and we might need it for protection later. Also, I don’t want fucking brain matter all over the interior …”

“Oh, my God,” Åsaa gasps, clasping a hand to her mouth and turning away.

William realizes immediately he made a mistake by painting that picture. But he’s growing more nervous by the minute, and when he’s nervous he tends to just say whatever shit comes to mind.

“We need to open the door and let them out,” William says. “That’s the best way of getting rid of them.”

“What?” Åsaa exclaims, backing up. “No, wait!”

“It’s okay,” William says, holding up his hand. “I’m not doing it yet. Not before you guys are at a safe distance.”

“What about you?” Dan asks, not looking particularly fond of the idea.

“Me and Ozzy will take care of them,” William tells him. “Just go climb onto another car—one that’s tall enough that they can’t reach you.”

“But—” Åsaa is about to object when William cuts her off.

“It’s just a precaution. Once they’re out, I’ll shoot them.”

“Careful not to shoot Ozzy,” Dan says. “And don’t shoot out the tires, either.”

“You’re right, good thinking. I’ll lure them away from the car first. Right, everyone at your stations. Move, move!”

Dan and Åsaa exchange a brief, uncertain look, then Dan runs to the nearest van and climbs up onto the hood. He reaches down and pulls Åsaa up. She’s still just wearing the coat over her underwear, and as she puts up her leg to climb onto the roof of the car, William catches a glimpse of her panties. They’re pink. He feels an unexpected jolt of excitement, then immediately feels guilty and looks away.

He turns to the BMW and the three kids pushing and shoving each other to try and get at him.

Releasing three zombies suddenly feels like a very bad idea. Kind of like opening the cage to the tigers at a zoo. But he knows they move pretty slow, and he should be able to take them out before things get dangerous.

Besides, there’s no time for second thoughts now.

So, William walks briskly around the car, grabs the door handle and opens it. The moans and groans from the kids grow louder as they wrestle to turn around and get at him.

Once the first one—the youngest boy—manages to push himself out of the open door and fall onto the asphalt, though, William is already several yards farther down road.

“Ozzy, heel,” he says, placing the rifle against his shoulder as the German shepherd settles in next to him, whimpering and growling at the kids who have now all squeezed out of the SUV and are getting to their feet. Immediately, they begin staggering his way.

Goddamnit, William thinks, closing one eye. They’re even younger than I thought.

Only the oldest boy is in his teens, the others can’t be more than six and eight. The thought of them being alive probably just hours ago, sitting in the backseat, arguing, joking around, playing on their iPads, with their parents in the front, trying to get them to safety.

And now.

Now they’re all dead.

And they probably killed each other.

William feels his throat tighten up and his finger curled around the trigger is surprisingly unwilling to squeeze it.

Come on. Do it. They’re not kids anymore. You’re doing them a favor.

Ozzy begins barking. The youngest boy is just ten paces away now.

William aims for his head. Then pulls the trigger.

The shot rings out a lot louder than he anticipated—probably, he thinks absentmindedly, because the sound ricochets off the row of cars and slams right back at his eardrums.

The bullet misses its mark, burrowing instead into the shoulder of the girl walking behind the boy, thrusting her halfway around, but not causing her any real concern, as she just keeps coming forward.

“Fuck,” William mutters, scrambling to reload the rifle.

He didn’t take any misses into consideration; he simply took it for granted he would only need three shots to take out the kids. Turns out, a real-life headshot is a heck of a lot harder to pull off than computer games make it look.

He backs up several feet, commanding Ozzy along, noticing how he can barely hear his own voice. He takes aim again, but this time, he kneels down, resting his elbow on his knee. It makes keeping the rifle steady a whole lot easier.

He aims for the boy’s head once more, muttering to himself.

“Come on … you can do it …”

Then Dan’s voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. William realizes Dan has been calling for him ever since he shot the rifle, but William couldn’t hear him until now.

He gets up and sees Dan and Åsaa, both still standing on the roof of the van, and both jumping and waving their arms.

“What?” Williams shouts.

Dan mouths something that William can’t make out. He assumes they’re upset because he missed the first shot.

“Don’t worry!” he calls back. “I’ll get ’em this time …”

Then, just as he takes a knee, he catches a movement in the sideview mirror of the nearest car.

Right behind him are two zombies.

TWELVE

Iver gets out of the car and looks around. There are still no zombies on this side of the house, but he knows it’s just a matter of seconds before they show up.

Before he left, Chris instructed him to call him up when he got back, so that Chris could lure away the zombies from the front door. But since Iver doesn’t have his phone, he’ll just have to chance it.

He runs to the door, bringing the bag, then bangs the woodwork hard enough that he’s sure Chris will hear him.

Leif joins him, holding the shovel and darting watchful looks in all directions.

“Why didn’t you bring the gun?” Iver asks.

Leif shrugs. “I don’t like firearms.”

Then comes Chris’s voice from the other side of the door: “Iver? That you?”

“Yes! Open the door.”

“Who’s that with you?”

“Someone I met. There’s a woman in the car, too. I told them they could come. Please let us in, and I’ll explain.”

He grabs the handle, but the door is still locked.

“Chris!” he calls out. “Damnit, open the door!”

There’s no glass in the door, so he can’t actually see Chris. But he can easily imagine him standing right on the other side, frowning and contemplating.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Chris asks.

“I lost my phone. Fred took it. Listen, it’s okay; these people helped me out. I was trapped at Fred’s place, I was—I’ll explain later, just please open the door, Chris! The zombies will be here any—”

The car honks.

“I see them,” Leif says, apparently answering Linda’s warning, as he turns and walks towards an old lady coming around the corner. He swings the shovel and knocks her flat on her back. The next one follows closely behind.

“Open up, Chris!” Iver shouts, banging the door again. “They’re coming!”

“Are they threatening you to bring them here?”

“What? No!”

Leif takes down another zombie with a loud bang of the shovel, and three more show up.

“Chris, for God’s sake!” Iver shouts. “If you don’t open up, we’ll have to get back to the car and—”

The lock turns and the door opens. “Get in,” Chris says, grabbing Iver by the wrist. He pulls him inside and is about to slam the door shut, ignoring Iver who tells him to wait a minute.

Then, suddenly, Linda appears in the door, pointing the shotgun at Chris. “Not so fast.”

Chris freezes. He’s holding his own rifle, but it’s pointing down. For half a second, Iver can sense him considering if he’ll be able to flip it up and fire before the woman can pull the trigger.

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” Linda says, reading Chris as well. “I know how to use this thing.”

Iver holds his breath. From the driveway, he can still hear Leif fighting off the zombies.

“Step back, please,” Linda says, bobbing the barrel.

Iver backs up, and two seconds later, Chris follows him, not turning his back to Linda.

“Leif!” Linda calls out, keeping her gaze fixed at Chris as she crosses the doorstep. “Let’s go!”

Leif appears behind her, panting and grunting. “About damn time,” he mutters, slamming the door behind him. “There were way too many out there …”

He stops talking as he notices Linda aiming the rifle at Chris. For a moment, all four of them just stare at each other, standing in Agnete’s tiny entrance hall.

“What exactly is happening here?” Leif asks, wiping sweat from his brow. He’s still holding the bloody shovel. Iver can smell the putrid metallic stench from the blade.

“Exactly what I told you would happen,” Linda says in a cold tone. “They tried to trick us. They tried to keep us out.”

“We did no such thing,” Chris replies. “I just didn’t want any of the dead fuckers to come in here.”

“Oh, please,” Linda says, sending him a wry smile. “Don’t BS me. I heard you talking to him through the door.” She nods at Iver.

Iver is still amazed at how Linda managed to sneak up on them. He had just heard her honk the car horn not twenty seconds before, and then she was suddenly there. She obviously planned the stunt beforehand.

Chris doesn’t flinch. “Well, would you just let in two strangers?”

“Of course not,” she tells him. “That’s why we had to do it the way we did.”

“Congrats on pulling it off,” Chris says. “If you don’t mind, I’m very tired and would like to get some sleep.”

Without waiting for permission, Chris just turns and walks into the living room.

Linda glances at Leif, then at Iver. Finally, she lowers the weapon and gives Leif a nod. They both follow Chris into the living room.

Iver stands there for another second. He’s amazed at how Chris just accepted the intruders. Then on the other hand, what could he do?

Well, I guess our group just grew bigger …

THIRTEEN

“Oh, shit!”

William wastes no time spinning around, he simply reflexively thrusts the butt end of the rifle up and back, connecting with the jaw of the closest zombie—a young skinny dude with a large tattoo covering his neck—who was just about to sink his teeth into William’s shoulder.

The guy’s head is flung back and he stumbles sideways, bumping into the other dead guy—a heavy, middle-aged man in a torn-up bus driver’s uniform—which is very lucky, because it gives William just enough time to get out of the way. He rounds on the ambushers and points the rifle at them, but just as he’s about to fire, Ozzy jumps in front of him, attacking the bus driver.

Afraid that he might shoot Ozzy, William instead uses the rifle as a bat and clocks tattoo guy on the side of the head, bringing him to the ground. Then he turns back to the kids and screams out in surprise as the youngest boy is right in front of him. The kid lunges for him before William has time to aim and fire. Instead, he manages to hold up the rifle as a barrier, hindering the boy in reaching him by keeping him at arm’s length. The boy grabs and bites at him, not paying much heed to the rifle pressed against his chest, but simply trying to push through it. William is stronger, though, and is able to force the boy backwards a few steps.

Then the boy suddenly changes tactics, bares his teeth and goes for William’s left hand. William pulls back his hand a fraction of a second before the boy can bite him.

William kicks the boy hard in the belly, expecting him to go flying backwards. But somehow, probably because the boy doesn’t respond to pain and has no reflexes left, he simply doubles over like a bag of sand, collapsing in front of William.

The girl reaches him next, immediately making her way around her brother, who’s already working to get back up. William uses the short time to take aim and fire the rifle from hip-level—which turns out to be a lot harder than in the movies.

The rifle kicks back just as the shot rings out, throwing William off balance and spinning him halfway around, almost slipping from his hands. The bullet punches a hole in the girl’s throat wide enough that William for a terrible second can see right through it. As to stopping the girl, though, it has little effect, only causing her a slight delay as she wobbles to regain balance, then comes at him again, just as the youngest boy gets back up and their older brother joins in the fun.

“Ozzy!” William bellows, realizing finally it’s a losing battle and runs towards the nearest car. “Come on! Heel!”

Ozzy is still fighting the ambushers, having wrestled one of them to the ground and is tearing at the leg of the other. He lets go only reluctantly at William’s call and runs after him.

William yanks open the door to the car and throws himself inside. Ozzy jumps in after him and William slams the door shut just seconds before the girl reaches the car and begins groping the window. Her brothers soon join her, and William watches as they shove each other around to get closer to him.

Ozzy has gone to the backseat and is barking at them.

“It’s okay, buddy,” William pants, wiping sweat from his forehead. “We’re safe now.”

He’s only just uttered the words when there’s a growl from the other side of the car, and the tattoo guy pokes his head and arms in through the open passenger window.

“Oh, fuck me!” William shouts, scrambling to turn over the rifle as the guy reaches for him. The guy leans in and grabs William’s T-shirt, trying to pull him closer, just as William pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

“Fuck!”

William thrusts the rifle at the guy, hitting him in the eye with the barrel, causing the eyeball to burst with a ripe, wet sound, like someone stepping on a grape. It doesn’t deter the guy in the least, though, but it does give William a couple of seconds, which is all he needs to turn in the seat, lift up both legs and start kicking the guy with the soles of his shoes.

Several of the kicks connect, and the guy’s head is thrown back and forth. William can hear the teeth crack and rattle around in his mouth, and the busted eye is dripping from the guy’s cheek and onto the seat, as William kicks more and more frantically.

Finally, the guy is forced backwards far enough that William can reach his pocket, pull out a shell and reload the rifle. He takes aim and is careful to place the butt end against his shoulder this time, leaning his back against the door.

He pulls the trigger just as the guy regroups and lunges forward again. The shot is absolutely deafening, hammering painfully against his eardrums, but William hardly notices. The top of the guy’s skull breaks open like a tin can, as the bullet removes part of his brain the size of a fist.

He collapses with his torso still inside the car. Immediately, the bus driver comes up from behind and tries to push himself through the window, but tattoo guy is blocking most of the open window, and the bus driver only manages to squeeze one arm inside the car, his fat fingers groping the air.

Ozzy is barking fiercely, but William can only hear it as a faint murmur; his hearing has been replaced with a shrill dial tone reverberating inside his skull.

He feels someone bumping against the door behind him and he turns to see the three kids still trying to get in—by now, their fingers have greased up the window pretty good, and he can only make out their faces as pale, blurry circles, their open mouths forming dark Os.

William looks out the other windows and sees more dead people surrounding the car. In fact, there’s several dozen of them, and more seem to be coming every second.

Shit … I’m royally fucked …

His hand goes to the ignition. But there’s no key.

Ozzy is still barking from the backseat, and now he begins to jump around, too. William finally looks back to tell him to calm down. He sees why Ozzy is acting crazy, and his heart stops.

A dead woman—who apparently was hiding in the trunk of the car—is clumsily making her way to the backseat, ignoring the barking dog, her eyes fixed on William …

FOURTEEN

Dan can only watch in horror from atop the van as the group of zombies approach William from behind, making their way through the parked cars.

For once, Ozzy doesn’t pick up on the oncoming threat right away—probably because he’s busy barking at the three dead kids right in front of them, or maybe because his ears are still ringing from the rifle shot.

When William finally sees the zombies, it’s almost too late. Dan can tell he reacts instinctively, thrusting the rifle over his shoulder and connecting with the chin of the guy just about to bite him.

While the guy is flung back, another one immediately steps in from the side, and this time, there’s no time for William to swing the rifle.

Luckily, though, Ozzy has caught on to the threat and lunges himself at the dead guy, wrestling him to the ground, giving William time to regroup and take a swing at the boy, who’s now within striking distance.

“There are too many of them,” Dan says, staring at the zombies suddenly appearing from every direction. It’s almost like they were hiding between the cars. Or maybe inside of them. Which, for all Dan knows, isn’t that unlikely. Perhaps it was the gunshot that called them all out. “We need to help him …”

He’s about to jump down from the van when Åsaa grabs him by the arm, digging her nails into his skin.

“Wait!” she cries.

Dan assumes she doesn’t want him to leave her alone on the van and is about to tell her that he needs to go, that he can’t just watch while William gets killed, but then he follows her gaze and sees the fat lady right below, clawing at his shoelaces.

“Shit,” Dan breathes and steps back. “Where did she come from?”

“They’re everywhere,” Åsaa says, her voice trembling. “We made a huge mistake coming down here …”

Dan looks out over the row of cars and realizes she’s right in both statements. Dozens and dozens of dead people are coming this way like ants drawn to an ice cream cone someone dropped on the sidewalk.

William is swinging for his life, using the rifle not as a firearm but as a baseball bat, knocking over zombies left and right, Ozzy biting and tackling and thrashing alongside him. Together, they’re just able to keep a few feet of space between them and the dead.

But it’s a losing battle.

Dan can tell.

Unless he does something, William won’t make it.

He looks back down at the fat lady, who’s now been joined by a younger and much skinnier woman. Then he looks over at the next car. It’s a station wagon, not as tall as the van, but still tall enough that the zombies probably can’t reach him from there.

He looks at Åsaa. “We have to get out of here. We have to try and make it to the white car.”

“What?” she exclaims. “How?”

“We’ll have to jump.”

“No, I can’t!”

“You have to,” Dan repeats. “Or you’ll be trapped. Come on.”

Åsaa is about to object, and so is Dan’s own mind, which is why he simply acts before either of them can talk him out of it. He takes one step back, then lunges forward and jumps through the air. He lands on the roof of the station wagon and almost tumbles off the other side, but manages to stop just in time and regain his balance.

He looks back over at Åsaa, who’s staring at him like he just jumped clean over the Golden Gate Bridge. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, holding out his arms. “Come on. I’ll make sure you don’t fall!”

He and Åsaa being almost the same height, Dan doesn’t feel at all confident that he can actually stop her from falling if she slips, but he looks at her with all the certainty he can muster. And it seems enough to convince her—although she obviously doesn’t care at all for what she’s about to do.

She takes as much a running start as she can, then jumps over onto the station wagon. Dan halfway catches her, both of them fighting to keep their balance for a second.

“All right,” he breathes, once they stop wobbling. “So far, so good. Only two more to go.”

“We can’t,” Åsaa says, glancing down at the zombies reaching for their feet—there’s five of them now, and more are joining all the time.

“Sure we can,” Dan says. “We just did it once. Come on!”

He steps down onto the hood of the car, using its length as a very short runway for him to take off. He flies through the air and lands on the rear end of the next car, quickly stepping up onto the roof and out of reach of the dead people.

He looks back, waving at Åsaa. “Come on, your turn. Quickly!”

Åsaa steps down onto the hood of the car. But unlike Dan, she doesn’t jump right away, which gives the zombies a chance to reach for her.

Åsaa screams as their fingers scrape against her bare legs.

“Jump! Now!” Dan shouts.

Åsaa jumps.

She doesn’t get enough air.

She lands with only one foot on the car. The other one slides down. She screams and clamps onto the trunk like a drowning mouse. The zombies close in on her immediately.

Dan reaches down, grabs her by the coat and yanks her up at the last possible second. She escapes the eager, dead hands by mere millimeters.

She clings to Dan and begins to cry. “I can’t do it … I can’t do it …”

Dan looks over her shoulder at William and Ozzy, who are both still battling the zombies. They’ve moved off the road, as though William was trying to flee back up the hillside, but the zombies are cutting him off from every direction now, and he has no choice but to keep swinging at them, knocking them over. Most of them get back up, though.

Dan looks over at BMW. It’s the next car over. And the rear door is still open. He can almost jump right in from here.

“Listen to me,” he says, pushing Åsaa gently off of him. “Listen. It’s okay. You just stay here; I’ll get the car.”

She looks at him like she has a hard time picking up the meaning of the words, her eyes spilling over with tears of fear.

“Just stay here, and keep away from their hands, okay?” Dan says.

Åsaa nods, glancing down at the zombies trying to reach them from both sides of the car.

Dan turns towards the BMW. He looks at the open door and takes a deep breath. There are no zombies blocking his way. But he will have to be quick; as soon as he makes the jump, they’ll turn and come for him.

His ankle, which he sprained back in the basement, trying to get away from Jennie, has been getting better every day. It hardly hurts anymore. But the jump he’s about to make could make him sprain it again, maybe even worse than the first time. Maybe he’ll hurt himself badly enough that he won’t be able to walk. Maybe—

Stop that, he tells himself firmly.

He looks over at William and Ozzy—who are getting into a random car to seek refuge—reminding himself what’s at stake.

He takes another deep breath, then he jumps.

FIFTEEN

“Fuck me!”

William scrambles to reload the rifle, while at the same time pushing himself back, trying to create distance to the woman who has managed to scale the backseat and is now reaching her arms between the front seats to grab at him. But there’s very little room to move inside the car, and William only manages to press his back against the steering wheel, causing the horn to go blaring.

Ozzy bites down on the collar of the woman’s coat—she’s wearing an expensive-looking fur coat, which she probably decided to bring along if she wouldn’t be returning home anytime soon—just too bad it’s been torn open at the side when someone dug in to eat away at her gut. Ozzy pulls her sideways so that her painted fingernails can’t reach William, and he gains a few seconds to feed another shell into the chamber and load the rifle.

Just as he swings the barrel around there’s a tearing sound as the coat gives way—William doesn’t hear the sound, but he sees her plunges forward as she’s suddenly freed from the restraint, and he cries out and pushes back farther, landing halfway underneath the wheel, his back bending at a painful angle with his legs sprawled over the gear shift.

The woman goes to work on his pants, scratching at them eagerly like a dog smelling a buried bone, and William has a pang of panic as he feels her nails through the fabric.

A thought—surprisingly clear—shoots through his mind: Good thing I didn’t wear shorts, or I’d be dead now.

Then he pulls the rifle back, prying the barrel awkwardly in between himself and the woman. He points it at her mouth and pulls the trigger.

The shot is less deafening this time, probably because William is already rendered deaf, but the effect is certainly there.

The woman’s head is basically split in two, the top half tipping to the side like someone had cut into a boiled egg and opened it up in order to get to the warm stuff inside. The warm stuff inside the woman’s skull isn’t that appetizing, though; it splatters all over the ceiling, looking to William like some sort of clumpy, grey porridge.

The rest of the woman tilts limply to the side and disappears mercifully out of sight behind the seat.

William just lies there for several seconds, hearing nothing, but feeling his heart pound away in his chest and the breath wheezing in and out through his mouth. There’s a hole in the ceiling the size of an apple and the shape of a halfmoon, showing a tiny outline of the blue sky above, and William can’t take his eyes off of it.

Ozzy pokes his head out and looks at him with concern.

“I’m all right, buddy,” William says, his own voice a distant echo. “Thank you for saving my ass. Let me just … let me just regroup for a second …”

William looks up at the hole in the ceiling once more. There’s something very comforting in looking at it. From where he’s lying, it’s pretty much the only thing not covered in brain or blood.

Even though William can barely hear, his sense of smell works perfectly fine, and the sweet, putrid stench of the woman’s brain reminds him of prunes that have gone bad from lying out in the sun. Nausea wells up in his throat.

He can feel the car rocking gently as the dead people outside push and shove at it, and he’s reminded of the open window.

I need to get up. I need to get going. I can’t stay here.

For some reason, his body doesn’t react. William can’t get it to cooperate. He should be afraid. The situation is still very dangerous. But he feels nothing except an eerie urge to just lie here and think of nothing.

I’m in shock, he realizes with bemused detachment. That’s not good. Better get going right now, or I might never get up again.

He tries again to move, and this time, his body listens, though it feels cumbersome, like the connection between will and acting is still fragile. It takes him a couple of minutes, but he manages to climb up onto the seat. He sinks down with a sigh, and Ozzy immediately begins licking his ear, as though rewarding him.

“Thanks, buddy,” William murmurs, moving his jaw in order to make his hearing return. It clicks, and it actually helps a little. Now he can pick up the moans and groans from the zombies outside.

And speaking of … there are so many now, William can barely see through them. At least fifty, but probably closer to a hundred. Seeing them crowd around the car reminds him of that one time he saw Foo Fighters play at Roskilde Festival.

“Shit, buddy,” William mutters. “We got ourselves in quite a mess here …”

He checks the ignition again, still not finding the key.

“Damnit … if I could just turn on the car, we could drive our way out of here …”

He glances sideways at the open window. The tattoo guy is still hanging there, blocking the opening. The bus driver has been shoved aside and two other zombies are now trying to squeeze in. It looks to William like a cartoon where several people try to rush through a doorway at the same time and get stuck. Except there’s no comical effect in this.

They’ll get in sooner or later … and they won’t stop until that happens …

SIXTEEN

Dan lands on the concrete, breaking the fall by grabbing hold of the open door. Still, a sharp pain shoots up through his ankle, making him wince.

Nothing seems to snap or give way, though, which is good. Dan doesn’t have much time to ponder it anyway; the zombies who were surrounding the car he just jumped from are now headed this way.

He throws himself into the BMW and slams the door.

The sounds immediately grow fainter, and he notices also how the atmosphere is different inside the car; it’s cooler, but also there’s a foul smell in the air, like something rotten has been lying around in here. Which isn’t too far from the truth, as the three dead kids were trapped in here just minutes ago.

Dan looks out and up at Åsaa, who’s looking in at him anxiously. He sends her a thumbs-up, and she nods.

Dan looks at the dashboard. He’s never been inside a car this new or big or expensive; his dad was an accountant and earned a decent wage, but he could never have afforded a car like this.

Dan has also never really driven a car, which is something that just dawns on him now, expect for that one time not that long ago, where his dad let him drive down the block, while instructing him from the passenger seat.

“Learn by doing, I guess,” he tells himself and looks for the ignition as the zombies outside begin groping the windows.

He can’t find either the key or the ignition; instead, there’s a button saying START. He pushes it. The dashboard lights up, but nothing happens.

“Shoot!” He looks back out at Åsaa, holding up his hands, mouthing: “How do I turn it on?”

Åsaa seems to pick up on the question, but she just shrugs and shakes her head.

Dan bites his lip. He looks around for something to help him; a manual or something. His gaze falls on a cell phone left on the passenger seat. He picks it up and activates the screen. It shows a picture of a blond-haired woman standing in what looks like Disney World. Next to her, arm in arm, are three kids. Dan recognizes them and feels a lump in his throat. For some reason, Jennie’s face appears in his mind, and he has to gently push it aside.

Not now. Focus on what you’re doing.

Luckily, there’s no password needed for accessing the phone, and Dan opens a browser. The front page is from a Norwegian news media, and the headlines are all yelling at him things he already knows.

He pauses for a second, recalling what make William had told him the car was. Then he types in a search for “How to start a BMW X5.”

A brief YouTube video tells him what to do: step on the brake, then hit the Start-button.

Dan puts down the phone and follows the instruction. The engine comes to life immediately. It’s surprisingly quiet and produces only a very subtle vibration in the seat.

He sends Åsaa another thumbs-up, then puts his hand on the steering wheel, muttering to himself: “All right, you can do this. Remember what Dad told you.”

Dan puts the BMW in reverse, and a monitor gives him a live feed from a camera somewhere on the rear end of the car. The zombies are completely surrounding the car now, and as soon as he puts it into motion, it begins pushing them aside. Some of them trip and get caught underneath the car—Dan can hear them bumping against the undercarriage—and some are even dragged under the tires and get run over, causing the BMW to bump softly and sway a little.

Dan does his best to ignore them, concentrating instead on getting the BMW turned around. In order to do so, he needs to drive farther out into the roadside where the grass is tall. He worries for a moment that the car will get stuck, but William turns out to be right: it has no trouble at all driving on the uneven ground.

It would be a hard challenge driving the car even without the dead people crowding him, constantly blocking his view. But Dan manages to get as close to William as possible; he can’t get all the way there, since the car William sought refuge in is on the far lane, meaning there’s one lane separating them. And the cars in that lane are parked bumper to bumper.

He stops and looks over at William’s car. He can see him waving briefly before he’s cut from view by the crowd of zombies swarming around both cars.

Dan rolls down the window half an inch. The dead people outside immediately push their grey fingers through the crack, and their moaning voices fill up Dan’s ears.

“William!” he calls out. “Can you hear me?”

He waits for a reply, listening intently. Then, over the choir of zombie voices, he picks up William shouting: “… barely hear you!”

Dan bites his lip. This won’t work. If they’re going to work out how to get William from his own car to the BMW, they need to be able to communicate.

Dan looks at the phone on the seat beside him. William has a phone, too, but Dan doesn’t have his number.

He shouts out the window: “What’s your number?”

He stretches his neck and catches a glimpse of William looking back at him. Dan holds up the phone. William raises his eyebrows. Then he holds up two fingers. At first, Dan takes it as a peace sign, but then William holds up four fingers.

“Oh,” Dan says. “Hold on!” He types in 24.

William signals the rest of the number using his fingers. Since Dan loses him from sight every other moment, he gets the number wrong a couple of times. But finally, he gets it. He makes the call, and William answers right away.

“Johnny’s Auto Repair, what can I do for ya?”

It’s such a lame and unexpected joke, Dan can’t help but snort with laughter. “I’m glad you made it to safety.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not celebrate too early. Hey, I didn’t know you had a driver’s license?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you’re a natural, then.”

“How do we get you out of there?”

William sighs. “I really don’t know, dude. I just don’t know. It doesn’t look good.”

There’s suddenly something in William’s voice that Dan cares very little for. He has seen William angry and upset, even sad, but he has never picked up on this tone of voice before. It sounds like William is about to lose hope.

“It’s okay, we just need to figure it out,” Dan says.

“Yeah, well, there’s like twenty feet between us, and those twenty feet are crammed full of zombies. I don’t see how we’re going to make that happen.”

Dan feels his heartrate rise. “Let’s just think for a moment. There are three options as I see it. We either get you over here. Or we get the car to you. Or we get rid of the zombies. Right? You see any other ways of doing it?”

“I think that about covers it.”

“Right. So, can we get you over here?”

“Not unless I spontaneously sprout a couple of wings.”

“There’s no key for the car?”

“Nope.”

“And you can’t shoot your way through them?”

“That wouldn’t work; there are way too many of them.”

“How about shooting them from the car?”

“I only have twenty-two bullets left. I already counted them.”

“Twenty-two ain’t bad,” Dan says. “That’ll thin the herd at least.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” William says, his voice growing even more downcast. “Even if I make all of them perfect headshots, twenty-two would be like a drop in the ocean. I mean, have you looked outside? There are at least two hundred of them now.”

Dan chews his lip. “How about Ozzy?”

“What about him?”

“Can he do anything to help? He’s immune, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t see him killing two hundred zombies. That would take him like a week.”

“Wait!” Dan snaps his fingers. “Can’t you, like … disguise yourself? Maybe if they can’t see you, or … I don’t know … if they think you’re already infected, they’ll leave you alone.”

A brief pause. “I thought about that. In Walking Dead, they do this move where they rub themselves in gunk from a dead zombie and then the other zombies can’t smell them or something. They’re able to walk right out among them without getting attacked.”

Dan feels hope rise. “You think that could work?”

“I don’t know, it depends on whether they go by smell or something else.”

“But it’s worth a shot, don’t you think?” Dan looks over at William’s car. “The dead guy in the window—can’t you use him?”

“If I begin messing with him, I risk the others making their way in. Right now, he’s the only thing keeping them out.”

“Okay, but—”

“I do have someone else, though.”

“You do?”

A brief pause. “There’s a woman here. I suppose she was the owner of the car. She was already in here. I shot her.”

“That’s perfect! Try it, William.”

A longer pause this time. “I’m not sure I can do it.”

“Why not? Can’t you get to her?”

“Yeah, but … you realize what we’re talking about, right? Rubbing myself in the juices from a half-rotten corpse? That’s not exactly a turn-on.”

“I know, but you need to—”

“And I don’t even think they go by smell anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a lot more likely they go by sense. You said it yourself, remember? How would they have found us at Holger’s place? Don’t tell me they could smell us from miles away inside a house built of bricks. There are no predators in the world that could pick up a smell like that. And yet they came from town and headed straight for us.”

Dan thinks about it and realizes that William is right and that Dan already knew that. He was just grasping at straws.

“Okay, so there’s no way we’re getting you out of there,” he goes on. “Can we get the car to you, then?”

“I don’t see that happening either.”

“If I could just cross the middle lane …”

“Yeah, but it stretches for miles in each direction. And even if you found a hole to slip through and you got the car close to mine, how would we do it?”

“We would park the cars right up against each other and you would climb through the windows.”

“Dude, listen to what you’re saying. You’d spend hours getting the car over here and parking it just right, and even if you managed to do all that, there’s no way I can get from this car to yours without them reaching me and scratching me.”

Dan begins to feel his mouth dry up. “Okay, then there’s one option left: we get rid of the zombies.”

William snorts. “You’re gonna find a machine gun and go Rambo on them?”

“I could … I could set them all on fire.”

“Using what?”

“I could drive to Bergen and find some gasoline.”

“That’s not going to work. You’ll just cook me alive in here.”

“What about luring them away?”

“You’d have to get closer to them than I am, and that can’t be done.”

“Okay. Okay, then … then we …” Dan tries very hard to find something to say, but the words escape him.

“Dan, listen,” William says, and there’s that tone of voice again. “I already went over this in my head …”

“No,” Dan says fiercely, suddenly grinding his teeth, staring over at William. “You’re not doing it. You’re not giving up. You hear me? We’re getting you out of there.”

He gets a glimpse of William shaking his head. “Unless I can get this thing started and drive out of here myself, there’s no way,” he says. “Anyway, there’s nothing more you can do. I think you should get going.”

“No …”

“Drive to Bergen and find a ship that’ll take you to Denmark.”

“What about you then?” Dan’s voice is trembling now. “Are you just going to sit there and wait to die from thirst?”

“Eventually, maybe. I’ll try to get the car started first, but I’m not too hopeful. These newer cars can’t just be hot-wired like Bruce Willis used to do in the eighties. But I’ll give it a shot, I promise. I still have power on my phone, so I can probably Google it.”

“Yes, do that,” Dan urges. “Try to get it started. I’ll wait.”

“It could be hours.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“I think you should go.”

“I’m not leaving!”

William sighs. “Yeah, you are. And you know why? Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. You’re going to save the world, remember? That’s way more important than saving me.”

Dan feels like crying. He already left William behind once, but this time it’ll be for real. And he’ll be leaving him with the certainty that William will die.

“Listen, I’ve got your number now,” William goes on. “If I manage to get this thing started, I’ll call you.”

“What if … what if I already left for Denmark by then?”

“Then I guess I’ll try to catch up with you. But these are pretty big ifs, Dan. Don’t count on any of it. Just focus on getting back to that house. End this thing so it won’t all have been for nothing.”

Dan is surprised to hear William’s voice shake. He looks over at him, but when he catches a glimpse of him, William has turned his face away.

“You promise me that, okay? Promise me you’ll see this to the end.”

Dan opens his mouth, hesitating, thinking that he can’t promise that, that if he did, he would be accepting the fact that William’s not coming, and there’s no way he’s accepting that.

“I promise,” he whispers.

SEVENTEEN

Iver is called out of a blessed deep and dreamless sleep.

At first, he can’t recall anything. He’s so tired and just wants to keep sleeping. But something tells him he needs to wake up.

He opens his eyes slowly and with difficulty, finding himself on a couch in an unfamiliar room. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows.

Where am I?

For a moment, he’s sure he was out drinking last night.

Then it all comes back to him.

The ferry.

The undead.

Agnete’s house.

He sits up, feeling dizzy, then goes to the window and looks out. He’s on the second floor and the view over the island is quite stunning. The town off in the distance with all the small, picturesque houses and narrow streets; the green hills and the rose hip bushes along the gravel road leading to Agnete’s house; not to mention the blue water in the horizon, sparkling in the early day sun.

The only thing ruining the image is the many figures waddling around, their movements stiff and unnatural, their clothes wet and tattered, their expressions blank. He can also see smoke rising from something burning somewhere and several of the houses have barred-up windows with dead people standing right outside, trying to get in.

At least we’re not the only survivors on the island.

The thought makes him think of Adam.

When Iver finally returned to the house last night, Agnete and the toddler were both sleeping. Chris went straight to bed and Caroline stayed up, keeping watch. Linda and Leif both stayed downstairs.

Iver goes to the hallway and finds the other two upstairs doors open, both the one to the kid’s room and Agnete’s bedroom. He checks them both and finds them empty.

From downstairs, he can hear someone talking.

He goes down the staircase and finds everyone gathered around Agnete’s dining table. The atmosphere down here is quite different from upstairs, due to the windows all being barred-up and the lamps providing fake lighting instead.

Agnete is feeding Adam, and the rest seem to have finished eating already, judging from the empty plates.

Linda and Leif are seated next to each other across from Chris and Charlotte, like an awkward, mismatched couple’s date out for a brunch that none of them enjoy.

The only one speaking is the radio, that same male voice from yesterday.

“Can we turn that shit off?” Linda says, nodding towards the radio on the counter.

“We need to be kept in the loop,” Chris says.

“Well, he doesn’t really tell us anything we don’t know already.”

“He might,” Chris says calmly, not moving.

“Then we’ll turn it back on later,” Linda replies, getting up and walking to the radio. She shuts it off with a sigh of relief, muttering as she sits back down: “That was getting on my nerves.”

Chris—who can reach the radio from where he’s sitting—reaches an arm out and, without taking his eyes off Linda, turns it back on.

“You don’t call the shots here,” he tells Linda, who’s glaring fire across the table at him. “But we’ll make a compromise.” He then turns the volume down low. “How about that?”

Leif and Charlotte exchange a look, then look at Linda, waiting for her reaction. Even Agnete senses an argument brewing and stops feeding Adam the porridge, causing him to reach for the spoon.

Linda massages the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Chris repeats. He smiles and looks around at the others. “See? We’re already learning to get along here. Now, can we talk?”

“We’re still waiting for Iver,” Agnete interjects.

Iver clears his throat and steps closer. “I’m here.”

“Oh, look who’s finally rested,” Chris remarks, turning to look at him. “Were you tired after your little mission last night?”

Iver ignores him and addresses Agnete. “Did he sleep okay?”

She looks up at him, smiling. “He slept like a log. And he hasn’t stopped eating since he woke up.”

“Well, it’s good he has an appetite,” Iver says, stroking Adam’s head and immediately feeling awkward as he senses the others watching him.

“Is he yours?” Leif asks.

“No, I just … I brought him from the ferry. His mom … well, you know …”

Leif nods with a grim look.

“Sit down and eat something,” Agnete tells Iver in a warm tone. “You must be starving.”

He is, but at the same time his stomach feels very tight. Probably because of the tense atmosphere in the room. He takes a seat by the only unused plate and helps himself to the bread and a slice of cheese.

“Since the rest of us have already been introduced,” Chris says, “I’ll just give you the skinny on Iver here. He’s never used a weapon before, but he claims he’s open to learning. He’s got a soft spot for the baby, as you might already have gathered. Oh, and he’s gay.”

Iver stops buttering his bread to look at Chris, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. That last piece of information was obviously aimed at Linda.

“Was that really essential information?” Iver asks, keeping his voice calm.

“Why?” Chris retorts with a sneer. “You ashamed of who you are?”

Iver shakes his head and continues smearing butter, muttering: “At least I’m not an asshole.”

“Right,” Chris goes on, pretending not to hear. “Let’s talk strategy, folks. We’re together now, whether we like it or not. I mean, you’re all free to leave anytime, of course, but I don’t assume anyone is interested in that? Especially since it means elbowing your way through our hordes of groupies out there, just dying to get an autograph. So, we need to make it work. We need some ground rules. We need to assign jobs and ranks.”

“Did you say something about serving in the military?” Linda asks, sending Leif a wry smile. “Because you sure sound like a drill sergeant right now.”

“I did,” Chris says. “And that’s exactly what we need here: someone to put things into a system. If we’re not organized, then we’re basically just rolling the dice that nothing bad happens. And something bad will happen, trust me.”

Linda crosses her arms. “I don’t trust people I just met.” Chris is about to say something when she cuts him off: “But I agree with you. We need to have a plan for what we do when things turn messy.”

“Exactly,” Chris says, sending Linda a smile which seems for the first time genuine.

She doesn’t return it, though, but looks around at the others. “We’re six people total. Who will be doing what?”

“We need to play to our strengths,” Chris jumps in, before anyone else has a chance. “You, for instance!” He points at Leif. “You’re strong as a motherfucker. We’ll definitely use you for rearranging the rooms and putting up sandbags.”

“Sandbags?” Agnete says. “Where?”

“In front of the doors, of course,” Chris says. “The front and back and the one in the living room. It’ll create much stronger barricades. The number of dead assholes out there is already growing, and I don’t trust the locks to hold back the pressure forever.”

“But where will we get sandbags from?” Leif asks, glancing at Agnete. “I don’t suppose you have any lying around?”

“I certainly don’t.”

“You have several roles of plastic bags in the basement,” Chris says. “And you have a very old concrete floor down there as well. We’ll need to break it open and dig up enough sand to fill at least ten bags.” He looks at Leif again. “This will be another task for you, and—”

“Hold on,” Agnete cuts him off. “Are you saying you want to break open the floor?”

“I do,” Chris goes on calmly. “It’ll give us more than one advantage. For example, it’ll provide us with a load of concrete fragments we can use as defensive weapons.” When the others around the table look at him questioningly, he adds: “I’m talking about throwing shit at the heads of the zombies.”

“And what’s the other advantages that’ll come from destroying my house?” Agnete asks in a cross tone.

Chris sends Linda another quick look, then says in an off-hand way: “We’ll talk about that later. If it becomes relevant.”

Iver glances at Linda just in time to pick up on the almost imperceptible nod she sends back at Chris. Iver frowns. It’s like something implied just passed between the two.

What the hell’s going on? A minute ago they were biting each other’s heads off, and now they’re talking about something they don’t want the rest of us to know about.

Iver looks at Charlotte and sees her eyeing Linda. Her expression is one of ill-concealed contempt, which just makes Iver all the more puzzled, like he missed something.

Did anything happen before I came down?

As Chris goes on, Iver makes a mental note to ask Charlotte about it later.

“I think your role is obvious as well,” Chris says, pointing at Agnete. “You’ll deal with the kid.” He turns to Iver. “I’m sorry, but we need you for other things.”

“Sure,” Iver says in a guarded tone, taking a bite of his bread and trying to act casual. “Like what?”

“You’re fast. I saw you run yesterday. Very light-footed. Graceful, almost. You’re obviously in great shape. I’m sure you can outrun anyone at any time. Especially the dead ones.”

“So, what? You want me to go for a run?”

“Pretty much, yeah. You’ll be our messenger. At some point, we’ll need to send someone out to get something. Provisions, weapons, food, intel, a vehicle, whatever. And you’re definitely our best bet when that situation arises.”

Iver looks over at the kitchen windows. He can’t see the zombies outside, except for when one of them passes by the cracks between the boards, but he can hear them all right. Their moaning, guttural voices. Their nails scratching the glass.

The thought of going back out there, even in broad daylight, is enough to make his blood chill. He doesn’t say anything, though.

Chris doesn’t give him time to respond anyway, but goes right ahead to Charlotte. “You,” he says. “What’s your strengths?”

Charlotte looks like someone just pulled from a daydream. She blinks and straightens up, clearing her throat. “Uhm, well … I have … I’m good at … keeping a level head in … stressful situations.”

Iver never particularly liked Charlotte, but still he feels bad for her. That answer was probably the worst she could come up with, considering how she reacted during the situation with the window yesterday. And he can tell she realizes so even as the words are coming out, because the look she sends Chris is very guilty.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Linda grunts.

Charlotte snaps her head around and glares at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, just coming up with an answer for that question made you all flustered.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know me.”

“Woah,” Chris says. “Let’s try and keep things civil.”

“Civil?” Charlotte blurts out, pointing at Leif and Linda. “Like the way they threatened their way in here? How’s that for civil?”

“Well, now they’re here,” Chris says in a diplomatic tone. “So we need to make it work.”

Charlotte shakes her head and looks at Iver. “You okay with this? With them being here?”

Iver shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Charlotte?”

“You wimp,” she scoffs, turning to Agnete. “And you! This is your house!”

Adam begins crying, providing Agnete with the perfect excuse not to answer. She picks him up from the chair and goes to the living room to comfort him.

Charlotte stands up and glares at Linda.

“Looks like you’re the minority,” Linda says calmly.

“Sit down, Charlotte,” Chris says. “Let’s finish the—”

Charlotte cuts him off: “Just because you want to fuck her doesn’t mean I need to sit here and listen to her crap.”

She then spins around, almost tipping her chair over as she marches out of the room.

“So that’s where the dog is buried,” Linda says, looking at Chris with a sly smile. “She has a crush on you.”

Iver feels stupid for not having realized this already. Come to think of it, the way Charlotte speaks to Chris, the way she looks at him when he talks—it’s been obvious since they left the ferry.

“Well, that’s her problem,” Chris says. “We’ll just assign her kitchen service. She’ll be in charge of rationing and cooking the food. I think she can handle that much.”

“You think she’ll leave?”

Chris shakes his head. “No way. She’s way too much of scaredy cat to go out there alone.”

“Will she be a problem, then?”

“Nah, she just needs to cool off. Adjust to the new situation, I guess.”

Linda nods, apparently accepting the answer. A moment of silence passes through the kitchen. From inside the living room, Agnete is singing to Adam, and he’s no longer crying.

Iver becomes aware of a growing knot in his stomach. This meeting isn’t going at all like he expected it to. It’s obvious that some sort of power struggle is going on, and surprisingly, Chris seems to side with Linda. Considering how Chris has been acting so far, this is very strange to Iver.

Is it some sort of manipulative move? Is Chris paying lip service to Linda? Making her feel like she’s in control by them teaming up against everyone else?

No, Iver doesn’t think so. Chris seems honest enough. He seems like he’s genuinely forming an alliance with Linda.

And once that word pops into Iver’s head, so does the answer.

It’s an alliance. The alpha male and the alpha female. Just like in high school. They’re not threatened by each other’s power; they’re attracted to it.

This makes perfect sense and causes everything to fall into place in a split second. Why Charlotte acted the way she did; she obviously picked up on it way before Iver. Why Chris doesn’t act like Linda is a rival. And why Linda—who was exceedingly suspicious towards Iver yesterday—seems to already have begun trusting Chris.

Iver looks at Leif, who seems like he’s barely attending the meeting but is more interested in his coffee. As big and strong as he is, he obviously has a small ego and steers right clear of any power struggles. Which explains perfectly why Linda was the boss of him when it was only the two of them.

“That just leaves you and me,” Chris says to Linda, looking at her like they’re the only ones at the table and driving home Iver’s theory. “Two roles left to fill. So where do you see yourself in this?”

Linda doesn’t immediately answer, but she unfolds her arms, picks up her fork and begins spinning it slowly between her fingers. Iver notices her nails are long and unbroken.

“I’m good at being in charge,” she says outright. “I used to work in management.”

“I can tell,” Chris says. “So, you want to be the captain?”

Linda still looks at her fork as she shrugs. “I think I’d do better as chief of staff. I’m not good at being the front figure, that was never one of my responsibilities in corporate life.”

“What were your responsibilities, then?”

“Managing internal affairs, mostly.”

Chris raises one eyebrow. “You mean firing people?”

“Among other things, yes. I always had a say in the major decisions. I was just never the one to actually pull the trigger, so to speak.”

“So chief advisor to the captain, then?”

Linda thinks for a moment, then nods. “I think that’ll work.”

“Good,” Chris says, leaning back. “Well, by process of elimination, we only have one seat left, which means I’ll have to be the captain.”

Leif looks like he finally picks up on the conversation and sends Chris a quick nod as way of admission.

“So what’s your first order, Captain?” Linda asks, putting down the fork and finally looking at Chris.

Chris looks back at her for a moment, then takes his cup and reaches it across the table. “That my chief of staff pours me a second cup of coffee.”

Linda looks from the cup to the pot right beside her. Then she smiles at Chris, picks up the pot and says: “You’re the boss.”

EIGHTEEN

It turns out that William was right: driving on the hiking trail is easier than you would think.

Åsaa is a careful driver, and she avoids the worst of the bumps and holes. The car is also very good for driving in this kind of terrain, making only slight swaying motions, almost rocking Dan to sleep as they make their way through the hilly landscape and the day slips into the afternoon.

He’s holding the phone in his hand, still hoping that William will call.

The radio is on, playing soft music. Dan is surprised that some stations are still on.

Getting Åsaa into the car was surprisingly easy; Dan could just drive right up against the car she was standing on and have her jump over. Then he opened the sunroof and she climbed down.

If only getting to William would have been as easy as that.

Dan is close to drifting off when Åsaa says: “There. I see it.”

Dan straightens up and looks ahead. Wedged between two hills is Bergen. The city looks rather strange in the early evening light. Maybe it’s because there aren’t any streetlights on.

“Looks like the power went out,” Åsaa mutters, confirming Dan’s thoughts. “I really hope we won’t find a ghost town.”

“When were the boats supposed to sail out?” Dan asks. “The ones you were told would take you away?”

“This morning,” Åsaa says, clutching the steering wheel. “I fear the last ones may have already left.”

Dan bites his lip. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Within twenty minutes, they reach the city limit. The hills turn into open fields with factories forming an industrial area. They’re finally able to get back onto a road as they head into Bergen.

The city is eerily quiet, and the streets are surprisingly non-cluttered by vehicles. It’s almost like the hordes of people trying to reach Bergen never did, instead getting bogged down on the outskirts of the city. There are plenty of other unnerving things cluttering the streets, though, like clothes, bags, even furniture and tons of broken glass from shattered windows. Dan also picks up on several signs of gunfights; glittering shells are strewn about and now and then he sees cars or building facades covered in tiny bullet holes, making them look like giant homes for insects.

There is also the more obvious telltale: bodies lie on every corner. It’s people of all ages, all sporting more or less visible wounds. Judging from their grey skin, most of them were already dead when they were killed.

Dan tries not to look too closely at their faces as they make their way through the streets.

“Looks like this place was overrun sooner than they expected,” Dan says grimly.

“You think that means the boats haven’t left yet?” Åsaa asks, obvious hope in her voice, as she swerves to avoid a tipped-over shopping cart.

“Either that, or they left even sooner,” Dan says.

The deeper into the city they go, the more zombies also appear. It’s nothing like the horde they encountered out at the highway, more like drifters and small gangs. They seem to be either aimlessly sweeping the streets or gathering around certain buildings.

“Guess someone’s still alive here,” Åsaa remarks, pointing up at a building. From the third floor, a white sheet is dangling from a window. Someone wrote on it in red paint: HELP

Dan has already noticed several places where pale faces are staring out from windows, and he’s guessing that several thousand people might still be hiding in Bergen, as they managed to barricade themselves in their homes.

They cross an intersection where two cars have collided and are left abandoned. A guy is hanging from the open door of one of them, his head busted open.

“Is that the harbor?” Dan asks, pointing ahead to where a blue band has become visible between the buildings.

“I think so.”

As they drive on, the street grows more and more crowded. Several cars are left on the road, and in more than one place, Åsaa needs to drive onto the sidewalk to get past.

There’s the sound of gunfire somewhere. Then silence once more.

A minivan has crashed into a light post and thirty-something zombies have gathered around it, pushing and shoving to get in front, like eager fans hoping to get a glimpse of a celebrity.

“Should we stop and try to help?” Åsaa asks meekly, her voice betraying what she hopes the answer might be.

“No,” Dan says, breathing through his nose as they pass by the group of zombies—a couple of the closest ones turn around briefly to grab at the BMW before turning back towards the minivan. “If we couldn’t help William, we won’t be able to help whoever is in that car either.”

“You’re probably right,” Åsaa sighs.

Dan picks up on a sound of an engine coming closer fast, and he looks in the mirror, expecting to see a car coming up from behind, but there’s nothing.

Instead, a fighter jet comes out of nowhere and swoops overhead. Even inside the car, the sound is deafening for a couple of seconds before finally dying out.

Åsaa and Dan exchange a long look.

“You think … you think they’re going to bomb the city?” Åsaa asks.

“I don’t know,” Dan says. “I hope not. Not as long as there are still survivors.”

But the truth is, he stopped paying attention to the news several days ago. For all he knows, the world could be collapsing and the governments could be at all-out war against the zombies.

“Hey, maybe they’re saying something on the local station,” Åsaa says and turns the radio on to another channel, finding static at first, then a male voice speaking Norwegian in a grave tone.

“… urgent message to the citizens of Bergen: Stay indoors at all times. Avoid contact with others at all cost. This goes for close relatives as well if they themselves have been in contact with an infected person. There’s no reason for panic. Help is coming. The military is fighting the disease and we will win. I repeat this urgent message to the citizens of Bergen …”

Even before the message can play a second time, Dan reaches over and turns the volume down. “He’s lying,” he says hoarsely.

“Maybe he’s just trying to give people hope,” Åsaa suggests.

“That’s still a lie.”

They’re quiet for a moment.

“I watched that clip with the American president,” Åsaa goes on. “You seen it?”

“No?”

“It was yesterday, I think, or maybe the day before that. He said that … if this thing doesn’t get under control soon, they would … ‘use great force’ … I think that’s how he put it.”

Dan vaguely recalls William saying something about it. “He means nuclear weapons, doesn’t he?”

Åsaa swallows audibly, then nods. “Erik was sure this would lead to World War 3. He said America would start bombing Europe to kill the infected before they could reach the States. But he said that the rest of the UN would answer back if that happened, and that would draw Russia and China and India into the conflict.” She shakes her head as her eyes grow distant. “We’ll probably kill each other before the infection can.”

NINETEEN

“You okay back there, Grandpa?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Just watch the road, damnit!”

Liv swerves to avoid a camper left in the middle of the road.

“Christ, you moron!” Grandpa shouts from the backseat. “I told you to look out! You’ll lose the damn thing if you’re not careful, and it’ll all have been for nothing!”

Liv checks the mirror and sees the jet ski strapped to the trailer. It’s rocking back and forth, threatening to topple over, before it comes to rest again.

Getting the jet ski onto the trailer was a nightmare—Liv still can’t believe they actually did it with just the two of them. It is lightweight, of course, weighing only a little over four hundred pounds, but still quite the task for a teenager and her granddad. It took them almost half an hour. Liv will definitely be sore tomorrow.

Getting the jet ski cost them more than just a backache, though.

Liv’s eyes go to the mirror again, and she studies Grandpa. The old guy reminds her of Clint Eastwood as he sits there, clutching his bleeding hand, looking out the window at the buildings gliding by, breathing sternly through his nose, refusing to show any pain.

“We should never have gone in the first place,” Liv says, shaking her head.

“Of course we should,” Grandpa sneers. “We had no choice. You want to get the hell outta here, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then that thing on the trailer is your best bet, believe me.”

“Our best bet,” Liv corrects him.

“Wha’?”

“I said, it’s our best bet. It’ll carry the both of us, right?”

Grandpa already assured her before they went to get the jet ski that they would both be able to fit on it. But now, as he looks up at Liv, Grandpa suddenly seems hesitant. “We’ll see,” he mutters.

“What does that mean?” Immediate alarm in Liv’s voice.

“It means we’ll see,” Grandpa repeats, as though the conversation is over.

“But we’re both going, right? Right, Grandpa?”

Grandpa shakes his head and looks out the window again. “Nah, I’m not coming with you.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because of this.” He holds up the busted, bloody hand, and Liv recoils at the sight. “I’m infected. I’ll be dead soon.”

“No!” Liv cries out.

“Yes. And watch where you’re going! I’m not telling you again.”

Liv forces her eyes back to the road. She can barely think anymore. First Mom and Dad and now Grandpa.

Liv drives through the streets of Bergen, hardly noticing anything. Her mind is suddenly blank.

“It’s probably for the best,” Grandpa goes on in a softer tone. Liv can hear him breathing more heavily now. “I would have slowed you down anyway. Without me, you’ll be going close to seventy miles an hour. You’ll reach safety before nightfall. It’s better that way. You don’t want to be riding around on open waters in the middle of the night.” Liv is about to say something when Grandpa goes on: “You’ve got the food, right?”

Liv just nods.

“And the suit? You packed the suit like I told you?”

“I did,” Liv whispers. “Both of them.”

Grandpa scoffs, then mutters: “Well, I won’t be needing mine. Save it for Solveig.”

Liv bursts into tears.

“Stop that,” Grandpa bites. “You’ll crash the damn car.”

But Liv can’t help it; the fear and pain are just too much. She sobs as she drives on, wiping her eyes repeatedly with her sleeve.

Grandpa doesn’t say anything. Liv never cried in front of him before, and she feels even worse for doing so now.

“It’s okay,” he says in a low voice, almost too low for Liv to hear. “It’ll all be okay.”

Liv looks up at him again, as he leans forward to place his unharmed hand on her shoulder and squeezes it in a gesture of comfort completely unlike him.

“You’re gonna make it, Liv. You’ll go and get Solveig, and you’re both going to be fine.”

“But … but I don’t know … I don’t know where to go …”

“Head north. That’s your best bet. Your parents had a cabin somewhere up there, right? On one of the small islands just off the coast.”

“Yes, but … I have no idea how to find it.”

“You’ll figure it out. Just follow the coast, and use your intuition. You’re a clever kid, you’ll figure it out.”

Hearing Grandpa talk this way, in such an uncharacteristically warm tone, is the most heartbreaking thing of all. And, to Liv’s surprise, it also gives her a tiny feeling of courage. Of hope. Hope that she just might make it. If Grandpa believes in her, it’s possible.

“All right?” he asks, squeezing her shoulder again.

Liv nods. “All right, Grandpa.”

“Good,” he sighs, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I’ll be off soon.”

Liv looks at him. She can see big drops of sweat beading on his forehead. “We’re almost at the harbor, Grandpa. Hang on.”

He shakes his head without opening his eyes. “I won’t make it. I can feel this thing … it’s everywhere …”

A hot and cold shiver runs down Liv’s spine. “You … you need to fight it, Grandpa. I need you … just a little longer …”

He shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, kid.”

The words sound oddly like a goodbye.

Then, before Liv can say or do anything else, Grandpa reaches out his hand, opens the door, leans out and disappears from sight.

For half a second, Liv is under the impression that he felt ill and needed to vomit. Then, as he appears in the sideview mirror, tumbling and rolling around the road like a rag doll, the reality of what just happened hits her, and she begins to scream.

TWENTY

As they cross another block, they finally reach the harbor.

It’s a lot bigger than Dan imagined, bigger than any harbor he’s ever seen back in Denmark. It’s very obvious that Bergen is centered—or was centered, before it collapsed—around shipping.

But speaking of ships, there aren’t any.

Dan imagines that normally, a harbor like this would be filled with everything from ferries to motorboats, yet all that’s left in the water is tons of dropped items like clothes and bags floating around. And more bodies, of course.

The moor itself is packed full of vehicles, some of them military but most of them civilian, parked haphazardly bumper to bumper.

“They all left,” Åsaa says, stopping the car and leaning back in the seat. “We’re too late.”

“Let’s not give up hope,” Dan says. “There might be one left. Can you go farther down that way?” He points. “Looks like there are some smaller piers. Maybe we can find a boat.”

Åsaa gets the car moving again and drives slowly through the maze of vehicles.

Suddenly, another car cuts in front of them, and Åsaa has to hit the brake hard to avoid a collision.

“Oh, Jeez!” Åsaa exclaims.

The driver of the other car doesn’t seem to notice anything. It’s carrying a trailer with what looks to be a jet ski strapped onto it.

Åsaa and Dan both look at each other, then back at the car with the trailer as it makes its way towards the piers.

“I think we should follow them,” Dan says.

Åsaa nods, then drives after the car with the trailer. It stops by the nearest pier, and Åsaa stops too, glancing over at Dan. “You think …?”

“Let’s just wait a minute,” Dan says, not taking his eyes off the other car. “Don’t turn off the engine.”

“Did you see who they were? I couldn’t make out the driver.”

“Me neither. Let’s wait and see who comes out.”

For half a minute or so, no one does. The car with the trailer just sits there, engine idling.

“They must’ve seen us,” Åsaa mutters.

“Or maybe they’re just making sure the coast is clear,” Dan suggests.

Åsaa checks the mirrors. “Maybe we should just get out of here.”

“Why? You see anyone infected?”

“No, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”

“They’ve got a jet ski,” Dan points out.

Åsaa looks at him. “You planning on stealing it from them?”

Dan shakes his head. “They might know where we can find one too.”

“Oh. Right.”

Another thirty seconds pass by. Still nothing happens. Dan can sense Åsaa grow more agitated. He begins to feel tense himself.

“Maybe they’re dead,” Åsaa suggests.

“They were driving just a minute ago,” Dan reminds her—though he’s well aware that’s no real assurance that whoever is behind the wheel of the car is still alive.

“Let’s just—” Åsaa begins, then cuts herself off and points. “Look! They’re coming out.”

Dan sees the driver’s door open. It doesn’t swing open all the way, but just enough for someone to slip out and duck down out of sight. Dan catches a glimpse of blonde hair. It looks like a girl, but it’s too fast for him to tell for sure.

“They’re trying to hide from us,” Åsaa says in a tone of alarm. “They’re up to no good. I’m driving away from here.”

“No, wait!” Dan urges her. “They might just be scared.”

“Or they’re out to kill us! I’m not taking the chance.” She puts the car in reverse, and Dan realizes there’s no talking her out of it. He makes a quick decision, unbuckles and opens his door.

“No!” Åsaa cries out, trying to grab his arm as he steps out onto the concrete. “What are you doing? Get back in here!”

Dan ignores her and raises his arm. “Hello? We just want to talk!”

TWENTY-ONE

Liv crouches down and looks under the car.

She can see the guy from here; standing next to the open door, as though he’s ready to jump back in at any moment. She can’t really blame him for that; she suspects someone infected will show up at any moment. At least he isn’t armed.

“Hello?” he calls out, holding up an arm in a friendly gesture. “We just want to talk!”

He’s Danish too, Liv notices, biting her lip. Should I trust him? What would Grandpa have done?

The thought of Grandpa brings a stab to her heart. The loss is less than half an hour old, and Liv hasn’t even had the chance to process it.

The boy is around Liv’s own age, and he looks honest enough with his blonde hair and big, blue eyes. Through the windshield, Liv can make out the face of a woman maybe fifteen years older. Too young to be the guy’s mother, too old to be his girlfriend. Probably his sister, though they don’t look at all alike.

“It’s okay!” the boy calls, stepping forward a few paces. “Really, we just want to find a way out of here.”

Liv glances up at the trailer, and suddenly, she recalls what Grandpa told her right after they loaded the jet ski:

“We’ll have to be very careful. This thing is worth more than gold now.”

She hadn’t really paid that much notice when he said it, but now the meaning of it is glaringly clear to her.

“Listen, I’m coming over!” the guy goes on, stepping closer to the trailer while holding out his hands. “You can see I’m not armed!”

Liv feels a pang of panic. “Stop right there!” she calls out. “Don’t come any closer. I-I have a gun!”

She stammers at the exact wrong moment, and the lie is all too obvious. She can tell the boy hears it too, because he only hesitates for a moment, before he steps closer.

“It’s okay, I promise, I just want to talk. I’m sure we can help each other.”

Liv realizes there’s nothing she can say to keep the boy from coming over, so she stands up and faces him from between the car and the trailer. Once he gets a clear look at her, he actually stops and smiles.

“You speak Danish,” he says.

Liv’s not sure whether it’s a question. “Uh-huh.”

He points at the jet ski. “Where did you get that?”

“It’s mine. I didn’t steal it.”

“I didn’t say you did. I just asked where you got it. I’m Dan, by the way. What’s your name?”

Liv glances over at the car and the woman behind the wheel staring out at them. Then she looks around to check no one else is sneaking up on them.

“Look, I don’t think we should be out here,” she tells him. “It’s not safe. I’m leaving now. You should do the same.”

She begins to unfasten the trailer, hoping the boy will take the hint and go away.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he says: “You’ll need help with that.”

Liv realizes he’s right, of course. There’s no way she’ll be able to push the trailer to the ramp on her own, much less hoist the jet ski down into the water. Grandpa was supposed to be here to help her, but …

“It’s fine,” she tells the boy, choking back tears now as she yanks the trailer’s handlebar. “I’ll manage. Just go away.”

The boy steps closer, and Liv recoils.

“It’s all right,” he tells her, looking earnest. “I’m not infected.” He flips the safety clamp—just like Liv saw Grandpa do earlier. “There. Now we can decouple it.” He smiles up at her. “Are you going to help?”

Liv takes a deep breath to steady herself, not moving. “Why are you doing this?”

“I want to help.”

“You want the jet ski.”

“I would love to know where you got it.” He looks back at the car with the woman. “We’re just trying to get out of here. Let’s work together, okay? You need our help and we need yours.”

Liv shakes her head. “I can’t help you,” she says. “Even if I wanted to. This is my Grandpa’s jet ski. He was supposed to come with me, but he … he …” Her throat tightens, and she can’t finish the sentence.

The guy seems to get it. “I lost both my parents, too. And my sister. I’m the only one left, really.”

The pain in his voice is bad enough, but it’s the way he says it—in an almost matter-of-fact way—that really gets her.

Her lower lip begins quivering. “My parents,” she whispers. “They died too …”

“I’m very sorry,” the guy tells her. “I know how badly it hurts.”

Liv bites down hard and blinks fiercely to keep from crying. “I got the jet ski from my Grandpa’s home, and I have no idea where to find more. I’m sorry, but it’s only meant for one.”

The guy raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you just say your grandpa was supposed to come with you?”

Liv feels like kicking herself for spilling the beans. “All right, it can carry two people. But it’ll go slower. And it definitely can’t carry all three of us. Besides, I’m going to Denmark.”

The boy raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You are? Why?”

“That’s really none of your business.”

The boy nods and looks from her to the jet ski. “Where did your grandpa get it?”

“I don’t know. He bought it many years ago. It’s been sitting in his garage. I never even …”

Liv stops talking as she realizes the boy has stopped listening. Instead, he’s looking past her.

“What?” Liv says, spinning around and staring into the forest of cars. “What is it?”

“I just thought I saw something,” the guy says. “But maybe it was just—”

“Look out!”

Liv turns around at the woman’s scream. She looks to the car where the door is now open and the woman is sticking her head out, pointing frantically.

Liv turns again to look in the direction, and—

And then she sees him.

TWENTY-TWO

The girl keeps darting glances back in the direction she just came from. She does it as a sort of reflex every few seconds or so, and Dan isn’t entirely sure she’s even aware of it. But it’s obvious that something—or someone—is back there somewhere, hidden between the many cars.

So when Dan spots the old man appearing less than ten yards away, he instantly connects the dots—he doesn’t even need to read the answer on the girl’s face.

That’s her grandfather …

Judging from how the guy looks, he’s either been beaten up pretty badly, or he’s taken quite the fall. His clothes are ripped open in several places, revealing nasty road rash on the skin underneath, his left wrist appears to be broken, and one knee can’t seem to straighten out all the way, giving him an awkward limp. None of that bothers him, though, as he heads straight for the girl, his pupil-less eyes locked on her.

She’s paralyzed for a few seconds, then she begins screaming.

“Get out of there!” Dan shouts, forming a funnel around his mouth. Even though the girl is standing right on the other side of the trailer, she doesn’t seem to hear him.

Dan is just about to move around the trailer to get the girl out of the way when another scream cuts through the air from behind him. He spins around to see Åsaa struggling with another woman around her own age. Åsaa is caught halfway inside the car, unable to pull in all the way, as the attacker is simultaneously blocking the door and getting at Åsaa’s kicking legs.

“Help!” Åsaa screams, writhing and flinging her fist at the face of the woman, who just snaps her teeth, trying to catch Åsaa’s hand midair.

Dan has already taken three steps in the direction of the car, intending to help Åsaa, when she slips and sinks down on her knees, mostly disappearing from sight. The dead woman wastes no time, but bends down immediately, and Åsaa cries out again—this time in pain. The dead woman rears her head back up in a predatory ripping motion, and Dan sees the patch of skin between her teeth and the blood smeared around her mouth—Åsaa’s blood.

Dan stops dead in his track.

Åsaa is still screaming as the woman bends down to take another bite.

From the right comes another figure into view: a man with a blonde beard that’s stained with dried blood. From behind the car, yet another zombie appears and joins in.

Åsaa’s scream is already growing weaker. Her hand reaches up, grabbing for something to hold on to but finding nothing. Two of the fingers are missing.

Dan feels the way too familiar sinking sensation in his gut as he turns away from the scene, thinking to himself in a surprisingly calm voice: I can’t do anything for her now.

It’s harsh, but it’s true.

What’s also true is that in twenty seconds or so, the zombies will lose interest in Åsaa.

Dan needs to act, and act fast.

He turns to the trailer, halfway expecting to see the girl getting eaten alive by her dead grandpa. To his complete surprise, though, the girl has jolted back into action and has jumped up onto the trailer. And she’s not just standing there, either. Instead she’s working to unfasten the straps holding the jet ski, ignoring her dead grandfather who’s trying his best to reach in and grab her.

Dan takes a running start and jumps up onto the trailer, causing the jet ski to sway and the girl to spin around and stare at him.

“Careful!” she tells him. “If it tilts onto the side, we’ll never get it into the water.”

Dan notices the jet ski is sitting on a low but very stern-looking trolley with wheels. The girl moves past him, her hair brushes his face and he catches a scent of lemons which almost makes him dizzy. She goes to unfasten the last of the strops.

“What do you need me to do?” Dan asks, looking at the dead guy moving around the trailer, following the girl while snarling and reaching for her with his broken hand.

“You’ll have to lure him away,” the girl says, nodding in the direction of her grandfather without looking at him. “I need to open the back hatch and lower this thing down.”

“Can you do that on your own?” Dan asks, looking at the jet ski which must weigh around the same as a motorbike.

“Yes!” the girl snaps, sending him a fiery look. “But not unless you get him away from here!”

The last strap gives way with a whoosh, and the jet ski is suddenly free to roll. The girl grabs the handlebar and stops it. And Dan jumps down from the trailer, landing a few paces away from the grandfather—who immediately senses the accessible prey and turns his attention to Dan.

Dan moves away from the trailer, spotting a movement out of the corner of his eye and sees the three zombies who just killed Åsaa. Except now they’ve doubled in numbers as three more have joined them. And they’re all coming this way.

This is a bad idea, Dan thinks to himself as he faces the maze of vehicles. Moving away from the trailer might mean losing it from sight. There’s also the risk of bumping into more zombies lurking between the cars.

As though the thought itself has produced it, a little girl comes crawling out from under the bumper of a car right in front of him, and Dan makes a sharp turn to the right.

He only manages a few steps farther away before a skinny arm shoots out from a half-open window and grabs him by the shoulder. Dan screams and rips free, checking his sleeve to make sure the nails didn’t penetrate the fabric. They didn’t; at least he can’t see any holes in his shirt. The old woman grabs at him eagerly, trying in vain to squeeze out of the opening which is just too narrow.

A groan from behind makes him turn again, and he sees two other zombies coming around the car to get at him.

Dan makes a quick decision and jumps up onto the hood of the car, then onto the roof. The car is just tall enough that the dead people won’t be able to reach him, but as he looks out over the area, that fact brings him little comfort.

The entire harbor is coming alive. Everywhere he sees the dead appearing and moving this way. It’s like someone stuck a stick into an anthill—and Dan is that stick.

This is even worse than back at the highway … in two minutes, we’ll be overrun.

He looks back towards the trailer—and to his relief, he sees the jet ski already on the ground. The girl is pulling the trolley around, headed for the ramp. There are no dead people around her—at least not that Dan can see from here—but they could crop up at any second.

He looks down to see the zombies surrounding the car, like mad groupies at a rock concert, all moaning and trying to reach his shoes. There’s already too many of them for him to jump down anywhere. Instead, he looks over at the neighboring car. It’s a jump of maybe two yards. With a little running start, he should be able to do it.

Dan steps back as far as he can, takes a deep breath, and then he runs before the thoughts can get to him. He lunges himself out over the heads of the clambering zombies—none of them react fast enough to grab for him while he’s in the air—and he lands on the roof of the other car, almost slipping but regaining his balance. He wastes no time but immediately jumps to the next. From here, he can’t reach any other cars, but there are no dead people around yet, so he jumps instead to the ground and makes a run back towards the trailer and the girl—carefully keeping his distance to any open windows and slowing down to turn every corner, so as to not get surprised.

Behind him, he notices the choir of moans and groans growing into a collective cry of hunger as the zombies form a giant mob and move in closer.

TWENTY-THREE

Liv’s hands are shaking so badly, she can hardly operate the trolley. Luckily, though, it’s very straightforward, and it follows along willingly as she makes her way around Grandpa’s car and towards the ramp.

Everything feels like a dream. Things are happening so fast she can barely process them. Yet to her surprise, she finds herself acting with an inexplicable sense of clarity. It’s almost like her brain has switched to an emergency system she didn’t know it had, cutting off anything nonessential and narrowing her senses to focus on just what needs to be done: moving her legs, pulling the trolley, getting the jet ski to the ramp. Nothing else.

No thoughts of Grandpa.

No worries about the woman who just got eaten.

Not even any concern about whether the boy who helped her get off the trailer is still alive.

None of that is of any use to Liv in this moment. And it’s handily blocked off from her awareness.

This must be what people experience in life-threatening situations, Liv realizes as she reaches the ramp and turns the trolley so that the rear end faces the water.

She pulls the handbrake, then kneels down and begins turning the handle, lowering the trolley’s leg, bringing the jet ski closer to the ground.

She’s only managed four or five inches before her left ear picks up a scraping noise from behind. She snaps her head around just in time to see a one-armed guy in a ripped-up T-shirt lunge himself at her.

Liv screams out and twists her body sideways. It’s the only move she has time to perform in the split-second before the zombie closes the distance between them, and it’s just enough to get her out of the way of his single, grabbing hand.

Everything goes to slow-motion.

Liv feels his hand go by less than three inches from her face. His fingers—long and boney—are sticky from blood and get entangled in a lock of her hair, ripping it from her skull. Liv can feel the strands of hair give way one by one.

Then the rest of the guy goes by—his arm, his shoulder, his face, pale and stubbly-bearded—and he crashes into the trolley, connecting his jaw squarely with the metal side bar.

Again, with Liv’s senses working on overdrive, she hears the sound of bone breaking all too clearly, and she catches a glimpse of a molar as it spills out the corner of the guy’s mouth.

Then, like someone hit a button on a remote control somewhere, everything jumps back into regular speed.

Liv finds herself stumbling backwards away from the trolley as the guy struggles to regain his bearings after likely giving himself a fairly decent concussion. He slips back into action surprisingly fast despite this, getting to his feet and rounding on Liv. His jaw looks to be dislocated, as it’s sitting almost an inch to the side, giving him a wondering look.

Liv backs up, drawing him purposefully closer to the water, prepared to run the other way around him as soon as he makes a move for her.

Liv never gets to execute that plan, though, because right then she catches a movement out the corner of her eye. It’s a reflection in the side window of Grandpa’s car, showing a figure coming at her fast from behind.

Liv realizes in a flash there’s no time to get out of the way, so instead she spins around, flinging her right hand out with a shrill cry. The back of her hand connects with the side of the face of the dead person about to jump her.

Except he isn’t dead.

And he wasn’t about to jump her.

Liv stares in amazement as the guy stumbles backwards, his hand going to his cheek, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh,” she says stupidly. “Sorry. I thought you—”

The guy looks past her and cries out: “Watch out!”

Liv jumps to the side just as a heavyset figure with long, curly hair covering most of the face grabs for her. Liv doesn’t have time to see whether it’s a guy or a girl, and she doesn’t care either way. She just runs to the trolley and begins wheeling the handle around. “Keep them away!” she shouts at the boy.

He dodges the fat zombie—who turns out to be a woman after all, at least judging from the bra visible through a hole in her shirt. “There’s no time!” he shouts back. “They’re already here!”

Liv darts a look around and feels her gut sink. The deads are coming from every angle. Dozens of them. The closest are seconds away.

The guy jumps over and grabs the trolley. “Get it in the water!”

“It’s not lowered!” Liv protests, but finds herself pushing along nonetheless.

The trolley rolls down the ramp and splashes into the water, the jet ski swaying dangerously from side to side before finding its balance. The trolley sinks and disappears from sight.

“Come on!” the guy tells her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her out of the way as an old guy in pajamas comes lumbering out from behind the car, drooling and revealing his pink, toothless gums.

Liv needs no further invitation; she runs down the ramp and jumps out into the water, landing next to the jet ski, the guy right behind her.

Liv has never been in water fully clothed, and she’s surprised to find how much heavier she feels. She needs to paddle her arms forcefully to keep from sinking. Luckily, though, the water is lukewarm from baking in the sun all day.

The boy swims in front of her, grabs onto the jet ski and tries to pull himself up, but the weight of him causes it to almost topple over.

“Wait!” Liv cries out, spitting water. “Stop that! We’ll have to board it from the stern, or it won’t work!”

The guy lets himself drop back into the water, spluttering: “What’s the stern?”

“The rear end! Here, follow my lead!”

She swims to the back of the jet ski. Again, it’s a lot harder than had she been wearing her swimsuit and a life vest, and it takes all her strength to hoist herself up. But she manages.

“Now you!” she calls out.

Just as she looks down at the guy, he disappears from sight, a look of surprise on his face. It looks like something dragged him down, and for a terrible moment, Liv is thrown back into one of her childhood nightmares where strange, giant undersea creatures would drag her down to the deepest part of the ocean and drown her.

Of course, this part of the port can only be a few yards deep, and two seconds later, the guy breaks the surface again, heaving and coughing.

“What are you doing?” she shouts at him.

“They’re … underwater!” he splutters, grabbing for the jet ski.

Liv looks back towards the ramp, and what she sees her makes her skin crawl. All the commotion in the water has pushed the jet ski a fair bit out from the dock, which is lucky. Because the zombies are marching right into the water, disappearing one after another below the surface.

“Oh, crap,” Liv mutters.

Then she decides there’s only one thing she can do: get the hell out of Dodge. She turns to the handlebars, plunges her hand into her pocket, takes out the key and inserts it into the ignition.

TWENTY-FOUR

Dan feels the hand grope his ankle again, trying to get a hold of his leg. He kicks frantically, splashing to get to the rear end of the jet ski.

He’s almost made it when the jet ski roars to life.

“Wha—” he begins asking, but is cut off when the hand suddenly grabs his shoe and pulls him down.

Dan swallows a mouthful of salty water and uses his free leg to kick at the hand. It’s hard to kick underwater, though, and he feels more hands grabbing for his other foot. Instead, he twists his ankle and slips out of the shoe, allowing him to reach the surface and breathe in air once again.

“… hand! Now! Come on! Grab it!”

Dan coughs and blinks and sees a hand waving wildly in front of his face. The girl is reaching down for him, and Dan uses what’s left of his strength to raise his arm and grab hold of the girl’s hand.

She immediately guns it, and the jet ski jumps forward, almost causing Dan to slip free, but the girl squeezes his hand tightly and drags him along.

As they begin moving through the water and picking up pace, Dan feels the hands grace his feet a few more times, before they’re gone. He twists his neck to look back and sees the zombies streaming into the water like lemmings, splashing and groaning before sinking.

“Hold on!” the girl calls, concentrating on steering the jet ski with one hand. “I’ll take us to a safe distance, then pull you up.”

Dan tries to tell her something—he’s not completely sure what, maybe “thank you”—but his head slips below water again, and he’s already out of breath, so he needs to save it.

His thoughts are reeling too, spinning around the fact that one of the deads just touched his ankle, even pulled off his shoe. What will he find when he checks his skin down there? He can’t feel anything, but that’s no assurance. There could very well be scratch marks from the zombie’s nails …

After half a minute or so of Dan holding on to the girl’s hand while trying to keep his head above water, the jet ski slows down and comes to a halt, bobbing in the low waves.

“Right, you need to move to the stern,” the girl says, nodding her head in the direction.

Dan just stares up at her, not letting go of her hand.

“You can do it,” the girl tells him. “You need to let go and swim.”

Dan is suddenly terrified of loosening his grip. As soon as he does, he might get pulled under. And he doesn’t have the strength left for fighting back. He doesn’t even have the strength for talking, so he just stares pleadingly up at the girl’s face outlined against the sky, hoping to communicate his fear without words.

“It’s okay,” the girl tells him, seemingly catching the message. “Here, I’ll help you.” She twists and leans back at an awkward angle, holding his hand as she guides him back.

Dan swims clumsily. It’s only a few feet, but the water feels like fast-drying cement around him, and he can barely move his body. Finally, he reaches the rear end and grabs hold of the bar he saw the girl use.

There’s no way he’ll be able to pull himself up like she did, though.

The girl slips free of his grasp, and for a moment Dan is afraid she’ll tell him to just climb up—she might as well ask him to climb a mountain wearing a fat-suit. But instead she swings her leg over, enabling her to turn around.

Dan reaches up his hand, but the girl doesn’t take it. Instead, she slips her hands down into the water and under his armpits. In doing so, she leans close enough that Dan’s face gets buried in her long, golden hair, and he picks up that sweet scent of lemons once more. He feels like closing his eyes and going to sleep into that smell.

Then she leans back and pulls him with her, raising him almost waist-high out of the water. “You’ll have to do to the rest!” she groans in a strained voice.

Dan climbs forward clumsily, heaving for breath and grabbing on to whatever he can find. He manages to crawl aboard the jet ski, ending up lying halfway over the girl. He would have felt awkward if he wasn’t so exhausted.

The girl slips out from below him, maneuvering back around with impressive agility while keeping her balance. She takes hold of the handlebars and looks back at Dan. “Sit upright. And hold onto me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Dan mutters, regurgitating and letting out a salty burp. He leans forward and places his arms around the waist of the girl, leaning his cheek against her back. His hands meet in front of her and he interlaces his fingers.

Then he closes his eyes.

The girl tells him something else, but Dan can’t pick it up; he’s drifting off. The last thing he perceives is the jet ski starting to move again.

TWENTY-FIVE

Liv keeps her right hand on the handlebar, throttling the gas and steering the jet ski across the mild waves, while her left is clasping the guy’s folded hands pressed against her stomach.

They’ve been riding for half an hour, maybe more, and Liv’s arms are reaching exhaustion.

The coastline is going by on their left, alternating between smaller harbors, beaches and cliffs. The beautiful landscape of southern Norway would normally have been quite the sight, yet Liv hardly notices.

Now and then she sees figures out there, on land. A few of them are waving at her—probably gesturing for her to stop and bring them along—but most of them aren’t waving, they’re simply staggering straight out into the water.

Liv shivers at the thought of how many of the infected are walking around the seabed below them. She makes sure to never slow down the jet ski.

The sun is sinking and the temperature is too. Her clothes have mostly dried in the lukewarm air, and so has her hair. The guy sleeping against her back helps to keep her warm. Still, she wishes she had brought the wetsuits, but those are forever lost back in Grandpa’s car. She didn’t give them a second thought during the panic of getting the jet ski in the water.

The thought of Grandpa makes Liv’s stomach tighten. She feels the tears press behind her eyes, but she blinks to keep them back.

Focus on Solveig. She’s all that matters now.

The guy mutters something, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Are you waking up?” she asks over her shoulder. “Good, because I can’t hold you much longer …”

The guy doesn’t answer. He’s still leaning against her. But now he’s tilting to one side.

“Hey! Sit upright, or you’ll fall!”

Liv eases off on the gas but can’t let go of the handle. She holds on tighter to his hands, but he’s still slipping, muttering in her ear: “Cut that out, Jennie …”

“No, you cut that out!” Liv tells him, wriggling from side to side, trying to shake him awake. The movement doesn’t wake him up, though, and now he’s leaning out over the water, threatening to fall in. Liv leans to the other side to counter the balance. “Hey, you! Wake up, damnit!”

Still no response from the guy. Liv’s grasp on him is slipping, so she pinches the back of his hand with her nails.

“Ouch!” he cries out, jerking his hand back and finally coming to. He sits up straight, and Liv looks back at him. He stares around in confusion, blinking and clearly trying hard to remember how he ended up on a jet ski in the middle of the ocean.

“You awake now?” Liv asks.

He looks at her, then nods. “Yes.” He looks down at his hand. “Did you … pinch me?”

“I had to. You would have fallen in.”

He looks down at the water, then seems to suddenly recall what is lurking down there, because his expression changes. “Holy hell … I almost drowned …”

“Yeah,” Liv nods. “You almost did.”

“They were down there,” he goes on. “In the water. I felt them grabbing my—” He cuts himself off with a gasp, then bends down to check his ankle. After a few seconds, he sits back upright with a sigh of relief. “I’m not hurt.”

“No, you would have been dead by now if you were.”

“It can take up to several hours.”

“They said on the radio it’s more a matter of minutes.”

“Well, I’ve seen it go both fast and slow. Depends on the wound, I guess.”

There’s a moment of quiet between them. The jet ski drifts softly along on the waves.

He looks at her in earnest. “Wait, so you saved me?”

Liv shrugs. “I guess so.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Sorry for passing out like that, by the way. I haven’t slept well for days.”

“Me neither. Look, mind if we get going? I don’t like sitting still out here.”

“Sure.”

“You okay to drive?”

“I think I would prefer waiting a little, if that’s okay. I feel pretty groggy.”

“That’s fine. I can go another ten minutes. Just hold on to—”

He slips his arms back around her waist.

“—the handles on the sides,” Liv finishes.

“Oh, sorry,” the guy says, taking away his arms again.

“No, that’s okay. Whatever works for you.” Liv feels the heat rise to her cheeks and feels stupid. She keeps looking ahead, making sure the guy can’t see her face.

He wraps his arms around her again, and Liv speeds up.

“I had no idea they could live under water,” he says in her ear. “Were they, like, swimming?”

“I think they were walking on the bottom. I’m sure their lungs are filled with water. If that’s true, then they wouldn’t be able to float.”

“I guess that makes sense.” A moment passes, then he suddenly asks: “Wait, are we going south?”

“Yeah. I’m headed for Denmark. I’m sorry, but that’s not up for discussion. If you want off, I can pull over anytime.”

“No!” the guy says. “No, that’s perfect. I’m going to Denmark, too! I just thought you were lying when you said you were going there.”

Liv glances back at him. “You are going to Denmark too? Why?”

“That’s a really long story.”

“Is Jennie there?” The question slips out before she can think it through.

The guy doesn’t answer right away. “How do you know Jennie?”

“I don’t. You just mentioned that name in your sleep.”

“Oh. Right. I remember now. I had a dream.” His voice trails off.

“Is Jennie your girlfriend?”

The guy scoffs. “No way. She’s my sister. Was, I mean.” Those last three words are so full of pain, Liv regrets she asked.

“I’m sorry.”

The guy doesn’t answer.

“I’m going back to find my sister,” Liv tells him. “She’s still in Denmark. At least she was when I spoke to her yesterday. I haven’t been able to get hold of her since then. I hope … I hope she’s okay.”

“I’m sure she is,” the guy tells her.

Silence for a moment, except for the hum of the engine and the rhythmic sounds of the waves hitting the jet ski.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” the guy asks.

“I didn’t tell you. It’s Liv.”

“I’m Dan.”

“Right, you said that.”

“How long will it take us to get to Denmark?”

Liv glances down. “We’re going close to sixty-five miles per hour, so I guess that’s five or six hours.”

“That’s a long ride. You got enough fuel on this thing?”

“There’s an extra tank at the back. My Grandpa made sure of that. So we wouldn’t have to pull over and find more gas.”

“Great. So, we’ll reach Denmark at around, what, midnight?”

Liv glances down at the dashboard again. “It’s only six o’clock now. We should be there at eleven.”

“Where exactly is your sister?”

“We lived in Viborg.”

Liv can feel Dan jump a little. “No way, that’s where I lived! And that’s very close to where I’m going. Sounds like we might as well go together.”

“Sure.”

Another pause.

Dan breaks the silence once more: “You want to tell me how you ended up in Norway?”

“I was visiting Grandpa when this … thing happened.”

“I see.”

“How about you?”

“Well, we were trying to get away. Originally, we were headed for the Faroe Islands.”

“You and the woman back there?”

“No, I just met her this morning. I was travelling with a group of people from Denmark. We, uhm, split up.”

Liv glances back at him. “Creative differences?”

Dan snorts. “I suppose that’s not a bad way of putting it. I was the one who wanted to go back to Denmark, and the others wanted to press on.”

“So, who are you going back to find? I thought you said you lost your family?”

“I did.” He pauses. “I’m not going back because of them. Well, I guess I am, in a way.” He pauses again. “I’m going back to try and stop this thing.”

TWENTY-SIX

It takes him the better part of an hour explaining everything to Liv.

He begins with how he agreed to go along on Jennie’s paper route and ends with how he and Åsaa reached the harbor in Bergen.

He doesn’t skip any parts, but tells her everything. The death of Jennie, his mom and his dad. How they reached and later lost the safe house. How they got the helicopter and ended up in Norway and how he convinced William to go with him back to Denmark—and how that sealed William’s fate. He even tells her everything about the voodoo and why he thinks it holds the key to stopping the pandemic.

It’s a long story, and a personal one. He feels awkward telling it to a person he just met. But the way Liv simply listens, and maybe helped by the fact that he can’t see her face, makes it surprisingly easy to keep talking. It also has a therapeutic effect; it’s like his mind needed to put everything in order, to sum up this last, awful week of his life where everything has been turned upside down.

Once he finally stops talking, he feels both exhausted and relieved.

“Well, you were right,” Liv says. “That was a long story.”

“I know, sorry about that.”

“Can you drive a jet ski? My hands are freezing.”

Dan blinks. “Oh, sorry, I completely forgot we were supposed to switch.”

“Don’t sweat it. Can you drive it?”

“I never tried it before. But I guess I can give it a shot.”

Liv slows down the jet ski and leans sideways, showing him the dashboard. “Let me give you a crash course. It really is very simple. You just need to keep it at full throttle and then concentrate on steering. If you turn too sharply, you’ll throw us both off. But there’s a safety thing that probably won’t allow you to. See that thing there? That’s a digital compass. You just follow the coastline until it’s pointing west, then let me know and I’ll take over again.”

“All right. How do we switch?”

“It’s not going to be easy without one of us going into the water. But let’s try. Me and my sister did it once. Come forward as far as you can.”

Liv scooches up against the handlebars, and Dan follows her.

“Right, now lie down on your back.”

“What?”

“Just trust me.”

Dan leans back and lies down on the seat. He lifts his head to see Liv look at him over her shoulder. “Now, try to be still. Don’t lean to either side, or we’ll both go in.”

“Uhm, okay,” Dan says, feeling both awkward and exposed as he lies there with no idea of what’s going to happen or how this will help them switch seats.

Then Liv raises herself up and moves backwards, climbing over him. Her buttocks pass right in front of Dan’s face, and Dan is so unprepared for it, he has no idea how to react, so he simply shuts his eyes firmly.

He can sense Liv hover over him when she says: “Right, here’s the tricky part. Now you sit up.”

He opens his eyes and hoists himself up, feeling Liv grab his shoulders for support. They wobble for a second but manage to regain balance. Dan grabs the handlebars for support and Liv sinks down into the seat behind him.

“There,” she breathes. “We did it.”

Dan is too flustered to say anything, so he just clears his throat and focuses on the dashboard.

“You remember what I told you?”

“Yeah, sure. I just need to turn the handle like this, right?”

He twists the throttle carefully. The engine growls louder and the jet ski begins moving forward.

“You got it,” Liv says, moving in closer and putting her arms around his waist. “If I nod off, remember to tell me when the compass points west.”

“I will.”

He feels her leaning her cheek against his shoulder blades. She shivers gently all over.

“You freezing?” he asks.

He can feel her nod. “My hands are like ice.”

Sitting up front, he understands why; even though the wind screen blocks most of the oncoming air, it’s still a lot cooler than sitting behind the driver. Especially his hands are taking the worst of it.

“You can put them in my pockets, if you want.”

The suggestion slips out before he can think about it.

He can feel Liv sit a little more upright. “You sure?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

She hesitates, and Dan looks back. “What?”

“There’re no holes in them, are there?”

“Holes in what?”

“In your pockets.”

“No. Why would there be—” Dan cuts himself off, then looks back at Liv. “You thought I wanted you to …? Jesus, no!”

“Good,” she says earnestly. “Just making sure.”

“Well, don’t worry.”

Liv slips her hands into Dan’s pockets, curling them up into fists. Even through his pants, he can feel how cold they are against his thighs.

Dan can’t help but snort with laughter. The situation is simply too weird and awkward.

“What?” Liv asks in a defensive tone.

“It’s just … I can’t believe you … sorry, just forget about it.”

“Well, you’d be surprised,” she says. “Some guys never miss a chance.”

“I just told you I lost my entire family!” he blurts out, and he can’t help but laugh some more. “Trust me, the last thing that’s on my mind is getting a hand job.”

“Good,” Liv says, and even though her voice sounds tight, he can tell it’s because she’s close to laughing, too. “My hands are so cold right now, I’d probably turn it into an icicle if I touched it anyway.”

A moment of tense silence passes between them. Dan has to fight hard not to laugh. He feels almost giddy. And it makes him wonder if he’s lost his mind. That image of his penis all blue and frosty just keeps popping into his mind.

Then Liv begins sniggering, and it’s all the trigger Dan needs to burst into shrill laughter. She joins him, and they laugh like crazy for almost a minute. Dan’s eyes run over with tears, and he has to slow down the jet ski.

Finally, the laughter dies down.

“Oh, well,” he says, coughing. “Glad we got that out of the way.”

“Yeah, me too,” she tells him, still hiccupping with laughter.

As they ride on, Dan feels a strange sensation pulsating in his chest. It’s something he hasn’t felt for days. It almost reminds him of being carefree, how it’s like to have no worries bearing down on him, no giant loss weighing down his heart.

Even it’s just for a few moments.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Iver spends most of the day either in his room upstairs, trying to call his parents, or helping Agnete take care of Adam.

So far, he hasn’t been able to get in contact with either his mom or dad, and he suspects the worst. He did receive a short message from his mom yesterday, though, which gives him a slight hope they might be okay.

Tried calling you many times, no service. Heard about the ferry! Hope you’re okay, honey! Please, please call when you can. Dad and I are heading to Oulu in Finland. The military sent busses to evacuate the city. Running out of battery soon. Will call again ASAP. Love you so much. Mom.

The image of his parents being escorted to somewhere safe by the military is comforting, but still he bears no illusions about how rampant this thing is, and that even military protection might not be a guarantee for safety.

Another thing that worries him is RuPaul. Thinking of his best friend being home alone in the apartment makes his heart hurt. Luckily, though, the cat is used to Iver being away for a week or so. He has access to plenty of food and water, so in theory he could survive for months without anybody coming to check on him.

Except he would be pissed at Iver for a day or two—he always is when Iver comes home after a week of work.

But the thing that worries him the most is his own situation. Surprisingly, it’s not so much the dead people outside. Chris has already started organizing the reinforcement of the doors—meaning that he sent Leif down into the basement with a sledgehammer to break open the floor—and they still have plenty of food and water for at least some days.

No, the thing that really worries him is what’s happening between the living people inside the house.

All day he’s been hoping for a chance to speak with Charlotte, but she’s stayed in the guest bedroom downstairs and not answered when Iver knocked on the door. She didn’t come out for lunch or supper, either.

“She’s not hungry?” Linda asked as the rest of them gathered around the meal that Agnete prepared for them.

“She just needs a little more time, I’m sure,” Chris said and dug in with a healthy appetite.

“I hope she’s okay in there,” Agnete remarked.

“Sure, why wouldn’t she be?” Chris said, and then he changed the subject.

Iver heard music playing from inside Charlotte’s room when walking by earlier, which means she’s at least still alive in there.

Charlotte finally comes out an hour after supper. She goes straight to the kitchen and opens the fridge.

Iver is by chance walking through the kitchen just at that moment. “Hey. You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Charlotte says, not turning around.

“You want to talk?”

“No.”

She walks right past him, carrying some leftovers from supper.

“Hey, wait up. There’s something I need to talk with you about.”

Charlotte doesn’t answer or even stop.

Iver catches up with her and stops her right in front of the guest room by grabbing her arm.

“Let go of me,” she sneers.

“Listen,” he says in a low voice, glancing towards the living room. He can hear the television going in there. “We need to talk. I don’t like her any more than you. And I think we might be in trouble.”

Charlotte looks at him briefly, then shrugs. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I think she’s playing him somehow.”

Charlotte gives him an unpretty smile. “Of course she’s playing him. She runs the show now.”

“You know Chris a lot better than me. Why is he letting himself be manipulated like this?”

Charlotte scoffs. “Isn’t that pretty obvious?”

“Okay, but … isn’t there some way we can talk to him? Make him see what she’s doing?”

Charlotte takes a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand, Iver. But Chris is your typical guy. As strong as he is, she’s got the magic wand that’ll make him do whatever she wants. Trust me. If she hasn’t fucked him already, she will soon.”

With those words, Charlotte steps into the room and shuts the door before Iver can ask anything else.

He just stands there for a couple of minutes, chewing his lip. Fake laughter from the living room. They’re watching a sitcom in there.

Iver becomes aware of the sound of banging from the basement. It’s a low, rhythmical sound, and it’s been going on all day. He thought Leif was done for the day, but apparently, he’s working late.

Iver goes and looks into the living room. The television is showing an episode of Friends. It’s the one where Rachel quits. Iver loves that show, and for a moment, he gets lost in the story.

Then he notices only one person sitting there. And it’s Leif.

“Where are the others?” Iver asks, stepping closer.

Leif turns his head. “Oh, sorry, is it too loud? I can turn it down.”

“No, it’s fine. You seen the others?”

“Agnete said goodnight half an hour ago and went upstairs.”

“What about Chris and Linda?”

Leif shrugs. “Linda went out to the garage for a cigarette. Chris, I don’t know.”

“He must be down in the basement,” Iver mutters.

Leif looks at him. “Why you figure that?”

“I heard someone working down there just now. I thought it was you.”

Leif grins and holds up his hands, showing his palms sporting a couple of large, red blisters. “Nah, I’m done for the day.”

“Jeez,” Iver says. “Shouldn’t you put bandages on those?”

He shakes his big head. “Agnete already gave me some ointment. Nice lady, that Agnete. She reminds me of my own mother. She died just last year. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Iver says.

“Well, I’m not,” Leif says, nodding towards the boarded-up window. “I’m actually thankful that she doesn’t get to witness this.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Iver says. “You’ve got any other family left?”

“Only Linda.”

Iver raises his eyebrows. “You guys are related?”

Leif nods. “She’s my niece.” His smile falters. “She came to me all broken and crying. Poor girl. She lost everyone, you know. Her husband. Her stepdaughter.”

“I’m sorry for her,” Iver says.

“Yeah, me too. But she’s a fighter. She was determined to survive. It was her plan coming here, you know. I hadn’t given it a thought, going away on my boat. This thing wasn’t even looking that bad when she came to me; it’s like she knew it was going to really hit the fan. She’s clever, my Linda is.”

Iver nods. “I can tell. Well, I guess I’ll go to bed too.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Leif says, yawning. “I’ll turn this off in a minute, get some shut eye myself. Got another hard day tomorrow.”

“You should probably let someone else do the rest of the floor down there.”

“Oh, the floor is already done. No more hammering needed.”

“Well, that’s good.”

Iver notices the blanket and realizes that Leif will be sleeping on the couch. On the other couch is another pillow and blanket, which must be meant for Linda.

The thought makes Iver move restlessly on the spot. Something is nagging him, but he can’t quite place what it is.

“Well, goodnight,” he tells Leif and leaves the living room. Leif doesn’t answer—he’s already lost in Friends again.

Walking towards the stairs, Iver notices the banging from the basement again. And suddenly he realizes what’s gnawing at him: Leif just told him he already finished breaking up the concrete floor down there.

Iver crouches down in the middle of the kitchen and puts his ear closer to the floor. The sound is a little louder now. And faster.

What’s he doing down there?

Iver decides to check it out. He goes through the hallway to the back of the house, where Agnete has a laundry room which is also where the stairs for the basement are.

He opens the door and makes it three steps into the room before he sees Chris. He’s halfway hidden behind a rack of clothes hanging to dry.

Chris is facing the washing machine. Iver can only see the upper part of his body and the lower part of his legs, which—to Iver’s immense surprise—are bare, his jeans forming a pile around his ankles. Another pair of legs—slimmer and hairless and still wearing socks—are wrapped around Chris’s waist, which goes back and forth, producing a low banging with every thrust as the washer hits the wall.

Iver is too dumbstruck to do anything except stare.

Chris gives off a hoarse moan, and someone else moans too. Iver manages to take a stumbling step backwards, hoping to leave the room without being seen. But he walks right into the door, making a noise.

Chris turns his head, looks at him and stops thrusting. His face is all red and sweaty, his eyes dreamy. “What are you looking at, you fucking faggot?” he groans in an out-of-breath voice.

Iver is too stunned to answer. He just gapes and shakes his head. Then Linda’s head comes into view as she leans forward.

She looks at Iver briefly, then leans back again and sighs: “Didn’t you lock the fucking door?”

“I thought I did,” Chris tells her.

“Well, get him the hell out of here.”

“Go!” Chris roars.

Iver scrambles out of the room and slams the door. He runs upstairs and goes to his room. He sits down on the bed, then gets back up. Sits down again, then gets up a second time and begins pacing the room.

So many feelings are hurricaning around inside him, he can barely identify them. Shame, disgust, fear and shock.

When he’s finally able to sit back down and stay seated, one clear thought shoots through his head: Well, I guess Charlotte was right …

TWENTY-EIGHT

The sun has crept to the horizon and just dipped below it.

They’ve been taking turns driving the jet ski, switching places every half hour or so. Though the warmth of the day has slipped away, Dan’s clothes have dried up by now, and he isn’t freezing—except for his hands.

They reached Danish shores an hour ago and have been going inland since then. In most places, the channel is narrow enough that Dan can see land on both sides. Now and then a lonely house or perhaps a tiny village glides by. He hasn’t seen any people yet—living or dead—which he takes to be a good sign.

“I was sure it would be swarming with them here,” Liv says in his ear, like she read his thoughts. “I mean, we’re basically headed right for ground zero.”

“I know,” Dan mutters. “I thought so too. But come to think of it, wouldn’t it make more sense for them to leave? Like, would they really just hang around when everyone living had either fled or become zombies?”

Liv thinks for a moment. “No, I guess you’re right. They seem to be always on the move towards the nearest prey.”

“Exactly.”

A moment of silence.

“We’re almost there,” Liv says, pointing ahead. “In a couple of minutes, there’ll be some sandy banks coming up on our right. I think that’s a good place to land.”

“Right. How far to Viborg from there?”

“Twenty miles or so. Maybe a little less.”

“Really?” Dan asks, glancing back. “I thought it was much farther.”

“Trust me, I’ve driven this way several times when I went jet skiing with my sister. I know this bay and the area around it.”

Dan can’t believe his luck in not only finding a ride to Denmark, but also one who knows how to get to where he’s going and knows the way so well that he can keep his cell phone turned off, saving those last precious percentages on the battery for calling Dennis once he gets to Holger’s house.

Which reminds him.

“So, once we get to shore,” he says, looking straight ahead, “are we going to split up?”

A few seconds before Liv replies: “Depends on exactly where you’re headed, I guess.”

“The house is a few miles outside of Viborg. It’s on Mill Road, if that tells you anything?”

“The one north of town?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“That’s nowhere near where I’m going.”

Dan feels an unexpected stab of regret. “Oh. Okay.” He realizes how much he was hoping for Liv’s company. Well, anybody’s company would have done, really. The thought of going that last distance alone is what scares him.

It’s like in The Lord of The Rings, he hears a thought tell him. It sounds eerily like William. At the very end, Frodo had to do the most difficult part on his own.

“But we can go to Viborg together,” Liv says. “If we can find a car, I’ll drop you off on Mill Road and go on to find Solveig.”

“That would be great,” Dan says. Then it hits him. “You know how to drive a car?”

“Sure. Don’t you?”

“I’m not old enough to have a driver’s license.”

Liv scoffs. “Me neither. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive a car. So, you’re telling me you never even tried it?”

“Well, I tried it once, earlier today. But it was only a few minutes.”

“Why haven’t you tried it before?”

Dan shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m just … not into that kind of stuff.”

“Not into driving? I thought all guys loved anything with a motor.”

“Not me.”

“Then what are you into?”

Heat begins rising to his cheeks, as Dan suddenly feels like he’s under investigation and needs to defend himself. “I don’t know. Reading and stuff.”

“Like, books?”

“What’s wrong with books?”

“Nothing,” Liv says, and Dan can hear she’s smiling. “You’re not really a tough guy, are you?”

“I never said I was.”

“I just figured you had to be, since you managed to survive this far.”

“Well, I guess that counts for something, right?”

“Meh, could have been luck.” She’s obviously teasing him now.

Dan shakes his head. “It’s a shame you didn’t get to meet William. He would have loved you.”

“It’s here!” Liv says, leaning closer. “Pull over.”

Dan turns in the direction she’s pointing and slows down the jet ski as they approach the banks.

“Hey, there’s a car!” Dan exclaims, as a dark blue van appears from behind a row of trees lining the banks. “Maybe if the keys are in it, we can use that.”

A moment passes before Liv answers. “Oh, no,” she whispers.

“What?” Dan says in alarm, scanning the banks, ready to turn the jet ski away and gun it. “You see something?”

“That’s … that’s my dad’s van.”

“Oh,” Dan says.

Liv already told him how both her parents died when a dead person barged into their living room, while her sister narrowly escaped by climbing out the window. Afterwards, her sister called Liv to break the bad news over the phone. That was the last time they spoke.

“I’m sorry you have to see his van,” Dan says. “I’m sure it’s not nice being reminded of what happened to—”

“You don’t get it,” Liv cuts him off, her voice thin. “My dad didn’t drive it here …”

“No, of course. Then maybe someone stole it?”

“Why would they come to this exact spot? This is where we always used to go.”

Dan stops the jet ski completely, letting in bob gently in the low waves twenty feet from shore. “So you think your sister drove it here?” he asks, turning to look at her.

“I’m afraid so,” Liv says, biting her lip.

“Why would she do that?”

“To get away, of course. We only use the van when we need to transport the jet ski.”

“Oh,” Dan says again, finally catching on. “So she left the country. I guess that’s a good thing. It means she’s alive.”

“It also means I won’t be able to find her. Come on. Ride it up all the way. Careful, it’ll stop once you hit the bottom.”

Dan does as he’s instructed. The jet ski meets the sand, stops abruptly and tilts gently to the side, allowing them to get off and walk up onto land while only getting their feet wet.

Dan is only wearing one shoe and makes a mental note to find a new pair as soon as possible.

Liv heads straight for the van. It’s parked facing the water, so it’s not until now Dan can see the rear, and he realizes the back doors are open.

“Be careful, okay?” he calls after her.

“I will,” she calls back.

Dan turns slowly and checks the surroundings in the dying light of the day—a habit he’s developed over the past few days without really thinking about it.

Then Liv screams.

Dan spins around, expecting the worst. But she’s just standing there, staring into the back of the van, both hands clasped over her mouth.

“What is it?” Dan shouts, moving closer. He can’t hear anything from inside the van, which means it’s probably not a zombie.

He stops next to Liv, who still hasn’t moved, and looks inside.

The back of the van is empty except for a person lying on her side, eyes closed as though sleeping. She looks exactly like Liv with the only difference being her clothes—she’s wearing what Dan takes to be a wetsuit.

She’s lying in a pool of dark, dried-up blood.

TWENTY-NINE

The shock of seeing Solveig dead is a lot worse than seeing Grandpa—despite the fact that Solveig really is dead and hasn’t turned into a flesh-eating monster.

The way she just lies there, looking like she’s sleeping, waiting for someone to come wake her up, makes a stream of childhood memories go flying by in a flash—her and Solveig waking up together on a sunny Saturday morning, the two of them on the beach, Solveig smashing Liv’s sandcastle, that day they both learned to ride a bike, hi-fiving each other—and it’s all too much for Liv, she can’t take it in, not all at once.

She turns away and collapses to the ground, feeling Dan rush in from the side to catch her awkwardly. He helps her down to the ground gently, and Liv curls up and begins crying.

She cries for the longest time.

Liv usually never cries, and she hates to do so in front of Dan, whom she hardly knows. But she has no real say in the matter; she can either cry or the pain will rip her right open.

Finally, the worst seems to pass—at least for now—and she’s able to sit up.

Dan is standing guard by the van.

“What … what happened to her?” Liv hears herself croak as she wipes her wet cheeks.

Dan looks at her, and his eyes are full of empathy. It looks like he considers for a moment lying to spare her the truth, but then he just tells it plainly: “Someone killed her with a knife. I think they did it to get the jet ski.”

Liv nods and sniffles. “That would make sense. Solveig would never give it up voluntarily.”

“I’m very sorry,” Dan says. “I know how you feel. I know nothing I can say will make it easier.”

Liv gets to her feet. It feels like climbing a mountain. She manages to do it, though, and she brushes the dirt from her pants. Then she looks in at Solveig, and it’s almost enough to get the tears flowing again. She breathes deeply to keep them in.

Dan says nothing; he just stands there, giving her time to do or say whatever she feels like.

“You know,” Liv murmurs. “That thing they say … about twins having this special connection?”

Dan looks at her. “Uh-huh?”

Liv shakes her head. “It’s bullshit … I didn’t feel anything when she died … I had no idea …”

Dan nods and looks away.

They just stand there for a few minutes more.

“Do you want to bury her?” Dan asks softly.

Liv hasn’t even considered it. But now that she does, the answer seems obvious. She looks out over the bay. The sun has gone down now, and the summer night is almost dark, its deep purple color is reflected on the water. It looks immensely peaceful. Bottomless.

“She loved the water,” Liv says. “We both did. I think if she could choose, she’d prefer going there, not in the ground.”

“All right.” He hesitates. “You want me to do it?”

“No,” Liv says firmly. “I’ll do it.”

She steps up into the van. Bending over Solveig, her hand stops in midair. Instead of grabbing her sister and hoisting her up, Liv finds herself caressing her hair. It’s soft and dry.

Liv’s eyes fill with tears. “Damnit,” she mutters, turning away, not wanting to show Dan she’s crying again, but her voice betrays her as she croaks: “You do it.”

She leaves the van and stands there, holding herself and watches as Dan lifts up Solveig and carries her from the van as gently as possible. He puts her down by the shore, steps out into the water and drags her along. As he shoves her gently out into the stream, Solveig turns facedown, and her hair spreads out like a giant sunflower.

Then, just as the stream begins moving her out towards open sea, she slips below the surface and she’s gone.

Liv keeps staring at the place the water swallowed her up, fresh warm tears running down her face.

Dan comes over. He stands beside her, not looking at her. “Anything else you want to say?” he suggests in a low voice.

“I’m starving,” Liv says. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Dan looks at her with mild surprise. “Me neither. There’s food in the van. She brought a whole bag of it.”

Liv just nods. The thought of eating the food Solveig had planned for the trip is strange. Like her sister will be doing her one last act of kindness.

“Well, that’s it,” Liv says, turning to face Dan with a sudden determination. “I’m the only one left now. Just like you.”

The smile on Dan’s face mirrors the underlying pain Liv is feeling herself. “I guess we’ll get used to it.”

“Probably.”

“So, where do you want to go?”

Liv breathes deeply. “I have nowhere to go. Not anymore.”

Dan says nothing, but Liv can sense him eyeing her.

She looks at him and asks: “You want me to come with you?”

He shrugs, pretending not to care as much as he obviously does. “If you want. The only thing is, I promised the guy to come alone, so he can’t know you’re there. If you choose to come, that is.”

Liv nods slowly. “You really think you’re going to stop this thing?” The question comes out a lot harsher than she intended.

Dan doesn’t seem to mind, though. “I’m going to try anyway,” he says earnestly.

“Well, I guess I have nothing better to do,” she says, shrugging. “Let’s go save the world then.”

THIRTY

Since the episode in the laundry room, Iver has been lying on the bed in the upstairs room, brooding.

The shock of seeing Linda and Chris go at it has worn off, and he’s made an effort to shake most of the accompanying uncomfortableness too. Yet what remains in his stomach is the same feeling from earlier, that gnawing of something he can’t place, except now it’s even stronger.

As he’s lying there in the darkness, feeling his pulse throb behind his eyes and listening to the faint choir of moans coming from outside, sleep seems very far away.

Finally, as the clock passes 11:00, he decides to get up and do something. He’s not sure what, but simply lying around worrying about something he can’t place is maddening.

So, he gets dressed and slips out of the room. He checks on Adam. The toddler is sleeping soundly in his crib, hugging a teddy bear.

Iver opens Agnete’s door as well, peering in and seeing the old lady sleeping under the blanket.

At least they’re okay, he thinks, slipping downstairs.

Not that he suspected anything would be wrong with either Adam or Agnete. He’s just not sure what is wrong—except that something is; he grows more and more certain with every minute.

He stops in the empty, dark kitchen and listens. From the living room he can hear Leif snoring. He steps closer and peers in there. Linda’s couch is empty. The blanket has been moved aside, which Iver takes to mean she was lying there earlier.

Was she waiting for Leif to fall asleep? And once he did, did she get up? Get up to do what? Maybe she’s just out for another cigarette.

Or maybe she and Chris are going at it again.

Or maybe Linda is up to something else, something much more sinister.

Iver turns towards the hallway leading to the laundry room. He feels a sudden prickle of goose bumps down the back of his neck.

Where is Chris, anyway?

He was supposed to take the first shift, staying awake and keeping guard in the kitchen. But he’s nowhere to be seen.

Iver notices the fridge door being ajar and he goes to close it, when he sees the empty shelves inside.

He frowns. Did someone go on an eating spree? No, the fridge had been packed full of food; no one could eat all that in one go.

But then where has it gone?

Iver is getting really nervous now. He goes to the hallway, stepping lightly, holding his breath as he approaches the door to the laundry room. He stops in front of it and listens. Nothing.

Then there’s a noise from the opposite door, the one leading to the garage. Iver stares at it. It’s standing ajar, and a faint glow is coming out from there.

He reaches out a hand and opens the door just enough for him to look out into the garage.

Leif’s car is parked there, the engine off but the headlights on, pointing at the closed garage door. On the other side, Iver can hear the deads scratching away eagerly.

Linda is standing by the open passenger door, smoking a cigarette. She’s wearing a sweater which looks like it belongs to Agnete.

Chris is busy loading stuff into the backseat. He’s wearing his black jacket and boots.

The trunk of the car is open, and from where Iver is standing, he can see plastic bags full of stuff—the stuff from the fridge. Both weapons are also there, along with the boxes of ammo, piles of clothes, spare shoes and other stuff.

“You done soon?” Linda asks in a low voice, dropping the cigarette and stepping on it. “I thought you said we needed to move fast.”

“I did,” Chris says, going to the shelves and helping himself to different tools. “I just need a few more things, and we’re out of here.”

As the full picture is finally revealed to Iver, he finds himself stepping into the garage without really thinking and without making any attempt to hide himself; he’s simply too outraged.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

Linda jumps and Chris spins around, dropping a hammer, which lands with an awfully loud clatter on the concrete floor.

“Holy shit, you gave me a scare!” Chris says.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Linda hisses at Chris. “That’s the second goddamn time he walks in on us …”

“Where are you going?” Iver asks again. His heart is pounding hard enough to make his vision go fluttery. “Are you sneaking off in the middle of the night? With all the food and all the weapons? Are you really doing that?”

He looks from Linda to Chris. Linda just stands there, staring back at him, licking her teeth with her pink tongue.

Chris throws out his hand—the one not holding any tools—and tries for a casual smile. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Really? Because it sure looks like you’re about to fuck us all over.” Iver is surprised to hear his own voice jitter from rage. He hardly ever swears, but he’s so angry, he can’t help himself. “How did you get Leif’s car in here? Does he even know?”

“Could you keep your damn voice down?” Chris asks. “We don’t need to wake up everybody else …”

“No, that would ruin your plan, wouldn’t it?” Iver says, still talking loud enough that he hopes someone will hear him. The living room is a little too far away for Leif to wake up, but maybe Charlotte can hear him, as her room is closer.

“Could you deal with him?” Linda asks Chris.

Chris doesn’t take his eyes off of Iver. “Listen, dude, let me explain this to you, all right? It’ll make sense.” As he talks, he steps closer to the car.

Iver picks up on what Chris is doing and acts before he has even time to think. Iver steps to the trunk of the car—he’s closer than Chris, so he has time to yank up the rifle and point it at Chris.

Chris—who was obviously planning on doing the exact same thing—stops dead in his track and holds up his hands again. “Woah, dude! What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Linda exclaims at Chris. “Just take it from him! It’s not loaded.”

“It is,” Chris says. “I made sure.”

“What? Why would you drive around with a loaded rifle?”

“Because we might be needing it fast. I didn’t want to waste time fiddling with the bullets while a fucking dead guy was gnawing away at me.”

Linda sighs. “You idiot!”

Chris darts her a look. “What did you call me?”

“You can leave if you want to,” Iver says, addressing both of them. “Take your sick love affair as far away from here as you please. But you’re not taking all the food with you. Get that out of the trunk.” He waves the rifle at Chris, but Chris doesn’t move.

“Okay, listen. You caught us. All right? No need to do anything crazy now. Let’s just talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Iver says, straining to keep the rifle steady. He’s shaking all over. His finger is curled around the trigger. Just seconds earlier, he was furious enough to shoot the rifle if he needed to. Now, actually holding it, he feels a lot less certain he can do it.

“I want to explain what we’re doing here,” Chris goes on, “and why you should join us.”

“What?” Linda exclaims. “No way we’re bringing that faggot.”

Iver feels a sudden urge to swing the rifle over and point it at Linda instead. But that would be a mistake. First of all because Linda is shielded by the open car door. And secondly, Chris is only four or five steps away and might be tempted to close the distance and wrestle the rifle from Iver if he sees the chance.

“Just take the fucking rifle from him already,” Linda goes on. “He’s not going to use it. Look at him. He’s pretty much pissing himself.”

“Could you shut the fuck up for a moment?” Chris says through gritted teeth.

Linda sends him a mean look, but doesn’t say anything.

Chris looks at Iver. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to leave. We get inside that car, all three of us, we open the garage door, and we plow through those dead fucks outside. Okay?”

“And what then?” Iver asks, feeling sweat run down his back. He realizes he’s doing the same thing as Chris now: stalling him. He’s still hoping that Charlotte or anyone else will come. “We’re on an island, you know. You can’t drive off to anywhere else.”

“I contacted a guy on the east coast over the radio. He has a boat. He’ll take us along in exchange for a weapon. That’s why we need to bring both.” Chris nods down at the rifle in Iver’s hands.

“And where are you going to sail to? There are dead people all over Europe.”

“We’re going to St. Petersburg.”

Iver frowns. “To Russia?”

Chris nods. “I was stationed there. I know some guys, some real tough guys. They have military complexes over there like you wouldn’t believe. Bunkers that are meant to sustain decades of nuclear war.”

“Why are you telling him all this?” Linda cries out. “I told you already, he’s not coming!”

Chris pretends not to listen. “If you keep your cool, you can come with us. You don’t have to go all the way to St. Petersburg if you don’t want to. But you need to get off this island. You know that, right?” Chris raises his eyebrows. “It’s a death trap here. I was hoping the dead couldn’t cross water, but they can. Meaning that more and more of them will be coming, until this whole place is swarming and you can’t step a foot outside. What will you do then, once your supplies of food run out? Grow a wheat field in the living room?” He shakes his head. “We need to scram while we can.”

Iver realizes the rifle has dropped a few inches, and he lifts it back up. “Then what about the others?”

“We can’t bring the whole island with us.”

“No, but I’m talking about Agnete and Charlotte and Leif. And Adam.” Those last two words make his voice tremble. “Are you just going to leave them to die?”

Chris shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry. I really am. But they’re dead regardless.”

“Not if they get to come!”

“There’s no room. Look at the car—it’s already packed full. Besides, an old lady, a scaredy-cat, and that big dumb guy in there … they’re all just liabilities.” Chris takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “Come with us, Iver. Seriously.”

It’s the first time Iver hears Chris use his name. It was probably intended to instill trust, but Iver feels even more repelled. He steps back. “I’m not leaving them.”

“Listen, this is no longer about doing the right thing. It’s too late for playing the hero. That’s for when the world can still be saved.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero. I just can’t leave them to die.”

“Then you’ll die too. And for what? You’ll just be another corpse. Another fucking zombie the rest of us will have to deal with. You’ll be part of the problem, man. Don’t do it.”

Iver breathes shakily a few times. Then he looks over at Linda, who’s been following the conversation keenly. “What about you? You okay with leaving your uncle like this? Without a word?”

She doesn’t answer, just keeps boring into him with those piercing blue eyes.

“Jesus,” Iver says. “You two really deserve each other.”

“Okay, listen,” Chris says. “You can take the baby with you. If that’ll ease your conscience.”

“What?” Linda asks. “Are you insane?”

“I’m negotiating,” Chris says, staring at Iver. “Go upstairs and get him now. We’ll make the car ready.”

Iver considers for a moment. He really does. He hates himself for it. He knows he can’t trust Chris. But he also knows he’s most likely right about the outlook of staying on the island.

Still, the thought of leaving the three others behind is too much for him. Besides …

“You’ll just drive off while I’m upstairs,” Iver says, his voice sounding weak now.

“We’re not leaving without that rifle,” Chris says. “It’s our ticket out of here.”

Iver shakes his head. “I’m not doing it.”

Chris’s expression changes slightly. It grows darker. “Then you understand you leave me no choice, right? If we can’t make a deal, I’ll just have to take the rifle from you.” He steps closer.

“Stay back!” Iver says, his voice breaking. His back hits the wall next to the door.

Chris doesn’t stay back. In fact, he’s about to lunge at Iver.

Then a big, broad figure steps in through the doorway. “What’s going on here?” Leif asks in a groggy voice, peering around at them with narrow eyes. “What’s all the commotion about? Hey, how did you get my car in here?” Leif sees the rifle in Iver’s hands. “And what the heck are you doing, Iver?”

Chris hesitates.

So does Iver.

None of them knows what to do or say.

Linda does. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she says and steps over to the wall and presses a button.

A metallic rattling as the garage door begins lifting.

“No, no!” Chris cries out. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You guys figure things out,” Linda says as she slips in behind the wheel. “I’m done talking.”

She slams the door and the engine roars to life. The garage door is halfway open by now, revealing a forest of legs, the most eager of the zombies already crouching down to duck under it.

Linda revs up the engine and guns it, the car lurching forward, tires screeching as she blasts into the rows of undeads, plowing through them, dead bodies flying off to the sides, the roof of the car scraping against the garage door.

“Fucking bitch!” Chris bellows after the car as it leaves a trail of busted-up zombies behind. The ones not getting hit are entering the garage, reaching out eagerly for the three of them all just standing there.

Iver can’t move. He’s stunned with horror. All he can do is stare as death comes waddling right at him …

THIRTY-ONE

Dennis watches the sun go down, fondles the gris-gris and tries to imagine he’s back home and that everything is normal.

Sitting in the upstairs room of Holger’s house, he can almost fool himself. There are no dead people visible from up here. No one pointing guns at each other.

Yet he can hardly recall what “normal” feels like. For the past week, nothing about the world has been normal. And Dennis doubts it will ever be so again. Everything has been tainted by something new and crazy.

Like the gris-gris. Just touching it reminds him of how he risked his life getting it back.

Or this very room he’s sitting in. It was the room that he and Mom carried Holger’s body to, so that Dennis could push him out of the window.

He glances down at the windowsill. Next to the gun he sees the brownish stain. Holger’s blood.

He looks back out and sees Silas and Jonas’s truck. It’s still there, a few miles up road, lying on its roof, abandoned. He can just make it out in the twilight.

Dennis takes a deep breath and looks back out at the horizon, to the place where the sun went down. It’s weird how the sun is still going about its business, rising and setting exactly like it’s always done. Come to think of it, it’s probably the only thing still acting normal, and that’s probably why Dennis has been sitting here for the past hour, just watching the sun dip slowly in the sky. He feels comforted just looking at it.

Footsteps from the stairs. The door creaks open behind him.

“Dennis?”

He turns his head to look at Mom standing in the doorway. She’s wearing her nightgown, her hair pulled up in a knot.

“It’s late. We should go to bed.”

“I know, Mom. I just … want to sit here a little longer. Is that okay?”

He asks the question without really thinking about it; it’s old habit, really, asking Mom permission for even the smallest things.

Yet something in Dennis’s voice reveals that he isn’t really asking. Mom can hear it too; Dennis can tell from her face.

“What are you doing up here, anyway?” she asks.

“I’m just …” Dennis shrugs, then realizes Mom is looking at the gris-gris. “Praying,” he finishes.

Mom raises her eyebrows. “Oh. When did you begin doing that?”

“When everything changed, I guess.”

Mom nods slowly. “Good. I’m glad.” She breathes deeply. “Well, try not to stay up too late. We’ve got work to do tomorrow. I need you well rested.”

“Sure, Mom,” Dennis says, thinking to himself that Mom has no idea what kind of work they might be doing tomorrow. “I’ll come down as soon as I’m done praying.”

This time, when he uses the word, it sounds a lot more like a lie. Like he’s telling Mom something she wants to hear to avoid telling the truth.

Dennis has never taken to Mom’s beliefs. It’s obviously very important to Mom, but for some reason she has never tried to push it on Dennis. Dennis always assumed she wanted him to find the interest himself when he was ready, but at the same time, he often gets the feeling that Mom is somehow private about it. Not that she’s keeping anything secret from him or hiding the rituals or prayers, but there’s a subtle sense of her wanting not to share it with him, almost like she’s protecting him from something. Like it’s a bad habit she doesn’t want him to catch.

“Mom?” Dennis says, just as she’s about to close the door.

She looks in at him. “Yes, Dennis?”

“You don’t need to look out for me anymore. I can take care of myself now. Actually, I can take care of both of us.”

Mom eyes him for a moment, then glances at the gun in the window, then back at Dennis. “Okay,” she simply says. There’s no good or bad in her tone. No concern and no encouragement.

Then she closes the door and leaves Dennis to himself.

Dennis looks down at his bag. The satellite phone is in there. He’s kept it with him all day, waiting for it to ring. Mom probably hasn’t noticed it missing from the dock down in the bunker.

It hasn’t rung, though.

And now it’s almost midnight.

The guy—Dan—told Dennis they would be here today. Maybe he lied. Maybe it was all one big prank.

But Dennis doesn’t think so. Dan sounded very honest.

“You need to trust me,” he said, and something in his voice made Dennis believe him.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe the guy was a very good actor. Dennis is no stranger to being pranked and bullied. He’s well aware of how mean people can be.

Dennis glances at his watch. It’s eleven forty-five now. Only fifteen minutes left of the day. Fifteen minutes for the guy to keep his promise.

And then he sees it. A few miles up road, close to where the truck is. Another car comes this way.

It could be anybody, of course, but it’s the first car Dennis has seen all night.

It stops next to the flipped-over truck. Dennis squints. He can see someone getting out. The person just stands there, next to the car.

Then there’s a ringing from the bag.

Dennis jumps and grabs for it, fumbling out the satellite phone. He stares at the display, recognizing the number from yesterday.

He answers the call, his heart in his throat, barely able to gulp out: “’ello?”

“Dennis?”

Dan’s voice.

Dennis nods. “Yes. It’s me.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re still up. I’m almost at Holger’s place now.”

I know, Dennis thinks. I can see you.

But for some reason he doesn’t want Dan to know. “All right,” he says in a neutral tone.

“We still have an agreement?” Dan asks. “I’ll come unarmed, and you’ll let me in through the underground entrance?”

“Sure,” Dennis says.

“And what about your mom?”

“What about her?”

“Have you told her I’m coming?”

Dennis is about to answer, when the door on the passenger side of the car suddenly opens, and a person steps out. It’s a girl, blonde hair and blue shirt. Dennis just stares at her for several seconds.

“Dennis? You still there?”

Dennis blinks. Then nods. Then he says: “Yes.”

“Have you told your mom about me?”

“No.”

“Good. So everything is ready for me to come?”

“I guess so.”

“Right. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay. Oh, one last thing.”

“Uh-huh?”

“You’re coming alone, right?” Dennis stares intently at the girl as he asks the questions. “It’ll just be you? No one else?”

Dan hesitates for half a second. Dennis can see him looking over at the girl. Then he says: “Sure. It’s just me.”

Dennis feels his stomach drop. He manages to squeeze out an “Okay.”

“I’ll see you in a bit, Dennis.”

Dan disconnects.

Dennis doesn’t lower the phone. He just stares at the girl and the guy, talking briefly before getting back inside the car.

Who else is in that car? How many people is Dan bringing? Why was he lying? What is his plan?

That last question seems like the easiest to answer.

Dan wants the safe house back. That’s been his plan all along. All of that stuff with curing the deads—that must have been just talk.

As the car gets moving, Dennis finally puts down the phone.

Instead, he picks up the gun. He turns it over slowly in his hands, looking at it, admiring the small details.

Dennis breathes deeply, feeling surprisingly calm.

He has fired the gun before, but never at anyone living.

He has a strong feeling that that is about to change.

THIRTY-TWO

It’s close to midnight. The clock on his phone tells him so. His palms are sore from drumming the steering wheel.

When he was a kid, he wanted badly to be a drummer in a heavy metal band, like Lars Ulrich from Metallica. If one Dane could make it big in the States, why not two?

He spent many hours practicing and he even put together a band that lasted for a few months. They had a couple of gigs in small places before they began arguing constantly over their creative differences, and finally broke up.

That was when William decided he needed to fly solo instead. And being a rock drummer wasn’t the way he would achieve success; instead, he’d become famous as a tattoo artist in LA.

He watched every episode of Ink Masters again and again, studied the craft and practiced drawing whenever he had a spare moment.

But he never got to America.

He needed more money before he could make it happen. And post Nine-Eleven, green cards weren’t exactly easy to come by.

William blinks and comes to. He stops drumming the wheel and looks at his hands. They’re red and swollen.

None of it matters anymore.

He isn’t going to be a drummer or a tattoo artist.

His fate has been sealed.

From the backseat, Ozzy is breathing and whimpering now and then. The dead guy with the neck tattoo is still hanging from the broken passenger door window, effectively serving as a stopper for the rest of the undeads, still trying tirelessly to squish themselves past but so far, no luck.

It’s just a matter of time, though.

Sooner or later, the dead guy in the window will tilt backwards or be pushed all the way through, and it’ll be open season for the rest of them.

“Who’d have thought we’d end like this?” William asks, hardly aware he’s talking aloud.

In the rearview mirror, he sees the German shepherd raise his ears and look at him.

Ever since watching his first zombie movie, William has played with the thought of the dead arising and taking over the world. He’s even come up with specific plans for how he would deal with it if it happened.

And it did.

His first move was to contact Holger and get to his safe house.

Holger is dead now, and William will soon follow him.

So much for that plan.

Yet William had always imagined he would be one of the guys making it to the end. He would survive the apocalypse. He was clever, he was young and healthy. He would take the situation seriously and not fall prey to any of the cliches: trusting someone who can’t be trusted, trying to save someone who is already infected, going into situations that are obviously death traps.

And now, as he thinks back on the last week, he realizes he’s made all of those mistakes and then some.

He left the safe house. He let himself be talked into trusting Eli. And the most recent one: he rushed to get the car without making proper precautions.

This last one turned out to be the one sealing his fate.

And now he can only wait to die.

He reaches a hand back to pet Ozzy, and the dog licks his palm in return. “Sorry I got us into this mess, buddy. I’m a total screw-up.”

The area under the steering wheel is a chaos of wires hanging out. William spent almost twenty minutes breaking it open and even longer meddling with the wires until he finally gave up.

Hot-wiring a car engine sure isn’t as easy as eighties action moves make it look.

William had no idea what he was doing, and his phone didn’t have any internet connection, so he couldn’t Google it. Also, he wanted to save that last nine percentage of the battery.

Running his tongue across his teeth, he can feel all too well how long it’s been since they last met a toothbrush. The sweet taste of the Oreos he found in the glove box earlier still lingers in his mouth, and he regrets eating them now. Not only because of the nauseating aftertaste, but also because they gave him calories enough to last another day.

With all of the water the woman brought, it is obvious that she wasn’t planning on coming back anytime soon; William found at least six large bottles of tap water in the trunk, next to a suitcase crammed full of women’s clothes.

He went through it in the hopes of finding the keys for the car, checked it thoroughly.

Nothing.

As he climbed back onto the front seat, he made sure not to look down at the woman or her open skull. The stench was bad enough on its own; he didn’t need to see her as well.

He dozed off earlier, when the sun went down and the temperature began to drop as well. But he only slept for twenty minutes at a time, waking again and again at the sound of the zombies, plagued by half-dreams that the woman in the back turned out to be not really dead but still able to get up and attack him.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” William tells Ozzy. “And another long day tomorrow.”

Sharing the water with Ozzy, they’ll have enough to last several days.

William doesn’t want to hang around for that long, though. And his subconscious has already begun playing with dark thoughts. Thoughts of alternative endings. He still has other options than dying slowly from thirst, trapped in a car surrounded by zombies.

He could simply open the door.

It would be painful, but quick.

He couldn’t do that to Ozzy, though. Letting the dog see him getting eaten alive.

There was also the more offensive option of going out swinging. He could bring the rifle and just begin shooting. He could probably take at least a handful with him before they got him. The end result would be the same as the first scenario, though.

Then there was the last option.

The one he thought of as he went through the woman’s suitcase earlier. She had packed a carton full of cigarettes. The woman had obviously been a heavy smoker; if packing your essentials for going away forever included cigarettes, you obviously had a habit.

This also meant the woman must have had a lighter somewhere. William didn’t find it in the suitcase, which was probably a wise call by the woman, not putting something able to produce fire in with your last belongings.

Instead, she probably kept it in her pocket.

William could get it. All he needs to do is reach back and grope for it.

But he really doesn’t want to touch her. The thought scares the living hell out of him. It’s like touching her means running the risk of her waking up. It is absurd, of course. But his brain is already growing paranoid.

If he got the lighter, though, he could end things quickly and painlessly. He could light a fire inside the car, suffocating himself and Ozzy within minutes, putting them both gently to sleep.

Or, he could try and reach the gas tank. If he could get to it and light the fire there, it would all be over in a blink of an eye. Plus the added advantage of taking a dozen or so of the dead folks with him.

That might be his favorite choice.

He glances at his phone on the seat next to him.

Seven percentage left now.

Just enough for one last call.

He has been close to calling his mom several times, but what holds him back is that he has no idea what to say.

Should he pretend everything is fine? Should he just tell her he called to check in on her? Or should he be honest and break the bad news to her?

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t listen to his mom’s voice without breaking into tears. He didn’t want that to the last time she heard him speak.

So, he decided on a text message. Cheesy, maybe, but also a lot easier. Also, surprisingly easy to write. He typed it in earlier. Two short sentences.

Love you Mom. Take care of yourself.

It was on his phone right now, as a draft, waiting for him to hit send. He will do it right before the end. Making sure she doesn’t have time to call him once she reads the text.

William takes a deep breath. “So, buddy, what do you say? You want to wait until tomorrow? Or should we do it now? Get it over with while we still have the guts to do it?”

Ozzy eyes him intently in the mirror, trying to understand the words.

It’s insane of course that Ozzy will have to go out with him. The dog isn’t in any kind of actual danger; he could leave the car and walk right through the forest of dead people without them giving him a second look. He could go away and find food and shelter and a new best friend to take care of.

But William knows he won’t do that, even if William tried to force him. Ozzy would rather die than leave his side. Quite literally.

“I’m not sure I want to spend the night here,” William mutters, glancing out at the dead faces. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

Besides, the guy in the window has shifted a little now, and William can’t reach him without risk of getting scratched by the others. The thought of the corpse being pushed aside while he slept would be enough for him not to get any sleep.

Maybe it was better ending it sooner rather than later. While he still felt relatively okay. While he still had the will power.

I could get the lighter at least.

The thought makes his stomach clench. Which just proves to him that it won’t be easier later on. So, he reaches his hand down, finds the woman and fumbles his way towards her pocket.

His fingers feel the fabric of her coat. Then they meet something cold and squishy, like oat meal someone dropped on the floor.

He recoils for a moment, then closes his eyes and bites down hard, forcing himself to continue. After half a minute of searching, his hand finds her pants pocket and slips down there. He can’t help but feel how cold her skin is.

Then his fingers find the lighter. He pulls it out and realizes he’s been holding his breath. Dropping the lighter on the seat next to him, he breathes heavily and wipes his hand on the side of the seat.

He sits there for a minute or so, eyes closed, catching his breath, feeling his heart pound away in his throat.

You need to do it, he tells himself. Before you can’t. If getting the damn lighter was that hard, imagine how setting the fire will be if you wait much longer.

William begins to cry. It’s been a long time since he did that, and he’s forgotten how it feels when tears spill over and run down your cheeks.

“All right, buddy,” he says, sniffling and breathing faster. “Let’s get it over with. You ready?”

Without looking at it, he picks up the phone and hits send, feeling suddenly determined, while at the same time having the queer sensation of moving in a thick haze.

It’s done, he thinks dreamily as the text flies off into the ether. I’ve said my goodbye. Now I can’t go back.

He picks up the lighter and—

* * *

Want to know how it all began?
Get the FREE prequel novella Day 0 at
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Table of Contents

- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO