“Mads?” Krista sobs, shaking him gently. “Mads?”
“It bit us all,” Mads repeats in a hoarse whisper, not opening his eyes.
Krista shakes her head. “I think he’s unconscious. Oh, no, he’s bleeding so much … what should we do, Mille? How do you make it stop?”
Mille doesn’t answer. She’s not hearing Krista at all. Something else has caught her attention. Over by the bus, another figure has appeared. It’s a girl, maybe Renée, judging from the yellow top. She runs stumbling right out onto the wheat field while looking back constantly. Another person emerges from the bus. It’s the old guy, the one Mille saw through the window. His scrawny, blood-covered frame is very recognizable, even from this far away. He staggers after Renée who gives a shriek and runs faster once she sees him.
Mille feels her heart beating in her throat. Somewhere, Krista says her name. Mille just stares at Renée, who luckily is increasing the distance from her pursuer—right up until she stumbles and falls over.
The old guy speeds up, like a predator sensing prey, reaching out his thin arms eagerly as he trudges through the knee-high wheat. Renée just manages to get back up, when the zombie grabs her hair and pulls her back down.
Thankfully, Mille can’t see what happens next, as both figures disappear into the golden wheat. But she hears Renée’s scream.
Krista also hears, because she turns to look back. “What was that? Someone else made it out?”
“No,” Mille says.
The sound of a car horn makes her spin around. For a moment, she hopes it’s the ambulance, but it’s not. A silvery station wagon is approaching them and slows down. A middle-aged Arab sticks his head out the window and asks in broken Danish: “Accident happen? He hurt?”
“Yes!” Krista says. “You need to take him to the hospital …”
“Hold on,” Mille begins, but Krista has already started hauling Mads to his feet, and the Arab parks the car and comes running out to help.
At that moment, Mille sees the next person come out of the bus. It’s a boy—Tommy, as far as she can tell. But he’s not fleeing, like Renée did. He’s just standing still, swaying for a moment. Then he turns his head around and looks directly towards her. He starts staggering this way.
“… Mille! …”
Behind him, two others emerge—a girl and a boy. The girl stumbles, and the boy tramples right over her, not minding her at all. Then another one comes out. And another one after that. Soon, her classmates are all around the bus, all of them moving in the same, sleepwalker-like manner. At first, they seem to just drift around, but then, one by one they apparently catch a scent, turn in this direction and begin walking.
“… Mille! …”
Tommy, who’s in front, is already halfway there. Mille can now tell he’s been bitten in the throat, and some of the tendons must have been severed, because his head is bopping sideways. The blood has gushed down his shirt. His eyes are strangely white, almost like someone rolling their eyes upwards, and now Mille can also make out the sound he’s making: a rattling, sticky growl.
“Mille, for God’s sake!” Krista grabs her hard by the shoulder. “Come on, will you? We’ve got to—” She cuts herself off abruptly, as she sees half of the class coming trudging at them. “Oh, my God …” she breathes. “They’re … they’re not … we have to … we have to help them …”
Suddenly, Mille can act again. She pulls Krista towards the car, where Mads is already lying in the backseat. She shoves Krista inside and slams the door, herself getting in the passenger seat. The Arab has also noticed the oncoming army of dead college students and is just standing there, outside the open driver’s side door.
“Hey, come on!” Mille shouts. “Get us out of here!”
She honks the horn, and the sound pulls the man out of his stupor. He gets in and fumbles to get the seat belt on.
Mille looks out and sees Tommy—who’s dangerously close now—speed up, as he seems to sense his chances for something to eat getting slimmer.
“Just go!” Mille screams.
The Arab forgets about the belt and guns it. He turns the car around in a wild arc, causing them all to be thrown sideways, the tires giving off a short, high-pitched screech against the hot asphalt—not nearly as impressive as tires do in the movies. Tommy’s outstretched fingers almost graze the sideview mirror where Mille is sitting, but then they’re speeding down the road, leaving him with the smell of burned rubber.
Mille sighs and leans back her head.
The driver keeps checking the rearview mirror while muttering to himself in Arabic.
“The paramedics will help them, right?” Krista sobs from the backseat. “They’ll be here any minute now, and then they’ll help them all, won’t they, Mille? Won’t they?”
“Yeah,” Mille murmurs. “Sure they will.”
Her thoughts are going around and around and can’t seem to find a reasonable place to land. Only twenty minutes ago she was reading an immature love letter from Mads. Now her entire class is turned into living dead, and Mads is dying on the backseat. Will he make it? Will they get him to the hospital in time?
Mille turns and looks at him. Krista has placed his head in her lap and is stroking his damp hair. His face is fiery red and oddly swollen. He looks like he’s in pain and he’s breathing rapidly.
It’s only a matter of minutes.
“I think he’ll make it,” Krista sobs, looking pleadingly at Mille. “He’ll make it, right? He’ll wake up in just a moment, won’t he?”
“Yes,” Mille whispers, her throat closing in on itself. One way or another …
FIVE
William drops the phone,
