Maybe it’s a cultural thing, William muses as he still just sits there, staring at more cars stopping. Maybe, if this had been happening in the United States, it would have been different. But most modern Danes, with their down-to-earth, no-nonsense take on life, don’t seem to acknowledge the undead when they see them.
The car behind him honks again, jerking William awake. The intersection has almost been blocked now, and in a matter of seconds, he will be caught in a jam. So, William decides to give a fuck about traffic laws and floors the gas pedal, racing forward, then twisting the wheel to the right. The shorts-wearing zombie has lost interest in the bus driver and is now getting up to go after the unlucky Samaritan who’s standing there, clutching his bleeding wrist.
William sees the shot, and before he has time to think about it, he jerks the wheel and catches the zombie with the corner of the front bumper, sending it flying across the sidewalk.
William doesn’t slow down, but races out of the intersection and down the street, his heart thumping in his chest and a sudden burst of energy bubbles up through his throat.
“Fuck you, you piece of shit!” he yells at the rear mirror. “The living finally scores a point!”
William turns up the radio and Ozzy Osbourne.
ELEVEN
When he drives into the parking lot in front of his block three minutes later, the adrenaline has run its course, Iron Man has caused death and destruction, and William has turned down the music.
He cruises around the lot a few times as he peers out, checking every direction, before stopping by the door to his stairway. No zombies in sight, only a couple of kids playing at the playground on the lawn next to the parking lot.
William pulls the hand brake but leaves the engine running and unbuckles the seat belt. He just sits there for a moment, considering. The girl on the backseat hasn’t stirred the slightest; she’s still just breathing calmly.
Right, you can do this. It’s only three floors. You’ll be gone less than two minutes.
He takes a deep breath. Then he turns the key and pulls it from the ignition. Silence descends immediately as the engine dies. Only the happy cries from the boys and the distant background noise of the town can be heard.
William gets out and jogs to the door. Upon entering the empty stairway, he stops and listens for a second, then he begins the climb three steps at a time. Panting and heart thumping, he stops in front of the door to his apartment.
He rattles the key and says in a low voice: “It’s me.” Then, he unlocks the door.
Ozzy, who was sitting perched right on the other side, licks his hand in a happy greeting. Had the German shepherd not heard the keys and William’s voice, the welcome would have been quite different. William has been training Ozzy with a retired police dog handler.
“We gotta hurry,” he says, squeezing past the dog in the narrow hallway. “We’re going for a ride.”
Those last four words cause Ozzy to become even more excited, and he immediately jumps up to snag his leash from the nail next to the door. William goes to the kitchen and grabs the bag of dog food. He looks at the fridge, feeling his stomach rumble. It’s almost noon, and breakfast feels like a very long time ago.
He puts down the bag and throws together a couple of sandwiches. He also grabs four canned beers and stuffs everything in a plastic bag. He brings it and the dog food back out to the hallway, where Ozzy is sitting with his leash in his mouth, tail wagging.
“Good boy,” William says, taking the leash from him. “Let’s go.”
Ozzy slips out onto the landing, and William locks the door behind them. They hurry downstairs and out into the sunshine and the merciless heat. The parking lot is still empty, the boys are still playing, the girl is still sleeping on the backseat.
William throws the bag of dogfood into the trunk. “Now you, buddy. Up!”
The German shepherd jumps up and sits down.
“Good boy,” William says. He’s just about to close the trunk, when something catches his eye. From the other side of the playground a lone figure comes walking across the lawn. Even this far away William can see the outstretched arms and the head which is bopping from side to side. A woman, judging from the hair. And she’s headed straight for the boys.
“Oh, fuck me …” William runs across the parking lot. “Hey! You guys!”
The boys, who are in the business of throwing handfuls of sand up the slide, turn quickly and look at him guiltily, both of them instinctively hiding their hands behind their backs. They can’t be more than eight, maybe nine years of age.
“We weren’t doing anything,” one of them blurts out.
William stops in front of them and points to the zombie. “You see that woman over there? She’s a zombie.”
One of the boys gasp out loud. “Wow, that’s crazy! A real zombie!”
“You’ve got to get home right away, all right?” William goes on, talking fast. “Right this minute. Tell your parents to lock the doors and turn on the news. You got that?”
The boys stare from him to the woman, who’s already reached the playground and now staggers into the sandpit. The soft ground doesn’t seem to make it easier for her to walk, but she steers adamantly towards the boys.
William is just about to shout at them to get them moving, but luckily, the boys already seem to have caught on, as they’re backing away.
“Go!” William tells them. “Get out of here! Run!”
One of the boys turns and runs towards the apartments. The other sends William an uncertain look. “But … my parents aren’t at home,”
