“Thought I’d finish before it got too bad. Overestimated myself, I guess. But I’m almost done now, so—”
A loud, shattering bang from the other side of the hedge is followed by the sound of glass. Finn instantly knows the source of the noise and stretches his neck in order to see the neighbor’s greenhouse. Probably Olsen’s grandchildren at play. Finn has often had to throw back their soccer ball when they’ve accidentally kicked it over the hedge.
But he can see neither kids nor ball anywhere. Instead, he sees a man wobbling along the side of the greenhouse, apparently struggling to stay on his feet. He’s Middle Eastern or maybe Arabic.
“What’s going on over there?” Lone asks, as she’s not tall enough to peer over the hedge.
Finn’s first thought is that the man has been breaking in at Olsen’s—he certainly looks like someone out on shady business, the way he keeps darting nervous glances in all directions. He probably ran into the greenhouse by accident.
“Go inside,” Finn tells his wife and grabs the rake.
“What’s going on, Finn?” she demands.
The answer to her question comes barging through the hedge at that exact moment. The Arab stumbles and falls onto the lawn.
Lone gives off a shriek of surprise, and Finn steps quickly forward, holding the rake ready. “Whaddya think you’re doing?” he asks loudly. “Whaddya doing on my property, huh?”
The man looks up, bewildered, blinking and focusing on Finn. And when Finn looks back at him, he sees the man’s face properly for the first time, and he feels an unexpected pang of sympathy. The guy is obviously scared out of his wits; his golden skin is pale and sweaty. He mutters something in Arabic and holds up one hand.
“Christ,” Finn groans when he sees the missing fingers in the bloody mess.
“God Almighty,” Lone whispers behind him. “Finn, he’s really hurt!”
“Call an ambulance,” Finn says, dropping the rake, as Lone turns to run back to the house. “Here, let me help you …” He kneels and tries to pull the man to his feet, careful not to touch the wounded hand. The man clings to Finn and keeps jabbering incomprehensibly.
He’s going into shock.
Finn has seen worse things when he served in the military during the Balkans, and that’s probably what enables him to think clearly in this situation.
“We gotta get you inside, away from the sun,” he says, not sure whether the man understands him, but still he wants to reassure him with a calming voice, so he goes on: “The ambulance is on its way. We’ll clean the wound in the meantime. You’ll be fine.”
Finn supports the man across the lawn. It’s heavy work, since the guy can barely stay on his feet, and Finn has to almost carry him.
I’ll feel this in my back tomorrow, he thinks to himself and grinds his teeth.
FOURTEEN
Dan sits bolt upright in bed. Sweat is pouring from him, the air is stiflingly warm, and for a terrifying moment, he’s sure he’s back in the basement of the old lady’s house.
Then, he blinks and comes to. He’s in his room. The heat is from the sunlight streaming in through the window. He’s not in danger. There are no more zombies.
Dan sighs and wipes the sweat from his eyes, swings his leg out over the side of the bed and gets up. His stomach feels like a big, empty hole, and his body is sore in several places—especially around the ankle.
He’s instantly reminded of Jennie and Thomas, and it feels like his insides take a dive into a very deep well. He staggers out into the bathroom, gushes cold water on his face and drinks greedily until his throat hurts.
He glares at himself in the mirror for a moment. The sight isn’t exactly a cheery one; he might have survived the zombies, but he sure looks like one anyway: pale, weak and dark half-circles under his eyes.
A cat. I dreamt about a cat.
The thought leaps through his head apropos of nothing. He’s not sure why, but somehow, he gets the sense his mind is pointing to something important. He’s still too groggy to think clearly, though, so he shoves the feeling aside and goes to the kitchen.
His mom is sitting at the dining table, staring blankly out into the back garden, her eyes red from crying. His grandma is making coffee. “Oh, hi, Dan,” she says, shuffling over to embrace him. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Dan smiles weakly and glances at his mom. “Where’s Dad?”
“He just went for a drive,” his grandma says, turning rather abruptly away from him to concentrate on the coffee. “He had to … take care of something.”
“Your father is at the mortician,” his mom says without moving, her voice completely emotionless. “He’s picking out a coffin for Jennie.”
Dan sees the pill bottle on the table next to his mom. She suffered a breakdown from stress a few years back, and the doctor gave her anxiety drugs. Even though she’s better nowadays, she still keeps the pills and takes one whenever she feels stressed out. Dan remembers all too clearly how drowsy she gets from the drugs, and it makes him sad to see her like this. Not so much the fact that she’s drugged, but how she can’t seem to handle difficult situations anymore.
Grandma brings the coffee. “You must be starving, Dan. You want me to make you something? How about oatmeal porridge? I know you love oatmeal porridge.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Dan mutters and sits down next to his mom.
From the living room he can see the television is on without sound, showing some stupid afternoon show. Outside, in the garden, the sun is shining like it’s been doing for the past weeks. From the looks of it, everything seems normal. Except nothing is normal today.
“Mom,” Dan says cautiously. “I’m sorry about what happened … I really tried to help her.”
“It’s not your fault,” his mom says, still not looking at him, still the
