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
