Dennis turns his head sideways and watches in horror as Mom walks across the kitchen, headed for the hallway and the cabinet under the stairs.
As soon as she opens it, she will find the gas can empty. And then Dennis will have to confess everything.
“Mom,” he hears himself say, just as Mom is about to leave the kitchen.
Things jump back into normal speed as she turns around to look at him. “Yes, Dennis?”
Dennis takes a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “All right?”
“First, promise me you won’t be mad.”
Mom frowns. “I don’t like the sound of that. What did you do, Dennis?”
Dennis stands up. “There’s … there’s someone down in the tunnel.”
SIXTEEN
He walks along the empty road under the scorching sun, Ozzy patrolling up ahead.
William doesn’t know the area that well, and everything basically looks alike; it’s all just fields with the occasional house now and then. But he feels pretty certain he’s at least on Old Mill Road, which means Holger’s house should be coming up ahead any minute now.
They’ve been walking for an hour or so, and William is sweating profusely. He took off his shirt earlier and is wearing it over his head like a turban. He’ll probably get an aggressive tan from walking in the midday sun like this, but who gives a shit? He probably won’t get to enjoy it anyway.
And yet for all the might of the sun, it doesn’t feel as hot as it used to. William even notices a few clouds drifting by now and then. They’re light grey and seem to be growing in size and number. Looks like the heatwave is finally about to break.
Change is in the air, William thinks to himself. Quite literally.
A butterfly floats by in front of him. He’s heard something about butterflies having a lifespan of only a few days. If that’s true, then this fellow chose the right time to live. In two days, it’ll be too late.
He still can’t wrap his head around the fact that Denmark and all the surrounding countries will be turned into a wasteland like the ones you see in American disaster movies. Not only that, it’ll probably also be radioactive for centuries to come, just like the area around Chernobyl, except on a continental scale.
He remembers what Åsaa said, about the European Union answering back if America threatened to bomb everything and how that would draw others into what would soon be a global conflict.
William cares very little for politics, and he has no idea what the relations between the big nations are or how they’ll respond to a nuclear attack. But he does know that once the first bomb is dropped, it’ll likely mark the end of the world in one way or another.
It’ll certainly be the end of his world, as he’s walking around right where the fun will begin.
There’s time, he tells himself, licking sweat from his upper lip. We can reverse it. Dan was right. We can find a cure.
But even if they did—which conveniently ignores a bunch of difficulties, like convincing the voodoo lady to even give it a try—how would they get the message to the Americans? How would they communicate to the world that the so-called infection could be fought back? They would have to at least be able to demonstrate it somehow. And all of this within forty-eight hours? The more William thinks about it, the more it sounds like a computer game set to difficulty level “impossible.”
He tries to shove aside the thoughts, tries to focus on the task at hand. That’s all he can do, after all; he already made his choice.
They haven’t met any zombies yet, which probably doesn’t mean they aren’t here, they’re just not roaming the open landscape any longer. More likely, the ones who haven’t left the country for bigger meals are huddled around the few people still alive inside their houses.
Still, that’s no guarantee, and William keeps scanning the horizon for any figures. So far, though, he hasn’t seen another human, living or dead. And Ozzy hasn’t picked up any ominous scents, either; at least he hasn’t reacted to anything.
William takes a swig from the bottle the sergeant gave him. The water has turned lukewarm. He’s already drunk most of it, sharing a handful with Ozzy now and then. In his pockets are a couple of jerky strips and a loaf of bread the soldiers were nice enough to let him keep.
“God speed, son,” the sergeant had told him as William climbed onto the ladder with Ozzy hanging over his shoulders. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I hope so too,” William had told him, glancing briefly at the faces of the survivors, most of them eyeing him back with wondering looks.
Then, to his surprise, the sergeant offered him his hand. William took it. Everton held his hand firmly, looking him dead in the eye. “I’m a religious man. I believe what you said about this being a spiritual pandemic. I think of it as God’s wrath.”
William had nodded, feeling a bit uncertain. “I guess you could say that.”
“In case you find out something we can use—anything,” the sergeant went on, staring at William. “Give me a call.” Then he broke the handshake.
“How would I reach—oh.” William noticed the piece of paper the sergeant had left in his hand. It had a long, hand-written number on it. “Thank you.”
“Take care of yourself down there, son.”
Then he had left the helicopter and watched it fly away, disappearing over the horizon in a matter of minutes, leaving him to the heat and the quiet of the day.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” William mutters, wiping sweat from his brow.
And as he looks again, he actually sees it: Holger’s house surrounded by trees, perched on the slight hill. His heart rate rises slightly, and he picks up speed.
