“I think so,” Liv mutters.
Dan can only nod as a third person—another young woman—begins to stir and tries to sit up.
Dennis is the one to state it clearly, his voice hoarse with awe: “They’re waking up.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
“Okay, you guys ready?” William asks, looking at them in the dark hallway, his hand resting on the lock for the front door.
Dan nods. He’s the only one not armed. Liv is holding a knife from Holger’s kitchen, Dennis has his handgun, and William himself is carrying the rifle.
“Here we go,” William says, turning the lock and opening the door.
The zombies are literally pressed up against the house, lying like a pile of leaves all wrapped in each other. Except of course for the ones now standing up.
It took them a few minutes to go get the weapons ready, and William had expected more people to have awakened by now, but he only counts five.
Three of them have grouped together outside the pile of zombies, one is sitting on the ground, holding his head, and the last one—the woman who first woke up—is wondering about aimlessly, talking to herself.
“Let me talk to them,” William says, stepping outside and into the zombies. He bends down and checks the pulse of the one at his feet. “Nothing,” he mutters, then goes on to the next. “Also nothing. They haven’t come back yet.” He straightens up and says in a loud voice: “Hello! Can I have your attention?”
All five ex-zombies turn their heads to look at him—except for the guy sitting on the ground; he pukes instead, making a gurgling sound as something dark spills from his mouth to the ground. He spits then wipes his mouth and looks at William.
“Where are we?” one of the others ask. “What is this?”
“This is a very strange situation,” William says. “I’ll tell you what happened, but I can’t tell you exactly how it happened.” He points to the zombies. “You see these guys? You know what they are?”
“They’re infected,” the wandering woman says, finally stopping to look at William. “The virus thing … I remember that.”
“Yeah, me too,” another one chimes in, and the rest—including the puking guy—nod in unison.
“You’re right,” William says. “And you guys were infected too. Until a few minutes ago.”
A moment of dead silence as he lets the message sink in. The people in the courtyard exchange wary looks.
“But we cured you,” William goes on. “I can’t go into details, but this thing, this virus as you call it … it’s not really a virus. It was a curse. And we lifted that curse. We honestly didn’t expect any of you to wake up again, but that’s just great news. So … I guess … welcome back!”
The woman breaks into tears.
“Wait,” one of the guys says. “I can’t remember anything … just that … someone scratched me …” He bends and rolls up his pantleg to show a long, thin red line along his shin. “Then I got a fever, and … and it’s all just dark from there …”
“That’s the same for me,” another woman—who can’t be more than fifteen—chimes in, touching her chin which bears the marks of fingernails. “How long were we out?”
William throws out his arms. “We couldn’t tell you. Depends on when you di—got infected,” William corrects himself at the last second. No point in spilling all the beans at once on these poor bastards. Returning from death can’t be an easy thing, even without having to face that fact mentally.
One of the guys looks out over the zombies. “What about all these people? Why haven’t they woken back up yet?”
“Again, couldn’t tell you.”
Dan steps out next to William. “I think not all of you will,” he says. “It looks to me like you guys are relatively fine; you don’t have any bite marks or major injuries. You all got infected by scratches, right?”
The five people exchange looks and nods.
Dan gestures towards the zombies still on the ground. “Most of these guys are in a really bad state. And they also seem to have been … attacking others.”
William gets it right away; the zombies who haven’t come back are either sporting major wounds or their faces are covered in dried-up blood, suggesting they got their fair share of the feast.
“God, this is crazy,” one of the women says, going for her pocket. “I lost my phone. I need to call my husband. I need to call my family. You guys have a phone I can use?”
“About that,” William says. “Things are looking a little … out of control right now. There’s no need to panic, but … most of Europe has been infected.”
A collective gasp from the ex-zombies.
“But … I need to know my family is safe!” the woman goes on. “Please!”
“I can’t tell you whether they are or not,” William says earnestly. “We do have a phone you can borrow, but please let us check you first. We need to make sure you really are all right. Please come inside.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
How long has it been?
Iver has no idea.
There’s no clock in the bathroom. Only a tiny window. The daylight has gone, replaced with darkness. It must be close to midnight.
Adam is finally sleeping. It took Iver half an hour to get him to calm down enough to slip into sleep.
At least the boy wasn’t hungry; Iver had fed him from the bag Leif left for them. He had managed to find the rest of the food in Agnete’s kitchen, which was mostly canned stuff, crackers and nuts. There was enough for them to make it three, maybe four days if he was careful in rationing the food.
Iver looks at the sleeping toddler, lying in the bathtub, which is stuffed with all the towels from the closet. Iver wrapped one around the boy’s head too, like a turban. It seemed to help keep the noises at bay.
The zombies are clambering at the door—which, luckily, is heavier and stronger than
