Dead Meat | Day 7, page 1
part #7 of Dead Meat Series
Dead Meat: Day 7
Nick Clausen
Editor: Diana Cox
First Edition 2021
Copyright © 2021 Nick Clausen
Kindle Edition
The author asserts his moral rights to this work.
Please respect the hard work of the author.
No zombies were harmed in the making of this book.
The following takes place on
Friday, August 1
ONE
“Try again, Dan.”
Dan is looking at the snowflakes drifting down from the dark sky, slowly covering the driveway. It’s only four in the afternoon, but the sun has long gone down. The neighbors’ houses are covered in Christmas lights, illuminating the street. Somewhere, a radio is playing. Dan can’t wait till he gets to open his presents. Only a few more hours now, and then—
“Dan?”
Dan turns around to see Dad standing by the open hood of the car, his sleeves rolled up, his hands black from oil.
“Huh?”
“Could you turn the key one more time, please?”
“Sure, Dad.”
He opens the driver side door and leans in, finds the key and turns it. The car gives off a series of dry coughs.
“Damnit,” Dad mutters. “That didn’t work either.”
Dan goes to the front of the car. Looking down into the engine, he has no idea what’s what.
“When’s Jennie coming home, Dad?”
“She should be here any minute now,” Dad says, leaning in with the flashlight. “Hand me the wrench, will you?”
“The big one?”
“No, the smaller.”
Dan takes the wrench from the toolbox and passes it to Dad.
Dan is excited at the thought of Jennie joining them for Christmas. Ever since she went to continuation school, he hasn’t seen a lot of her. They text now and then, but she seems too busy with all her new friends. She’s even got a boyfriend now. Tommy or Thomas or something. He’ll be joining them. Dan is a little nervous at the thought of meeting him.
“Aha, think I finally found the problem,” Dad says, pulling out a piece of faulty wire. “I’ll have to replace this.”
Dan is about to answer when he hears a car pulling up to the curb. It’s a cab. Dan’s heart leaps.
“Jennie!” he says. “Jennie is here!”
“Oh, that’s great,” Dad says, straining to reach something inside the engine.
Dan goes out to the driveway to greet Jennie, but as the back door opens, he stops. No one’s in the cab. The backseat is empty.
“Merry Christmas, you guys!”
Jennie’s voice comes from somewhere nearby. But faint. Like an echo blowing in the wind.
Dan frowns and looks around. “Jennie?”
A sound from behind causes him to turn around. The front door is open. Mom is supposed to be standing there, wearing her apron, looking out with a big smile.
But the doorway’s empty.
“Welcome home, honey!”
Mom’s voice is a distant echo as well.
Dan begins to feel eerie. Something is off here.
“Dad?” he says, turning back to the car. The hood is still open, the tools and the flashlight are still there. But now Dad is gone, too. “Dad?” Dan turns around. “Mom? Jennie? Where are you guys? Hello?”
No answer.
He’s completely alone in the driveway. The snow keeps falling quietly.
“Dan?”
Dad’s voice. It’s only a whisper in Dan’s ear. He looks around confused. Fear is starting to creep in. “Where are you, Dad?”
“It’s okay, Dan.”
“What happened?”
“You know what happened.”
“No,” Dan says, shaking his head, as a terrible realization begins to dawn on him. It’s way too terrible to take in. “No, I don’t want you to go, Dad. Not you too.”
“It’s okay,” Dad’s voice tells him again. “I had to go. You know that.”
“No, Dad. You can’t just disappear like that. You can’t!” Dan begins crying. “I’ll never let you go. Never!” He looks around, sobbing. “Dad? You still here?”
“You can come find me if you like. It’s not too late.”
Dad’s voice is even farther away now, barely audible.
“I will! I will come and find you, Dad!”
“All right,” Dad says, and Dan can hear the reassuring smile on his voice. “I’ll see you then.”
“I will find you, Dad. I promise!”
Then there’s suddenly another sound in Dan’s ear. It’s a deep, ominous growl. Like an angry wolf about to attack.
Dan spins around to see what makes the sound, and—
TWO
Iver looks up and sees the hatch in the ceiling above the dining table.
I could hide in the attic, he thinks—then, as Fred kicks the door again, causing the bookcase to almost topple over: No, I’ll get myself trapped up there.
He decides instead to try a trick he saw in a movie once. He jumps up onto the table, pulls the hatch open, and then, instead of climbing up into the attic, he jumps back down and runs for the door, squeezing himself into the corner just as Fred hits the door again and finally tilts the bookcase over with a crash.
“You little shit!” Fred growls through the opening, pushing against the door to widen the gap, the bookcase sliding reluctantly across the floor. “Look what you’ve done to my home!”
Then, with the door open halfway, Fred steps into the living room, the shotgun scanning every direction.
Iver holds his breath and stands absolutely still. If Fred turns back around, he’ll see him, and there will be no time for Iver to react before the old guy can blow his brains out.
But Fred doesn’t turn around. He steps onto the bookcase and looks from side to side, his breathing ragged. “Where are you, you piece of shit?” he whispers hoarsely.
The zombies are groping the windows, attracting Fred’s attention, masking the sound of Iver’s pulse, which is pounding so violently it must be audible. Then Iver sees Fred noticing the hatch still swinging gently back and forth.
“Oh, you little asshole,” he croaks. “I’ve got you now …”
He steps down from the bookcase, coughs wetly as he staggers over to the table and climbs up.
Iver peers out from behind the halfway open door. He sees the old guy stand up and carefully stick his head up into the opening. He looks around the attic.
“I know you’re up here! It’s over! Come on out! If you make me come up and get you, I swear you’ll regret it!”
Iver steps out from behind the door. For a brief second, he considers running back up the hallway. But what good will it do him to keep hiding? There’s still no way out of the house.
I need to get the gun from him. This might be my best chance …
So, he jumps over the bookcase and makes a run for the table, where Fred is still standing with his head through the opening to the attic.
Iver accidentally kicks a book, and Fred hears the noise. He looks down, sees Iver coming at him, and his expression goes from surprise to rage. He lowers the shotgun, which was pointed up into the attic, but the barrel hits the hatch and wins Iver the split-second he needs to reach the table. He grabs Fred’s left ankle with both hands and yanks it hard.
Fred roars as his leg is pulled from under him. He falls onto the table with a crashing bang, the shotgun goes off with an even louder bang.
Iver feels the hail going over his head for the second time, and there’s a sound of shattering glass somewhere behind him. Iver doesn’t waste any time worrying about it.
Get the gun! Get the gun! his mind is shouting at him, and he lunges for the weapon which Fred is still clutching in one hand, even though the fall has knocked the wind out of him and he’s gasping for breath, grinding his teeth.
“Let go!” he wheezes, swatting at Iver with his other hand.
Iver yanks the shotgun as hard as he can again and again, but Fred holds onto it like a dog with a bone. Not until he’s dragged onto the floor is he forced to let go, and Iver stumbles backwards, staring from Fred to the shotgun in his own hands. He fumbles to turn it over and point it at the old guy. He’s never held a real weapon before, so he simply mimics what he’s seen in the movies, and it feels somehow right as his finger finds the trigger.
Fred gets to his feet with a groan of anger and exertion, leaning against the table and glaring at Iver, his eyes watery, his face glowing red with fever, a string of spittle hanging from his lower lip.
“You goddamn piece of shit,” he growls. “You’ve fucked everything up …”
“Stay back,” Iver says, even though Fred is coming closer. “I just want to get out of here.”
Fred says something, but Iver’s attention is caught by a movement from behind the old guy. The lights are low in the living room, and because he’s been busy fighting Fred, it’s not until now Iver notices the broken window and the zombies squeezing through it.
A skinny guy has already made it inside and is getting to his feet, immediately heading for Fred. Two others are shoving to get through the opening as well, one of them being the girl who died just minutes ago out in the driveway.
“Look out!” Iver shouts.
Fred turns around and lets out a roar of surprise. There’s no time to get out of the way, so he simply leans back into the table, trying desperately to get out of the way.
The zombie reaches out his arms and Iver prepares himself mentally to see F
Then, to his utter surprise, the zombie steers clear of Fred and heads instead for Iver.
Fred glares after it, his face mirroring the same levels of disbelief that Iver is feeling.
He’s infected, a thought flies through his mind. They’re not interested in him anymore.
“I’m … I’m immune,” Fred says, coming to a rather different conclusion than Iver, and he gives off a short, shrill laughter before breaking into a cough.
Iver backs up, his back meeting the wall, as the dead guy speeds up, almost slipping on the books on the floor.
Iver raises the shotgun, takes aim, closes his eyes and pulls the trigger.
Nothing happens.
“Shit!” he shouts, looking at the weapon. “What’s wrong?”
“You asshole!” Fred shouts in a tone of amused mockery. “It’s empty!”
Iver ducks and moves sideways at the last possible moment, the zombie colliding with the wall. Iver turns the shotgun around and uses it instead as a bat, swinging at the zombie, connecting with its cheekbone and sending it to the floor.
Both the girl and two others have made it through the window now, all three of them are coming this way, waddling eagerly right past Fred, as though he wasn’t even there, headed for Iver like slow, heat-seeking missiles.
“You get ’im!” Fred cheers them on. “You kill that little prick!”
Iver goes for the door, but the zombie he just knocked over is getting back up and is blocking the way.
Instead, he runs the other way, placing the dining table between himself and the zombies. The girl, who’s in front, walks right into the table, then begins to make her way around it.
Fred is looking bad now, swaying, blinking his eyes slowly, and he needs to steady himself against the table.
Iver backs up, looking over at the shattered window. More zombies are squeezing through.
I’m not getting out that way …
He looks to the door instead. Reaching it would mean running zigzag between the four zombies closing in on him.
Not that way either …
Iver looks up at his last way of escape. The hatch in the ceiling is still open. Before he can think, Iver jumps onto the table, throws the shotgun up through the hatch, then jumps up himself. He strains to lift his own weight, kicking with both legs in the air to gain momentum.
His right foot hits something, and a hand grabs his left shoe.
“No!” he cries out, flailing his leg wildly, almost losing his grip. Then the shoe slips off and Iver pulls himself up with one final bout of effort.
He rolls onto his back, panting and heaving. From below comes the choir of moaning and the sound of the table begin pushed back and forth as the zombies try in vain to reach the hatch.
I made it, Iver thinks, closing his eyes for a second. I’m safe …
THREE
Dan sits up with a jerk, returning abruptly to a wakened state, the half-dream, half-memory breaking up and dissolving like smoke around him.
He’s on a hilltop at the break of dawn, the grass around him is wet from dew and a white mist is hovering all around.
To his right is William, who looks like he was also just sleeping, but is now sitting upright, looking around confused and alert.
A few yards away, almost lost in the mist, is the contour of Ozzy, looking out at something not visible to Dan. His tail is low and the hairs on his back are standing up straight. He’s growling from deep in his throat.
“Ozzy smells something,” William says, jumping to his feet. “We’d better get moving.”
Dan tries to stand up as well, but his left leg is asleep from lying on the ground. He’s also freezing, which he hasn’t even noticed until now, his limbs stiff and reluctant to move. He picks up his backpack and the rod and limps after William, who is already headed down the hill.
“Ozzy!” he calls out in a loud whisper. “Heel!”
The dog stops growling and joins them, but he keeps looking back.
“You think it was a zombie?” Dan asks.
“Could have been,” William says. “Could also have been an animal of some kind. I prefer not knowing. Either way, it was a good thing we got out of there.”
They walk on in silence through the foggy air and the wet heather. Ozzy is patrolling up ahead, running back and forth to make sure they’re following.
Dan’s brain is finally waking up properly. He recalls the dream he was having just before Ozzy woke him. It was about his father. They were back home. Everything was back to normal. Almost.
“I’ll never let you go, Dad.”
That’s what Dan said in the dream. As the words echo in his mind, they somehow drive home the fact that his family is gone in a way he hadn’t grasped before, and it’s all he can do to not start crying.
He doesn’t want to cry. Not in front of William. Not in front of anyone, in fact. He needs to keep it in, to bottle up his emotions until this is over.
Because there just might be a slight chance that this whole mess can be fixed. And if it can, then Dan needs to keep it together and do what’s necessary. He needs to stay strong. Needs to keep his focus. Billions of lives might depend on it. Billions of families which might still be saved.
And if they can’t? If this crazy quest he’s embarked upon—and convinced William to join him on—turns out to be for nothing? If the curse or whatever is animating all the dead people can’t be reversed? Or if the lady at Holger’s house doesn’t even want to try?
Then Dan will allow himself to cry. But only then.
He takes a shaky breath. He has no idea if he can make it. Right now, just reaching Denmark seems like an impossible mountain to climb.
But then he calls to mind Jennie’s face. And Thomas’s. Then Mom’s. Dorte’s. Nasira’s. And finally Dad’s.
All of those people are gone because of this thing. None of them stood a chance. But they’re still here, somehow, right inside Dan’s mind. He can see them clearly, hear their voices. And he feels very connected to every one of them.
That’s how I’ll do it, he tells himself, breathing in again and this time exhaling from the bottom of his belly, letting out some of the fear and sorrow along with it. I’ll do it because I owe it to all of them.
He suddenly doesn’t feel alone. It’s not just because William is walking next to him. It’s also because none of the people he knew are really gone. Not as long as Dan is breathing. Which means there’s still hope. As tiny as it might be.
That’s what the dream was meant to tell him. That’s why he told his dad he’s never letting him go.
Dan fills his lungs once more, feeling to his surprise an ounce of courage. I’ll see this through. Even if it won’t work. Even if I die trying. Because at least that way we will have a chance.
FOUR
Iver sits up and looks back down the hatch.
Seven—no, eight—zombies are all looking back up at him with their dead, white eyes, reaching for him with bloody hands.
They’ve managed to push the table far enough to the side that, should any of them get the unlikely idea of climbing onto it, they still wouldn’t be able to reach the opening.
Iver sees Fred, who’s lying curled up on the floor, not moving and apparently not breathing, either.
Still more dead people are joining the fun as they manage to climb in through the busted window.
Iver notices Fred’s left arm starts jerking, and then the old guy opens his eyes. For a moment, Iver takes it to mean that he’s regaining consciousness, but then Fred turns his face up at him, revealing his blank eyes and snarling, yellow teeth as he gets up and joins the rest of the living dead in reaching fruitlessly for Iver.
He looks away and takes a deep breath, focusing instead on the attic.
It’s very old and dusty, the floor made of rugged planks, the naked underside of the roof tiles serving as the ceiling. There are no windows up here, which means it’s also very dark. Iver can make out a bunch of cardboard boxes and plastic bags all covered in dust and cobwebs.
There’s something else too. A big, red box which somehow doesn’t fit in with the rest of the stuff. It’s completely clean and has obviously been put up here very recently.
For some reason, Iver feels drawn to find out what’s in it, so he goes and checks. He sees a ton of bullet casings pretty similar to the ones Agnete was keeping.
