Jakob shrugs. “Like you said, we drove off the road.”

  “Yeah, right after you picked up some old guy who looks like he’s been dead for ten years.”

  Jakob shifts. “Did you … did you see him?”

  “Yeah, they brought him in right after you came. You were out cold, so I snuck out to take a peek.” Aksel puffs. “I’ve seen a lot of cadavers, but man, he takes the prize. They still don’t know what’s wrong with him. Looks like he was rotting away while he was still alive.”

  “Is he dead?” Jakob asks.

  “Yeah,” Aksel grunts. “And then some.”

  “No, I mean … he hasn’t … moved or anything?”

  Aksel frowns. “Dead people usually don’t do that.”

  “Zombies do,” Jakob whispers, feeling a stab in his heart as he echoes Viggo’s words.

  “Zombies?” Aksel eyes him closely. “Did you hit your head?”

  “Yeah, I think I did,” Jakob says, his hand going to the back of his skull. There’s a pretty tender place where the rifle case banged him. “Pretty hard, too. But that’s not why … I think … Axe, I think something’s seriously wrong with that guy.”

  “No shit. I heard you guys freaking out before you crashed. What happened?”

  Jakob opens his mouth to tell him, then realizes his memory is like an empty house. He can go there, but there’s nothing to find. “I … I have a hard time, like, recalling the details.”

  Aksel takes on a worried look. “That’s okay. They said it was very common to have temporary confusion and memory loss. Something about the shock.” He goes to the door. “I’m gonna get the nurse now. The doctor will want to check on you.”

  “Okay,” Jakob mutters, still trying to remember.

  A torrent of different emotions are whirling around inside. Grief, fear, disbelief. And a strange panic just below the surface. It’s like his system is desperately trying to send a message. Something he needs to see. It’s connected to the dream he just had, he’s almost sure of that, because the feeling grows stronger when he thinks of the strange nightmarish scene of him standing in the middle of the road surrounded by dead animals.

  And Viggo. Dead Viggo was there, too. He said something ominous. Something like …

  “No one’s escaping this …”

  Murmuring the words, Jakob feels a little closer to what he’s trying to remember. But he still can’t quite catch it. His thoughts are weirdly distorted. Disconnected. Shooting around like random sparks. The dead guy. Viggo screaming. The knife sliding through his finger. The car spinning. The pain. The fear.

  He feels nauseous as the room begins tilting. He closes his eyes and forces all the images aside.

  I can’t think about it. Not right now. I’ll just rest a little. I’m sure I’ll feel better when I …

  Jakob is gone before he can finish the thought.

  9

  Aksel goes to the nurses’ station and leans on the counter.

  Frida is sitting there alone, typing on a computer, her side turned towards him. Her hair is tied up in a bun, exposing her long neck. Even wearing scrubs, the sight of her makes his balls tingle.

  He clears his throat and says in his most innocent voice: “Excuse me, nurse? I’m ready for my sponge bath.”

  She looks over at him, stone-faced, then checks that no one else is around. “Last time I checked, you’re not a patient here, sir.”

  “I should be. I have a serious ailment. My heart beats way too fast every time I see you.”

  She can’t help but smile. “Oh, you’re smooth. So, how’s your brother?”

  “He’s awake.”

  “Really? That’s great. I’ll call the doctor.” She takes out her pager.

  “Who’s on call?”

  “Olsen, I think. Why?”

  “Just looking out for my baby brother. Wouldn’t want some quack to take care of him.”

  She smiles again, then gets up and comes to the counter. She leans in and gives him a quick peck on the lips. “It’s sexy when you’re being protective.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So sexy that I’ll get to see you tonight again?”

  She’s about to answer when her expression changes. Aksel notices an old guy with a walker and breathing apparatus waddle by them.

  Once he’s out of earshot, Frida whispers: “That’s a possibility.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll make dinner.”

  “By that, do you mean order pizza?”

  “Exactly,” he grins. His phone vibrates. He takes it out. “It’s my dad.” He puts it back in his pocket.

  “You’re not going to answer?”

  “Not right now.”

  Frida frowns. “But he must be worried sick about your brother.”

  Aksel scoffs. “Knowing him, he’s probably more concerned about his car. It’s okay, really. I’ll update him later.”

  Frida shrugs. “If you say so. Speaking of, did your brother tell you what happened?”

  Aksel shakes his head. “He was kind of confused. Poor guy sounded like he was still afraid of the guy they picked up. I think he attacked them somehow.”

  Frida seems to recall something. “That reminds me, weren’t you supposed to be in autopsy now?”

  “Nah, it’s my day off, remember?”

  “Yes, but you said you wanted to see him. The old guy?”

  “They don’t do him till six.”

  She turns and glances at the computer screen. “Says here he’s on for two. Guess they moved him up.”

  “Oh, shit. I really wanted to be there. Maybe I can still have a peek. See you later, okay?” He leans in for another quick kiss, then runs to the elevator.

  10

  The autopsy room is situated next to the actual morgue, in the hospital’s basement.

  To even reach the floor, Aksel has to beep his ID card. He always feels like a federal agent when he does.

  As the elevator stops and the doors open, Aksel is met by a sign on a stand blocking the hallway. It’s one of those “biohazard” warnings. Aksel learned about them in training to become a mortician’s apprentice, but he’s never seen one in use before now. It’s orange and has the text “BSL-3,” which means, if he recalls correctly, “second to highest risk of microbes.” The only risk level higher than three is four. At that stage, parts of the hospital would be evacuated.

  Man, they’re really taking things seriously …

  That’s when he notices a tall, skinny guy sitting on a chair, leaning against the wall. He’s wearing a hazmat suit with the headpiece pulled back. In his ears are wireless plugs and he’s absorbed in his phone. It’s Mikkel Ranfelt, one of the orderlies. There’s a rumor going around that he’s gay. He’s wearing pink sneakers, which doesn’t exactly debunk those rumors. Next to him is a rack on wheels with three or four additional suits ready to be put on, complete with boots, gloves, respirators and all.

  Aksel steps out of the elevator, and Ranfelt finally notices him. The guy jerks to his feet, yanking the music from his ears. “Hey, you can’t—oh, it’s you, Axe. What are you doing down here? They told me you weren’t coming today.”

  “No, I’m not working,” Aksel says, looking Ranfelt up and down. The suit is two inches too short on his long arms and legs. “They told you to wear that?”

  Ranfelt glances down at himself, grinning with embarrassment. “Yeah, I know it looks silly. They said it was just a precaution. They think this could go on national news once the word gets out, so they want to cross every t and dot every i, you know?”

  “That’s why they had you sit guard out here?”

  Ranfelt nods. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in that’s not supposed to be here.”

  “That include me? I work down here, you know.”

  Ranfelt’s eyes flicker. “I’m … not sure. Maybe I should call Dahl?” He makes it sound like a question, as though whether or not to bother Aksel’s boss is his call.

  Aksel shrugs. “Sure, you can do that. But you know him. He’s probably not in the mood for questions right now.” Aksel nods down the hallway. At the end are the double doors leading to the autopsy room. “He in there right now?”

  “Yes. They started ten minutes ago.”

  “They?”

  “There are two other guys in there. Another mortician and a specialist of some kind. I didn’t see either of them before. They must have pulled ’em in from the regional hospital.”

  “Oh, I see. Can I take a peek?”

  Ranfelt shifts his weight. “I really don’t know, Axe. Dahl was really serious about not letting anyone unauthorized in.”

  Aksel chews his lip. “Tell you what. I’ll put on a suit and I’ll tell Dahl that I was told by someone upstairs to come give him a hand. I’ll play it off as a misunderstanding. If he gets mad, it’ll be with me. How’s that?”

  Ranfelt considers, glancing towards the double doors. “Promise you won’t throw me under the bus?”

  “No, man. You know me. I’d never do that.”

  “All right.” Ranfelt points a thin finger at him. “I’m trusting you.”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Aksel says, taking one of the suits from the rack.

  11

  Jakob is back up there once again, in the forest. Standing in front of the cabin. It’s dark and freezing. Everything is unnaturally quiet. He can’t even hear his own footsteps as he approaches the door.

  There’s something I need to see. Something that’ll help me remember.

  Just as he reaches out his hand, the door swings open on its own accord. It’s like there’s an imperceivable breeze pushing it. Jakob steps inside.

  The cabin is a lot bigger than he remembers. As he walks across the dusty wooden floor, he realizes he’s for some reason not wearing shoes. The sounds are echoed back and forth, causing him to look around and make sure that he really is alone.

  Reaching the center of the cabin, he stops. There’s a high-pitched creaking sound from above. He looks up, expecting to see the dead guy hanging there. But there’s only the piece of rope still wrapped around the rafter. It’s swaying gently back and forth. On each side of the rope, the wood has been clawed to shreds.

  That’s right, Jakob remembers. We thought it was an animal that did that, until we saw his fingers …

  Something is trying to fit into place in his mind. Something big and obvious. It’s right there, but he still can’t see it clearly.

  Jakob shifts his weight, and that’s when he steps on something cold and soft.

  Looking down, he sees a human ear lying there. It’s still bloody from when it was torn off.

  That’s Viggo’s, he thinks with a sinking feeling. The dead guy bit it clean off.

  How could he forget? The scene from the car is suddenly vivid in his memory again. The dead guy, sitting upright, lunging at Viggo. His friend, trying desperately to get away. Throwing himself from the moving car, killing himself. Then, the accident. Jakob had had no other choice but to lock the brakes, and it had caused the car to flip. But that hadn’t been the end of it. The dead guy still came for him. And Jakob had to use the knife.

  I stabbed him. Right before I cut off my own finger. Jesus …

  Now that it’s all coming back to him, the thing in his mind that’s trying to come forward feels even bigger and heavier. Still, it’s obscure.

  Damnit, why can’t I connect the dots?

  Jakob catches a movement from the side and turns his head. The window is open, and Viggo is right outside. He looks normal. No skin-flaps hanging off, no black eyes. In fact, he’s smiling. Behind him, it’s suddenly summer. Everything is green, the sun is shining, birds are chirping.

  “Hey, buddy. Could you pass me that?” Viggo nods towards the ear on the floor. “I seem to have dropped it.”

  Turning his head slightly, Jakob can see that Viggo is missing his right ear. Jakob bends and picks it up. He goes and hands it to Viggo.

  “Thanks, man,” he says. As though the most natural thing in the world, he puts the whole thing in his mouth, chews loudly and swallows it. “Mmm. Finger-lickin’ good,” he says, smiling. Then he turns and walks out of sight.

  And it finally sinks in.

  With an almost audible click, the realization hits home in Jakob’s mind.

  Zombie. The dead guy was a zombie.

  As he’s still staring at the open window, the scenery changes within seconds. Summer turns to winter. Day into night. The leaves fall from the branches. The sky goes from blue to gray.

  He didn’t stay dead, even though he hanged himself. Because he was already infected. The disease brought him back. And that means that Viggo—

  A sound behind him. A hand lands on his shoulder.

  Jakob screams.

  12

  The doors to the autopsy room have plastic windows at eye level, but they’re both covered with something which looks like cardboard.

  Aksel debates briefly with himself whether to knock or not. Then he decides against it and simply pushes one of the doors gently open.

  He’s spent a lot of days and nights in this room. Most of the time with Dahl at his side. The fact that there’s a room a little farther up the hallway containing several dead people never really bothered him. It’s usually very quiet down here, with a minimum of talk and activity.

  So it’s a strange sight, seeing Dahl and two other doctors crowded around one of the tables, wearing hazmat suits, discussing with each other in strained voices. Even with the suits on, Aksel immediately recognizes Dahl. He’s a big, broad guy, making the other two look like teenagers in comparison.

  On the table is the dead guy. Aksel can make out his feet.

  Dahl is the one doing the cutting, bending over the guy’s torso.

  “Definitely not zoonotic,” one of the others says, his voice distorted through the mask. “Look at his lungs; they’re basically unaffected.”

  “Well, aside from the fact that they’re all but falling apart,” Dahl remarks, raising a hand holding the pliers. Pinched in them is a piece of tissue the size of a stamp. Even with his still-limited medical knowledge, Aksel can tell right away the lung tissue isn’t healthy. The color alone gives it away: dark, almost black. Like something from an infomercial against smoking.

  “Yes, there’s certainly necrosis in all regions,” the other doctor goes on. “But what I mean is, I see no other damage. No signs of bacteria, no parasites or fungi. Had he caught this from an animal, the respiratory system would no doubt show it.”

  “Let’s let the lab tell us what’s what,” Dahl grumbles, plopping the sample into a ziplock bag, then placing it neatly next to a dozen others on a steel tray. “Before we draw any conclusions.”

  “I get why you want to be cautious here, Dahl. But you have to admit, this is the strangest thing. I mean, so much contradiction. He’s clearly been clinically dead for an extended period of time. He’s basically decomposing, for crying out loud. If not for the cold, he’d been falling right apart … And yet the skeletal muscles seem to have been working up until very recently. How’s that possible?”

  “It’s more than possible for muscle fibers to receive and react to electrical impulses from the nervous system, even after brain death,” Dahl says. “You know that as well as I do, Goran.”

  “That’s not what we’re talking about here, though,” the third doctor chimes in. It’s only now Aksel realizes it’s a woman. “The guy’s been able to move, walk around, even. And he did so with absolutely no circulation. The respiratory system failed a long time ago.”

  “Exactly,” the other doctor—Goran—says, throwing out his arms. “And the only thing that seems relatively unaffected so far is, ironically, the brain!” He gives off a shrill laugh. “I mean, this makes no sense. This … this is unprecedented. We’re going to rewrite medical history here!”

  Dahl turns and points at him with the pliers. “Listen, Goran, this is not why I asked you to come. I expected you to be more professional than this. If any of us talk like this to anyone outside of this room, there’s going to be even more—” Dahl apparently senses Aksel standing there, because he abruptly turns his head. Aksel can make out Dahl’s eyes through the vizor. “Christ, Larsen! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Sorry,” Aksel says, acting as though he just stepped inside the room. “I didn’t know you already had assistance. I was told you needed me.”

  “If I needed you, I’d have paged you directly.”

  “Sorry. You want me to go?”

  “It’s fine,” the female doctor says in an offhand manner. “He’s already dressed up, and we can use someone to run these samples to the lab. I’m certainly not leaving this room until we know what’s going on with this guy.”

  Aksel steps closer. Even abstracting from the fact that the guy’s skull has been cut open and his brain is visible, he was already a horrible sight to behold. Black eyeballs, yellow teeth, peeled back lips, greenish skin.

  Shit, how could Jakob think it was a good idea to go dragging this guy along?

  Aksel takes the tray as the doctor hands it to him. The bags contain everything from teeth to tendons, toenails and what looks like a piece of the tongue. It’s the most extensive array of samples Aksel’s ever seen.

  “So, it’s a parasite, right?” he asks, clearing his throat.

  Goran huffs. “If this is a parasite, then I’m the king.”

  “My money’s still on infection,” the woman says. “Some new variation of septicemic plague, perhaps.”

  “We’re not formulating any theories yet,” Dahl grumbles. “Not until we have all the data. Now, please—”

  There comes a shout from somewhere nearby. It’s short and abrupt, but loud enough that all three doctors freeze and exchange looks.

  “Who was that now?” Goran asks, gazing towards the doors.

  “Sounded like someone dropped a brick on their foot,” the woman offers.

 

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