Work Text:
The following is a transcript of a document recovered from the Yr 90 Copenhagen Expedition, believed to be a handwritten account of the events of Yr 0 by a soldier in the Royal Danish Army. Although the exact timeframe has not been conclusively established due to the lack of dates, it is believed to cover the two to three weeks following the initial evacuation of the Kastrup quarantine zone.
Might as well write this down. Got nothing better to do now the sun’s going down. It’ll be too dark to see soon, what with the electricity shut off now. Maybe I can make myself a little diary, show it to my grandkids when this is all over. Hah.
Orders came down last night: pack everything up, leave Kastrup, rendezvous with a ship on the coast, head to Bornholm. Leave the civvies, leave the infected. Sounds like the government, what’s left of it, has given up on trying to hold Zealand. What’s left of it.
So we packed up in the dead of night, aimed to leave before sunrise so no-one saw us go. Officially, to prevent a panic. Unofficially? So we wouldn’t have to look them in the eyes as we left. Some of us were sent round to sabotage the few remaining cars so any infected couldn’t try and follow us. Spent half the night cutting ignition cables and fuel pipes – should have just cut throats instead. Would have been kinder.
Snuck off to warn Karen. Medical teams weren’t on the evac list, too high a risk of infection. Warned her anyway, would have been a bit of a crap fiancée if I hadn’t. Long story short, she convinced me to stay. Still can’t believe it. Still don’t want to believe it. But she won’t leave her patients and I, stupid lovelorn sap that I am, won’t leave her.
Listened to the sounds of engines fading into the distance.
If I ever see Captain Stefansen again, I’ll shoot the bastard. That’s a promise.
Been a day since our company snuck off. Well, the company. Not mine any more, I’m a deserter now I suppose. Mood’s turning ugly. A few other soldiers stayed behind, either deliberately or by accident. Civvies are spitting at us in the streets, calling us traitors and scum and worse. I need to ditch my uniform. Haven’t been here long enough for anyone to recognise my face yet – we only transferred across from the Rigshospitalet a few days ago.
Found some clothes in the back of a looted shop. I’ll be weathering the collapse of civilisation in a cheap parka, cargo pants and a pink Hello Kitty hoodie. Armageddon never looked so stylish.
Jesus Christ.
I thought it might kick off but not like this. Was coming back from helping shore up the perimeter fence when I saw a great big mob of people charging down the street and into a house. Dragged out a pair of guys in fatigues, soldiers who got left behind. Kids, really. They dragged them out and made them kneel and some fat guy in a suit read out a list of ‘charges’, accused them of abandoning the people of Kastrup and being traitors and nonsense like that. I pushed towards the front of the crowd, don’t know why. Should have just run.
Fatty finished his list and said something to the crowd, can’t even remember what it was. And then everyone just started laying into them, with their fists, bits of brick, wooden planks, anything they could find. Beat the two of them to death right there in the street, two kids in uniforms who were crying and saying they were sorry and begging for mercy.
I think one of them recognised me, as the crowd was tearing him apart. But I can’t be certain.
Went back and picked up their dog tags when no-one was looking. Private Alexander Stenger and Private Rikard Jokumsen. Suppose I’d better write their names down, if no-one else will.
We’re holed up in a hotel now. Still some food in the kitchens and a trickle of water left in the taps, not too bad all things considered. People seem to be taking orders from the fat guy. Seems like he’s in charge now, not sure why or even who he is. Karen’s not come back from the community centre hospital for a day or two. Starting to get worried. Might head over there soon, even though we’re not supposed to. Now that I think of it, haven’t heard anything from around Kastrup for a while now. Everyone seems to be retreating into their own little enclaves, suspicious of everyone else. Strangers might carry the Rash, strangers might steal your food, strangers might this, strangers might that. People are on a hair trigger. I’m glad I kept my pistol.
Been sleeping terribly these past few nights. Weird dreams and nightmares. Not a surprise, considering all that’s happening.
Karen got back from the community centre hospital this morning. Didn’t say a word, just slumped to the floor and started crying. Held her and comforted her as best I could. Guess after the Rigshospitalet and whatever’s going on over there she’s just had enough. Quite frankly it’s a miracle she hasn’t got the Rash. Small mercies and all that.
Fat guy – he’s called Fisker, apparently – called a meeting in the lobby. Said we couldn’t wait for a rescue that wasn’t coming, said we needed to get out of Kastrup while we still could. And go where, I asked. Didn’t answer me. Only been a week since the army left and the idiot’s forgotten that this was a quarantine zone. However bad things are in here, I guarantee they’re worse out there. Considered telling them about what I saw at the Rigshospitalet, about what happens to those the Rash doesn’t kill. Decided not to. Who’d believe me? I wouldn’t.
Karen didn’t go back to the community centre. Said there wasn’t any point.
Nightmares getting worse. Got to pull myself together, for her if not for me.
They’re gone.
They up and left in the dead of night. Left me, Karen and a few others behind. Guess they had us pegged as dissenters or defeatists or something. Bastards.
We can’t stay in the hotel now. Once word gets out that most of its defenders are gone, this place’ll be looter central.
We’re in luck. Found a church with a few survivors in it. Priest was a decent fellow, let us join them. Father Troelsen’s his name. Spent the day helping him and a few others board up the windows and rig up some defences in case anyone unpleasant comes calling. ‘Accidentally’ put a nail through a stained glass Jesus. Can’t say it didn’t feel cathartic, seeing as the old man upstairs has hung us all out to dry.
We’ve got food and water and a roof over our heads. The odd gun, too, left over from the army. Not too bad while we plan our next move.
Checked the calendar today for the first time in what felt like forever. It’s been a month since we closed the borders. One month ago I was worried about getting leave and planning our wedding. Now we might not even see December. How did it happen so quickly?
Radio’s on the fritz now. We used to be able to hear the emergency broadcasts and a few survivor communities, but now it’s all getting broken up with these patches of static. I keep thinking I can hear voices in the white noise, snatches of words and what sounds like screams. The others think I’m going crazy. Maybe I am.
I think Father Troelsen suspects I used to be a soldier. Not sure how to handle this. People are still angry over the betrayal – and rightly so. Karen’ll vouch for me, but will they listen to her?
Spoke to Father Troelsen earlier. Mentioned I used to be in the army, he said he’d figured it out ages ago. Man’s sharper than he looks. Asked him if he planned to tell anyone. He just said we all have secrets, and most are best left in the past where they belong. Guess he’s right.
Took the radio with me scavenging. Risky if someone heard it, but I wanted to see if I could find somewhere with good reception. Signal seems to be better in some places in others. Gets progressively worse nearer I get to the community centre. A few other buildings seem to block the signal as well, including the church. I swear there’s something in the static.
Fucking hell
We’re all fucked
Woke up in the middle of the night, saw Troelsen sneaking down to the cellar. Thought he was off for a piss but he didn’t come back for ages. Went looking for him. Found a door half open, must have walked past it loads of times but it’s always locked and he said he lost the key and it was just old brooms in there or something. Fucker had unlocked it, heard his voice coming from inside. Stuck my head round the door, quietly, didn’t trust him, was right not to.
Don’t know who that thing he’s got tied up down there used to be to him. Wife? Kid? Mother? Friend? Impossible to tell. Nothing human about it now apart from its eyes. I think it saw me, even if he didn’t.
He was feeding it, talking to it. Touching it. Didn’t even have a breathing mask.
It’s over. We must all be infected by now.
Confronted Troelsen when everyone else had gone out scavenging. Said he didn’t know what I was talking about. We fought. Still not sure if I meant to kill him or not. Found the key on him, locked his body in there with that thing. Going to wait for the others to get back. Going to do this properly.
The back of my neck’s been itching for a day or two now. I know why.
It’s night now, about 11:45 if the clock is still accurate. Everyone else is asleep. I’ve taken first watch, ostensibly to see if Father Troelsen comes back. People were upset to hear he’d disappeared, but I’ve assured them he’ll be fine.
I’m going to fold my little diary up and put it in a tin or jar or something to keep it from rotting. I guess I hope someone finds this, although who I have no idea.
There are twelve of us, including the thing downstairs. And there are eleven bullets left in my pistol. I was never any good at maths at school but I think even I can solve this one. One for each of us, and as for me? I’m sure I can improvise.
I’m not going to let the Rash have us.
Found a pillow. It’ll make a good enough silencer.
Karen I’m so sorry.
If anyone does find this I hereby recommend Hospital Corpswoman Karen Lund and Privates Stenger and Jokumsen for commendations, for refusing to leave behind those they swore to protect and for showing courage even in the face of certain death.
Let’s get this over with.
Signed, Sergeant Anna Jakobsen, Jutland Dragoon Regiment
The text was discovered in a church during a hunt for supplies by members of the expedition. Captain Eide’s field journal entry for the church notes that it contained ten bodies, all of whom appeared to have been killed by a single shot to the head whilst sleeping. The church was also found to contain two trolls. Of these one was found already dead in the cellar. Captain Eide describes the other as being unusually docile, offering little resistance and being killed without incident.
Haraldur Sigurdsson, Skald, Nordic Council Records Office