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Maybe…
But then an arm moves.
Then the other arm.
Slow, deliberate movements.
And then I watch in pure horror as Eero slowly sits up, his head hanging off him.
I scream.
“Hanna!” I hear Tuoni yell from inside the cave.
But I can’t take my eyes off Eero, watching as he slowly gets to his feet, his head swinging back and forth, and his eyes—oh God, his eyes—they’rewatchingme.
I’m going to vomit.
“Tuoni!” I scream, still unwilling to take my eyes off the zombie. “Eero isn’t dead! He isn’t dead!”
I hear rocks scraping behind me and turn around to see Tuoni climbing out of the fissure, dragging a dirty-looking woman out with him. He throws her to the side, where she lands in a heap in the snow, a knife in her throat, blood staining the snow red.
Noora.
It would be another traumatic sight to witness, but so far, it doesn’t hold a candle to Eero, who is slowly shuffling across the field toward us, his mouth snapping and making gurgling noises.
And now, Tuoni sees him too.
“What the fuck?” he breathes. “Is this magic? How can Shaman magic defeat the God of Death?” He looks down at Noora and quickly takes off his glove, grabbing her bare hand. “If this doesn’t kill her, nothing will.”
But then Noora’s eyes fly open.
She opens her mouth, and blood pours out, gathering around her, and her hands try to grab the knife from her throat.
She’s not dead either.
Fuck, fuck,fuck.
I look at Tuoni, my mouth dropping open. “No one dies!” I cry out. “We were right! No one can die while you’re in this world!”
“Well you better get your butts to the Underworld then!” my father yells, poking his head out of the cave. He looks at Noora, then Eero, eyes growing wide. “Now!”
Quickly, Tuoni grabs the knife from Noora’s throat and stabs her in both eyes, her eyeballs exploding like red grapes.
“There,” he says, putting his hand on my shoulder and pushing me toward the cave. “That should at least slow her down.”
I nearly choke trying to stop the vomit from coming up as I’m forced down between the rocks, slipping into the cave, my feet dangling into nothingness.
Until someone grabs my legs.
I let out a muffled cry before I realize it’s my father helping me down to the next rocks. “Are you okay?” he asks me.
“Are you okay?” I ask back.
He brings out his flashlight, his face bruised but otherwise fine. “I am if you are.”
Am I?
My husband just snapped a man’s neck in half and then stabbed a woman in both her eyeballs, I want to say, but I guess I’ll just wait for that trauma to pop up later at a completely innocuous time.
