You. Zoran Drvenkar

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      MASS MURDER ON THE A4.

      It was a dark winter for Germany.

      The big question on everyone’s mind was what made the Traveler get out of the twenty-sixth car and think, Enough’s enough. Did he really think that? Did he hear a voice, did demons speak to him, or did he get bored? Whatever the answer, it had nothing to do with the snowfall, because the snow went on falling till dawn. No, the truth isn’t complicated, it’s relatively simple.

      You leave the twenty-sixth car and don’t think anything at all. You feel the wind and you feel the cold and you feel safe and you’re moving to the next car when you notice a glimmer on the horizon. Perhaps the snowfall is reflecting a light in the far distance. Whatever it is, it makes you turn around and set off back to your car. You follow your own overblown track and it is opening up like an old wound. At your car you wipe the windshield free of snow and sit down behind the steering wheel. You take a deep breath, put thumb and index finger around the ignition key, and wait. You wait for the right moment. When you start the engine, the cars in front of you come to life, and the headlights of over a hundred vehicles light the blocked motorway with a pale light. After exactly four hours the traffic jam gets moving again, because the Traveler was waiting for the right moment.

      You put the car in gear and you’re very pleased with yourself. The pain and throbbing in your hands are insignificant. Later you will discover that you’ve broken two fingers on your right hand, and in spite of your gloves the knuckles on both hands are swollen and beaten bloody. Your shoulders ache from the uncomfortable posture you assumed in the cars, but none of that matters, because there’s this indescribable contentment within you. There’s also a sweet taste in your mouth that you can’t explain. The taste prompts a memory. The memory is nineteen years old. Glorious, dazzling, sweet. You know what it all means. You thought the search was over, but it had only taken a breather. It’s the start of a new era. Or in other words—the beginning of the end of civilization as you know it.

      In retrospect you still like that thought best.

      No beginning without an end. A man gets out of his car, a man gets back into his car, and the traffic jam in front of him slowly starts to move. The Traveler travels on.

       RAGNAR

      This isn’t the end, and a beginning looks different. This is the moment in between, when everything still looks possible. Retreat or attack. We’re in the present. It’s eight o’clock in the morning. The spotlights are turned on you, because this Friday morning you’re making a decision that will change all your lives, as you are standing at the edge of the pool unable to believe your eyes. The light gleams blue and cold up at you. What you are seeing is a soundless nightmare. Not one of you dares to break the silence.

      You wish you were far, far away.

      Leo has moved back a step; he is waiting for your reaction. His hands are deep in the pockets of his jacket and he’s struggling to stay still. David is standing on the other side of the pool, rubbing the back of his head. He’s only been working for you for three months, and you’re still not sure what to make of him. He’s young, he’s ambitious, and he’s one of Tanner’s many grandchildren. Family means nothing to you. You wanted to give the boy a chance, because Tanner is putting his hand in the fire for him. It’s the only kind of family bond that you respect.

      You take a deep breath. The air is warm and clean, the air-conditioning system is working without a sound. Oskar had the arched basement dug out four years ago. Walls and ceiling are new and covered with terra-cotta tiles. They don’t just reflect the light; every breath is clearly audible and echoes in the silence like the panting of dogs. Your hands tingle. You want to hit something, a bag of sand or just the wall. Something.

       How could she?

      You rub your eyes before you look again. You still don’t believe it. Leo shifts uneasily from one leg to the other; he knows there’s going to be trouble soon. A whole lot of trouble.

      “I don’t believe it,” you say.

      “Maybe—”

      You raise your hand, Leo falls silent, you turn to David.

      “What do you think how much is it?”

      “Thirty, maybe forty kilos, it’s hard to say.”

      Footsteps can be heard from the floor above, none of you is looking up, you are standing motionlessly around the pool. On the surface of the water you can see your elongated reflections quiver slightly. Maybe there’s an underground line nearby, or else one of those massive great trucks is dragging itself along a side street and sending its vibrations far underground. Your faces look like the faces of ghosts that have seen everything and are tired of being ghosts. Tired is exactly the right word, you think, because you’re seriously tired of all this bullshit. You felt something dark coming your way, you should have been prepared, but who expects something like this?

      “I’ve never seen anything like this,” says David.

      “And you should never have seen anything like this,” you reply and hear Tanner coming downstairs. He stops some distance behind you. Tanner is your right hand; without him you’d only be worth half of what you are. He turns sixty next year and wants to retire slowly. You have no idea what you’ll do without him. He taught you everything you know, and it’s only when he’s no longer there that you’ll find out whether you can cope on your own. One of your customers once said that Tanner scared him because he didn’t emit anything at all. Tanner’s a transmitter who only transmits when he feels like it. Now, for example. He says, “Nothing. It’s gone. She’s taken all of it.”

      You don’t react; what should you say to that? “Thanks” would be inappropriate. The quivering on the surface of the water vanishes. You look up from the pool. Your fury and frustration need an outlet. So far you’ve ignored Oskar. You didn’t want to talk to him, you couldn’t even look at him because the mere sight of him would have made you explode. This is all his fault. Correction. His and yours, if you’re honest. You should never have done business together.

       Never.

      Take a look at him, how peacefully he is sleeping there on that stupid leather armchair as if he hadn’t a care in the world. It’s eight o’clock in the morning, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drunk.

      “Wake him up.”

      Leo bends over Oskar and shakes him. No reaction. Leo slaps him in the face with the palm of his hand. Once, twice, then he steps back. It doesn’t suit him. When Leo takes a step back, it means there’s a problem. You react immediately. Your bodily functions are shutting down. The breathing, the heartbeat. Your blood is flowing slower, your thoughts move like molasses. Reptile, I’m turning into a fucking reptile, you think, when Leo confirms what you were thinking: “He’s gone.”

      A few steps and you’re beside Oskar, crouching down in front of him. His skin is pale and shiny in places. It reminds you of dried sushi.

      “What’s up with his skin?”

      “That’s ice.”

      Leo holds his hand out to you; his fingertips are damp.

      “He must have frozen to death.”

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