Henning raised the wine cask to face level, tilted his head back and opened the tap. A couple of parked cars were idling on the spot.

Henning felt as though there was an electric fence around his head, torturing him, pulsing with shocks of pure pain.Īn ambulance went by with sirens blaring, either because it was on a dispatch or simply because no one could turn them off. If you tried to pull out the plug there was an alarming crackling sound and sparks flew between the outlet and the plug, preventing the circuit from being broken.Īnd the field was still increasing in strength. Since around nine o'clock, no lamps could be switched off, no electrical appliances powered down. The invisible field of electricity could not be touched, but it was there everyone could feel it. Not a cloud in the _ht sky, though no distant rumble, no hope of release. The people walking by on Sveavagen were staring into the ground too some had their hands pressed against their temples.Įarlier in the evening it had simply felt like an approaching thunderstorm, but the electric tension in the air had gradually, imperceptibly, become more intense until it was now all but unbearable.

His head was killing him, and it wasn't the wine. Henning crouched down and ran his finger over the raised inscription. A single withered rose lay on the spot where Prime Minister Olaf Palme had been gunned down sixteen years earlier. Henning held up the box of Gato Negro and toasted the metal plaque in the sidewalk. Prologue When the current reverses its course

Handling the undead book