Australsk horror med danske skurke

Da jeg boede på mit hostel på Barkly st. for kun få uger siden, kom jeg en aften til at åbne en tilfældig bog fra boghylden i pejsestuen. Det var én af de mange bøger, som andre rejsende havde efterladt, så mine forventninger til indholdet var cirka på højde med mine intentioner om at læse mere end et halvt kapitel - meget lave. Men bogen var en novellesamling af forskellige kritikerroste australske horrorforfattere og i den forstand en mulighed for at smage lidt på den lokale prosa. Så jeg åbnede den et tilfældigt sted, midtpå cirka, og begyndte at læse.

Historien var ganske rigtigt en horror-story, men det var ikke forfatterens tyndt udpenslede suspense og klichéramte hovedpersoner på novellens første sider, der fik mig til at spærre øjnene op og læse videre. Det var referencerne til det danske folk, nærmere betegnet Kong Christian.

I stedet for at gå i detajler med plottet (der er ikke mange at tage af), vil jeg nøjes med at citere fra historiens indledning. Forfatteren hedder Jason Fischer, og fortællingen begynder således:

I did'nt mean it, Swanny said, his shaking hands still cradling the smoking sawed-off. His ears rang from the blast.
Bloody worthless you are, Trev said, snatching the gun out of his hands. Now we are royally stuffed. Thanks a lot!
It went off by itself, the boy said quietly. He stepped away from the body, looking down in horror. We killed him!
No Swanny, you killed him. Coz you're a stupid twat. Now get over here and help me!

The boy dragged the body into the office, bundling him up under the desk.
We could feed him to the pigs, Swanny suggested. Leave no trace.
What's the point, Trev said. Look at all the blood and shit, all over the floor. We need to open the safe and get out of here.

Checking through the blinds, the older man made sure no one was approaching the house. It was a big farm, and there was a chance, no one had heard the gun go off. He gestured Swanny for the satchel, which he threw across the room.
We could've beaten the combination out of him, but you had to blow his head off, Trev grunted, sticking the explosives to the outside of the safe. Now everybody is going to hear this.

They set the fuse and ran. The explosion blew the thick metal door off it's hinges, shattered the furniture, blew all the glass out of the windows. Swanny had packed the charges with his usual enthusiasm. Coughing, Trev waded through the wreckage of Buchanans office. He reached into the safe, beating out the flames. Half of the contents were on fire.
I can't rely on you for anything, Trev shouted. He opened op his bag, stuffing it full of notes.
We're rich, Trev, said Swanny with a daft grin. He'd never seen this much money.
Ahh, it's all useless, Trev said, holding up a half-charred note. It was King Christians face, not King Williams. Swanny looked confused.

It's danish money, Trev said with his last shred of patience. No one around here will take these!

Her fortsætter historien med en vild flugt fra myndighederne i Adelaide igennem det zombiebefæstede sydlige australien, en flugt der ender i Alice Springs midt på kontinentet, hvor zombierne endnu ikke kan nå ind - angiveligt fordi de ikke kan krydse outbackens barske klima. Referencerne til den danske konge og pengene er herefter ganske sparsomme, og tjener tilsyneladende ikke nogen som helst funktion i resten af historien. Vi får dog antydningsvist at vide, hvordan tingene står til et par sider længere henne, hvor flugten har nået sit point of no return:

Why don't we go east? We've got Danish money, why don't we go to New Denmark?
-Stuff that, If I wanted to hang out with a bunch of box-head krauts, I would'nt have left in the first place, would I? Trev said. We go there, we end up in a work-camp with everyone else, working for King Christian the fucking invader.

Normalt vil jeg afholde mig fra at afsløre enden på en god historie, men i dette tilfælde vil jeg gå på kompromis med mine principper.

Skræmmende som den danske invasion tilsyneladende er, fortsætter historien nemlig med med at fokusere på hovedpersonernes mere presserende problemer. Ikke alene er de på flugt fra loven (og de danske arbejdslejre), det viser sig også hurtigt, at zombierne har smittet outbackens vilde kameler, der sagtens kan krydse outbackens barske terræn og snart angriber alle byens beboere med en altødelæggende blodtørst. Selvom forfatteren ikke går i detajler med deres skæbne, bliver de to uheldige røvere tilsyneladende begge spist på historiens sidste linie.

Det var da altid noget.