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The old woman bent over and cupped the toddler’s hands in her own, waving them back and forth to a lively beat. “Mamma Mia, here we go again,” she sang lightly in English, “la, la, how can I resist you?” The toddler’s face lit up in a smile. “That’s right, sweetie, it’s a song about you,” she crooned to the child in Swedish.
Her daughter-in-law scowled. “Elvira, you know I detest that song.”
Elvira cooed sweetly, stroking her granddaughter’s silky blonde hair, “Sorry, Ulrika, it can’t be helped. I think of that song whenever I see Mia’s precious little face.”
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Ulrika was on a mission, taping plastic sheeting to the windows of their summer cabin in an attempt to keep out the Rash, and the cold winter draughts. Mia fidgeted with her breathing mask as she held the roll of tape for her mother. Their dog whined by the door. “Can I take Bosse for a walk?,” Mia asked. Cowed by the look her mother gave her, she whimpered, “but, Mamma! He needs to pee!”
“All right, go. But, stay close to the cabin.” The cabin still smelled from the time Bosse peed inside, stuck inside during a troll attack.
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The atmosphere in the camp was merry. The scavenger crew had found some bottles of Russian vodka. Stig and Ulf were slurring their words, struggling to remember the names of the English Premier League football teams.
Elvira struggled to her feet and motioned to Mia, “Come, let’s dance. But I’m the blonde one this time.” To Ulrika’s despair, Elvira had taught Mia the ABBA moves she remembered from her youth. She and Mia raised their arms to drunken applause. “Woe woe woe woe, Waterloo!”
Ulf suddenly raised his head from his arms. “Tottenham Hotspur.” Stig was snoring and didn’t reply.
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Mia pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and hummed to herself as she checked her belt. Knife, rope, duct tape, cloth bags, flask, spare ammunition, paper map, bandage rolls, bread roll. “Mamma Mia, here I go again,” she sang to herself as she put on her hat and rolled the bug netting over her face, “begone flies, you must resist me.”
Fatima high-fived her at the dormitory door, “Super Trooper! Let’s go.” Today they were protecting a crew erecting a new fence further out from their small settlement. They hadn’t lost anyone all month, a new record.
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Mia ran exasperated fingers through her greying hair. “She said I’m ‘on the old side’, but strong and healthy.” She imitated the doctor’s snippy voice, “Frankly, Mia, Sweden needs every baby we can get.” Fredrik scrubbed his pale face with his gloved hands, trying to take in the news of his wife’s pregnancy.
“Mamma Mia, that’s me literally now,” she chuckled. “I’ll name them Anni-Frid and Agnetha, eh? Or Benny and Björn?”
Fredrik wasn’t listening. “But, what if they’re not immune? Do we know that yet?”
Mia waved distractedly, “Niii. We’ll build a new house, further away from production, maybe.”