Inside, the cell was lit by grey light that came in from a long way up in the ceiling. Dust motes swam in the chambered light. The walls were bare, some patches of paint clung to the brickwork in many places. For some reason, there was a raised section of brickwork on the floor, almost like a pedestal of some sort, although more likely it had served another purpose when this building had been in other hands. There was no bed in this section, just some straw laid out on the floor with some rags and old sacks that served as blankets and a pillow. The cell’s one occupant looked as surprised to see Anton as he was to see the prisoner. Anton shared a moment looking into The Bearded skinny man’s eyes. The Bear’s voice beside him almost made him scream.
“Doesn’t look like much, does he? No, you wouldn’t expect much from one that looks so weak, would you? And yet it’s funny to think, he’s in there for a very good reason.”
The Bear moved away, apparently not concerned about imparting the reason why the skinny man was locked up.
“Why is he in there?” Anton couldn’t resist asking.
The Bear answered instantly, “He beat his wife to death with her own artificial leg. I’ve certainly seen worse things, but something about this man’s crime sickened even me. So I put him where he is now. Away from the other prisoners. Now he won’t be able to hurt anybody.”
Anton glanced into the cell again. The prisoner had changed his position on the floor. His eyes were wide as if he could understand nothing of what was being said.
“And who was he before?” Anton said, still looking at the prisoner.
“A shoe salesman,” The Bear said without looking back. “He snapped quite unexpectedly, quoting the reason for the murder was that his life revolved around selling people two shoes, and he couldn’t bear having a wife with only one foot. He was just a normal man living with the daily struggles of a normal life, struggling to put bread on the table. Then one night he lost it. Went totally out of his mind.”
The Bear paused for a moment, considering. Then he turned on Anton, standing at his full height, one finger raised threateningly. Anton shrank against the wall. All his life, it seemed, he had been a scared man. Now, he expected The Bear to tell him off, something like, “Listen, you little shit, I know you’re thinking of leaving. Well, if you even try, I’m giving you a cell like that guy you see in there. Then you’ll really know what it means to want to be free from here. See, this is the real reason for our little journey underneath the prison.”
Instead, The Bear said, “Do not let these guys control you. I know you’re an educated person, you’re book smart, but in here is a different world. These people are in here because this is exactly the right place for them. It’s a constant assault; they are constantly trying to feel you out, to sense any weakness.
Anything they do for you is not free. It will be used as leverage against you at some point. And then before you know it, you are smuggling drugs in here for them. I had one officer who even brought in a fucking guard uniform for a prisoner, who planned to escape. Can you fucking believe it? Fucking outrageous. I questioned the officer, and as it turns out, it all began with little things – he felt sorry for the prisoner so he started bringing him in biscuits, which is not a big thing, but he was doing it without openly confirming it with his supervisor. That’s clearly against procedure. Straight away, the prisoner knew he had something over this man, that he was weak, that he would let the small things slide.
So then the prisoner kept on working on him, gradually getting the officer to do more and more small things for him, until eventually one day, the prisoner said to him, ‘Listen, motherfucker, you are going to bring an officer’s uniform in for me. I’m leaving this place at the shift change. If you don’t do exactly as I say, I will kill you. Besides, I’ve kept track of every rules violation you’ve made – even if I don’t kill you, you will definitely lose your job.’
From the officer’s point of view, this came out of nowhere, but actually, the prisoner had been setting this up for nearly a year. He had taken an inch at a time in order to get a mile.”
“Did you get the prisoner back?” Anton asked.
The Bear laughed. He continued the tour.
The guards stepped forward in tandem, and Anton hurried to catch up to The Bear. The next cell had even less light. With more confidence this time, Anton looked through the barred window.
An older man sat against the wall. He carried some extra weight, looking overweight but very strong. He wore a cheap brown jacket and two shirts underneath. His mouth seemed to have an unconscious twitch, constantly resetting itself like a fat bird that couldn’t get comfortable on its perch.
“This is some guy,” said The Bear with a voice that suggested amazement. “He murdered forty-six people! A mass murderer. He went undetected for years, killing people in his own apartment. It was mostly homeless people he killed, but eventually, when he killed his landlady, the police took an interest in him. I told her family I would never let him out of there. So far, I kept my word.”
Anton looked at the prisoner again. The prisoner breathed with difficulty and kept on moving slightly against the wall, looking as if he was dozing off and then being startled awake again. From one of his shirts, two cockroaches crawled out. Anton moved on.
The Bear spoke to Anton as they walked. “Don’t let them call you by your first name. In one hundred percent of the cases where prisoners have gotten the better of guards, the prisoner had been allowed to use the guard’s first name. It doesn’t sound like a big thing, but if you allow it to happen, it signals you are weak, and you can be worked on.
Here’s some real world psychology right here; if a prisoner breaks the rules even slightly, you need to be on it immediately. It’s all a test, you see. And the prisoner actually respects you for keeping him in line. Everyone feels safer that way.”
Anton glanced into one cell, curious to see its occupant, but this cell was empty.
When Anton caught up to The Bear, he saw that the large man had his teeth bared. He quite clearly did not like the occupant of the next cell. Anton felt a trickle of fear, unconsciously taking a step behind The Bear. He was glad he wasn’t the man inside the cell. The Bear gave the introduction.
“This motherfucker was involved in the Novgorod bombing. That’s right; he’s a fucking terrorist against the Russian people.”
Disgustedly, The Bear turned on his heel and stormed off.
Anton looked through the bars and saw a surprisingly young man there. The young man’s face was mostly blank but Anton saw something else … contempt? It was Anton who looked away first. He moved on with the tour.
The Bear had stopped before the next door. He hesitated. It was only a fraction of a second, and yet to Anton, it seemed a very long time. In that moment, Anton saw not fear, but a small doubt in The Bear’s mind, something that had pierced his confidence. It was the only time Anton had ever seen that. That slight pause also made Anton think just how much he depended on The Bear for his own safety.
The Bear said, “This man is someone very special.”
He left the words in the air. Anton felt no need to break the silence. Anton saw that there were numbers embedded on this steel door. Leaning closer, he could see that the prison door numbers were 64389000. Inside was a man sitting against the stone wall whose clothes were almost rags. His wild hair hung past his eyes and his head had fallen forward to his knees. Snaggles of hair grew from his beard, his hair black and full of dirt. His hands and feet were bandaged and covered in grime as if he was just finished a shift in the coal mines. The prisoner had no fat on him, but his build was wiry and it looked like he had once been very strong. There was no reaction at all from him when The Bear had spoken.
“They call him the Nightmare Man,” The Bear said with some satisfaction. “He’s the most fucking dangerous guy in here.”
Anton looked into the cell again, imagining for a split second that this prisoner would have somehow crossed the distance of the cell to snake out
a hand between the bars and murder him. But the prisoner hadn’t moved. He seemed slumped and powerless, an empty vessel.
The Bear hadn’t taken his eyes off the prisoner. Somewhere in The Bear’s face, Anton saw … what? Admiration? It was probably a trick of the light, although later he would have reason to wonder.
“We let him out only when he needs medical attention. And occasionally for some sunlight. But even then, he has his hands and feet shackled and he is escorted by four guards. We don’t take any chances with that one.”
“That’s some name,” Anton said. The Bear turned his head quizzically.
“The Nightmare Man, I mean,” said Anton. “I guess he must have done something terrible to earn it.”
“You guess right, kid. This guy’s like something you’ve never even read about.”
“Is there anyone waiting for him outside? I mean, does he have family?”
“Only one family member left, apparently. His brother.”
The Bear suddenly grinned and slapped his hand against the cell door as if the prisoner couldn’t hear them and he was trying to get his attention. The Bear said to the prisoner, “You thought your brother was lost for a very fucking long time, didn’t you? Well guess what, your brother’s been found! He’s turned up and I know where he is. Isn’t that some good news for you?”
Very slowly, the Nightmare Man lifted his head. His expression was so sad that for a moment Anton forgot that he was seeing a psychopath, a man who was likely locked up in isolation for very good reason. The prisoner’s eyes were black, and Anton could see this man had been utterly destroyed. Whatever The Bear had done to him had annihilated what he was … and yet he wasn’t completely defeated, because Anton saw twin sparks of life in those eyes, distant, dormant, but still there. He made no other reaction.
“Come on, let’s go,” The Bear said to Anton. “We’ve got other prisoners to see.”
The Nightmare Man listened to them go. Their footfalls carried a very long way, mixed with chatter, and eventually, the heavy door at the end of the corridor slamming shut and being bolted. The noise was faint but final. He opened his hands and looked at them; they were weaker than they once were. But there was always potential.
He looked to the mangled blankets and straw that made up his bed. A steel bucket was in the corner of the cell for his waste. The window was high up on the wall, but reachable. He had not looked out through it in a long time, had not felt a need to. Now his eyes lifted to the light flooding in, as though it was something truly precious. Beside him was a steel plate with his meal. Moving very slowly, he began to eat. He would need to be strong.
That night, the Nightmare Man went back into training. He used the small brick pedestal in his room to perform sets of dips on and elevated push-ups. He struggled at first, shockingly weak, falling in a quivering heap on the floor after exercise, wet with perspiration and breathing raggedly. But gradually, over a number of weeks, his strength seemed to return so that he was doing push-ups on his fingertips. A few weeks later, he was doing handstand pushups, at first using the wall for support, eventually not even needing that. His legs grew stronger, becoming more toned, as he worked on one-legged squats, eventually adding in a jump to this movement.
He had heard that his brother was alive. It was all the reason the Nightmare Man needed to come to life again.
2.
Doctor Alastair was a criminal. He had been sent to the Siberian prison on charges of negligence, namely that he had taken morphine while he had been on duty at the hospital. The stress of being a doctor was incredible; he had needed some escape. The fact was that he could perform his duties just as well after a hit of morphine as what he did without it – he would never have endangered innocent lives if he didn’t believe this was the case. He certainly wasn’t the only one who was taking drugs, but he had been the only doctor to be stripped of his licence and given a lengthy prison sentence. Even though it had been the only time he had taken morphine and been on shift, the judge still said he had abused the public trust, and for that, he had to pay. And pay he had. The prison was a constant reminder of his shame. He was a disgrace. But on the positive side, The Bear had appointed Alastair the prison doctor, so he got to run the clinic, which was in a separate building to the main prison. This building was quite well lit, although the paint was still peeling off the walls and the exposed wiring and pipes could do with some maintenance work. Alastair got to sleep out here in his own room and pretty much had the run of the prison just so long as he was always available to see any person who was sick.
Alastair picked up his clipboard, moving closer to the window for more light. He froze when he saw the next name on his list to be seen; the name was Kirill.
“Excuse me,” a guard called out from the doorway, halted at the threshold. The man was strong; he should have been a soldier, or a sambo champion.
“Yes?” Alastair asked.
“I have your next patient here,” the guard said, nodding respectfully, even though Alastair was still technically a prisoner. The guard stepped aside and revealed the prisoner known as the Nightmare Man.
Doctor Alastair regarding this patient for a moment. “That’s fine, you can leave me with him.”
“Okay, I’ll be just down the hall.”
The Nightmare Man waited until Doctor Alastair motioned for him to enter the room, and sit on the bed. The patient moved slowly, but there was a definite strength about him, like a relaxed tiger ready to switch on at a moment’s notice. The Nightmare Man sat on the bed and fixed his gaze at the wall, not looking at Doctor Alastair.
“So, how are you feeling?” Alastair asked.
Kirill’s eyes drifted to the surgical tools laid out on the bench, a mixture of scalpels, his eyes stayed on them – too long – before meeting Alastair’s.
“Fine.”
“Good, good. You’re looking well.”
Kirill looked slowly out the window and then back at the door.
“So,” Alastair began, “I need to check your blood pressure and pulse, and I will also do some basic blood tests –”
“I need out.”
Alastair paused.
“Goddamnit! Why would you tell me that?”
In what seemed like a split second, the guard was at the door. His expression was gently quizzical, but his hand had gone to the firearm on his belt.
“It’s okay,” Alastair told him. “Sorry, the prisoner made an inappropriate remark. I’ve never liked dirty jokes. But it’s fine. I’ll continue with my examination. Thank you, I appreciate your concern, I really do.”
The guard nodded once and was away, but his hand didn’t stray from the firearm.
Alastair leaned closer. “Okay, I can help you … but I’ve got to ask, how do you plan to cross Siberia? That’s one of the most dangerous places in the world out there.”
The Nightmare Man said, “You didn’t ask me why. But I’ll tell you. The Bear said he knows that my brother is alive. I heard him say this myself. All I need to do is get The Bear alone –”
“Forget it, I don’t want to hear this. You either make your escape without hurting anyone, or I will have nothing to do with this. If I tell The Colonel what you just said, he will never let you out of your cell, no matter what your condition.”
“That’s true. But I would really like your help.”
“Not a fucking chance. No one gets hurt. That’s the condition. If you can agree to that, then I will talk to you about getting out of here. Otherwise, rot in your cell. It’s no skin off my nose.”
The Nightmare Man nodded. “Okay. I won’t kill anyone before I’m outside the prison. Good enough?”
Alastair nodded slowly. “Promise me. Swear that no one will get hurt.”
Kirill said without emotion, “No one will get hurt. I promise.”
Satisfied, Alastair put his hands in his gown pockets.
“But I still need some way of finding my brother …”
“Yes, your brother. I see.” Ala
stair appeared in deep concentration. “I will try my best to get this information from The Bear. Maybe he will tell me. If not, you will just need to go home, do some detective work there. I’m sure a man with your persuasiveness will get answers.”
The Nightmare Man said, “Home.”
“It’s Chelyabinsk, isn’t it? Where you’re from? That’s where you’ll go.”
Kirill nodded. “Yeah. I’ll start there. Someone’s got to know something.”
Alastair opened a cupboard door and hauled out a canvas backpack. It was quite large with many pouches that were buckled closed. It was obviously full of equipment.
“Well, as you don’t seem to have any plan to escape, you will need this!” Alastair announced proudly, “I have put together an escape kit. It’s everything a man would need to cross Siberia. It’s taken me years to put this stuff together.” He patted the bag like it was a loyal dog.
“Were you thinking of escaping?”
“Me? No, I don’t think I have the constitution to survive out there. But a guy like yourself, you could do this. I’ve got a compass to give you and a map. Just head due south; you’ll be in Chelyabinsk before you know it.”
Doctor Alastair put the backpack into the cupboard again in case the guard returned.
Kirill said, “Then my biggest problem will be the people pursuing me. There is no way The Bear will just let me go. He’ll have every fucking politsia, eskimo, hunter, and KGB agent he knows looking for me. I need some way to throw him off my trail. Or even better, lose him entirely.”
“You will have heard the rumours about how they killed Calder outside a few months ago? They threw water over him so he froze, then they smashed him.”
“I heard, yes.”
“Well, I insisted he have a Christian burial.”
Alastair gestured for Kirill to stand up and look out the window. Outside, there was a grave with a cross made from two branches lashed together with a strip of leather. Kirill gazed at the grave for long moments. Then he understood.
3.
Anton closed the book on psychology. It was night time now, his small room lit by a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. The prisoners had their lights turned off by the guards at eight every night, but Anton was free to keep his room lights on, of course. He placed the textbook back on the pile of books at the back of the little desk and instead opened his diary to a blank page. He held a pen over the page, deciding what to write. What he really wanted to say was that he was afraid, afraid that The Bear would get him killed, that one of the prisoners would kill him, that a guard would kill him, that all this isolation, of being so far removed from everything he had ever known, that that would kill him. What he wanted to put to paper was a final message for his mum, in the hopes that somehow this diary would find its way to her in the event of him dying in this Siberian prison. He wanted to write that The Bear was a monster, that he was utterly inhuman towards these prisoners who had been placed under his care. In the end, he couldn’t write a thing. The fear defeated him.
The Nightmare Man: A Russian Zombie Novel Page 2
