He smashed through the surface of the icy water, his hands coming down on the lip of the ice break. He was out, he was free –
To his horror, he began to black out and sink below the surface again.
Quickly taking a breath, his head began to sink below the water line.
The water rushed up his nose.
Don’t fucking choke, you fool, his mind snarled at him, or you’ll drown.
Kirill’s inner monologue was a psychopath, cold as ice, hard as nails.
He resolutely drove his face at the hole in the ice, even as his body demanded that he choke and start inhaling water.
The Nightmare Man kicked and swam for the surface, smashing through the water once again, this time driving his knife down into the ice. It broke the ice … his salvation slid further away from him. Kicking himself towards the new edge that was created, he managed to get just his chest onto it, spreading his arms across the ice, distributing his weight as broadly as possible so as not to fracture the surface.
Darkness closed in again …
Back away, motherfucker, his mind spoke to the encroaching blackness. He began kicking his legs in the water, using that to slowly, slowly move onto the ice.
The darkness retreated enough for Kirill to haul himself up out of the water. His considerable strength and fitness allowed him to do this, although he was still utterly exhausted.
His breath came fierce, ragged. He was out of the water but not enough because he still dragged himself away further, fearful, in case he somehow slipped into the icy depths again.
“Fuck you,” he whispered, then more savagely, “Fuck you.”
He shivered violently. He couldn’t stop. This was a coldness like he had never known. If he didn’t fix this soon, all his problems would be over; he would die of hypothermia and nothing would matter.
With dismay, he realised he had left his backpack at the bottom of the lake. There was no physical way he could dive in there and retrieve it. After all, he had barely made it out alive without his backpack, let alone having its extra weight to hold him down.
His chances of survival had shrunk dramatically. With Doc Alastair’s kit on his back, he probably could have marched all the way to Chelyabinsk comfortably. Now with barely anything on him, how was he supposed to survive out here?
Basically, he was dead.
But he was not the kind of man who gave up easily.
9.
“You’re lucky you’re the doctor here,” said The Bear.
Alastair did not look up.
Kirill’s supposed grave had been unearthed by two prisoners and was shown to be empty.
“You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” The Bear asked. “You don’t want to tell me that Kirill threatened you with your life, that he forced you to be in on his little plan?”
Alastair shook his head very slowly. Although the game was up, he clearly did not want to betray Kirill.
“That’s fine,” said The Bear. “I’m not going to turn you into ice and smash you, if that’s what you were thinking I would do. It is almost impossible to get a doctor out here. But your sentence will certainly be extended. You may have helped Kirill escape, but you will definitely be here a long time.”
The Bear turned to his guards. “We need whatever politsia, local hunters, and so on we can get involved. Anyone. Just make it extremely clear to everyone you speak to that the Nightmare Man is dangerous, and very much so. His little nickname suits him. He is not to be approached, unless they have a lot of guns pointed at him.”
The guards nodded, two of them dispatching to begin calling for reinforcements in the manhunt.
The Bear turned to Anton. “I’m going out there myself. The guards can lockdown the prison, keep everyone in their cells. There’s no way I’m not going to be out there. Would you like to come along?”
Anton nodded. “Sure, what’s your plan?”
“I have some friends I can call. People who will be very interested in seeing Kirill caught again. That stupid fucker, his problems are only just beginning.”
10.
Kirill was now on the opposite side of the lake, having found a fairly occluded section to set up camp. This section was not obvious from the main body of the lake, and was further hidden by snowdrifts and the natural slopes of the hills. In addition, Kirill took care to carve a small cave that was once again hidden from an inquisitive intruder who might investigate this place. So he had some respite, at least, from the savage cold.
He sat breathing heavily, his furs laid out in the sun to dry. The cold attacked him brutally, but his mind drove his body, and he put up with it – he could not sleep in wet clothes, because if he did, he might not wake up again. Normally, he considered it a risk to make a fire, but given that his clothes were soaked through, he felt he needed the fire to dry his clothes. Also, this area was fairly well secluded from view; he should be safe, just this once.
After searching his pockets, he had retrieved a few items of food; they were high-energy protein bars. They were, he felt, a poor substitute for the delicious tins of meat he had left at the bottom of the lake. Yet they were still a nutrition source. After a moment’s thought, he decided to keep these energy bars in reserve – he would survive as long as he could without them, knowing all the time that he had something to fall back on if he genuinely needed it.
As his clothes dried, he stared savagely at the blade, something he had kept close to himself and ready at a moment’s notice. The blade seemed to be a physical extension of his rage. He would express his anger through this tool.
He heard snow crunching. Someone was approaching.
The Nightmare Man crouched at the ready, naked but fully prepared to fight.
He closed in on the sound of approaching footsteps, assuming already the person knew he was here, but that they wouldn’t expect him to be hunting them.
Taking care to move silently, he crept through the snow, blade drawn, determined to slaughter any aggressor he might find.
As the intruder set foot into the encampment, Kirill emerged from hiding. He froze. The intruder was a fellow prisoner, who must have been following him here.
“Kirill!” the man said.
“Humair,” said Kirill. “You’ve escaped.”
“Yeah! I saw you leave two nights ago. I was in the clinic as well, just for a chest infection. I saw you just pack up and leave! I couldn’t believe it, my man.”
A ghost of a smile flashed across Kirill’s mouth. “Were you seen?”
“Don’t think so. I’ve been as careful as I can. I was following you, I lost you a few times, like you just seem to take random directions sometimes, but I was able to find your tracks in the snow, or maybe I saw you moving off in the distance. Once, I lost you completely and I just kept walking, and by chance found you again.”
Kirill nodded. “I never saw you.”
“It was mainly because I was struggling to keep up! I wanted to catch up to you much sooner, but I couldn’t move that fast. That’s another reason I thought I might lose you – I can’t walk as fast as you.”
“Well, you’re here now. Sadly, I don’t have much to offer you. My food is at the bottom of the lake.”
“You fell in?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Ah, that would explain why you are naked, then!”
Kirill said, “The camp is here. I do have a few items of food, if you feel you need it.”
“Well,” said Humair, unslinging his own small backpack, “on my way out of the prison, I did manage to grab a few items. Mainly, I got food, some knives, and I was able to pick up some cold weather gear. It’s not much, but it will keep me going for a while.”
“Yes, it’s a shame I lost my gear. There was a lot of good stuff in it.”
“Spilt milk, my man. We’ll be okay! Here, have some dried fish.”
Kirill took the dried fish, something that was salty but delicious. He nodded thank you and they both sat down around the fire.<
br />
Humair was in good spirits, warming his hands with the fire’s heat. Kirill, on the other hand, was thinking over this new development. His escape may have been covered by Doctor Alastair digging a fake grave for him in the yard, but having another prisoner go absent on the same night was suspicious. The Bear was brutal, but he was no fool. He would know something was up. More than likely, he would exhume Kirill’s “grave” to see exactly who, if anybody, was buried there.
“Good food, huh?” Humair held up another piece of dried fish. “The guards eat much better than us.”
Kirill smiled. He took a bottle of water and unscrewed the lid, offering to Humair first who took a deep swill from the bottle, before Kirill had a drink himself.
With dismay, he realised The Bear was almost certainly in pursuit – there was little chance that he would trust in Kirill falling to the elements. He would want the satisfaction of seeing Kirill’s dead body for himself. With Humair here now, he would have to be extra careful in hiding, and his resources were much more likely to be stretched.
“Where are you hoping to go to?” Humair asked.
“Mostly south” Kirill looked wary. “I will see.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan. If we can get to any big town or city that’s fine with me. I can disappear.”
Kirill chewed in silence. After a while, he said to Humair, “Pass me that satchel over, will you?”
“Which one? This thing here, you mean?”
“No, the other one.”
“Where? I’m not sure what you –”
Humair’s right kneecap exploded. He screamed and fell into the snow, the bones in his leg sticking out. He looked up to Kirill in confusion. Next, Humair’s wrist was snapped.
The Nightmare Man caught him by the throat, a trickle of burning air allowed in. One hand seized Humair’s testicles, making them explode, his lower body becoming agony and fire.
The Nightmare Man loomed over him, a knife in his hand, teeth bared like a snarling wolf. “Not so funny now, is it? No, you dumb fucker. You’ve probably brought them right to me. But I’ll leave a message for them. We’ll see who wants to find me when they see what I do to you. After I cut your face off and skin you like a fucking frightened animal, you will tell everybody they better not follow me.”
Humair, in shock, tried to kick away. But the Nightmare Man had him, and he was strong.
The blade sank into Humair.
11.
Karl was not an ordinary person. He had grown up in the town of Kurgan, which was not much more than a village, fairly close to the city of Chelyabinsk. Karl’s father had worked in the lead mines for many years, slaving to provide for his family, and eventually dying relatively young from lead poisoning. Karl’s mother died of alcohol-related illness when Karl was fifteen. From then on, it had just been Karl and his sister, Rhyza.
One day, Rhyza had complained to him about a local gang of criminals that were making life difficult for people in the town. Karl put down the loshki (spoon) he was using to eat his soup and nodded slowly. Four weeks later, Rhyza mentioned that the gang of criminals were all dead, all three of them had been hacked to pieces.
Rhyza said, “Oh my God, I can’t believe it. They were bad people, I know. But this … this is completely insane. Who could have done such a thing?”
Karl smiled and answered, “You’re welcome, Rhyza.”
Rhyza’s eyes widened, her brother’s small smile and flat expressionless eyes confirming her worst fears. “No, no, Karl. I … I always knew there was something wrong with you, you were never normal. Oh my God, Karl. You’re a monster. You … are … a monster.”
Rhyza’s face was contorted, a curious expression, tears and sobs coming out, eyes wide in terror, pain, ragged breathing. She fled, screaming. After she was gone, Karl stood and faced the mirror and practiced the look of horror his sister had shown him.
Rhyza reported him to the police. He felt a surge of anger, but he did not kill his sister. As he was taken into police custody, Karl didn’t seem afraid at all, only curious as to where he was being taken. The answer was a large concrete building, each level being a single solid pre-made block, as was the building style during Soviet times. The politsia handcuffed him to a chair. Then they left him alone. There wasn’t much in the room, a bare table in front of him, and a second smaller table near the door that had a hammer on it. If the hammer was meant to be intimidating, it was highly effective – for the first time, Karl felt a measure of fear at the prospect of being worked over by some psychopath. He had a graphic image in his mind of being left with all his joints smashed, crippled for life. Although the fear clawed up his throat outwardly, he appeared perfectly calm.
The door opened.
A very large man walked through; he had a uniform on and a cap under his arm. In one hand, he held a folder that contained photographs. This he put carefully on the table before Karl. The photographs were the people Karl had butchered.
In the big man’s eyes, Karl read a merciless man. Suddenly, just going to prison seemed like a really good option now. He tried not to look at the hammer; in truth, he didn’t want to remind the large man that it was there.
“Listen …” Karl began, “I’ll be as helpful as I can, my friend. I know you think I had something to do with those people who got hurt, but it wasn’t me, I wasn’t even –”
“Cut the fucking bullshit, you crazy son of a bitch. I fucking know it was you.”
Karl kept his mouth shut. This might all still be a ploy to get him to talk, so he would act cool for now, but he knew if the big man picked up the hammer, Karl would tell him anything he wanted to hear.
“Fucking crazy bastard. Shit, man, you don’t even know who the fuck you’re dealing with. I am The Bear. Remember that name.”
Karl looked at the floor. Eventually, he asked, “What will happen to me? Will you send me to prison?”
He was convinced now that The Bear knew he was guilty. Such a man was unlikely to bluff about anything.
The Bear laughed. “I’m going to send you away alright, you fucking psycho. Only it’s not what you think it is. You fucking butchered those people, I saw the bodies myself. You carved their cunts up like a fucking Christmas turkey. That fucking sure was something.”
Karl met The Bear’s gaze. “I don’t understand.”
“Dumb motherfucker! I’m recommending you for KGB training. If they like you, you’re set for life. If they don’t like you, you will never be the same. The KGB have a saying, ‘if we visit you, we won’t kill you, but when we’re finished with you, you won’t want to be alive.’ That’s some cold-blooded shit right there, isn’t it? So I suggest you make a motherfucking good impression, shithead.”
Karl sat up straighter in his chair. This news had taken him by surprise. And it was welcome news, a real opportunity to put his talents to good use.
The Bear looked again at the photos on the table of Karl’s handiwork. He laughed. “Fucking crazy bastard!”
Now, many years later, Karl and The Bear stood in the snow in Siberia. Karl had become a highly respected officer in the FSB, formerly known as the KGB. There was an entire search team with them, as well as The Bear’s nephew, Anton. They were all gathered around the arterial red form of Humair, the Nightmare Man’s victim.
“Fuck, man,” said The Bear. “This type of thing will make the search team reluctant to chase him. Fucking smart bastard.”
Karl nodded to The Bear, and Anton saw a lot of respect between these two men. Personally, he thought Karl was a monster, with the predatory and soulless eyes of a shark. Everyone else seemed oblivious to this.
“Hadn’t we better do something to help him?” Anton called out to The Bear. For a moment, it was Karl who fixed Anton with his dreadful eyes.
“What do you mean, brother?” Karl asked.
“Couldn’t we get him a blanket or something … it’s like minus 20 out here.”
Karl approached the victim on the ground. He knelt and gently picked
up a large section of skin, possibly from the man’s back, holding it up like he was inspecting a T-shirt to see if it was dry yet. He draped it over the victim.
“Here, you must be cold,” Karl said to the skinned man. “I’ve given you your skin back. This time, try to take better care of it!”
Some of the workers actually laughed. Karl was smiling at his audience. He regarded Anton for a moment, then turned back to the victim. “Only kidding. That was my little joke, friend. We will get you all the medical attention you need. I’m not a cruel person.”
Two workers who had medical training went to assist the victim after Karl motioned to them. Karl moved back to stand beside The Bear.
“His work is aggressive but very, very amateurish.”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this guy’s a fucking clown,” said The Bear. “I called you here because he is so damned dangerous. Torturing dumb motherfuckers may not be his strong point, but he more than makes up for that, trust me.”
Karl broke eye contact with The Bear. “You’re right, of course. I will be careful. There will be no mistakes this time. Nightmare Man, huh? Well, I can assure you, his nightmare is only going to get worse.”
12.
Two soldiers manned the checkpoint. There was little else but mounds of snow surrounding them and an icy road carving through it. Trees were gathered nearby standing tall in this inhospitable wilderness, the branches loaded with snow. The sun was strong. The snow was a bright lid of foam on an empty land.
“What are you doing on the weekend?” Max asked Jacob.
“I’ll take my girlfriend out for pizza and a few beers. Just to our local place.”
“A few beers?”
“Heh! A few at first, yes. I’m not going to make it a really big night, we go to Church on Sunday mornings, so I got to be up early for that. You?”
Max poured them both a coffee from a steel thermos. “I’m meeting up with some friends in the city centre. We’ll have a few drinks and play that card game Mafia. It’s always nice to see my friends.”
Their motorcycle was parked beside them. They had set up a small folding table with a radio and steel coffee mugs on it. The radio was playing the Toni Basil song.
The Nightmare Man: A Russian Zombie Novel Page 4
