“So what’s your favourite beer?” Jacob asked.
“Like everybody I love the German beer.”
“Yeah! It’s not bad at all.”
“But I also really love the Russian live beer. It’s got a really fresh taste.”
“I know what you mean. I could go for some of that right now.” Jacob had a gulp of black coffee instead.
Max leaned back in his chair. “Do you know any jokes?”
“Yeah, why do girls watch porn movies?”
Max smiled. “Do they watch them?”
“Hey, it’s a joke, Max. The answer is to find out if the characters get married in the end.”
Max laughed. “Okay. You remember a few years ago there was that slogan for the Olympics, it went ‘Stronger, Faster, Better,’ right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so this girl says to her husband, ‘Honey, I want us to have sex like the Olympics.’ And so the man says, ‘Oh, you mean Stronger, Faster, Better?’ And the girl answers, ‘No! I mean once every four years!’”
They both laughed.
Jacob said, “I heard a comedian come out with a good comment. He goes, ‘I don’t believe in casual sex …no, every time I go to bed with a strange girl, I’m wearing a top hat and a monocle!’”
Max laughed. “That’s a good one. You want another coffee, brother?”
“Yeah, why not. I’ll even take a packet of that powdered milk shit as well.”
“One coffee from former Soviet Russia coming right up.”
Max unscrewed the silver thermos and poured them each a coffee in their tin cups, splashing some on the snow accidentally. He fished through his pocket and found some of the packets of powdered milk, tearing them open and tipping them into Jacob’s coffee. He swirled the cup a few times and handed it to Jacob.
“Thanks, man.” Jacob held the cup in his hands for a minute before drinking it. “You know, there’s something about being out here in the cold, in this wilderness, that it really makes you appreciate even a shit cup of coffee.”
Max laughed. “Yeah, about the only thing I learned in soldiering school was how to cook potatoes, but I can tell you it was one of the proudest moments of my life when I managed to cook them out here. I had to make the fire with whatever wood I could find, and then I had to melt the snow in the pot. They were the best potatoes I ever tasted.”
“I hear that.” Jacob put his coffee aside and began searching through his backpack, muttering to himself. “Where did I put it?”
Eventually, he found a flask with the two-headed eagle etched on it. He unscrewed it and sniffed the contents.
“Whiskey?”
“Come on, brother, we better not,” said Max, offering his cup to Jacob. He took a generous splash and brought the cup back. Jacob also poured some whiskey for himself before tightening the lid, an operation he performed as carefully as if the flask was full of liquid gold. This time, he put the flask in the inner lining of his jacket where it would be in easy reach.
Suddenly, the Nightmare Man was there. Max and Jacob fell off their seats, scrambling for their rifles.
“Shit!” said Max, struggling with the gun.
The Nightmare Man had camouflaged himself and crawled across the snow, making his progress while the two soldiers were distracted talking to each other. Now he stood, and as Max tried to bring his rifle around to bear, Kirill knocked him unconscious with one punch.
Jacob was shoved backwards in a spray of snow, trying to unsling his gun, but he suddenly found that he was staring down the barrel of Max’s rifle, now in the Nightmare Man’s hands. Kirill handled the gun like an expert.
One shot …
… and the radio exploded. Kirill took Jacob’s rifle away from him, packing it onto the motorcycle. With everything Jacob had been told about the Nightmare Man, he expected to die, awaiting his death sitting in the snow with a wretched look on his face, but incredibly, the Nightmare Man asked him, “Will someone be along soon to help you?”
Jacob stammered, “Uh … yeah, when I don’t radio in, they will send a patrol out to find us. Within an hour.”
“Okay.” Kirill started the motorbike and drove off. Jacob watched him go for a moment and then went to Max to wake him up.
13.
Kirill wandered through the snow. The motor bike had run out of fuel a day ago. So he continued on foot. He had no food. He was now starving and cold. The vicious wind snapped at his clothing. The first stages of frostbite gripped his face. The two rifles he had taken from the soldiers were slung over his back. In reality, he doubted he would be able to use them at all if he needed to, because his hands could barely move. He could barely think straight. Not long later, he dropped both the rifles in the snow without even realising it.
Staggering through the cold, his mental state only became more confused. Once, he thought he saw a man following him, a man who was dressed only in rags but didn’t seem to feel the cold. This man had a relentless way of moving, slow but driven. He staggered and fell down a snow-covered hill, tumbling down, landing brutally at the bottom. Kirill would have sworn that such a fall would kill a man, or at least incapacitate him, yet the stranger got up as if nothing happened. Convinced that this was just a hallucination, Kirill kept moving.
Eventually, he came to a small shed, a gift from God in these circumstances. He opened the door and went inside. There was little of any use inside, but at least he was out of the cold. He locked the door, looking for another way of securing it. There was none.
He felt a vague sense of unease about the pursuer he had seen in the snow before, but he still believed that what he had seen was impossible. He made a small bed out of an old tarp and went to sleep. Part of him knew he should stay awake a while longer, but he was truly exhausted. He should try to get warmer – if he didn’t, he might not wake up again. But sleep took him.
Sometime during the night, Kirill thought he heard someone banging on the door of the shed but he was still much too tired to do anything about it. The noise didn’t last long anyway, and Kirill fell asleep again immediately.
14.
Sunlight. The room was cold, but the wind had eased up. The shed had a small window. Kirill sat up and looked outside. There was snow everywhere. His eyes widened when he saw there was a farmhouse nearby. How had he missed that? He had definitely been confused yesterday, and yet … Uncomfortably, he realised he had dropped most of his possessions. He had little choice but to search the farmhouse and hope to acquire new equipment there. Otherwise, he would not last another night in this environment.
Kirill opened the door and stepped outside. The sunlight was surprisingly bright, making him shield his eyes with his arm. His eyes stung. The snow was deep and crunched beneath his boots with each step. He was about halfway to the house when he became aware of someone nearby.
Kirill turned and faced a young man who watched him impassively. He was cradling a hunting rifle. His expression was of interest and amusement. A crucifix shone for a moment around his neck.
Kirill looked calm, but he discreetly searched his environment for anyone else. There appeared to be only this young man.
“Privet, friend,” said the young man. “How may I help you?”
Kirill kept his hands open in a friendly gesture, clearly showing he was not a threat. “I’m on my way to Chelyabinsk. I was part of a group. We were homeless, relying on the generosity of the church and any good Christians we could find. Any help you could offer me would be much appreciated, brother.”
The young man nodded, thoughtful. “Sure, I’ll see what I can do.”
He motioned for Kirill to follow and then began walking to the house. Kirill followed about five metres behind. He saw it would be impossible to overpower this man now – he had too much ground to cover and too much deep snow to get through first, but he would almost certainly have an opportunity later.
Inside the house, an old woman was making soup over a stove.
The young man called to her,
“Babushka! We’ve got company.”
The old woman regarded Kirill with interest. The young man said to Kirill, “I’m Sasha. This is my grandmother. Well, we should have some soup ready if you would like to join us?”
“Yes, please,” said Kirill. He took a seat when it was offered to him around a small table.
Sasha set the rifle down against the wall and sat opposite Kirill. He was smiling, probably glad to have some company in what appeared to be a very remote location. The table would prove a difficult obstacle for Kirill to overcome, and he still felt weak from his trek across the snow. He would need to wait before taking the rifle.
He would not leave without it.
“So where did you come from?” asked Sasha.
“I’ve been on the road a long time. Kind of a round trip. I’d like to visit my family in Chelyabinsk. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”
“Ah, Chelyabinsk. I have family there but haven’t been able to see them for a while. Power lines are down, see. So we’ve got no communication with them.”
“How’re the roads going towards the city?”
Sasha considered the question for a moment. “The roads are fine. But any time I’ve travelled there, I was always turned back by roadblocks and soldiers. I’m not really sure what’s going on.”
Babushka placed some buttered bread on the table along with a glass of cold water and some black coffee. She said to Kirill, “Please eat! You need your strength.”
Kirill nodded and picked up the coffee. His head was spinning. It occurred to him then just how weak he truly was. He needed rest and rehydration. The water was gone in two gulps. Babushka got him another one, and another after that.
Sasha said, “You know, I could take you to Chelyabinsk. I have a car that is reliable … most of the time. Maybe things are better now.”
“That would be a big help.” Kirill’s vision was black, he felt incredibly weak yet he showed no outward signs of this.
Babushka placed some fresh meat on a plate and put it on the kitchen floor. A dog came into the room; it was medium-sized with black and white fur, and it had startlingly human blue eyes.
Sasha laughed to see the dog. “Malchik! Good boy!”
The dog was friendly natured and greeted Kirill as if it had always known him. Then it went to eat from the plate on the floor.
Kirill’s vision was clearing. He chose to eat some bread. He still had a feeling of being disconnected from reality. If he could get some food down, he knew he would feel better.
“I think you need some rest, my friend,” Sasha told him. “We have a spare bedroom. Once you have recovered, then I will drive you to Chelyabinsk. I’ll be interested myself to see what is going on there. You don’t mind some company, do you?”
Kirill glanced to the rifle resting against the wall and back to Sasha.
“Sure,” he said simply.
15.
The road was in terrible condition. Sasha drove at high speed, seemingly oblivious to the potholes and broken road surface. Outside, there were miles of snow and trees. Very rarely did they see a house.
Kirill sat in the passenger seat gripping the armrest. He had on a new shirt, something that Babushka had insisted he take. Thanks to her, he was now well fed and comfortable. He even had new socks. On the backseat of the car was a small backpack with some basic supplies for him. Kirill had also insisted they bring the rifle.
“Well, we’re almost there,” said Sasha. “Chelyabinsk should just be a few more …”
His voice trailed off. There was a roadblock up ahead. Manned by soldiers. He stopped the car.
“Ah, shit,” said Sasha. “Looks like we’re not going any further.”
“Approach them,” said Kirill.
Sasha studied him for a moment and then drove slowly towards the soldiers. There were two of them, dressed in white winter tactical gear and ski masks. They held machine guns in a way that suggested they were experts.
“No fucking way! That’s Spetsnaz!” said Sasha, referring to Russia’s elite special forces. These were soldiers who were authorised to open fire on a crowd if it served the interests of Mother Russia, or they were just in pursuit of a criminal. Many a threat had been eliminated by them, and there were also some very dangerous criminals who had simply disappeared thanks to the intervention of Spetsnaz. It was customary that when you saw a Spetsnaz soldier on the street in Russia, you shut up, lowered your eyes, and got out of there as quickly as you could.
Sasha was struggling to turn the car around. Kirill placed a hand on his arm. “Hold it.”
To Sasha’s shock, Kirill was getting out of the car. “Hey! You don’t want to go out there.”
The two Spetsnaz soldiers watched Kirill calmly. They were obviously in control here. As Kirill walked closer and it became clear he did not intend to stop, they brought their guns up. Now he had their attention. They spread out, watching not only Kirill but Sasha as well, slowly closing in on Kirill.
The Nightmare Man held his hands up, indicating he was not armed. As the soldiers got closer to Kirill, they stopped. They lowered their guns. Incredibly, they stood to attention and saluted Kirill. He saluted them back. Then the soldiers removed their masks and embraced Kirill as a brother, shaking his hand and smiling.
“Good to see you, Captain!” said one of the soldiers.
“My brother,” said Kirill to the soldier. “I need to get into the city.”
“That could be difficult, sir. The way ahead is blocked; there’s a wall around the city.”
“A wall around the whole city? Are you fucking playing with me?”
The soldier laughed. “No, sir. After the meteor storm, the city went into shutdown. We were given orders that no one was to go into the city and no one was allowed to leave. I can’t even tell you what the hell’s going on in there.”
“I see. A meteor storm, hey? I guess I have a lot of news to catch up on. Okay, good to see you. I need to keep moving.”
“Of course, sir.” The soldiers bowed respectfully and stood aside.
Kirill got back into the car. Sasha’s eyes were wide. “You’re the fucking Captain of Spetsnaz?!”
Kirill regarded him for a moment. “Relax, kid. You’re safe with me. Now, I know I would not have gotten this far without you. I owe you. I am definitely going into that city. I don’t know what’s in there, but I’ll do what it takes to find my brother. If you want to, you may accompany me. I will let you decide.”
Kirill waited, patient.
Sasha breathed out. “Okay, let’s do it. Let’s go to Chelyabinsk.”
Part 2
Dom 3
The Chelyabinsk meteor was a superbolide caused by a near-Earth asteroid that entered Earth’s atmosphere over Russia on 15 February 2013 at about 09:20 YEKT (03:20 UTC), with a speed of 19.16 ± 0.15 kilometres per second (60,000–69,000 km/h or 40,000–42,900 mph). It quickly became a brilliant superbolide meteor over the southern Ural region. The light from the meteor was brighter than the Sun, up to 100 km away. It was observed over a wide area of the region and in neighbouring republics. Some eyewitnesses also felt intense heat from the fireball.
On account of its high velocity and shallow angle of atmospheric entry, the object exploded in an airburst over Chelyabinsk Oblast, at a height of around 29.7 km (18.4 miles, 97,400 feet). The explosion generated a bright flash, producing a hot cloud of dust and gas that penetrated to 26.2 km, and many surviving small fragmentary meteorites, as well as a large shock wave. The bulk of the object’s energy was absorbed by the atmosphere, with a total kinetic energy before atmospheric impact equivalent to approximately 500 kilotons of TNT (about 1.8 PJ), 20-30 times more energy than what was released from the atomic bomb detonated at Hiroshima.
The object was undetected before its atmospheric entry, in part because its radiant was close to the Sun. Its explosion created panic among local residents, and about 1,500 people were injured seriously enough to seek medical treatment.
-from Wikip
edia
It was nighttime. The Bear and his party were camped in a natural trench, protected from the wind and cold. A series of campfires kept them warm and also enabled them to melt snow for water and cook some simple rations. Some of the men had managed to trap a few small animals, setting them up proudly on spits above the fires. They passed around flasks of vodka.
Karl watched quietly, sitting apart from the group. His two bodyguards were like wolves nearby, alert but relaxed.
Karl offered Anton bread. “Have some, friend.”
“No, I don’t want any.”
In truth, Anton was ravenous, the trek through the snow and helping to set up camp had exhausted him, but he did not want to be indebted to Karl.
Karl shrugged and went back to his food. His men watched Anton, amused.
“Hey, nephew,” The Bear clapped Anton on the shoulder, “you need to eat something. Have some of this.”
Anton took the dried fish that was offered him. It was salty and chewy and delicious as hell. He opened his water canteen and had some of the icy water with it. Then he remembered he had a packet of ikra he had kept with him from the prison. He took it out of his jacket pocket. Still cold. He had some trouble getting the packet open, his hands frozen and less functional despite him wearing two pairs of gloves, but he eventually was able to tip the orange fish eggs out onto a piece of bread with butter. He savored the taste for a moment, feeling his energy return. It was the best he had felt all day.
Looking about him, he appreciated the wilderness they were in. He had spent so much of his youth indoors, in front of a computer, in a classroom, and most recently being a guest at a prison, that he had never taken the time to enjoy the amazing country he lived in. The sky was azure with dusk’s fading amber hue soaking into it. The snow was firm beneath him, unforgiving. He realised how grateful he was to have his jacket then. Given the choice between his warm jacket or a million dollars, he would choose the jacket every time.
The Nightmare Man: A Russian Zombie Novel Page 5
