27.
Kirill rode the motorcycle with Sasha on the back. He had “acquired” the Harley Davidson from the carpark at Megapolis. Sasha’s leg was bandaged with rags, a loose end flapping in the wind. The wound was treated four times a day by Kirill cleaning it with water and then pouring sugar into it. This simple battlefield technique was almost as effective as antibiotic therapy in keeping a gunshot wound from becoming infected. Here on the outskirts of Chel, there were no zombies around; he could believe for a moment that he was back home visiting his brother and everything was peaceful. He slowed as he saw the wall in the distance. A two-metre high concrete perimeter with razor wire on it encircling the city. It was enough to break the illusion. Kirill brought the motorcycle to a stop.
“I’ll need to change your wound again,” said Kirill. “We can stop here.”
“Do you think the sniper will find us here?”
“I think we’re safe enough.” Kirill kept his eyes forward, scanning.
“Why the hell was she even shooting at us? Didn’t she know we were human? My God, I can’t believe she wanted to kill us.”
Kirill steered around a wheelbarrow full of picks and shovels. “I did see her after I fixed up your leg and we were holed up in that restaurant. That sniper girl was following us. She came very close to where we were hiding, to the point I was going to kill her with a knife, but she moved away. She didn’t see me, but I saw her. I saw she had some tattoos. Pretty sure she’s Russian Mafia.”
“Great, just what we need. It’s not enough that we’re stuck in a city full of zombies, we’ve now got a sniper from the Russian Mafia after us.”
“I don’t think she’s the only one.”
Sasha sat up straighter. “But they’re fighting the zombies, too. Surely a lot of the Mafia people must have been killed by the zombies, along with just about everyone else.”
“The Mafia are professional killers. They’re probably enjoying this whole thing. For all we know, the Mafia could be stronger than ever.”
Nearby were work machines, earthmovers and the like, lying dormant for some project that would probably never be finished. Pickaxes and shovels were left beside mounds of gravel. There was gear for workmen, including safety vests and hard hats. No sign of any workers.
Kirill brought the motorcycle in slowly, ready to speed off at the first sign of trouble. There were a number of places for people to prepare an ambush, including a tin shack with the door hanging on one hinge and some of the machines provided excellent cover. He weaved around piles of rubble, driving in generous circles. There were barrels of chemicals and fuel for the machines, warning labels declaring that the contents were flammable.
There were also crates of explosives.
Kirill’s eyes lit up when he saw them. He was fascinated by all types of weapons. After driving through the entire work site and being satisfied that no one was waiting to harm them, Kirill brought the bike to a halt beside the explosives. Sasha carefully disembarked the motorcycle, limping with his bad leg. They had stopped at one of the frequent pharmacies all around Chelyabinsk and acquired some painkillers, which he needed now. He swung his backpack off his shoulder and onto one of the barrels, flipping open the compartment with the medications in it. He broke the painkillers from their packet with a satisfying crack and took two of them with some water from a bottle. He offered it to Kirill who also had a drink before giving the bottle back.
He found a crowbar and had the crates open a few minutes later.
“Intact,” Kirill said.
“That’s a hell of a lot of bombs,” said Sasha.
“They’re not bombs yet. The detonators are missing.” He scanned the yard again. “The detonators are probably in that shack.”
“And if they are not there, you can make them yourself, right?”
Kirill smiled. “Yes.”
Kirill looked to the explosives and then back to the city. He had a plan.
28.
Semyon dropped to the floor of the Megapolis entertainment centre and rolled, quickly getting to his feet, and ran. Eyes wide, looking back behind him, desperate. The zombies were in close pursuit, two of them, running after him with wild surging movements, shrieking and snapping at the air, hands clutching to reach him. They were filled with insane rage …
Megapolis had formerly been a popular venue in Chelyabinsk, complete with cinemas, video games, a bowling alley, and an impressive range of restaurants. The restaurants held a variety of food from around the world such as Japanese sushi, Brazilian meat on swords, Chinese food, and German beer. It had been popular among young people but also old people as well, who could enjoy a quiet meal at one of the huge restaurants and then watch some of the traditional Russian dancing taking place before they retired for the evening, while the younger people would stay on to enjoy the nightlife as the restaurants swiftly turned into nightclubs. Many Russian venues served shisha, which was a flavoured tobacco-smoking device that filtered the smoke through water. These devices looked a lot like the devices that people used to smoke marijuana, but in the restaurants, it was only ever flavoured tobacco that was served.
An endearing feature of Russian cuisine was that they openly borrowed from many other cultures, choosing an impressive variety of food from around the world and serving that in many restaurants, so that a restaurant which claimed to serve Japanese food would actually do an excellent job of providing Italian food as well. These restaurants were typically served by student waiters and waitresses, mostly looking bored out of their brains. They tended to work long hours, too, which didn’t help matters. In fact, it was common for many people to work a twelve-hour day and for many shops and restaurants to be open quite late at night.
Now the restaurants stood empty.
Semyon ran through the silent halls. His pursuers were always just behind him. Semyon called out as he ran, only making the fast zombies more eager to catch him. He tried changing direction suddenly to slow down his pursuers and create some much-needed space. It worked; they weren’t as agile as him, but they were relentless, so that any advantage he seized, they worked to get back again. He pulled a potted plant down behind him. The two zombies smashed into it, both of them colliding and spilling over onto the floor. They were on their feet in seconds, giving chase again. Both of them were clearly injured but showed no sign of feeling pain.
His feet pounded the floor. He could not remain ahead of them indefinitely. Rounding a corner, he saw the cinemas nearby. The two zombies growled and ran at him. Semyon was sprinting again. He was running towards a row of video game machines, the lights still on. One of them was the claw game, the tray beneath the claw being stacked full of little stuffed toys. The bright yellow panels reminded Semyon of many nights he had had here as a customer, before the zombie apocalypse, when he had been a young student himself, enjoying his life. The image of the claw game brought back the memory of better times. Suddenly, the claw game tilted forward violently, crashing face down on the floor.
Semyon didn’t slow down. Instead, he dived over the fallen machine, sailing through the air, then rolling onto the floor to absorb the impact of landing, and then sliding away across the floor on his back. He slid across the floor until he was stopped gently by the next corner. He now faced the way he had come, watching the two zombies try to navigate the fallen obstacle.
In their eagerness to reach Semyon, both zombies tripped and fell over the machine, landing heavily on the floor. Before they could get to their feet again to continue chasing Semyon, the Nightmare Man stepped out from behind one of the machines. He was carrying a steel baseball bat. It was him who had tipped over the machine.
Two hard swings and both zombies were unconscious, their jaws broken.
Semyon brought his knees to his chest and then sprang into the air in a hip-hop move, landing on his feet in one lithe movement. He was not out of breath at all as he approached Kirill.
“Man,” said Semyon, “I sure hope your crazy plan works.”
&n
bsp; Kirill did not take his eye off the two fallen zombies.
29.
In a small shop, the front door creaked open. A zombie turned around to face the sound, moving slowly towards it. There was food supplies scattered on the floor, dried fish, chocolate bars. There were stacks of bottled water that hadn’t been looted yet.
Without hesitation, Kirill leapt up to the zombie and smashed it in the jaw with his baseball bat. It fell and was motionless. Semyon followed him in a silent crouch, scanning for danger.
Three more zombies stood up from behind the counter. Kirill was on them almost instantly, kicking the first one in the chest so it was sent flying backwards into the other two zombies. They struggled on the floor to rise again, but Kirill was already attacking them with the bat; it sounded like they were made of wood as they were struck.
In moments, the store was still again. Semyon gathered supplies, filling his backpack with much-needed food items. He separated some of the water bottles from their plastic container and slid them into the backpack.
Kirill held the bat high, ready to strike again, always expecting danger.
Ten minutes later, they were in one of the cinemas back at Megapolis. It was full of people. They were refugees from the city outside, now huddled together in the huge dark building.
Sasha approached them, limping on his bad leg, offering them black coffee.
“How’d you guys go?”
“Hey, we made it back in one piece,” said Semyon, taking a cup. Kirill held the steel bat leaning comfortably on his shoulder and took the second coffee. He was very aware of his surroundings, studying the rows of people who were trying to sleep or else get some food, which was always in short supply here, no matter how many runs Semyon made. It was dangerous to go outside, and not only because of the zombies; the New Mafia were an ever-present threat.
Kirill looked about the cinema again. There was a young priest who was preparing for the next sermon. Many people had already gathered around to hear him speak. The water supplies they had were all blessed by him. The front row was full of children and some parents of those children still lucky enough to have parents. More people filled the rows behind them. Lastly, they were joined by the older crowd.
“Do you go to church?” Sasha asked Kirill.
Kirill studied him for a moment. “I don’t have much time for it. Don’t take me the wrong way, I think Christianity helps a lot. I know many guys who carry a Bible with them when we go on a mission. And I do own a crucifix.”
Sasha laughed. “Yeah, okay, but I mean do you ever set foot inside a church?”
“Like this one, you mean?”
“Okay, so church is not for you.”
Kirill thought for a moment. “I get that Christianity is good for holding the community together. It gives our people a common identity. But it’s not for me.”
“Yes, it does help a lot. It helps to know there’s a higher meaning to all this, that in the end we’re all going somewhere better.”
Kirill said nothing to this, so Sasha continued, “There’s also a lot of nice ideas in Christianity, like forgiving your enemy.”
“No disrespect, comrade, but you can’t forgive a zombie. If you try to make friends with it, then it will kill you. Do you think I should try to forgive that woman who was shooting at us?”
“Well, we don’t know the full reason she was shooting at us, do we? It may well be the case that one day we’re working with her. I mean, we’re all in this together, after all.” Kirill wasn’t buying it, so Sasha looked over to where the priest was almost ready to begin his sermon. “When the dead are coming back to hunt us, a little forgiveness among ourselves could really go a long way.”
The priest came over to them, hands held out.
“Ah, Semyon, great to see you.” The priest clapped Semyon’s shoulders. He said to the Nightmare Man, “My friend, my name is Father Gorodetsky. We all really appreciate your help here. Semyon says a lot of good things about you.”
“Not a problem, Father Gorodetsky, my name is Kirill. It looks like your help is needed here. I’ll keep on helping Semyon with his supply runs. It would be a good idea to tell your people not to set foot outside.”
Gorodetsky nodded deeply. “I understand. The dead returning to life is a terrifying thing.”
“It’s not just them. As I understand, the Mafia are still active. They have snipers. They don’t seem to care who they shoot.”
“I don’t think these people would venture outside again unless they had to, but I will make sure they get the message. Kirill, would you be willing to say a few words to the congregation?”
“No disrespect, Father, but I think that’s a bad idea. I do my work from the shadows.”
“Please, Kirill, these people need hope in such a dark time. A few words from you could really mean a lot to them.”
Everyone was now looking at them. Sasha and Semyon were also curious to see how Kirill would react.
Kirill did not raise his voice but everyone heard him. “Sisters and brothers. I know how terrible things look right now. But we will endure. We will overcome this. Always remember, we are Russians.”
Silence. Kirill nodded once. He had given many brief speeches like this before leading men to war. Long, glorious speeches were for men who never fought. Kirill turned away; he had many things to do. Someone began clapping. It quickly caught on.
As Kirill turned to face the audience, people were standing up and applauding him. Cheering.
Semyon laughed as he clapped, “Yeah! We are Russians!”
A chant began, “Kirill! Kirill!”
A woman clapping her hands together said to him, “Thank you for saving us, Kirill! We need your help.”
Sasha said to him quietly, smiling. “You’re a hit, man.”
Kirill looked back to him. “This is all just work to me. I’m here to do a job, nothing more.”
30.
The horde crossed the frozen river. There were thousands of zombies in the dark, moving together, drawn by the sound of music playing from the building. Snow crunched beneath their feet. Most of the streetlights were out. But the building was lit with its own light; there were disco light effects, green beams, camera flashes, spotlights. The New Mafia made no attempt to disguise their presence. In fact, quite the opposite. They announced to the city they were there, loud and more glorified than ever.
The party at the New Mafia building had already brought hundreds of zombies to surround the building, trying to break into its concrete walls. Now they were joined by a much larger horde, sweeping across the city, and adding to the ranks of the zombies gathered waiting, desperate to gain entry and attack the New Mafia.
31.
Semyon distributed food among the survivors in the cinema. He tried to make sure everybody got some dried seafood, which kept well and was nutritious, but it was mainly the staples of cooked rice that was keeping them going.
Sasha stood with Kirill. “So when do we put your crazy plan into action?”
“Tonight,” Kirill said simply.
They walked out of the cinema out into the foyer. Some of the arcade machines were still working, glowing in the otherwise poorly lit foyer. There was an enormous plastic box that had once held popcorn, long since drained.
A life-sized statue was used to advertise a new film, which none of them would probably ever see. Kirill stopped and studied the figure; he had walked past it a hundred times, but now it caught his attention.
The movie was this winter’s hit horror comedy, Grim Teenager 3. The statue used to advertise the movie was a teenager wearing a grey hoodie, the hood up to make him reminiscent of the grim reaper, the letters “ANGST” written across the chest in silver. He had grey baggy trousers on. He gripped a huge scythe and held it threateningly before him, slightly crouched as if ready for combat. His eyes glared and were striking because they had no irises, just pupils.
The writing on the cardboard underneath the grim teenager read “Grim Teenager II
I” made to look as if it was written in fresh blood, and below that was the tagline, “No one knew what he was angry about.”
Kirill studied the baby-like face of the statue again.
“I wonder if that scythe is real.”
“Probably is,” said Sasha cheerfully. “Russia is a country with low health and safety standards!”
Kirill crossed the foyer and stood before the Grim Teenager. He lifted the scythe from the statue’s hands, testing its weight. He turned to face Sasha with the curved blade before him, as if ready to cut his enemies down.
“Now that’s an omen if I ever saw one,” said Sasha.
32.
Andre sat in the main entrance of the former tank school. The Mafia were spread out before him, partying to loud music, drinking vodka, taking drugs. They wore some of the most expensive and fashionable clothes available in Russia, including items from the Gum clothing store in Moscow, where a T-shirt could cost a thousand dollars. Several of the hunters were drunk and swinging from the open doors of the armoured car, laughing and spilling champagne. They wore gold jewelry as well, usually in the form of crosses from the Orthodox church, the main religion in Russia. The girls were wearing their best makeup, dazzling, eyes bright, lips red. A crate of champonskoe was opened and champagne glasses were filled for everyone.
Andre shook one bottle of champagne and opened it so it drenched the six zombies in the metal enclosure in the centre of the room. He laughed a lot at his former bosses. They became more aggressive, shouting and trying to reach him. Each one of the Mafia bosses had a bullet through their heart.
Andre looked from the six Mafia bosses to the silver six-shooter tucked into his belt.
“Six bullets, six bosses,” he said.
Masha ran up to him, holding her rifle. “The hard case is back! He’s strapped bombs to the zombi!”
The Nightmare Man: A Russian Zombie Novel Page 9
