The Nightmare Man: A Russian Zombie Novel

by Mick Franklin

  The Nightmare Man and The Bear were two of the last to leave. Kirill said, “Medved, that’s almost everyone out of here. Time to go.”

  “Fuck yourself, Kirill! We wait five minutes more.” The Bear was firing a machine gun indiscriminately into the crowd of zombies, ripping apart torsos and limbs. The zombies only stopped moving if they were hit in the brain; otherwise, they kept up their relentless advance.

  Kirill was pale, but it seemed that somehow his energy was returning. He held a compact machine gun, teeth bared. The Bear stopped shooting at the monsters but kept watching them, grinning and unaware that Kirill was pointing a gun at his head. They were completely surrounded, zombies smashing in through the windows and overrunning the building. There was an unending sea of hungry corpses, smashing themselves against the building, somehow sensing Kirill and The Bear were inside.

  “Uncle.”

  Both men turned to see Anton there.

  “Hey, you made it!” said The Bear.

  “Th – thank you for waiting for me.”

  Anton turned to Kirill. “I … I think this belongs to you.”

  Anton held out the knife to the Spetsnaz Captain.

  Kirill looked from the handle of the blade offered to him back to Anton.

  “You’re different now,” said the Nightmare Man. “You keep it, comrade.”

  Anton didn’t respond. He put the blade through his belt.

  “Also,” said Kirill, “you’re bleeding. We need to give you some medical attention.”

  Anton looked down at his chest to see five bullet holes in him. His eyes widened, and he fell into the arms of The Bear.

  The Medved lay Anton down and tore his shirt up over his chest to expose the wounds, quickly applying wound dressings.

  Kirill looked back to The Bear. “If you had been in Spetsnaz, you and me could have done things.”

  He lifted the gun away so that it rested on his shoulder and then studied the zombies down below.

  Downstairs, Rhyza drove her car in, tyres screeching, ghouls flung from before the car and smashing against a distance wall, struggling to stand up again. The car was clogged with blood and gore, some still-moving corpses reaching out weakly from where they had been smashed apart and left on the roof in the pool of carnage; these ghouls were little more than a head and one broken arm. Rhyza opened the driver side door. “They’re everywhere now! This is the last time I will be able to drive through them. My wheels are choked with zombies as it is.”

  “Come on,” said Kirill, running towards Rhyza. After a moment, The Bear joined him, carrying Anton in his arms. Kirill opened the passenger door and dove inside. The Bear opened the other door, laying Anton into the back seat of the car, turning back to face the Academy.

  “I hope this works,” said The Bear.

  Before he could get in, a zombie had raced up the back of the car, leaping across the roof and seized his arm. Its grip was strong. Six more fast zombies dropped down from the balcony above, barely slowed from the fall, immediately thrashing to their feet in rage, eyes glowing, and charging The Bear. All seven zombies were wrapped in barbed wire and had railway spikes driven into their limbs and metal clamps over their heads as if they had escaped from electric chairs. Shards of porcelain and jagged nails were exposed in their mouths as they screamed in rage. Whether someone had done this to them or they had inflicted this damage upon themselves was unclear. They were very fast and aggressive.

  “Get inside!” screamed Rhyza.

  The Bear was pulling at the zombie’s grip, but its hands were strong. Then the monster’s head exploded. The Bear ducked, released from the iron grip. Within two seconds, the other six zombies lay still, massive holes smashed through their heads. The corpses were spread across the floor, twisted and tangled. The Bear looked over the roof of the car, past the limp monster, to see the Nightmare Man with a smoking gun in his hand. It was aimed at The Bear.

  “Damn, and I thought you were dangerous unarmed,” said The Bear.

  Kirill did not lower the gun. “Get in the fucking car or the next bullet is through your fucking skull.”

  “You don’t need to tell me twice.” The Bear was laughing as he climbed into the vehicle.

  Rhyza hit the accelerator before The Bear was even fully inside. The car spun over the corpses, spitting up a stream of black blood across the walls. A broken section of wall acted as a ramp as she drove the car over it, sending them airborne. Outside the building, zombies were closing in, drawn to this part of the building by the noise.

  Rhyza smashed through the zombies trying to seize them. They burst through the crowd outside, wheels spinning over piles of corpses, mud and snow flying, the car shrieking away. The tyres spun in the snow and corpses, threatening to lose control, but Rhyza was able to command the car, even as it spun and sent monsters flying. Moments later, they were free, the crowd of zombies slowly vanishing in the rearview mirror, the car speeding towards the new dawn.

  Once they were away from the horde, the streets were much quieter. The roads were wide, giving them plenty of room to steer around any cars that had been left abandoned. They passed many buildings with the windows smashed in. There were corpses on the footpaths, many of them stripped clean of flesh. Occasionally, there was a stray zombie who heard the car and attempted to give chase but was quickly left behind.

  The Bear leaned with his elbows on the two front seats. “So where to next?”

  “Megapolis,” answered Kirill. “There’s a group of survivors staying there. They are not professional fighters, so they could use some protection. And you guys need somewhere to stay. Everyone wins. Simple.”

  “And you’re sure they won’t mind having us there?” asked the driver. “I can certainly see how we may have upset a few people recently.”

  “This is pure survival now. Anything that happened in the past has to be forgiven.”

  The Bear did not say anything to this, but minutes later, they approached a church and he said, “My sister was married in that church. Ha! I haven’t been there in years.”

  The car slowed as they neared the church, three of the passengers curiously looking out the window, Anton lying unconscious. At first, the church appeared empty, the car park surrounding it cluttered with litter. There were three shops sharing the car park, two of which had smashed windows.

  “There’s someone there,” said Kirill. A man had crept out from behind the church, carrying a pitchfork over his shoulder. Now that he had been seen, he made no attempt to hide. Looking closely, it was apparent there were other people inside the church, although it was impossible to say how many. Three other men emerged from the broken shops, also carrying farming tools. Their stances made it clear that strangers were not welcome.

  “That’s quite clever,” said Kirill. “They leave the outside looking as if this place has been taken over. Meanwhile, people stay inside and keep out of sight. If we hadn’t slowed down, we would never have seen that guy with the pitchfork.”

  “Let’s keep moving,” said the Rose Maniac, gently pulling the car away. The four men guarding the church watched them leave.

  The streets became increasingly residential. At times, it seemed everything was normal, that they were just passing through a quiet street, then suddenly, they would see a burned-out car or a shopfront with the front window broken and a dead body leaning out of it, and they were quickly reminded the nightmare was all too real.

  “My home is gone now,” said the Rose Maniac. “The zombi have taken over. I would give anything to have us all back together again, to be home.”

  Kirill looked to her. “You can never return to that place.”

  They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Kirill said, “Medved, I never had anything to do with drugs. The crime they convicted me for, possession of heroin, I am innocent of that crime.”

  “It doesn’t matter now whether you’re innocent or not. Like you said, we’re all in this together.”

  They drove on in silence.


  Back at the Tank Academy, the zombies still surged forward, the horde desperate to get inside. They still poured through the walls, worming their way through the windows and the jagged holes caused by explosions. They filled the building, looking almost surprised to find no living humans inside. Rotted feet tread on corpses. Some corpses stirred to life to join the ranks of the undead, now brothers with them instead of the New Mafia. The zombies unwittingly smashed expensive bottles of champonskoe on the floor, spilling caviar and gold jewelry, fine clothes trampled underfoot, money on the floor now soaked in blood. None of it mattered. They had taken the building; finally, inexorably, they had won.

  One zombie seemed to stand out from the rest. In life, he had been a fit and strong man; now, his teeth were bared in rage. The boxer glared at the place where the Nightmare Man had fled in a car minutes before. He ran towards the smashed wall, leaping over the rubble and giving chase. His feet pounded the road, arms pumping furiously as he screamed his fury.

  The zombie’s triumph was short lived. The Nightmare Man had rigged the building to explode. A loud boom split the sky with a searing flash of light, much like the meteorites that had brought the zombie plague to Chelyabinsk in the first place. The light expanded across the city as the Tank Academy exploded, glass from the handful of intact windows burst outwards. The home of the New Mafia collapsed. Hundreds of tons of concrete were brought down upon the zombies, crushing and destroying them beneath it.

  Elsewhere, the last of the New Mafia joined the survivors at the Megapolis. At first, the people were uneasy about allowing the New Mafia to join them, but they saw that Kirill was working with these people; he seemed to trust them, so they would, too.

  The Priest said, “In their hour of need, let’s open our arms to our brothers. There is room for everybody here. We can all stay in Megapolis.”

  The survivors in Megapolis shared what little supplies they had with the New Mafia and welcomed them into their home.

  Rhyza saw her friend Masha. They were both exhausted from fighting, both covered in blood and gore.

  “Masha! We’re alive!”

  “Yes, we made it.”

  “I haven’t seen Andre. Did he make it? Did you … see what happened?”

  “I’m sorry, Rhyza. He did his best for all of us, but he’s gone now.”

  Rhyza’s eyes sank. “Who will lead our brothers and sisters now?”

  They were both silent for a few moments and then Rhyza said, “We could do it. We can lead the New Mafia from now on.”

  Masha smiled. “You’re right. We’ll be in charge of the New Mafia. We’ll keep everybody safe.”

  “You’ll make a good leader. You’re a kind person.”

  Both Rhyza and Masha turned to see who had spoken. It was Karl. He had dried blood on his face from where he had been punched by Kirill. Otherwise, he looked as dangerous as ever.

  “Hi, Karl, it’s a surprise to see you again,” said Rhyza. She had been part of the Mafia for a long time now, and the frightened young girl she had once been was long gone. What was left was a soldier determined to protect her people.

  “But I’ve got to say,” Rhyza continued, “I’m not as nice as you remember me.”

  Karl held her gaze for a moment, his expression impossible to read. He lowered his eyes a moment, then immediately his eyes flashed back to hers. “You’re right! You’re Mafia now. You’ve got your own family to look after.”

  He walked away.

  Sasha was there. He hobbled out to meet the Nightmare Man, using a crutch made from various pieces of wood taped together. It was the wrong height for him and exaggerated his limp. The bandages on his leg were fresh.

  “Kirill! You’re alive!” Then Sasha noticed the bites. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, man …”

  “Never mind that now.”

  Sasha gathered himself. “Alright. I see you brought the Mafia with you. I bet there’s an interesting story behind that. What is it? If you can’t beat them, join them? Would you like me to become one of the Mafia, too?”

  “I’ll explain later. Right now, there’s work to be done.”

  “Okay, okay, man, of course. What’s next?”

  The Nightmare Man bared his teeth. “We’re going to find out who is responsible for all this.”

  In the distance, smoke poured out of the crater of the Tank Academy, former home of the New Mafia. The Nightmare Man stood with Sasha, The Bear, Anton, and Masha. The New Mafia were unloading trucks and marshrutkas, filled with supplies, ready to set up their new home. There was still the occasional zombie who had not been drawn to the Tank Academy, but these were quickly beaten down by the lookouts who were dressed in protective clothing.

  “That was a fucking adventure,” said The Bear, “but we’re alive.”

  Sasha looked up then, still anxious about the nearby dead. “There’s got to be thousands of those zombies left.”

  “Yes, for sure,” said Kirill. “They’ll be drawn by the noise. But we had time to get away.”

  “The new place will be a fortress,” said The Bear.

  Masha glared at the Nightmare Man. “Do you even know what this was about?”

  He paused before answering, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Everyone was looking at her now. The Bear said, “This is a victory, deyushka. We destroyed a hell of a lot of those biters and we are alive to talk about it.”

  “The cameras,” Masha said.

  Still, the group was bewildered.

  “Haven’t you seen the cameras everywhere?”

  “Sure,” said Sasha, “but so what? There’s no one left to watch them … is there?”

  Masha pointed angrily at a small building with a satellite dish on top of it. They walked towards it, weapons drawn.

  The building was just a utility shack, but on the roof there was a signal dish.

  “I don’t think this means anything,” said Anton. “I mean, in the past, it might have done something. But Sasha’s right, there’s no one left to watch.”

  “Take another look,” Sasha said quietly.

  On one of the control panels was written:

  Dom 3

  “I’ve been away for a long time,” said Kirill. “Does that mean something?”

  Sasha said, “There is a TV show called Dom 2. It’s about a group of people living in a house and everything they do is on camera. The whole nation watches. It’s very popular.”

  “It could just be a coincidence,” said Kirill. “Those words could mean something else.”

  “I thought so, too,” said Masha, opening her backpack and taking a laptop out. She plugged it into the control panel with a cable, “but then I tried doing this. I’m good with computers, but there was no hacking involved. It’s as if they wanted us to see.”

  Everyone gathered around the computer. The screen lit up and showed various parts of the city, staying on a view for several seconds before randomly displaying another location. Generally, the streets were empty but some of them showed zombies, moving as if drawn to something. Suddenly, the screen changed and showed the image of the survivors gathered around the computer, as if someone was recording them from nearby.

  “Who’s filming us?” Sasha asked. The Nightmare Man pointed towards a surveillance camera facing them on a nearby building.

  “What’s the meaning of this, deyushka?” asked The Bear.

  But it was the Nightmare Man who spoke. “We’re being watched. This whole thing, everything we went through … it’s just entertainment,” he looked to Masha, “right?”

  She smiled grimly. “Yes, that’s how it looks to me.”

  As realisation sunk in for each person, their faces showed first bewilderment and then despair. All their suffering had been for someone else’s entertainment.

  The Nightmare Man grinned, but it was not a grin that Sasha liked. The Nightmare Man said, “They want a show, so let’s give them a fucking show.”

  Part 3

  ZOMBI

  LOST
FOOTAGE:

  Kirill stumbled through the door, bitten and bleeding. “You motherfuckers,” he snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal. He had just been bitten by the Mafia boss zombies moments before and was now fleeing the New Mafia.

  He staggered; the imperative was to create distance – there was no such thing as safety anymore. Bursting through a door, he closed it behind him, desperate for some way to barricade it; there was none. He was in a kitchen. The Nightmare Man collapsed.

  A Spetsnaz soldier leaned calmly against the wall, watching Kirill with amusement. It was Vladimir, from outside the wall enclosing the city.

  “You’re still alive, even after all this.” There was admiration in Vladimir’s voice.

  “Vladimir? You’ve got to help me out. There’s got to be a hundred people trying to kill me.”

  “More than that,” said the soldier. There was a camera in the corner of the room. Lightning fast, he turned and shot it, exploding it into fragments of plastic and pulverised electronics. He held the smoking gun for a moment as if the shattered remains of the camera may still be some threat before turning back to Kirill. He did not put the gun away.

  Hidden at an angle low to the floor was a less obvious camera which continued to record everything.

  “Vladimir, its game over for me.”

  The soldier looked down, as if mentally arguing something with himself.

  “Kirill, I always enjoyed being your sergeant. You and me could have done anything.”

  Moving like a predatory animal, he swiftly unbuckled his satchel, removing a piece of equipment that looked like a cross between a gun and a syringe.

  “What’s that you got there, brother?”

  “Shut up,” said Vladimir, kneeling beside Kirill. The Nightmare Man was too weak to put up a fight. The needle was punched into his shoulder muscle, a viscous serum delivered. He was barely aware of it.