Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse

by E. E. Isherwood

  Jealousy blossomed inside her.

  Of all the possible pictures he could have put on his computer screen, this one showed Yuri from a visit to this office. The snapshot showed him with his arms around the shoulders of two young, attractive women. Both wore proper blouses and skirts, but each showed a dangerous amount of cleavage as they leaned innocently toward her man. She studied the eyes of the redhead. Liza imagined her eyes held more than casual familiarity for her boss.

  She had many hours to dream up every manner of betrayal, though part of her continued to be stung by Ilia's careless words. Had she made any effort to call Yuri and simply talk? Even about dumb helmets? If she had, maybe the two women standing next to him would appear far less threatening.

  She was interrupted by Pavel. He dropped a small bag and a pair of ladies sneakers next to her, then walked quickly to the far side of the office. Their interactions had remained stilted and uncomfortable since the encounter in the woods. “We leave tomorrow, at dawn.”

  “You said that yesterday,” she shot back. “I’ve been locked up for three days. When are you going to let me out?”

  Whatever was going on, Iosef had not been ready in twenty-four hours as he promised.

  He sighed. “Just be ready, okay?”

  “And if I’m not?”

  He gazed at her, not unkindly. “You have to go with us. He won’t have it otherwise.”

  That sparked something inside. “Does he want to take me out into the woods again? Why the hell did you tell him we ever had anything?”

  He scratched at his ear, clearly agitated. “Yeah, we joke, you know? Long nights. That sort of thing. It was all in good fun.” He smiled, trying to make light of it.

  “Damn you, Pavel. He's never going to stop unless you tell him.”

  “He said he's just screwing with you.”

  “More like he wants to screw me,” she said with a determined furrow of her brows.

  “No. Not him. He and I are a team. We'll keep you safe.”

  He continued in a hushed voice. “We all have to do as we’re told. Yuri said my family’s lives depended on protecting you. On getting you to safety. Ilia is the boss. He knows what needs to be done to keep Yuri happy. Piss off Ilia and you piss off Yuri.”

  It was the first time he'd mentioned his own family. She almost let loose with what Yuri affectionately called her “bitchy face,” at the mention of Ilia, but she realized Pavel’s concern was only for his relatives. She packed away the attitude and tried to be empathetic. Or at least sympathetic.

  “Yeah, I, um. Am sorry.”

  “Just do as you’re told and we’ll all get through this alive.” He skirted around her and passed through the door. It closed with its annoying click.

  Left alone once more, she went to the window. It was her least favorite way to pass time because there was nothing good happening out in the world. She was ten floors up and had an excellent view of all of Moscow. Ironically, she saw little of it. The industrial district nearby had been aflame ever since she first looked outside days ago. Dark clouds of smoke billowed from a hundred spots in the lines of warehouses, and even more fires burned at every point on the horizon.

  Watching the world burn was too sad. Each fired chipped away at the life she had built for herself. The smoldering ashes represented the destruction of her own wealth and power. She thought back to Constance, lying on the floor of the boutique. The old Liza saw the shop owner as beneath her, and though she treated Constance better than most nobodies she met, there was a clear line between them. Now, she realized, it could just have easily been her as the bloody mess on the cold floor of that store. The kinship she felt for the poor workers in that dark dressing room stuck with her.

  The lines between haves and have nots was now the line between dead and alive.

  “No, it’s worse than that,” she admitted in a whisper. The pieces fell into place as she stared blankly out into the drifts of smoke. “The only line is between those who can do something to keep themselves alive and those who do nothing but drag the rest down.”

  Which one am I?

  But that wasn’t even a difficult question. She’d floated along her whole life, totally dependent on others. Hell, she couldn’t even be bothered to put gas in her beloved Bug.

  “But why should I have to fight?” She said in a louder voice.

  Because you want to live.

  Her breath clouded the glass in front of her face. She’d been daydreaming and had leaned her forehead against the windowpane. Far below, in the courtyard, numerous bodies lay where they’d fallen over the past few days, one of the many reasons she hated looking out there.

  She wrestled with conflicting aspects of her conditioning for the rest of the time she was in isolation. The next day, when Pavel came to her, she knew exactly what she wanted. It wasn’t that complicated.

  I want to live, she repeated.

  Even so, that wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Not with rapists and rioters and a husband who seemed to have forgotten her. Not with women who would bend over to show a little extra when the boss comes round. Not with police who no longer seemed capable of protecting themselves, much less society at large.

  Everyone wanted to live.

  She needed something more.

  She had to want to fight for it.

  22

  With Pavel there, and the false feeling of security he offered, her enthusiasm for a fight blew away. Her injuries had all settled into dull pain, and the rest of her hurt, too. She was more than willing to let Pavel order her around, so long as it would get her where she needed to go so she could just get it over with.

  “This is the day,” he said with cheer. “We get you to safety.”

  Still on the sofa, she could only reply with a weak “Yay.”

  “Come on. I’ll help you.” He reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Ouch,” she said.

  He looked at her, wondering where the pain was. His eyes sought to avoid her purple-lined neck.

  “Sorry. Take anything you need. We’re not coming back.”

  She finally put on the shoes he'd brought, but discovered the little bag held her baton.

  “I got it from the truck for you,” he said as she pulled it out. “You may have to defend yourself. It's all bad outside.”

  It touched her deeply that he'd thought of her as more than a helpless woman in need of protection.

  “Can I have one of your guns?” she said with a glimmer of a smile.

  “We'll talk about it another time. We have a plane to catch.”

  Pavel walked by her side and guided her down the hallway to the lift. When they were inside he pushed a button for the garage level.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, trying to break the quiet tension in the tight quarters.

  “Naryan-Mar,” he said.

  “Where is that?” she said in a meek voice. She hated not knowing where she was headed.

  Pavel didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled out his pistol and slid a part that made a loud scraping sound. He held it forward, like he was aiming at something through the closed lift door, then put it back into his holster on his hip.

  “It’s where you need to be.” He cocked his head toward her. “And you need to stop asking questions. Lots of people are risking their lives to help you. That’s all you need to know.”

  The lift’s bell dinged, and the doors opened.

  “This I know, Pavel. But I’ve had a bad few days. I just want to know it's all going to end. I want to get back to Yuri. Then you can all go home to your families.”

  He sighed. “See. That's your problem. It's always about you, like Ilia said. While you’ve been living in the penthouse here, I’ve been out on the streets getting supplies. Fighting. Surviving. And to top it, I have to keep track of you until you're safe …”

  He almost finished his sentence, but chose to walk into the garage. She followed and tugged at his sleeve.

  “Please, Pa
vel. What's wrong?” Her sympathy was real.

  Though he stopped, he didn’t meet her eyes.

  “The whole city where I come from has the disease. I need to be there.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

  He finally looked at her. In a fairy tale she imagined he’d be tearing up and they’d have a hug, but the cool garage wasn’t even close to a fairy tale. His eyes were dry.

  “Siberia,” he said flatly.

  “What?”

  “Siberia. That’s where we’re going.”

  In her mind’s eye, anything outside the city limits of Moscow was practically Siberia. Still, it gave her a frame of reference.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He nodded, then they continued walking. She was quick to let go of his jacket.

  They walked the entire length of the garage and went up the exit ramp until they stood in front of the only two vehicles in sight. The biggest was a large truck pulling a flatbed trailer with a large lump of something hidden under a green tarp. The other vehicle was also very large, though not nearly as long. Like a bigger version of a common tow truck.

  Men and women from the company stood around the vehicles, several with long pipes or fire axes in their hands. A few bodies lay among the distant bushes, like they'd been cleared from the lot.

  Pavel walked her right to Ilia, who was all business as he ordered people around. He pointed to the cab of the larger truck, indicating she should go there. Pavel pushed her in the small of her back, and the two of them mounted the stairs of the big rig.

  When he opened the door, the air stank like the inside had been left soaking in the rain for too long. There were no limits to the depravity of the type of men she imagined as driving this kind of truck. The front seat was a torn vinyl bench with barely enough room for three people. It was going to be tight.

  Pavel jumped in and scooted to the far end. He turned back to her with a hangdog face while pointing to his gun. “I have to guard this side of the transport.”

  She stood there on the top step looking in. You’re going to have earn this, she reminded herself. That took her down a path of introspection, but it only lasted for a moment. Someone stuck their hand on her ass and pushed her into the cabin.

  Ilia came up behind her and grabbed the steering wheel. She expected something witty, and she was thinking of a proper response to it, but he ignored her and yanked out something yellow from his pocket. The duck key chain was soiled from endless hands that had used the keys attached to it. Ilia paid it no notice as he twisted the key and started the truck. It roared to life and rumbled powerfully beneath her.

  Ilia leaned over so he could see Pavel. “Next stop, Sheremetyevo Airport. Look sharp.” He was as cheerful as she’d seen him.

  She couldn’t help feel a little of his enthusiasm. They were finally moving. Finally doing something. Finally out of that cramped building. Even suffering a ride with him wasn’t enough to ruin the moment.

  Ilia goosed the engine and worked the gears as they cruised across the parking lot.

  She wanted to clap.

  This time there were no rioters or sick people pouring out of the building. Yuri's people from his company dashed for their own cars and sped in all directions. It was an easy escape.

  She turned to Ilia, feeling a little giddy and with some of her old attitude. “I guess I didn’t get you sick, after all.”

  His square jaw clenched.

  And just like that everything crashed back down.

  23

  Though she felt tension and brooding fear, the trip to the airport and boarding the plane went by with remarkable speed and efficiency. They were met on the empty highway by several military trucks with men standing behind machine guns. It worried her at first, but Ilia and Pavel acted like they’d expected the escort.

  “The Cossacks have arrived,” Ilia said with a chuckle.

  The men with the guns aimed them at citizens running randomly near the roadway, but they didn’t have to fire. Once they reached the edge of Moscow with its harsh transition from urban to empty forest there were no more threats.

  When Ilia drove beyond the well-marked multi-lane entrance she asked, “Why are we passing the airport? Did you not see the exit?” She did her best to phrase it innocently, but it came out sounding accusatory.

  Ilia’s jaw clenched again.

  Oh, shit. I should keep my mouth shut.

  He didn’t reply.

  The lead vehicle of the convoy led them beyond the airport and down a gravel side road barely wide enough for the big trailer to fit. At one intersection she watched as a man tended a few sad-looking cows and goats near his wooden shack. It surprised her to see such squalor only a few miles from the shining star she called home. The road put them out onto the far end of the Sheremetyevo runways.

  Scores of planes sat near the border with the woods and farmland adjacent to the airport. It was like they’d been abandoned, though that didn’t seem possible.

  Ilia drove the truck over the grassy field with a watchful eye on the mirrors on each side. Though she wouldn’t dare ask him what was wrong, the whole truck rocked when they ran over some uneven ground. He spent a long few seconds watching the tarp-covered trailer behind them.

  She decided their final destination had to be one of the planes, as they were on the opposite side of the airport complex from the terminals or other structures, but when the truck parked behind the biggest plane at the airfield, she couldn’t help staring up in amazement. She’d never seen a plane so big.

  It had four huge engines, and its massive rear tailgate hung open like the gate beyond a castle’s drawbridge.

  Her awe must have shown because Ilia said, “That’s right, princess. Today you’ll be flying in an Antonov 124 Condor cargo plane, one of the largest aircraft ever built. Nothing but the best for Yuri’s precious cargo.”

  His words dripped with sarcasm, but she smiled to herself. Yuri never skimped on anything, and she felt a bolt of pride at being worth a plane that size. These people should be thanking me for arranging this opportunity for them flashed through her mind.

  But she would never say that out loud. Not anymore.

  Pavel offered her a hand when they got out of the truck, but she refused. Instead, she held on to the frame as she hopped to the side step, then to the ground, grateful for the comfortable sneakers she’d been given. She'd taken the baton in the stout bag, raising no complaints from Ilia on the drive over.

  “Thanks anyway,” she said to him, afraid she was making an enemy for no good reason.

  He nodded and took her into the gigantic hold of the airplane. They stepped over numerous ropes, tie-offs, and chains littering the cargo area. They walked beyond the uncomfortable-looking rows of seats along the outer wall even as some of the soldiers from their convoy jogged in, pulled some seats from the restraints and sat down.

  She glanced back. It was like looking from inside the rib cage of a whale. Hollow support girders arched from the floor on one side, up to the ceiling, and then back down the other side. The truck and its payload lay beyond the “ribs” at the bottom of the rear ramp.

  Pavel tapped her shoulder, letting her know she needed to move. They climbed straight up a yellow ladder at the end of the cargo hold. The whines of internal systems hummed louder as she got to the top.

  They were greeted by a female member of the flight crew; Pavel leaned and spoke something in her ear. She led them both to a berth that was more or less two long cushioned seats separated by a small table, reminiscent of train accommodations.

  This is what I’m talking about.

  On the drive over the two men hinted it was going to be a long flight, so she was dreading being put in a tiny seat. Now she felt relief she'd dodged such a fate. She was safe, finally. And maybe destined for a little comfort.

  “Just sit down and be quiet,” Pavel commanded in front of the woman.

  Liza looked at him with a reflexive scowl.

&n
bsp; “Please,” he said more gently. “Just stay here and don’t cause trouble. I’ll be back to check on you when we leave.”

  “How long will that be?” she replied, trying to calm her angry inner beast who was upset at not leaving that instant.

  He didn’t sound too concerned about getting her an exact time. “A couple hours?”

  “Can you check?” she asked, sounding a tad more desperate than she planned.

  “No. Be patient, Miss Liza. We're going to make it.” Pavel walked away, leaving her to wonder if he knew something, or was being overly optimistic for show.

  She thought she was alone, but the female crew member had never left. She stood out of the way with a calm look on her face.

  She raised her hand to get her attention.

  “I’d like a drink. Vodka. Pajalusta,” she added, as a courtesy.

  The “please” didn’t help. “Sorry, Miss. My orders are only to make sure you don’t move. I’m not your servant.”

  Liza flopped down onto the cushion of the seat, content that at least she had something more comfortable and private than an office couch.

  But a moment later she hopped up. Her back and bottom were soaked.

  “What in the world?”

  “Sorry, Miss. We just washed those cushions.” She didn’t appear very sorry.

  Liza stared daggers at the woman, but came away upset that she seemed to make more enemies than friends.

  24

  The hours rolled by and other than a few close calls when sweat-drenched Ilia walked by on his way to the crew quarters, it was pretty quiet. The attendant, named Zia, even turned out to be a decent lady as long as she wasn’t ordered around. By the time the plane took off Liza thought she was the only person on the plane she might describe as cordial. She even provided some towels to sit on.