Tainted Blood

by Ferrel D. Moore

  From the other cot came agonized murmurings as Zoe attempted to roll over, but instead fell quiet again lying on her back. Drogol walked over and stared down at her as though willing her to heal.

  “Rest, child,” he said gently.

  Suddenly, Sveta blanched. She reached for the pistol tucked in her belt.

  “Where is my gun? Where is that monster?”

  Drogol’s mouth tightened and his eyes blazed.

  “It is gone. Gone now and I pray that we do what we must do before this night is over so that it will never come back again.”

  Sveta’s eyes locked on a stack of weapons to the side of her bed.

  “Give me a gun.”

  “But it is gone. You are safe.”

  “Can you guarantee me that?”

  Drogol hesitated, and she saw that the anguish in his expression was real.

  “I think yes.”

  “Not good enough.”

  She sat up again, slowly this time, and then tried to get out of bed and retrieve a weapon. Drogol laid a hand on her chest.

  “Wait,” he said. “Rest. You are safe for now.”

  She struggled against him, but was no match as he pressed her back down onto the bed.

  “Please,” he said. “I will watch over you.”

  He looked away, unable to control his emotions.

  “What is that thing?” she asked again.

  “It is a demon from Hell.”

  “Just give a straight answer, please.”

  “You would not understand,” he said and he turned away to pace the room, wringing his hands.

  “Whatever it is,” she said, “you’ve lost control over it, haven’t you? We’re all in danger, aren’t we?”

  Drogol picked up a wooden table and threw it straight through a window which exploded outward as though it had been hit by a cannonball. Sveta cringed at the sight and sound.

  “Leave me alone, woman,” he cried with his back still to her. “This is more than I can bear.”

  He covered his face with his hands and began to sob.

  Sveta was stunned by his rage and violence, but the sight of his anguish frightened her even more.

  As he turned back to face her, she asked him, “Did you really bring Zoe back at the warehouse, or did she recover by herself?”

  “I did nothing to help her. Can’t you understand that? You saw it yourself. God lifted her up. Tell me, why is it that you doubt the power of the Spirit? Even I, I who suffer under the affliction of this unnatural curse, even I see the Divine at work. I am only a man. By myself I have no power.”

  “I’m too old to believe in faith healers,” said Sveta.

  “Perhaps you are a little too young.”

  Even propped one elbow, his last statement made Sveta laugh bitterly. The sight of him wiping away tears made her angry. This man’s beast had nearly killed both her and Zoe.

  “In my line of work, you grow up quickly,” she said. “Nothing like a little death to educate you.”

  “Only life educates us,” he said with a dark look. “There is nothing to learn from death except to look toward life.”

  “Whatever. If you want to say that I can’t understand so you won’t tell me what’s going on, then screw you. Just give me my gear and I can hit the road. The two of you can face your monster and Hauck all on your own.”

  “Then go,” he said, and turned away from her. “Your bag and your weapons are near the door. Take them when you are ready and leave. The beast has gone for now.”

  Although she didn’t believe he knew exactly where the beast was, she didn’t think Drogol would knowingly send her out into danger. Then again, two days ago she didn’t believe Hauck would be hunting her, either.

  As she lifted herself up, pain electrified her back, but she kept going until she was sitting. Her biggest fear was internal bleeding, but she had suffered that before and knew something of what it felt like. At least she hoped she did. There was no chance that she could enter and be treated at a hospital without Hauck learning about it, tracking her down and killing her. She had betrayed him; he couldn’t afford to show mercy.

  Drogol turned from her as though she weren’t there and sat in a chair near the head of Zoe’s bed. He reached over and stroked her dark hair as though she were a child, acting as though Sveta were already gone, as though she had never been there to begin with.

  It was an irritating, arrogant side of his personality that made her want to scream in frustration. So typical. Like all Russian men. Brutal, needy, generous and vain.

  With a painful grimace, she held her body upright as she swung her legs over the side of the cot one at a time. Sveta had been through the process before; she knew the routine. Stop before each major movement. Let your body get used to the change. Clench your jaw. Move again.

  When an IED exploded and flipped her jeep, she’d been pinned for seven hours while the driver bled to death beside her. There was nothing she could do to stop it. But when she’d finally been rescued, she’d felt a lot like she did now. Pain. Dizziness. Wanting to throw up or cry.

  Sveta knew the routine.

  The edge of the cot wobbled as she got her first foot onto the floor. Then the second. She took her time, tried to feel her balance, then leaned forward and began to stand.

  A hot sparkler jabbed into her hip as her legs began to shake, but she pressed a palm against the edge of the cot’s railing to steady herself. Her duffel bag of weaponry, clothes and cash seemed to be a mile away as her vision waivered. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing.

  Five steps maybe to the first drafting table. She could make that. She could do that.

  Her stomach growled so loudly it sounded like she was concealing a wild animal beneath her shirt. Her injuries weren’t the only thing weakening her, she realized. She needed food and water. Too much action, too little nourishment.

  She took her first step with her chin up just enough to show that she was in control and could make it to wherever she needed to go.

  Drogol expelled a bitter laugh.

  “What are you waiting for? Go, go out into the night. Spit on my offer of help. Talk to me profanely like a profligate. Treat me like a peasant. Go, I do not need you.”

  Now she had to make it. No way would she quit.

  She saw a short piece of wood that could be used as a cane underneath the drafting table. Holding firm to the edge, she bent down and grabbed it. As she got hold of it, she became dizzy. She stayed squatted down long enough for her head to clear.

  “Are you not able to stand?” asked Drogol. “Would perhaps like me to carry you to the street?”

  “I’ve been hurt worse,” she said, and slowly, very slowly, stood up again.

  “You are a stubborn woman.”

  “Better than staying down here with you, kept in the dark.”

  “It is daylight above,” said Drogol. “They will find you and kill you or worse.”

  “That’s between me and them,” said Sveta.

  She started walking again.

  Twenty maybe twenty-two steps to the door. Her makeshift cane helped. She had maybe ten steps left to go when she collapsed and hit the floor. As she lay there helpless, she heard something crash to the floor just outside of the door. Panic raced through her nervous system like lightning through an ungrounded network. When she tried to pull herself up on one elbow she fell back down.

  “Where is your strength now, woman?”

  Sveta closed her eyes and drifted away.

  *****

  His voice was as soft and seductive as Hauck’s. Her head was held in the soft vise of his hands, one open palm pressed on either side of her head.

  “Do not open your eyes,” he said. “Rest and God may heal you.”

  Drogol began to speak in a strange language; his rhythm and powerful deep voice caused her to think it was a liturgical benediction.

  “What are you saying? What is that language?”

  “Always, always your mind devis
es questions. I am asking God to heal you. I am saying I face perhaps the greatest dangers of my life. I implore God for divine mercy, saying my enemies swarm about me, and pleading that I need his help to survive and become victorious.”

  She nodded slowly, afraid to move her head. A field of warmth covered the sides of her head and started to spread down her face and neck to warm the rest of her body. A faint electrical tingling surged through her spine and moved throughout her body; her broken fingers felt on fire. But it was an oddly pleasant feeling and she relaxed into it.

  “The language is the language of my people,” explained Drogol. “I was born in a remote part of Siberia. It was a place of holy languages brought to us by pilgrims looking to see the face of the divine in nature. Those who survived the journey were strong in spirit and favored by God. There is much to learn from such souls.”

  “We are such long distances from our homes,” murmured Sveta.

  She felt as though she were lying in a warm blanket, bundled in her mother’s arms. Safe. Warm. She felt a sensation of well-being flood through her body. Like drinking hot tea on a freezing cold night, feeling its heat radiate throughout her body.

  “And we are strangers in this world. Betrayed and hunted. Yet we are fearsome creatures, weak only in our loneliness.”

  His words seemed to flow through her like a river of hope; his voice was strong and deep, filled with lonely passion.

  “Are we safe?” she asked.

  There was no reason to ask him, she knew. His beast was out of control. And he could not know how close Anna Kazakova was to finding them, or how close Hauck was either, for that matter. For all his strangeness Drogol was, after all, only a man.

  “We are never safe,” he said. “Never.”

  The warm tingling sensation that began with Drogol’s hands held to either side of her forehead continued until she felt it even in the soles of her feet. She smiled without thinking; health and goodwill lit her heart. But when she thought of what Drogol said, she opened her eyes and stared up at him, searching his face for a hint of hope.

  “What is happening to me?”

  “The Divine has chosen to heal your body,” he said. “Give thanks and rise.”

  Sveta had scarcely seen the inside of a church since childhood.

  “Where’s the duffel with my guns?”

  “Are you so afraid of Heaven’s gifts?” he asked, his face incredulous.

  His hands came away as she sat up. The dizziness and sense of imminent nausea were gone. She felt ready for action. Like a soldier called to duty, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and got to her feet. A stretch and twist of her upper torso. A rise to her tiptoes that bunched her calf muscles together like squeezing fists. She was good to go again.

  “Thanks. I don’t know how you did it, but I feel better than I did before all of this started.”

  Drogol said nothing.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I did nothing, nothing at all. God is real. His gifts are real. Do you really believe that I have power to heal you? Look at me; I am only flesh and blood like you.”

  “I don’t know how it works and I don’t care how it works,” she said irritably. “All I’m saying is thanks and I have to get going before Hauck or the others show up here.”

  He stood like a defiant king.

  “This is my home, my only hope,” he shouted. “Whoever violates this space, whoever would destroy my hope is already dead. I will kill them with my own hands.”

  His face was flushed bright red, and his eyes lit with a terrible light.

  “Calm down cowboy,” she said quickly. “All I’m saying is that I can’t hide here forever. You don’t know Hauck.”

  Drogol raised his hand, and then flipped it as though knocking away an annoying fly.

  “I knew him long before you did,” he said dismissively.

  “Oh, that’s right. You murdered a prison full of men where he was stationed, didn’t you?”

  “It was a military prison. I was a prisoner against my will. They were going to experiment on me. Can you really mourn such men?”

  “I understand all that. You did what you had to do to get out.”

  Her bag was sitting on a drafting table nearby. Drogol had swept away books that now lay scattered on the floor to make room for it. She walked over, pulled out her 9 millimeter, checked the clip and the magazine, flipped the safety to the “off” position, and grinned. The way she held the pistol, her intent was obvious before she spoke.

  “And that’s what I’m doing, Drogol. What I have to in order to get out of here. Don’t try to stop me.”

  “Go,” he said.

  “I don’t need your permission,” she said. “I’m armed.”

  “I see.”

  “Glad we finally understand each other.”

  “I think not,” he said. “May I show you something before you leave?”

  “No time.”

  “It is on your way to the stairs. You can look and then continue. I have no power to keep you here.”

  “You have no power over me period.”

  “So true.”

  “Okay. Show me.”

  A sudden pang of conscience hit Sveta. She looked toward Zoe out of the corner of her eye.

  “How’s she?” she asked.

  “She is well,” replied Drogol. “I am only giving her time to recover fully.”

  “You gave her something to help her sleep?”

  “I sang to her, so she sleeps.”

  “Let’s get going,” said Sveta. “Remember, you stay in front. I’ll have a gun at your back all the way.”

  “How powerful you are,” said Drogol.

  “Shut up and start walking.”

  *****

  When he opened the door, Sveta waived him through first with her pistol. She took stock of her situation. She had cash and new clothes in the bag, which meant she would have enough to survive. Zoe was on her own with Drogol. She would have to make her own decisions when she woke up. Sveta had to concentrate on survival.

  The golden light seemed brighter than she remembered it, and the strange electrical equipment shone as though polished especially for her awakening. Yet she cringed, too, because the beast could be hiding anywhere, ready to leap out at her without warning.

  Forty feet ahead, she saw the train lying on its side. One last car and the caboose miraculously stood standing upright on the track as though the initial impact from the beast had been so quick and brutal that it had cut the trains in half like a cleaver cutting a snake into two parts with a single vicious slash.

  One of the great bells was knocked loose from its giant frame, and landed a good fifteen feet away from where it had been. Wisps of steam drifted up from various parts of the complex, as though the beast had cracked or broken steam pipes that must have provided some of the location’s heat.

  “What is that?” asked Sveta.

  She was pointing toward a smoky glass cylinder taller than a man and three to four feet in diameter. It was mounted on a blue-black platform eight feet square and just as high. In an odd way it reminded Sveta of the Plexiglas cylinders that drive-through banks send about through pneumatic tubes.

  “My salvation, if I am favored by God. My destruction if I am not.”

  Drogol was moving in long strides toward the back end of the train. His high-collared vestment seemed more natural on him than it had on the surface, where time seemed to have passed his fashion sense by. Down here, surrounded by electrical equipment from a bygone era, he was not hanging in chains. He was the master of this place, and he walked quickly, confidently through it.

  His back was a good target, but if he tried to bolt she would shoot him in the legs. Drogol had not harmed her. He was crazy, yes, but he had not hurt her when he had the chance. He might even, she thought, be able to heal himself if she didn’t kill him.

  Spooked. She must be spooked. What happened to all the questions she wanted answered before she left? She knew t
he answer to that. Even so far below the surface in this hidden world of Drogol’s, she worried that Hauck could track her. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. Something. She was missing out on something and she just couldn’t get a handle on what and that spooked her.

  They had come to the second car from the caboose, approaching it from the side opposite to where the other cars lay across the track like felled game.

  “This is what you want me to see?”

  “No. Follow me inside and I will show you.”

  “Go,” she said, pointing her pistol at him.

  He saves me, he heals me, so I point a gun at him, she thought.

  At the top of the metal stairs, he opened the train car door inward and waited for her to follow him in. She hung back just a little, instinctively aware that there was something in this car that she did not want to see.

  He walked a short way in and turned to her.

  “Come. Come in. There is nothing to fear. Only a gift I give to you for your journey.”

  “Move in a little further,” she said.

  Drogol obliged her, and then waited with his arms folded.

  “Okay,” she said as she crossed the threshold, “I’m in. What do you have for me?”

  She hadn’t noticed much about the other train car that she and Zoe had cowered in as the beast was trying to kill them, but now she saw that the cars were elegantly, even beautifully equipped with marble, brass, and velvet. However these cars had been transported underground they had been meant for rich, powerful people.

  “I have a knife beneath these robes,” he said. “I need to remove it to cut free my gift to you.”

  “Uh-uh,” said Sveta. “Point me to it and I’ll cut it down. You sit in that seat over there, and lay your knife on the seat in front of you. I’ll do the cutting.”

  Drogol laughed.

  “As you say.”

  He sat down slowly, exaggerating his harmlessness. Next he pulled aside his robe to reveal the knife, slid it out and laid it on the seat in front of him.

  “Now, do you see how safe I am?”

  Sveta began to feel more and more nervous. This was a bad mistake. Just like coming here in the first place. She scooped the knife up with one hand while keeping the pistol pointed at him with the other.