Wasteland in Red Square
Page 12
“Where are we going?” Jason asked.
The captain pointed to an isolated building a thousand feet down the rail line. “General wants demony kept separate. We don’t know if they can sense each other like animals do. If demony are going to come for their dead, we don’t want them trying to break into compound.”
“Good idea.”
“Plus no one wants to put up with smell.”
As the group approached the building, the guards spread out. Four took up position on each corner, and the fifth stood by the entrance. Melnikov paused and removed a jar of Vicks VapoRub from his pocket. He unscrewed the top, scooped up a glob with his index finger, and spread it along his lip under his nose. “Use this. It will help lessen stench.”
When everyone else had applied the VapoRub, Melnikov took back the jar and opened the door. Jason had stepped into rooms before that were so hot the air washed over him like a blast furnace. This was the first time he had that sensation with odor. The air reeked of decayed flesh. It generated a burning sensation in his eyes. Jason blinked several times to moisten them. After acclimating for a few seconds, he entered.
Four operating tables were arranged in a square in the middle of the floor. Three held the remains of Hell Spawn—a Nachzehrer, a soul vampire, and a headless ravager. The remains of a Golem were spread out on the floor against the far wall. Each had their chests carved open from neck to groin. The internal organs and outer skin were coated in a crystalline substance. In the center of the square formed by the operating tables sat a draftsmen desk covered with papers and sketches. A middle-aged man with white hair and a well-trimmed goatee more grey than dark sat on a stool in front of the desk. He wore a stained lab coat over his camouflage uniform. He stared at the sketches, the arm of a pair of eyeglasses clutched between his teeth. He had not noticed them enter.
Melnikov stepped into the room. “Dr. Frank . . . Dr. Ustagov, our visitors are here.”
The doctor raised his head. Upon seeing Jason and the others, he bound off the stool and crossed the floor, folding his eyeglasses and sliding them into the outer pocket of the lab coat. He grabbed Jason’s hand and shook vigorously. “You have no idea what a pleasure it is to meet you.”
“Thank you,” Jason replied hesitantly.
“Is it true you closed the vrata in Paris?”
Jason motioned to those around him. “We did.”
Ustagov clapped his hands together and held them in front of his chest. “I have so many questions. Pardon my manners. Please, come in. I’d offer you a seat, but as you can see, we’re not equipped for comfort.”
Haneef passed by the corpse of the Nachzehrer. “How do you preserve them?
“It’s all makeshift since we no longer have refrigeration,” replied Ustagov, obviously proud of his work. “I embalmed the bodies using a hand pump and covered the exposed areas with salt. It’s not perfect, but its gives me enough time to study them.”
Ian walked up to the operating table holding the headless ravager and peered inside, not bothered by the odor. “You performed autopsies?”
“I didn’t remove all the internal organs. I’m not interested in their physiology as much as figuring out a way to kill them. We tried closing the vrata in Red Square and failed. Zhirinovsky won’t attempt it again unless we come up with a plan that has a better than even chance of working. The General asked me to find a way to destroy the demony.”
“What did you . . . ?” Ian paused and gestured toward Jason. “Sorry, mate. Don’t mean to take charge.”
“Go ahead,” Jason replied. “You know more about this than me.”
“What did you find?” Ian asked Ustagov.
“Basically, all mertvyye demony were once human.”
“Excuse me,” Father Belsario interrupted. “Can you explain that term to us?”
“Mertvyye demony?”
“Yes.”
Ustagov paced between the operating tables like a professor lecturing his class. “They are terms I came up with to categorize these things. There are two types of monsters that come through the vrata. The first are the zhivyye demony, or living demons, in English. These are living biological units like the giant insects in the subway and the dragons we encountered in Red Square.”
“Did you say dragons?” Jeanette asked.
“Yes.” Ustagov seemed confused. “Didn’t you run into any chemical-breathing dragons when you were in Paris?”
“No,” said Jason.
“Allah is full of surprises,” added Haneef.
“Interesting.” Ustagov became lost in thought for a moment, and then got back on track. “As I was saying, the zhivyye demony are individual biological units. As far as I can tell, they are indigenous to Hell. They make up less than five percent of the demony we’ve observed. Most of what we’ve encountered have been the mertvyye demon, or dead demons.”
“Why do you call them dead demons?” Father Belsario asked.
“As far as I can tell they’re dead. Or more precisely, they are dead humans.” Ustagov held up his hands to stop the questions he knew were coming. He stepped over to the Nachzehrer. “Let me explain. The plot’ yedokov have the exact same internal organs as humans, only they no longer function. They don’t breathe. Blood doesn’t flow. The brain doesn’t work except for the basest of motor skills. It’s true that they eat human flesh, but I have no idea why. Whatever they consume remains in the stomach since there is no longer a digestive process. These things are like zombies from your American movies, except that a bite from a plot’ yedokov doesn’t make you into one of them.” Ustagov walked over and stood by the operating table holding the ravager. “These are the demony that intrigue me the most.”
“Why’s that?” Jason asked.
“Because their internal organs look like those of humans,” said Ian.
“Not just look like. They’re identical. Although, like the exterior bodies, they have slight mutations, mostly in size, to adapt to the new environment.” Ustagov lifted the outer flap of skin, exposing the body cavity. “Because ravagers are violent and powerful, and because their appetite is ravenous, you can see how the heart, lungs, and digestive system have doubled in size to accommodate the physical strain.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier,” Ian said to Jason.
“You’ve run into them before?” Ustagov became excited.
“Outside of Minsk,” Jason answered. “No matter how much damage we inflicted on them, they healed their wounds in seconds. The only way to stop them was to cut off their heads.”
“We had the same problem when we first encountered the ravagers,” said Ustagov. He turned his attention back to the body cavity. “I have a theory that these enlarged organs are also why ravagers are able to regenerate. As you can see, all the other organs are unaffected by the transformation. The same holds true for the soul vampire.”
“What do you mean by transformation?” Father Belsario asked.
If Ustagov heard him, he ignored the question. The doctor crossed the room and stood by the head of the golem. The team followed. Even dead and decomposing, it presented a frightening sight. It stretched out thirty feet with a massive torso, thick muscular legs, and bulky arms almost as long as the demon’s entire body. The bulbous head merged with the shoulders, devoid of all features except a pair of coal black eyes on either side of a ridge that ran down the face and substituted for a nose. Its dark red skin had paled in death, but Jason could still make out that every limb or torso section on the Golem was made of scores of corresponding human limbs stripped of their flesh and molded together, especially the head, which was comprised of a hundred skinless faces.
“Have you dealt with any of these things before?” Ustagov asked.
“Yes.” Jason suppressed a shudder when he remembered running into these monstrosities in Paris.
“Good. Then you know the outside of these demony is made up of hundreds of human limbs combined into one massive form. Wait till you see this.” Ustagov g
rabbed a large flap of skin on the Golem’s chest and flipped it back as if he were unfolding a blanket, exposing the body cavity. Like the outer features of the Golem, the internal structure comprised scores of organs—hearts, lungs, stomachs, kidneys—joined together to form one massive organ. Yards of intestines flowed through its abdomen. Arteries and blood vessels wound throughout the body, packed together and intertwined like the cables on a suspension bridge.
Jeanette wretched. Haneef shut his eyes to avoid the sight.
Again, Ustagov seemed unaware of what went on around him. “I counted one hundred and twenty-three identical sets of internal organs.”
“That’s bloody incredible, mate.” Ian crouched down to get a better view.
“What is fascinating, though, is that each of the one hundred and twenty-three sets of organs is separate from the others. They are in tandem with each other but not interconnected. It’s the most intricate transformation I’ve seen yet.”
“Excuse me,” Father Belsario said, this time more forceful. “You keep on using the word ‘transformation’. What do you mean by that?”
“Except for the plot’ yedokov, all of these demony are deceased humans that have been transformed . . . changed . . . altered . . . whichever word you want to use.”
“Altered how?” insisted Belsario.
Ustagov shrugged. “It could have been done surgically or through some occult ritual. I don’t know. I know nothing about theology, but my guess is that these things are much more than just demony from Hell. They’re also tortured souls.”
Sasha took Jason’s hand. “Maybe that explains why your senses can detect the aura of the mertvyye demony and not the zhivyye demony.”
“She could be right,” said Haneef. “You weren’t able to detect the giant wasps in Falaise or the insects in the sewers.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait.” Ustagov became excited. “You can sense these things when they’re around?”
“I can pick up their aura,” said Jason. “At least the auras for those demons that were once human.”
Ustagov rubbed his chin with his right hand. “Interesting.”
“That might also explain why more mertvyye demony pass through the portal than mertvyye demony,” said Father Belsario. “They see the portals as an opportunity to escape Hell and get back to earth.”
“Or they’re a vanguard.” Ustagov said in a matter of fact tone.
“Vanguard?” Jason asked.
“During World War II, the Red Army used penal battalions of prisoners who had been condemned to death to charge through Nazi minefields and assault fortifications so that good Soviet troops wouldn’t be killed needlessly. Maybe the mertvyye demony are Hell’s version of penal battalions.”
“Why do you say that?” Haneef asked.
“Let me ask you a question first. How long ago did you close down the vrata in Paris?”
“Three months ago,” said Jason.
Ustagov thought for a moment. “That sounds about right.”
“I’m not following you,” said Sasha.
“Let me explain.” Ustagov strolled back to the operating tables. “Nine days after the vrata opened in Moscow, Zhirinovsky sent a team into Red Square to shut it down. They used small-yield nuclear weapons. The team deployed the device, but the effects were disastrous.”
“How so?”
Melnikov stepped forward and spoke before Ustagov could respond. “Device failed to close vrata.”
The doctor ignored him. “And in the process, we nuked Red Square. The radiation from the blast contaminated the area. That didn’t stop the mertvyye demony from coming through the vrata, though. They’re already dead and are immune to the fallout. Not so the zhivyye demony. After our attack, three more dragons came through to guard the gate. They died within days from radiation poisoning. This happened for a few weeks, and after that the zhivyye demony stopped. They knew Red Square was dangerous and avoided it.”
“How do you know this?” Father Belsario asked.
“We send recon team in once a week to check on vrata,” said Melnikov. “General doesn’t want to be taken by surprise.”
“My point is,” continued Ustagov, “it stayed that way until eight weeks ago. Then the recon teams reported that a dragon had ventured through the vrata and prowled downtown Moscow. Four weeks ago, they reported seeing two dragons, and last week, four.”
“What are the radiation levels like now?” Haneef asked.
“Still high,” said Melnikov. “But not enough to kill something immediately, especially something size of a dragon.”
Jason shrugged. “Maybe they sensed the area no longer posed a danger and came back.”
“Maybe.” Melnikov paused. “Or maybe they’re trying to protect this vrata so you don’t shut it down as well.”
“By ‘they’ you mean the zhivyye demony?” asked Jeanette.
“Or whoever is controlling them.”
It took a few seconds for the implication to sink in. Haneef said, “If the doctor is correct—”
Jeanette finished his sentence. “That means the Hell Spawn are expecting us.”
“Shit,” mumbled Ian.
“Does this mean you won’t be closing vrata?” Melnikov asked, a tone of disappointment in his voice.
“On the contrary,” Jason asserted. “I want to do this as quickly as possible. Can we go tomorrow?”
“That can be arranged,” said Melnikov.
“Good. Is anyone still around who participated in the first raid?”
“Only one person. The rest were either killed in combat or died from radiation poisoning.”
“Can I talk to him?” Jason asked.
“That can also be arranged.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As the others headed to their quarters, Melnikov led Jason to the third floor of the headquarters building, which had been converted into a hospital. The captain led him past the nurse’s station and down a corridor. A chain stretched across the far end, isolating the last four rooms from the rest of the ward. A metal sign with the words NE DOPUSKAT’ and KEEP OUT hung from the center. Unhooking one end of the chain, the two men crossed over and replaced it. Melnikov ushered Jason to the last room on the left and stopped outside the door.
“You’re about to meet General Budenny. He led attack on vrata and received fatal dose of radiation in process. Doctors have no idea how he survived this long. General should be able to answer any questions you have, but you’ll have only a few minutes at most before he gets overtired.”
“I understand.”
Melnikov opened the door and the two stepped inside. Jason paused upon seeing Budenny, taken aback by the man’s condition. He sat at an angle in his hospital bed, with an IV inserted in his left arm and a breathing mask over his face. A bladder bag hung on the lower bed frame filled with blood-red urine. He had lost all the hair on his head, even his eyelashes. Red blotches covered his scalp. The general hacked. When he did, he sat upright and the blanket slid off his body. Underneath the hospital gown, scar tissue covered the skin across his chest, neck, and shoulders where second and third-degree radiation burns had healed. A gold crucifix hung on a chain around the general’s neck. On the third cough, Budenny filled his oxygen mask with bloody sputum. Melnikov rushed over to the side of the bed. Removing the mask, he used a nearby towel to wipe out the blood, and then cleaned off the general’s face. Budenny lifted a shaky hand and clutched the captain’s.
“Thank you, my son.”
“Don’t mention it.” Melnikov paused. “General, do you think you’re well enough to talk? This is Jason McCreary. He’d like to speak with you.”
Budenny tried to focus on Jason with tired, blood shot eyes. “Are you the one?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you the one who closed the Paris vrata?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“Then I have time to talk to you.” Budenny took the oxygen mask from Melnikov, held it to his mouth, and breathed deep.
“Why would you want . . . my advice? I failed. You’re the one . . . who succeeded.”
Budenny had another coughing fit. Melnikov moved to assist him, but the general waved him off.
Jason felt guilty for putting the general through this. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll leave now.”
“No!” Budenny lifted his left arm as high as possible and weakly waved Jason over. When he spoke, his breathing was labored. “I don’t know how . . . you did it in Paris. I lost several hundred of my men . . . storming the vrata. Those things came after us . . . like they knew . . . what we intended. Don’t make . . . the same mistake. Don’t charge them. Sneak up on them.”
“We intend to, sir,” said Melnikov.
“When you closed . . . the vrata in Paris . . . did you see the other side?”
Jason nodded.
“Then you know . . . what we’re dealing with.” Budenny motioned for Jason to come nearer. When he did, the general clasped his hand. “I was born and raised . . . as a Soviet citizen . . . to not believe . . . in religion. What I saw . . . through the vrata was . . . a vision of Hell. There are thousands more demony . . . maybe even millions more . . . on the other side.” Budenny lost his breath. He placed the mask over his mouth and inhaled several times.
“We should go now,” Melnikov advised.
Budenny clutched Jason’s hand and would not release it. After a few more breaths, he removed the mask. “Since looking through the vrata . . . I’ve embraced religion. Every religion talks about . . . the end of days. We are seeing that now.”
Jason squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”
“I know it will. Because of you.” Budenny took another breath from his mask. “You’ve been sent . . . to stop the apocalypse.”