by Dirk Patton
I stopped at the edge of the light, Dog looking at me curiously. For a moment, I just watched, a little out of sorts. It had only been a few days since I was running and fighting the infected and the militia. Only a couple of hours since I was trapped by a flock of infected seagulls.
The scene before me felt surreal. Something I’d never expected to experience again. Lucas, wearing a fresh shirt, came out of the house and spotted me when he looked around. Skirting the tables, he walked to where I was standing in the shadows.
“Ziggy’s world famous lamb chops,” he said, stopping next to me and turning to watch his wife cook.
“Smells great,” I said distractedly, watching as Rachel looked around, trying to find me.
“Is that going to keep happening? The animals, I mean.”
“Probably, but I can’t say for sure,” I answered. “Ran into a bunch of infected razorback hogs a few months ago in Arkansas, and a whole lot of bats in Texas that I’m pretty sure had the virus, too. I’ve seen vultures that were infected. Seems like all the animals in North America are dead, now, but it’s been going on a lot longer there than it has here. Can’t tell you how fast they’re going to start dying off.”
He nodded in thought as we watched the party. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, enjoying a break. At least for the moment.
“So, we kill Barinov. Then what?” Lucas asked.
“You’ve got the info,” I said. “You tell whoever you think is the right person. Lot of work to be done. Gotta move people out of the cities and get a lot of them to start planting food in areas where the virus can’t survive. Need to bring in as much livestock as you can, too.”
“Twenty-four million,” Lucas said softly. “That’s a bleedin’ lot of people to relocate in less than a year.”
“That’s why I said you tell whoever you think is the right person,” I said, nodding in agreement with his comment. “There’s no time for the goddamn politicians to play games.”
“I’m thinking it should be us that goes in,” Lucas said. “The Regiment, I mean.”
I turned and met his eyes. Understood his thinking.
“All that matters is it gets done,” I said. “Who pulls the trigger or twists the blade is unimportant.”
“You sure about that?” Lucas asked, squinting as he watched me closely.
I sighed after several seconds of his scrutiny.
“Truthfully, I’d love to feed that motherfucker his balls before I choke the life out of him. But what I want isn’t as important as all the people that will die if this isn’t done fast, and done right. So, yeah. I’m sure.”
He kept looking at me for several long, uncomfortable moments, finally turning his attention back to the festivities.
“What I wanted to hear!” He slapped me on the back. “Now, let’s go get a beer before it’s all gone.”
We walked forward, Rachel spotting us as soon as we stepped into the light. Smiling, she grabbed an unopened can of beer out of Nitro’s hand, ignoring his protests and hurrying to greet me. Lucas peeled away, passing her as he headed to help his wife with the cooking. Rachel wrapped her arms around my neck, kissing me deeply before stepping back and popping the top on the Foster’s.
“Heard you had some excitement,” she said after draining half the can.
I took it from her and finished it off before speaking.
“Went to a wildlife sanctuary,” I said, taking her hand. “Supposed to be full of birds. Didn’t see or hear a single one, at first. Dead seals on the beach and floating in the ocean. The ones on the sand weren’t decomposing, and hadn’t been touched by scavengers. Huge flock of infected seagulls spotted us and we barely made it into the plane. Couldn’t take off with them all over it. Any idea what Jessica did to save us?”
“Wasn’t Jessica. Or at least all she was doing was watching. It was that research scientist. The monitoring station has drones that are used to conduct surveys, and she flew one of them right over the plane and got the birds to chase it.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“That’s what Commander Sherman told me after he got off the phone with Jessica.”
“No shit,” I said, understanding the buzzing sound I’d heard from within the plane.
Rachel nodded and after a moment, squeezed my hand.
“Thought we were going to be safe here,” she said quietly.
“We will be,” I said, forcing myself to give her a confident smile.
“After this, is Lucas going to help?” she asked after a minute.
“Yes,” I said. “Maybe he’s even going to do the job. Don’t know yet, but he’s on board that this has to be done.”
“Ziggy will flip out if he’s involved,” Rachel said. “I know how she feels.”
“That’s between them,” I said, shaking my head to let her know to stay out of it. “By the way, we’re staying here when it’s over, if that’s okay with you. Lucas said we can pick a spot and build a house.”
“We’re not going back?” Rachel asked in surprise.
I shook my head. Just like Katie, she’s a very intuitive woman and figured it out before I could speak.
“Here is wonderful,” she said, leaning in and kissing me again. “As long as we’re together. Besides, I like Ziggy and she can use some help with all these men hanging around.”
“Not sure I like how you said ‘men’,” I said with a small grin.
“Tough. Maybe farting, belching and locker room humor is your thing, but a little class would do all of you some good!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, resisting the urge to release a very loud beer burp.
21
Irina and Igor slipped into the camp quite easily, hiding behind an equipment shed that wasn’t far from the factory entrance. They had yet to see a guard, and Irina was beginning to relax. Their plan was to wait until the next shift change and join the tired prisoners who were trudging back to their barracks. Igor had never met her uncle, so it was up to Irina to keep her eyes open. But even then, finding him amongst the population of fifty-five hundred inmates could take days, or even weeks.
They needed help. And that help could only come from the other prisoners, but that presented an even bigger problem. How could they find someone that could be trusted to not betray them at the first opportunity? Yes, the camp held political dissidents, not criminals. In theory, that should mean the men were idealists and united against the Russian government. In theory.
Reality was almost assuredly quite different. Various political views would divide the men into groups that didn’t like each other. And there was also human nature at play. Life in a Siberian detention camp was harsh, at best. What would it be worth to the administration if Igor and Irina were turned in? No more forced labor in the factory? Extra rations? Additional blankets and clothing to survive the long winter?
They had discussed all of these possibilities, finally deciding that it wasn’t worth the risk to seek help from anyone. So, the slow, laborious process of circulating throughout the camp until they located Irina’s uncle was the path they agreed upon. A dangerous one that could very well draw attention to their efforts, but neither had a better idea.
A loud horn split the silence of the snowy night, causing both of them to jump. A minute later, the first trickle of workers began appearing from within the factory. Getting to their feet, they hurried forward, falling in with the group that lead the way. Irina quickly dismissed each of the men to their front, slowing her pace so the ones behind could catch up.
She hadn’t needed to see the men’s features as they were too short. Her uncle had been a large man, as tall as Igor and nearly as broad. She knew that after time in the camp, he had almost certainly lost weight, but his height wouldn’t have changed. That thought gave her an idea and she grabbed Igor’s arm, pulling him close.
“Slowly move through the groups,” she whispered. “I only need to check the ones as tall as you.”
Igor nodded and slowed even more,
pretending to have something wrong with his boot. Irina smiled behind her scarf as she watched Igor move amongst the steady stream of prisoners. Few of them matched his height. A couple were taller, and she scrutinized them just to be safe, but ignored those that were obviously too short.
A pair of guards with short truncheons swinging from their belts strolled by, hunched into their greatcoats and ignoring the prisoners. Irina watched them from the corner of her eye, but they were oblivious to their surroundings. Regardless, she heaved a sigh of relief when they were out of sight, able to return her focus to the men still coming out of the factory.
As the flow began to dwindle, the leading ranks of the next shift came around the corner of a barracks, heading for the entrance. Igor glanced at her and she shrugged her shoulders. He looked around, then came to a stop and stood like a stone in a river as the prisoners flowed around him. She had to move to the opposite side of him so she could see faces, but it was much harder now.
The men who’d been getting off work had moved faster with their heads up, happy at the prospect of a warm bed. But the ones approaching the factory were shuffling their feet and staring at the ground in front of them. Several were as tall as Igor, but with their faces down, she couldn’t get a good enough look to even hazard a guess if any were her uncle. Acknowledging this wasn’t going to work, she casually moved to Igor’s side.
“Can’t see their faces,” she whispered. “Not the ones going in.”
The last man coming off shift walked past as the two guards reappeared from the back of a barracks.
“We have to move,” Igor hissed, following the man.
They’d already considered going into the factory, but had dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come up. It would be readily apparent that they didn’t know what they were doing or where they should be, and that would draw unwanted attention from the guards and supervisors that ran the place.
Increasing their pace, they caught up with the straggler, walking close behind him. The guards ignored them, but both suspected they would have been approached if they’d continued to mill around near the factory entrance. From having watched multiple shift changes before leaving Hawaii, it was obvious that the guards paid very little attention to the prisoners unless someone was doing something to draw their ire. They’d witnessed more than a few savage beatings when a prisoner had committed an offense, real or imagined.
“What do we do?” Irina mumbled when she realized the guards had circled around and were now following them.
“Into the barracks,” Igor answered, subtly removing his right glove before reaching under his coat for the suppressed pistol.
They continued to follow the man, passing several buildings before reaching the one where he apparently lived. Climbing a short flight of sagging wooden stairs, he pulled the door open. Light spilled into the night and Igor hurried to hold it open after he passed through. Irina stepped past him, entering the building, and he noted the guards continuing on their rounds as he crossed the threshold and pulled the door closed.
The barracks was nothing more than a long, low ceilinged room. There were no walls to divide it, just row after row of bunk beds, three racks to each. The air was warm, almost hot after the frigid outdoors, even though it was probably not much above freezing. But what stopped her in her tracks was the smell.
The stench of cloying body odor was strong. So strong it brought tears to her eyes and threatened to close off her throat. The prisoners, apparently accustomed to it, were calmly going about removing outer garments, stomping their feet and rubbing their hands together. There were several muted conversations, but it was a very subdued group.
“There,” Igor said, nudging her with his elbow.
She looked in the direction his head was turned, seeing several unoccupied bunks. They had been stripped of linens, only thin, threadbare mattresses remaining. But they couldn’t just keep standing at the entrance.
Igor led the way, glancing around before sitting down on one of the lowest level beds. Irina started to sit next to him, but he hissed a warning and cut his eyes at the middle bunk above his. Understanding, she climbed a few rungs of the ladder and swung onto the mattress. No one was looking in their direction and Igor scooted around and lay on his back, arms under his head. Several minutes later, Irina rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.
22
Irina’s eyes flew open at the sound of the first blow. A meaty thunk from a fist striking flesh. She turned over, catching her breath when she saw Igor fighting with three prisoners. A fourth lay on the filthy floor, unconscious or dead as blood poured from a split on the side of his face. Unconscious, she realized without even thinking about it. Dead men don’t bleed.
Igor fought with a silent fury that took her breath away. She knew he was a trained operator, had watched him battle infected for months, but this was different. This was an attack by a superior number of humans who weren’t affected by the virus.
Two of them lunged at the same time. The third man, equally as large as the big Spetsnaz soldier, holding back for the moment. Igor met the charge, slipping one punch and blocking the other with a raised arm. Spinning, he slammed his elbow into the temple of one of the men, dropping him like a sack of wet laundry.
Continuing the movement, he grabbed the second man as momentum carried him past, grasping his head and twisting violently to the side. There was a wet snap, and he let the corpse fall to the floor as he faced the final prisoner. A shout surprised Irina and she looked up to see the rest of the barracks’ occupants gathered around, cheering on the battle.
The man faced Igor, eyes flicking down to his three companions who’d died in less than five seconds. Pale grey eyes stared out of a heavily bearded face. Calculating. Deciding. Igor stood on the balls of his feet, arms swinging loosely at his side. His expression didn’t change when the prisoner reached into his coat and drew a shiv. It was nothing more than a length of sharpened steel with a rag wrapped around it for a handle, but if it found its mark, it would be just as deadly as the finest blade.
More shouts of excitement erupted from the crowd, apparently emboldening the man. Gripping his weapon tightly, he lowered his head and charged, slashing up and across Igor’s body. But Igor wasn’t there. Side stepping the clumsy attack, he twisted and grabbed the extended knife hand when it was at full extension.
Applying leverage, he spun his opponent, breaking his elbow with a sharp jerk. The shiv clattered to the floor as a roar sounded from the other prisoners. Igor delivered a devastating blow to the man’s kidneys before sweeping his legs and sending him crashing to the floor. In one fluid motion, he scooped up the makeshift knife, batted a defensive hand aside and buried it in the man’s throat.
There was a moment of stunned silence in the barrack as Igor got to his feet. He stood there, not even breathing hard as he met the eyes that were staring at him in shock. Then, the room shook with cheers and shouts of praise for Igor. He looked around in surprise, finally turning and meeting Irina’s eyes. She shrugged, then tugged her scarf higher to make sure her face was covered.
A commotion began at the far side of the large room, near the single entrance door. At first it was angry shouts, but soon the shrill note of a guard whistle pierced the air and the sounds of batons striking bodies could be heard. Igor whirled, lifting Irina off the bunk and setting her on her feet. He led her a few meters away to a corner, then turned to face the disturbance with her completely shielded by his body. Reaching beneath his coat, he gripped the pistol.
“What are you doing?” Irina whispered as the guards forced their way through the press of bodies surrounding the area.
“They are unarmed,” he said without turning his head. “When they are down, stay close. We will escape.”
Igor nearly drew the weapon when two men approached, carefully stepping around the spreading pool of blood on the floor. They were older, one of them hunched with age, and both raised their hands in a calming gesture as they drew closer.
Igor stared into his eyes for a second, but the whistles were drawing closer and he was out of time. He nodded and the two men hurried forward. Several others rushed in and dragged the man with the broken neck until his body was on top of the one with the shiv in his throat. Grabbing the corpse’s hand, they dipped it in blood before dropping it on top of the blade. Job complete, they rushed to the older men and pressed in, shielding Igor and Irina. It was none too soon as six guards suddenly burst through the ranks, truncheons swinging.
They stopped when they saw the four bodies, the apparent leader of the group staring down as the rest kept a close eye on the surrounding prisoners. It had gone completely silent in the room, nothing other than the cold Siberian wind making any sound as it moaned along the outside of the building. Finally, he raised his eyes and slowly looked around at the inmates.
“What happened here?” he asked in a loud, commanding voice, head still traversing the room.
“Can’t you see?” the old, hunched man asked in a creaky voice. “They killed each other.”
The guard leader’s head snapped around and he strode across the floor to stare into his eyes.
“Why would they do that, grandfather?” he asked, hissing his disdain with the final word.
The old man shrugged and held out his withered hands, palms up.
“Who knows why evil men do what they do? They were thieves. Stole from the rest of us. Perhaps they had a disagreement over how to divide their loot.”
The guard turned to look at the bodies, then back to face the old man. He took a step closer, his face inches from the prisoner. Igor’s arm tensed as he prepared to draw the pistol, but Irina’s hand slipped forward and gripped his wrist. Telling him to wait.
