“What brings you to Spain?”
“I work. I work many years for Siunten.”
I was too stunned to ask what or who the hell Siunten was. There’d be time for that later. I realized a few things as I looked at the little man and his honest blue eyes. He wasn’t lying to me. But he was terribly afraid. Something had terrified him, and they’d kill me if I figured out what it was.
I could see that Ushakov, who didn’t speak Spanish, was uncomfortable not knowing what we were saying. He abruptly cut off our conversation, barking a couple of orders to his first officer and sending him and the Ukrainian guy up the stairs. He beckoned me to follow him. As we climbed the flights of stairs, he told me the rest of Viktor Pritchenko’s story. The night of the slaughter at the Safe Haven, he swam to the Zaren Kibish and shouted for help. When Ushakov heard him speaking Russian, he decided to take him aboard. He’s been there ever since. In the port, he worked as a longshoreman or technician or something like that.
Ushakov’s story made me suspicious. He wasn’t telling me the truth—at least, not all of it. What was he hiding? And why?
When we reached the top of the stairs, I was surprised to discover we were headed for the bridge. When we got there, Ushakov sat at his captain’s chair, his eyes boring into me.
“What’s going on?” I asked, more and more confused.
“Let’s see, Mr. Lawyer. If I remember correctly, you told me you’re from a town near Vigo, nyet?”
“Yes, Pontevedra, twenty miles away,” I replied, not sure where he was going with that.
“So, you know this city pretty well, right?”
“Well…yeah, sure.” I was more confused. I didn’t understand where those questions were leading, but something was in the air.
“Da, perfect.” He thought for a moment. Then out of the blue he blurted out, “Know where the main post office is?”
“Sure. What the hell is this about, Captain Ushakov?”
“Oh, come on. I’m sure a smart guy like you has figured it out. I need something from there.”
My expression must have been comical. From the post office? What was he up to?
“Two months ago, I received the last communiqué from the company,” he began wearily. “When we docked in Vigo, right after the storm, the first thing I did was phone the company’s agent in Spain for instructions. But the phones weren’t working in Estonia, and no one answered in Greece.” He stretched out in his chair. “He promised to mail me complete instructions from Madrid, but the evacuation to the Safe Haven prevented us from picking it up at the post office.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Isn’t it obvious, my young friend? I need that package. Someone has to pick it up. Someone who knows where the post office is. That someone is you.”
I just stood there, staring at him. Was he joking? This guy was asking me to go ashore, cross a city infested with thousands of undead, as if I were just going out for a loaf of bread? He wanted me to find the post office and deliver his damn package like some postman? The vodka had definitely addled his brain more than mine.
“Captain, you can’t be serious. I’m sorry about your package. As far as I’m concerned, if it’s in that post office, it can stay there till the end of time. You don’t know what you’re asking. I’ve been around those things. Let me assure you they’re monsters.” I was getting all riled up. I couldn’t help it. “It’s sheer madness! It’s absolutely impossible for a person to set foot in that city without those hellish monsters getting him! I’m dead serious!”
“Oh, you won’t be alone. My first officer and some of my men will go with you.” He smiled mischievously. “That package is from my employer, and you’re a stranger, so we don’t know if we can trust you. Your only job is to guide them there and back.”
He was nuts. I had to get far away from there.
“I’m sorry, Captain, but count me out,” I said as I stood up. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I think I’d better go. So, if you don’t mind—”
“Oh, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong,” he interrupted. “I’m not asking you. I’m ordering you. If you don’t agree in five minutes, you’ll be floating in the water with a bullet in your head. You don’t have a choice.” That son of a bitch leaned back in his chair, looking very pleased with himself, and glared at me. We both knew he had me by the balls.
I swallowed hard. My blood turned ice cold at the sight of Ushakov comfortably seated in his captain’s chair, watching me. That bastard thought that was funny.
“Come, come, tovarich, don’t take this so seriously.” He leaned forward and whispered right in my ear, “After all, I’m just asking a small favor in exchange for another favor, nyet? I brought you on my boat. In exchange, you bring me the one little thing I need. That’s all.”
“You have no idea where you’re sending us, Captain. We could all die for one lousy package sent by someone who’s probably dead,” I said, forcing back my anger.
“I’m counting on your expertise to bring everyone back. You’ve made it this far without a scratch, nyet? I’m confident you can take that little trip without anything bad happening.”
“Do I have a choice?” I asked, grimacing.
“I’m afraid not.”
“I guess appealing to your good nature or your humanity would be pointless, right? You’re a real bastard, pal! Fuck you!”
The words were barely out of my mouth when Ushakov leaped out of his chair as if he were on a spring and grabbed my neck with one of his big, beefy hands, lifting me up against a wall. He caught me completely off guard. Who knew that such a big guy could move so fast? He held me a few inches off the ground and pressed his now demonic mask of a face right up to mine.
“I’ve been stuck in this hellhole on this goddamn boat with my crew for a month, understand?” he shouted, red with rage. “I’ve waited for someone in charge to send me that package. Know who came? No one! Absolutely no one!”
I was choking, spots dancing before my eyes. That psychopath was going to strangle me. He must’ve noticed my strange color, or maybe he realized if he killed me, he’d have no postman. Whatever it was, it broke the spell, and he let go. I fell to the ground, gasping for air.
“I need that package! I need it! A week ago I sent a team ashore, and we haven’t heard from them since. I can’t afford to lose any more men.” He sat back down, glaring at me. “You will get that package for me. And if you think about straying even a couple feet off the path, I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in your head. So don’t try to fuck me over. Understand, Mr. Lawyer?”
I nodded, unable to speak, as I struggled to get up off the floor. That fucking nutcase was capable of killing me if I refused. On top of that, I couldn’t go anywhere. From the bridge I could see a couple of sailors relaxing on the deck of the Corinth, smoking, with AK-47s lying across their laps. And I didn’t know where Lucullus was.
“Okay,” I said, when I could get the words out. “You give me your word that if I bring you the package, you’ll let me go on my way?”
“Absolutely. You do your part, and I’ll do mine.”
I’ll believe that when I see it! And as a parting gift, a couple of blondes in bikinis and a keg of beer!
I had to be pragmatic and get control of the situation before it got completely out of hand. Taking a crushed Marlboro out of my pocket, I leaned against the wheel and fixed my gaze on him through a column of smoke. My mind was racing at top speed.
“Okay, but I have one condition. On shore, I’m in charge. Your guys will do what I tell them and won’t fuck me around. Agreed?”
“I totally agree.”
“I don’t know why I even care. They’ll probably kill us before we’ve been ashore ten minutes. Besides, I don’t know a word of Tagalog or Urdu. How the hell am I going to make myself understood? In Morse code?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass. Mr. Pritchenko speaks Spanish. My first officer will go with you. You can talk to everyone through them
.”
“Why not just send Pritchenko? Didn’t he live in Vigo before all this started?”
“Pritchenko never lived in Vigo,” he replied laconically.
“But you said—”
“Enough of this crap. You’ve got a lot to do,” he interrupted, and motioned for me to follow him.
ENTRY 61
March 9, 11:00 p.m.
I’m still alive. Banged up, bruised. My wetsuit’s in tatters. But I’m alive. I’m still trying to get over the shock. It was one very long day. All I want now is a few hours’ rest. This mission or “journey”—I don’t know what to call it—was doomed from the start. From the moment we set foot on land, things have spiraled out of control. We have no plan. We’re flying blind.
Right now we’re hiding in a ransacked mom-and-pop grocery store. The metal gate, or what’s left of it is, is off its hinges. We’ve braced it up from the inside with two steel shelves. The other survivors are crowded together, sleeping in the light of a kerosene lamp. Shafiq is standing guard, nonchalantly nibbling on a candy bar. I can’t sleep. Images of the last twenty-four hours are racing through my mind. I have no one to talk to about all this, no shoulder to lean on. I’m writing to keep from going crazy. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and think this was all a bad dream and I’m losing my mind. Hell, I don’t have a clue where to start. At the beginning, I guess.
For two weeks I was under heavily guarded “freedom” aboard the Zaren Kibish. The captain and his first officer spent all their time getting ready for the trip. I only left that wreck of a cabin to go to the bathroom, take a shower, and make quick trips on to the Corinth. Except for Ushakov, I only saw the cook, a pimply-faced, pockmarked Filipino who doesn’t speak a word of Spanish. So I had plenty of time to think about how off the chart things were.
I was in the middle of writing when Ushakov himself came to my cabin and motioned for me to follow him. We climbed down the stairs to the deck where the rest of my “team” was waiting: Viktor “Asterix” Pritchenko, whom I hadn’t seen since I first came on board, so I guess he and I are both prisoners; the first officer, with a huge pistol hanging from his waist; and four Pakistani crew members. They were all wearing heavy navy-blue uniforms, with crammed backpacks on their back. They all carried AK-47s, except for Viktor, who was unarmed. He gazed at me, half-resigned, half-terrified. He was as fucked as I was.
“You volunteered, too, right?” I asked and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“What?” he replied, confused.
“Nothing. Forget it.” Clearly he didn’t get my sarcasm. I turned to Ushakov. “What about my weapons?”
“You won’t need weapons, my friend. My men will protect you. Just guide them to the post office and bring me that package,” he replied and handed me a piece of paper. “The receipt for the package.”
I grabbed it with one hand and adjusted my wetsuit with the other. They all looked at me, astonished. They were probably asking themselves if I’d lost my mind. Did I think we were going surfing? When I read the receipt, I didn’t feel like joking anymore. Shit! No wonder the last team never came back. That package wasn’t at the main post office, which you could practically see from the harbor. The fucking receipt was from the VNT office, a local courier company. At the other end of town.
Resignedly I shook my head and put the receipt in the small, empty backpack they gave me. Clearly I wasn’t the one who’d carry the package back. I adjusted the straps and leaned on the railing to study the dead city. It looked grim and bleak. Beyond the devastated port, I could see the streets of Vigo, filled with abandoned cars, trash, dirt, paper, and plastic bags fluttering in the wind. In the midst of all that, those creatures wandered along a never-ending path. A damn Dead Zone. And we were headed right into it. I shuddered and turned to Ushakov.
“It’s getting dark. We’ll leave tomorrow morning, when there’s enough light.”
“No, Mr. Lawyer. You leave right now, under cover of darkness.”
“Do you know what you’re saying? We won’t be able to see!” I replied, agitated. I couldn’t believe it.
“They won’t be able to see you either,” said Ushakov, disdainful.
End of discussion. I couldn’t convince him that “they” didn’t need to see us to know we were there. Maybe he thought I was trying to delay our departure. Ushakov was a soldier, and he still thought like a soldier. In his mind, you had to infiltrate at night to have any chance of success. He was sending us off on a moonless night to a place filled with monsters. Things just got better and better.
A large Zodiac waited, tied to the side of the Corinth. As we were boarding, I saw one of the sailors clutching Lucullus. The guy had a couple of deep scratches across his cheek. My cat wasn’t happy with his captors either. As soon as he saw me, he let out a long, desperate howl and twisted around, trying to run to me. But the guy had anticipated his reaction and was wearing thick gloves. He skillfully moved his right hand and got my poor cat in a choke hold, immobilizing him. An inch more of pressure and he’d break his neck. Lucullus meowed plaintively as I looked on helplessly.
I saw red and took a step toward the guy. Someone shoved me hard toward the gunwale. Next thing I knew, I was climbing down into the Zodiac. As I took a seat at the bow, Ushakov leaned his huge hulk over the rail and cupped his hands.
“Hurry back, Mr. Lawyer! My Filipino cook hasn’t had any fresh meat for weeks. His culture has many recipes for cat!” He laughed. “I don’t know how long I can hold him off!”
The Zodiac’s motor started on the third or fourth try. We took off with a mighty roar. His threat rang in my ears. Fucking son of a bitch…
The light was fading fast. It’d be dark soon. As we approached land, I could make out the shore more clearly. I’d almost wished I couldn’t. It was a preview of what awaited us just a few hundred yards away. Suddenly I noticed the silence in the Zodiac. I turned around and looked into six pairs of expectant eyes. Drunk Nose barked at Viktor in Russian. He nodded and turned to me, his eyes round as saucers.
“Officer Kritzinev asks where get off, where land. He says you must guide.”
I nodded. Okay, I was in command, at least for the moment. I had to calm down. I had to think, if I wanted to get out of this nightmare in one piece and get my cat and my boat back. I got up the courage to scrutinize the shore, searching desperately for a safe place to land, a path, a sign…anything!
Suddenly I saw a place near the shore. Fuck it. It might be our only chance. I turned back around and signaled to the Pakistani at the tiller where to head. it was a crazy idea, but we didn’t have many options.
After so many days at sea, the feeling of solid ground underfoot was weird. As the shadows grew, I tried to make out the shape of the buildings around us. Behind me I heard the Ukrainians and Pakistanis rushing around, unloading the equipment. I breathed deep and instantly regretted it. The nauseating smell of decay, garbage, feces, and burned flesh was mixed with another, more subtle scent. I couldn’t describe it, but I’d noticed that smell for weeks. I think it’s their smell. Do they have their own smell? Or am I going crazy?
The Pakistanis and the Slavs were ready to head out. They seemed to be a pretty competent and well-trained team, except for Viktor, who seemed lost in his own world and resigned. The way they handled their weapons told me they weren’t just sailors. Damn. Those guys were pros. Who the hell were they? What were they really doing here? And what was in that package? Was it worth risking the lives of seven people?
We’d landed at the far end of the Safe Haven, between some huge industrial warehouses and the gigantic lot where the Citroën factory parked its new vehicles. From there the cars would’ve been loaded on to the tankers and distributed all over the world. Now hundreds and hundreds of cars sat on the lot, abandoned in the dark.
Nearby I could make out a long row of brand-new Xsara Picasso luxury compact sedans, their seats still covered in plastic. They were dirty and neglected. I ran my hand over the nearest one, leaving a
deep swath. After sitting there for weeks, it was covered in a thick layer of dust and more. With a shudder I realized they were covered with ashes from the fires. Maybe even human ashes. Jesus Christ!
I turned away from the thousands of vehicles that would never drive along a sunny highway. That was the past. Now all I could think about was being smart enough to survive until the next day.
The corner where we landed had a special feature: a small, squat building sitting next to a narrow esplanade entirely surrounded by a high brick-and-concrete wall. What had drawn us there wasn’t the wall or the esplanade. We were interested in the huge Seguritsa sign on the building. It was the headquarters of an armored truck company. With hundreds of businesses operating in that tariff-free zone, it was logical they’d have a branch there. The port’s fish market alone moved a million euros a day. Someone had to guard all that dough and drive it to the bank.
The building was a veritable fortress. Those monsters couldn’t have climbed over the wall. If I was wrong, we were fucked. But we had no other option.
With a sharp wave, I communicated to Viktor that we should approach. I whispered that we should check the perimeter of the building. Nodding, the little Ukrainian slipped like an eel into the group that was hiding in the increasingly thick shadows. He relayed what I said in Russian to Kritzinev, who in turn gave instructions in Urdu to the Pakistanis. Quick as deer, they ran past me and melted into the shadows.
I felt uneasy about how complicated it was to pass along orders. They had to be translated several times and could’ve been misinterpreted at any point. The slightest mistake could send all of us to our grave. That’s just great! We handful of survivors made the UN look like a bunch of neighbors.
After five torturous minutes, one of the Pakistanis materialized out of nowhere, right in front of us, signaling that everything was okay. As we moved stealthily toward the building, I studied those odd guys. They were all in their twenties, thin and sinewy, with huge black mustaches and copper skin. They were very good at what they did.
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