by Dirk Patton
“You don’t want to find other people, do you?” she asked gently.
“Don’t much care for other folks,” he said, taking a long pull on his beer.
“I don’t think that’s true,” Martinez said, earning a sharp glare. “If it was, you wouldn’t have helped the Major. You wouldn’t be helping me. I think you’ve just gotten too used to being alone.”
Titus snorted.
“Sounds like ya gonna be leavin’,” he said. “I’m comfortable right here. Don’t need to go traipsin’ ‘round the countryside, lookin’ for trouble.”
Despite the gruff exterior, Martinez could tell he was hurt by the thought of her leaving already.
“Look,” she said. “I want to find the Major and my other friends. I want to find out why they left me behind and where I’ve been. Did you come up with any ideas of how to find him while I was sleeping?”
Titus looked at her for a beat, drained the can and shook his head. Getting up, he headed to the kitchen for another.
“Then I need to go look,” she said. “If there’s a remaining outpost of civilization, maybe he’s there. Or maybe he was and they know where he went. I’ve gotta start somewhere.”
Titus pressed a cold beer into her hand without asking if she wanted one, then dropped into the recliner and opened his. After a long drink, he lit a cigarette and squinted through the smoke at Martinez.
“What makes ya think ya can git that far in a car? Ain’t no infected right here, but that’s cuz them Rooskies kilt ‘em all ‘fore they left. Major told me it’s bad out there.”
“Who said anything about a car?” Martinez asked with a smile.
24
“What happened here?” Martinez asked, speaking barely above a whisper.
She and Titus stood in the field, looking at a hulking Hind helicopter the Russians had abandoned when they withdrew from Mountain Home. A braided steel winch cable ran from the machine to a massive tree and three pairs of handcuffs dangled from it, swinging gently in a cold breeze. A fourth pair lay on the ground beneath the line.
As they’d walked from Titus’s bunker, Martinez had been amazed at the number of dead Russian soldiers and the amount of damage to the small town. The bodies were all in an advanced state of decomposition, now frozen solid with the onset of winter. It took her some time to note that none showed any indication of having been fed on by scavengers, but she didn’t dwell on the topic.
“Major kicked their fuckin’ asses,” Titus said, and she didn’t miss a note of admiration in his voice. “His missus was cuffed right there and three more gals was next to her.”
He walked closer to the rusting cable and pointed as he spoke. Turning, he gestured at two roof tops that overlooked the park.
“Snipers was there… and there. Major fucked up them two,” he pointed at the closest building. “I shot those commie bastards with my deer rifle.”
Martinez looked at the two buildings, then back at the scene before her.
“He couldn’t get to them,” she said. “Snipers would have taken him out.”
Titus nodded.
“What happened to them? The women, I mean. Did he save his wife?”
“Don’t rightly know,” Titus said. “I was outside, shooting that goddamn sniper, but ‘fore I done that, I seen that cocksucker shoot one of ‘em in the head. Purty little brown skin…”
His voice trailed off and he stared at Martinez with a curious look on his face.
“What?” she asked after several long seconds of silence.
“Nuttin,” he finally said, shaking his head. “Just ‘memberin somethin’.”
“So,” Martinez prompted, “what happened to them?”
“When I got back to tha bunker, they was all gone, ‘cept for the one that was shot. So, gots no idea what happened to tha rest.”
Martinez walked slowly around the area, pausing to look at the cuffs dangling from the wire. She ignored the three bodies wearing Russian uniforms at first, stopping and turning back to look at the tallest one. Frowning, she moved to it and squatted, staring at the desiccated face.
The man had been shot in the head, that much was obvious. Several months of nature had also led to some rot, but winter had been coming when he’d been killed and the colder temperatures had mostly stopped the decay. With a sharp inhalation of the frigid air, she stood. Titus had been watching her closely.
“Know the fucker?”
Martinez nodded without taking her eyes off the corpse.
“Russian officer. He’s the one that shot me in the leg.”
Stepping around the bodies, she moved to the open door of the Hind and peered inside. The interior was gloomy. Leaves and other debris had blown in, covering most of the deck.
“Got a flashlight?” she asked.
Titus handed her one and she climbed up, moving directly to a long bench seat on the wall opposite the door. Brushing dead leaves aside with her boot, she shone the light on the steel decking, holding the beam on a specific spot.
“What ya got there?” Titus asked, standing on the ground at the open door.
“Blood stain from when he shot me.”
Titus stared at her until she looked at him.
“Ya sure ya rememberin’ right? That fellar’s been dead since the Major kilt him. Gotta be four or five months. I seen your wound. It ain’t no more’n a couple weeks at ta most.”
“Are you saying I’m making this up?” Martinez asked defensively.
“Ain’t sayin’ nothin’, missy. Just pointin’ things out.”
She glared at him, then looked back at the dark stain on the Hind’s deck.
“I remember it happening,” she said. “Almost like it was yesterday.”
Titus watched her for a beat, then turned his head to look at the set of cuffs she’d been locked in when the Russian had shot her. He had no doubt. He’d watched it on the surveillance system in high-definition color. But he wasn’t about to tell her what he knew. He wasn’t sure enough that the memory wasn’t a sign that he was losing his mind.
“Nuff of this,” he said gruffly. “Ya said ya could fly a chopper.”
Martinez shook off the odd feeling that had descended over her when they arrived in the park and took a look around. Climbing into the cockpit, she flipped a few switches, muttered something to herself and jumped down onto the ground next to Titus.
“Not this thing,” she said. “Dead as a doornail.”
“Batteries? How ‘bouts a jump?”
“Doesn’t work that way,” she said. “Need an APU to get the turbine spinning.”
“A what?”
“Auxiliary Power Unit.”
“Gonna have them at an air base, right?”
“Yes, definitely,” Martinez said.
“Ya still all determined to go lookin’ for the Major?”
“Yes. I’ve got a funny feeling he’s still out there and he needs me.”
Titus sighed and turned away, heading across the snow-covered park.
“Where are you going?” Martinez called as she hurried to catch up.
“If’n ya so damned determined to go find him, figure the least I kin do is help.”
“What does that mean? You’re coming with me?”
“Didn’t say that, missy. Said I’d help. Nice day for a drive, so’s we gonna get my truck and see what ya can find at the base.”
“The Russians didn’t destroy it?” Martinez asked in surprise.
“I gots no goddamn idea, but figure it’s worth takin’ a look see.”
25
Igor glared into the mirror, scrunching his nose as the latest foul odor filled the interior of the Hunter. Strickland met his eyes and grinned. Muttering a string of curses, the big Russian turned his attention back to the snow- and ice-covered road.
They were driving slowly because of the conditions, having left the shoreline of Lake Baikal behind and moved into the mountains to the south. Irina and her uncle were asleep, despite the rough ride. Occasion
ally, there was a particularly hard bump and one of them would startle awake, but both were exhausted and managed to fall immediately back into a slumber.
Strickland leaned forward to talk to Igor in a low voice. They were forced to run in four-wheel drive and the SEAL knew that would have a big impact on their fuel economy.
“How we doin’ on gas, Ivan?”
“Gas?” Igor asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“Petrol. Fuel. Whatever it is you call it.”
Nodding understanding, Igor glanced at the tiny gauge.
“Use more than half tank,” he said, earning a low whistle from the American.
“We’ve only covered… what? Couple hundred klicks?”
“Kilometers? Da. Two hundred eleven,” he answered after checking the odometer.
“Ain’t gonna come close to making it, Ivan. We need gas.”
Igor nodded again and reached across, gently taking the paper map from Irina’s lap and passing it to Strickland.
“Find town.”
The SEAL nodded, unfolding it and spending nearly a minute determining their rough location in the Siberian wilderness.
“Kamensk,” he said after another minute. “About a hundred and thirty klicks ahead. Looks small, but should be big enough that there’s a gas station.”
Igor grunted, hoping there was still fuel available in the town. It would depend in large part on whether or not the locals had decided to keep it for themselves. There certainly didn’t seem to be any worry over it having sold out to travelers. They hadn’t seen a single other vehicle on the road since Morty.
As they moved through a curve, Igor cursed and hit the brakes when the dim headlights glinted off a pair of vehicles that had been positioned across the pavement, effectively blocking the road. The Hunter squirmed in the snow, threatening to go sideways before he got it back under control. Strickland sat forward, peering through the windshield as they skidded to a stop.
“Bad guys?” he asked.
“Mostly. Da,” Igor said.
Lights were coming on at the roadblock and before they could be directed at the Hunter, the SEAL popped open his door and bailed out into the night. Igor didn’t need to be told what he was doing, was just thankful the American was apparently well trained.
Irina and Shevchenko had been awakened by the sudden stop, both looking through the windshield with confused expressions.
“What is going on?” she asked.
“Roadblock,” Igor said as he made sure his weapons were easily available and ready to go.
“Where is the American?” Shevchenko asked from the backseat.
“Hunting,” Igor said. “Get down on the floor and stay there until I tell you it is clear.”
As they followed his instructions, a brilliant spotlight suddenly lit up the interior of the Hunter. Igor had been expecting it and had his right eye tightly closed to preserve his night vision. An amplified voice called out in Russian from behind the light.
“Get out of the vehicle!”
Igor hesitated, giving Strickland as much time as he could. He was angry with himself for having been caught so easily. He should have expected bandits, especially in the wilderness where there was no chance of the police or military intervening.
After several seconds, the command was repeated and Igor slowly pushed the driver’s door open. Taking as much time as he thought he could get away with and not prompt the ambushers to start popping off rounds to reinforce their commands, he stepped out into the snow, remaining behind the door.
“All of you!” the voice boomed in the night.
“I am alone,” Igor shouted back.
He kept his eye screwed shut, his head turned slightly away from the light. After a long pause, three figures began approaching, silhouetted by the bright spot. Igor could make out the weapons carried by each, recognizing the outline of two of them as old hunting rifles.
Shuffling his feet, he moved a few inches away from the body of the Hunter, clearing space to bring his weapon up and into action. The slight movement didn’t seem to bother the men who were walking toward him.
“Irina,” he said. “When the shooting starts, get behind the wheel and reverse around the curve.”
“I am not leaving…” she began to protest before he sharply cut her off.
“Do as I say!”
Trusting that Strickland was as smart as he seemed and was ready, Igor stepped well clear of the Hunter and snapped his rifle up. The three men froze, not having expected resistance, and one of them died when Igor’s bullet found his heart.
The light suddenly went dark and Igor dove to the side as the Hunter’s engine roared. The tires spun briefly in the snow, then it shot backward into the curve. The two men remaining finally overcame their shock, but it was too late. Igor fired a burst into one, sending him tumbling to the ground. Shifting aim, the last man fell before he could pull the trigger.
Silence descended over the road as he kept his rifle up, scanning. After a long few moments, Strickland called out from the direction of the roadblock.
“All clear, Ivan!”
Igor got to his feet and walked forward, keeping his weapon ready in case any of the bandits weren’t either dead or completely incapacitated. As he approached the dark forms lying in the snow, he fired a single round into each to ensure they were no longer a threat.
The spotlight clicked on again on the far side of the two vehicles, pointed at the ground this time. Squeezing between their front bumpers, which were nearly touching at the centerline of the road, he looked around. Two men lay dead, obviously killed with a knife. He nodded to himself, his respect for Strickland’s abilities going up a few notches.
“Check this shit out,” the SEAL said, his voice rough.
Swinging the light around, he led the way to the side of the road. They weren’t the first travelers to come along. A family, parents and two children, lay dead in a ditch. Igor stared at the frozen bodies, breathing hard to control his emotions.
The sound of the Hunter slowly approaching drew their attention and Igor sighed in frustration. Just because the shooting had stopped didn’t mean Irina should have come forward. She had no way of knowing it was safe. Moving past the roadblock, Igor met the vehicle, frowning at her.
“I was in the forest,” she said, preempting him. “I could see it was safe.”
“Stay here,” he said when she began to open the door.
“What did you find?” she asked, ignoring him.
He turned back, then looked at Shevchenko when he stepped out of the back.
“The bandits ambushed other travelers. They killed them and left the bodies in the ditch.”
Irina and her uncle both nodded, turning slowly to look at where Strickland still stood on the far side of the road block.
“Then it is a good thing we came along when we did,” Shevchenko said, his voice hard. “Before they could do more harm.”
Igor nodded, caught the American’s eyes and signaled. Together, they cleared the roadblock, then Strickland spent a few minutes checking the two vehicles for anything they could use. While he was doing this, Igor topped off the Hunter’s tank with three of the fuel cans they carried. Retrieving a hose from the back of their vehicle, he refilled the tanks by siphoning gas from one of the bandits’ vehicles.
“Time go,” he called to Strickland after securing the fuel cans back in place.
The SEAL finished what he was doing and trotted up to the Hunter, spilling several knives, pistols and spare ammunition onto the hood.
“Figured they should be able to defend themselves,” he said, tilting his head at Irina and Shevchenko. “Also, this might help when we have to stop for food or fuel.”
He held up a thick sheaf of bills and a small bag. Opening the bag, he spilled half a dozen small diamonds into the palm of his hand. They glittered brilliantly in the light.
“Guy that was talking on the loud hailer had ‘em,” Strickland said. “Guessing he didn’t come by them ho
nestly.”
Igor looked at him, unfamiliar with some of the words and the expression. Irina translated quickly and he nodded his understanding and agreement.
“We should bury them,” Irina said in Russian as she selected one of the pistols Strickland had found.
“Ground is frozen,” Igor said, shaking his head. “We have no way to dig graves.”
Irina looked at him for a long beat, then walked to the ditch and knelt over where the family had been discarded.
“What’s goin’ on?” Strickland whispered to Shevchenko as Igor went to join Irina.
“My niece is upset that we cannot bury the dead. She is saying a prayer over their bodies.”
“A prayer? I thought you Russians didn’t believe in God.”
“You are confusing Russians with Communism. Russians are deeply religious. You should learn some history, young man.”
Strickland glanced at Shevchenko, then turned back to watch as Igor knelt beside Irina and circled an arm around her shoulders. Together, they bent their heads over the people the bandits had murdered.
26
I remained perfectly still, watching the female as she stalked through the car park. She didn’t know we were there, or at least I was reasonably certain we remained undetected and intended to keep it that way. But where the hell had she come from? I’d walked all of the levels and checked every means of ingress, finding all of them secure. So, what the hell?
Mavis and I were comfortable for the first time, reclined on seats upholstered in supple leather that was now smeared with mud from our wet clothes. She’d led me to what was almost certainly a horrendously expensive Range Rover, backed into a spot in the section of the car park used by the valets.
I’d had to snort at that one. The thought of needing someone else to park your car for you, at your own apartment building, somehow seemed the height of laziness. Sure, I’ve been known to use valets at restaurants and even a few hotels, but this somehow seemed… well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.
