by Byrd, Daniel
Lydia pointed the empty gun at the far wall and squeezed the trigger, letting the hammer fall on an empty chamber. She made a noise of disgust and held it out to him. "You need to work on that."
Aaron leered and snatched the gun back from her. “I know guns."
"You sold guns," Lydia grunted. "It doesn't take a lot of knowledge to do that other than names and calibers.”
Aaron rolled his eyes and put the gun in its shoulder holster before packing it away. "I can't believe we have to travel across the country with each other."
"Isn't this what you Americans call a road trip?" she asked innocently. Aaron slung the bag over his shoulder and chuckled.
"This is what we men call torture."
Lydia scowled. "I fucking hate you."
"Not enough to have shot me when we first met," Aaron replied confidently, smirking at the women who had once held his life under her scope. She flipped him off and sneered.
"I'm beginning to regret that decision."
"Stop acting like such a-"
The last word couldn't even influence the tongue of Aaron Craven to morph into shape to sound it out before the sound of a slide and the click of the safety came from Lydia's pistol she had drawn from her bag in the span of a second. Aaron closed his mouth and stared at the barrel, swallowing the word back down his throat.
"Go ahead, you cocky bastard," she dared him, "say it."
Aaron blinked. A lot of people had called her an amateur, and she absolutely despised the label. “I think I'll just shut up."
Lydia snickered and ejected the round in the chamber, catching it in her hand as she tucked the gun back into her bag. “Smart man."
"Fun aside, we should get going if we're going to go about evading authorities as shadows while hunting a shadow with illegal firearms and whatnot in our possession."
"Just shut up and help me carry this stuff to the car," Lydia hissed. Aaron snorted a laugh as he went to grab a duffel bag from her.
"You should be grateful the man you just threatened is so nice."
"I could change my mind and go through with it," she challenged. "I don't think I'll need your help for this task."
"Yeah, all you'd have to do is reach back into the bag and grab the gun with the loaded magazine still in it…and that's not to mention the fact that you left the safety off," Aaron said with a smirk. The surprise in Lydia's face was more than she wanted to reveal as she pulled the gun out and ejected the magazine before tossing it all back in. Aaron hoisted his bag up and turned to walk away, laughing. “Amateur."
***
It was hazy, but when Aaron came to twenty minutes later, he was in the passenger seat of the car as it left his retreat.
Chapter Four - Puzzles of the Past
Reanimated corpses didn't appear as threatening through the scope of a rifle. Roman figured that distance was the key factor behind that. He had been sitting in a chair on the top floor of Mikhail Guskov’s house for an hour now, watching the creatures through the window as they walked around the milk truck. There were only two out there, but that was enough to cause concern. Two had heard Roman's truck and had followed him to this isolated area away from the rest of the world. They were persistent bastards to have chased him all the way from overrun Warsaw. They continued to circle the truck in confusion, possibly trying to understand why it had ceased to make sound anymore. One was pounding its fist against the side of the vehicle while the other just examined it, waiting for signs of life.
When he was sure that they wouldn't leave the vehicle alone Roman began to clean the barrel of his Mosin Nagant. Corrosive ammo sucked, and he hadn't had the chance to tend to that matter since he'd fired the weapon from the roof of the factory in Fanipol. At least Mikhail had plenty of extra ammunition to render the weapon useful again. Despite the aggravation, it was better to have more weapons than less when the world was going to shit. After fetching a bucket of hot water and ammonia he set up at the same window and went to work. Every now and then he peeked up from his cleaning to eye the corpses by the truck. They never left it the entire time he spent brushing the bore. After setting the gun against the wall he leaned forward and stared out at the creatures once more, fascinated. He had to question what thoughts might actually be currently processing in their heads, if any at all. They seemed to understand something to have followed him all the way out here to the middle of nowhere. How did they differentiate the truck from anything else in the environment?
"Can they even tell the difference between a hunk of metal and living tissue?" Roman asked himself aloud.
"They can tell it is not natural," a high-pitched yet raspy voice said from behind him. Mikhail Guskov had entered the room silently, and Roman was actually surprised. For an old man wandering about with a cane, Mikhail was still quiet. Roman never doubted his abilities as a spy, but the fact that he still operated under his own conditions at his age was stunning. Age was one of the many things that the old man seemed to reject. The rest fell under failure and excuses.
"How do you know this?" Roman asked him.
"I received plenty of intel on these beings from my American web before they went dark," Mikhail replied, and then smiled his yellow-toothed grin. "I know more than you think."
"If that is the case, stop leaving me in suspense. Why is this happening? What do you know, and what did you find out from that notebook?"
Mikhail looked at him with his remaining good eye. It seemed to spin around in its socket like crazy as he only let the anticipation build. To Roman, it was his glass eye that disturbed him. It seemed fixated on the zombies outside of the window while the other continued to whirl about. Finally, he smiled once again. The lack of five of his front teeth along with his gray and mated hair would make anyone think mad of the geezer, but Roman trusted his old mentor. Roman had known him for just about thirty years. He was mad, but damn if he wasn't efficient.
"It would appear that Tuefel and what remained of his team finished their little project after all. Funny; I was convinced it had been shut down indefinitely."
Roman looked to the creatures outside and nodded. "It would appear you were very wrong. Why are the results over here?"
Mikhail tapped his fingers on his cane repeatedly while answering, “By the looks of things, this is a planned strike, with many targets throughout the world."
"I understand that, but why?"
Mikhail’s eerie smile vanished. "The same men your father and I were after all of those years ago, they are finally playing their hands in world affairs.”
Roman's mocking laugh filled the room. "That defector and the anti-Semitic bastard? The GRU agent who took the information belonging to the Nazi war criminal and planned to form an alliance to bring the world to its knees? That is all bullshit. I looked into it when I was still in the government. There was nothing; no proof that either of them actually did anything. As far as intelligence said, nothing they knew of led to the fall of the USSR. A hole in the system, yes, but not the failure of the whole thing. Besides, both of those men are dead by now.”
Mikhail wheezed before answering, "Yes, yes, that is apparently said a lot nowadays. It is not bullshit, I promise you. Are you familiar with that story in its entirety?"
Roman grunted. "I do not care for rumors and misleading information from you. You are better than that, and we both know it. You repeated it for years in your drunken stupor while I dragged you to bed. After defecting, that GRU scum sought the Nazi bastard, and they began devising their plans to overtake the world with the information they had from both Nazi Germany and Soviet Russian sources. Do you know how cliché that sounds? American movies and video games have replayed that story countless times. The only reason I believe even a part of what you have rambled about is because of the undead I saw myself! I killed people, and they didn't stay dead! The West destroyed itself to even hold on! I want the truth, and I want it now!”
Mikhail grinned through dying teeth. All of the alcohol he'd been keeping his emotions sup
pressed with over the years was taking its toll. "I do not think you truly understand."
"What is there to understand, uchitel’? From what you told me, only one ever actually posed a threat. He got close to realizing his dreams, but that was through his son, and supposedly he killed my father six years ago after he’d been rotting in whatever cell the Americans tossed him in!”
"Frank is dead, Roman."
Roman hadn't expected this news. "He is dead? How...when?!"
"Three months ago. Right after that nuclear strike in the southern U.S."
Roman was dumbstruck. He'd been waiting for the day fate delivered him the chance to kill that man and the rest of his team. He grimaced as his hands tightened on his knees until his knuckles turned white. "So that is another dead...that just leaves two now…"
Mikhail nodded. "King and Hamilton."
Roman reflected on what he knew of those two names. Dr. Henry King was a graduate from the University of Texas, and had stayed there for years before being drafted onto Tuefel's research team. Dr. Evan Hamilton was…an odd case. They didn't have much on him other than the fact that he'd been through many foster homes as a child, and became more and more unstable as he got older. It was amazing he was even allowed to finish college, let alone make it as far as he had in life without a felony charge of some kind. He didn’t expect those two to outlive Tuefel. "So...was he killed by one of these?" Roman asked, thumbing out the window to the two creatures still shambling around the truck.
"I am not sure what happened, but my source is reliable. It is being kept under wraps by the U.S. Government, but something big went down during the time the military bombed the crap out of its own country to reduce the numbers of the undead."
"Maybe he was found out and executed?" Roman speculated. “Maybe they got what they needed from him and killed him for his part in it all?”
"That is a possibility, but I do not see how he did not escape. You and I know about Tuefel, and he was not a dumb man."
Roman nodded. Mikhail had been doing him a favor by keeping tabs on all five members of that research team. Project Second Fall. Roman had a score to settle with all of them, but unfortunately for him they were all meeting their ends by other means. Until three years ago he was finished with the world of espionage. Having been a part of the KGB when it dissolved, he wasn't sure he'd ever assimilate into normal society again, so the FSB seemed appealing. Unsatisfied with that life, he had taken the chance to escape that world with the help of Mikhail, and attempted to live out a quiet life in Belarus. Mikhail never understood why he never truly left old Soviet territory, but Roman wasn't going to set out into the world without knowledge of the ones who took his father's life away. “So, what do you suspect?” Roman asked.
“I do not believe he was killed by the Americans. If they had gotten something useful from him, then this would not be our problem now. Maybe something went wrong during an experiment…it is hard to say. I have not heard from any of my other informants in months.”
“Were they-”
“I am not one to make assumptions. No one is being spared from those things, but the same goes for the Americans' bombing campaigns. I have gotten enough information to start, though. We should get moving as well.”
“Are you ready then? I’ve been waiting for over an hour, and those two carcasses by the truck are tempting me.”
“I just need to grab one more thing. I think it is time,” Mikhail said as he turned to leave the room.
“Time for what?” Roman asked him as he turned back from the window. Mikhail was already gone. Roman went back to observing the undead stumbling around outside and anticipated Mikhail’s return. He silently reentered a minute later with a briefcase in his left hand. Roman only noticed his presence as the case gently thumped on the floor.
“What is that?” Roman asked him, eying the case suspiciously.
“A present,” he said as he pushed it across the floor to Roman with his cane, “from your father.”
Roman gazed at the case curiously before reaching down and flipping the latches on both ends. He opened it up and revealed the Russian VSS rifle it contained.
“A Vintorez?” he asked, confused as to why Mikhail had given him this.
“The very one your father used. He loved the idea of being a ghost. Never be seen, and never be heard. The enemy may be dead, but even the dead have ears, Roman."
Roman examined the rifle in the case. It was in good condition for not having been used in years. Mikhail had taken good care of it.
“Uchitel’, what happened to my father? I know how he died, but how was he captured? I was lied to. I do not know why. They told me he was betrayed by another agent from GRU. Maybe the KGB sought to make me think he died a hero's death for the Motherland, but I have never bought it. It is time. I need to know."
Mikhail looked at the rifle and squeezed the handle of his cane. He had never told everything. With the world falling apart, he supposed that now would be the best time, before he was too late.
“I knew you did not buy their bullshit. It is no wonder you lost trust in them. They did not want to lose you. You showed great potential, just like Alexander. Part of that is true. Your father was captured hunting down leads to the very GRU defector I am talking about, in America. That defector took something very valuable from an Experimental Design Bureau; OKB-135. He had been on the defector's trail for quite some time, but in the end the man proved to be too good. Though your father managed to locate Karl Tuefel and expose the existence of that Nazi in hiding, the ex-GRU Operative revealed your father to be a KGB spy, and succeeded in getting him arrested for espionage shortly after. He is the reason your father was imprisoned for so long…up until-"
“I know uchitel’,” Roman said, remembering hearing of his father's fate at the hands of the white coats of Project Second Fall, "you do not have to remind me. Still, I have another question; OKB sites are aerospace facilities, so how could what he had taken from one of those have been utilized to create something related to the monstrosities out there?"
"That is a question I cannot answer…" Mikhail replied dully.
Roman tapped his foot repeatedly as the anxiety took hold. “Do you know this fable-man’s name?”
Mikhail squinted with his good eye. “You wish to find him? Now?!”
Roman nodded. “I do not care. If he was a part of Soviet Military Intelligence, he may know what is happening. I will be doing what the Americans call killing two birds with one stone.”
“How do you intend to find him before this gets any worse, Roman?”
Roman shrugged. “II will just follow the trail of bodies.”
Mikhail gave his toothless grin once again. “You will find that hard to do since he was attacked two years ago."
That struck Roman in the gut. “Attacked?"
"Two of my…associates. They managed to track him down for me somewhere in Central Asia, between Russia, China, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. They did not reveal the exact location of their operations to me, though they did inform me that he did not submit without a fight. In the end he sustained a fatal gunshot to the chest, but they could not confirm his death. After searching for the body in the mountainous range for a few hours, they turned up nothing."
Roman seemed irritated by the news. “So he is alive? Who is he exactly?"
"He was Major Vladimir Ryzhov. Your father had been tailing him for a full year before Vladimir finally made a move to rub him out.”
“Why did he take so long? My father would not have let him have the time to figure it out. Why wait a full year?!” Roman demanded. He was irritated at what seemed like a botched operation that left his father screwed over in hostile territory.
“That is what we do not know. From the encrypted information we were getting back from him, it seemed as though he was on to something big. I do not have any doubts that Vladimir was involved in something that led to the current situation we are all in.”
“…And my father may hav
e been on the verge of uncovering it?”
Mikhail stood up and hobbled over to the door. “I think your father did uncover it. I think he uncovered something bigger than any of us had anticipated when he found Tuefel. When he did, Rhyzov realized it, and had him taken out of the picture. Your father was what is referred to as grey mail.”
“But why not just have him killed? Why did Rhyzov risk letting him live rather than making sure he did not speak? I do not understand…”
Mikhail stopped in the doorway and sighed. “Your father was vilified. The information he was captured with was very damaging in a world that was fragile at the time. When the Americans revealed this to us in their address to Moscow on his capture, I had no doubt that he had obtained the information from either Rhyzov or Tuefel, but no one could admit it. We couldn't have the Americans knowing we were hunting one of our top military intelligence officers along with top secret information right on their soil. Perhaps Rhyzov planned on sabotaging the Soviet’s counter-intelligence and fanning the flames of the Cold War…I do not know.”
Roman grunted. “Well, we do know that Tuefel’s son, Moriarty, and that woman are dead, and the other two are alive. If Vladimir is still alive, then I will kill him too."
“Do not let your need for revenge drive you to do something reckless. You have made it this far with a calm head; keep it together until we have survived these monsters.”
“I will, but I would like to know more about Ryzhov first. Who exactly was he?”
“He was a young man around the time your father was his shadow. I remember something about him having blonde hair, and red eyes."
That struck Roman as odd, "Red eyes? Is he an albino?"
Mikhail wheezed again, coughing into his left hand. "No, no, he had naturally red eyes with a natural skin tone. It is an oddity, but supposedly it was a distinguishing feature of the man. He was good at masking his accent, and knew many languages. It was said he knew more English than anything. Funny thing about a fellow comrade from the Motherland.”
