Just beyond the fence sat a series of dull-gray three story buildings. They were windowless and the number “01” was painted in stark black stencil on the first structure. As they pulled up to a gated entrance, Pushkin observed a lone personnel carrier sitting just to the left of a guardhouse. It was Kirilenko’s vehicle. The rear troop hatches were open, but no one was around.
“Stop here!” ordered the Sergeant. He wasn’t ready to rush into the complex and get caught in an ambush, so he decided to deploy from outside of the fence. He turned to the squad and yelled, “Prepare to deploy!” The troopers turned towards the rear hatches. They clutched their weapons to their chests as fear gnawed at them like a hungry wolf.
Pushkin knew that his boys would do as they had been taught to do so. Countless hours of grueling training had made a deployment like this second nature to all of the men, but now it was going to happen under fire. As the carrier came to a grinding halt, the rear hatches flew open and the sergeant screamed, “Go!”
The squad exited swiftly with the chorus of thudding boots, rattling gear and muffled curses. They hastily fanned out and threw themselves against the dusty earth, forming a defensive perimeter around their carrier. The men from the other two trailing APCs did the same and the sergeant focused his attention on the deserted carrier. He noted that there were no casualties around it or the guardhouse, and he saw that the door to the small wooden building was standing open.
As he knelt on one knee, he crooked his head left and right, surveying the length of the fence. He was looking for any signs of a breach. He couldn’t help but notice how blue the sky was and he again thought of Alina. Quickly shaking her image from his mind, he focused on the task ahead of him.
Pushkin knew that even though Ozersk was a closed town, its security was less than stellar. It wouldn’t have been very hard for a determined foe to gain access to the town if they had made even a half-hearted attempt. He saw no signs of anything that would have indicated an attack except for the plumes of dark smoke billowing up into the sky. The lack of visual damage or of casualties was confusing to him, but somewhere within the complex, he knew for certain that a fire was burning.
“Secure the carrier and the guardhouse,” he ordered as he motioned with his free hand. His squad jumped up and raced over the dirt and grass towards the abandoned vehicle. The other two squads began to make their way towards Pushkin’s carrier. After securing the APC, his group moved on the guardhouse, securing it with speed and precision. Seeing that there was no action along the fence, the sergeant trotted up to the shack as the other squads took up positions along either side of the building.
Once inside the structure, Pushkin was astonished to find that there was no sign of damage to the interior. His apprehension increased because the building was usually staffed by at least three soldiers, and now the guard station was completely empty.
Pushkin turned to one of his troopers. “Leonid, take a reading for chemicals!”
Responding to his sergeant’s order, a short, frumpy soldier who was wearing an ill-fitting uniform pulled out a chemical detection kit from a pouch on his tactical vest. Tearing the kit out of its container, Leonid began to wave it around in the air, taking a reading of the atmosphere.
“Are the security cameras still functioning?” Pushkin shouted out.
“It looks like some of them are still up, but some of them seem to be damaged,” Gennady said. He stood there looking at a bank of monitors that was mounted on the security desk. Several of the screens were dead, but a few of them were picking up sporadic activity. “Sergeant, there seems to be some movement by section three.”
The sergeant rushed up next to Gennady and fixed his gaze on a monitor labeled “Sec. 3,” which was a section of the complex that was located about a quarter of a mile inside of the fence. He squinted as he tried to focus through his foggy lenses. He was able to make out several soldiers standing in the middle of the camera view—and they were firing their rifles at something just off screen.
The sudden and unexpected sound of gunfire could be heard echoing off of the walls in the complex and Pushkin instinctively had the urge to duck and go for cover. The troopers who were standing outside raised their weapons and began to nervously scan for targets. Pushkin was about to yell an order when Leonid shuffled up to him.
“Sergeant Pushkin, I am not getting any reading!” the soldier shouted. Pushkin could see Leonid’s eyes through his mask lenses. They were wide with fear.
Noting Leonid’s report, the sergeant turned back to the monitors and saw more commotion in section three. The soldiers on the screen were still shooting at something. The crack of their fire was filtering its way towards Pushkin and his men and with each new and unnerving series of pops, the soldiers winced with uncertainty and anticipation. After several more seconds of shooting, the troopers on the monitor screen turned and ran out of the camera’s view.
Pushkin ran to the door and tried to signal Sokolov. The vehicle commander was sitting in the hatch of the turret and was busy trying to seek out the source of the gunfire. He didn’t see that Pushkin was trying to get his attention.
Looking back inside of the building, Pushkin yelled, “Gennady, get out there and tell Sokolov to get his tracks ready to go into the complex! And get someone to open up that damn gate so we don’t have to tear down the whole fence!” He trotted back to the monitors as Gennady went out to relay Pushkin’s orders. The sergeant focused back on section three. There was no movement and the screen was empty. A few seconds later, a second group of soldiers moved onto the screen from the direction that the first group of soldiers had been shooting in.
“Gennady,” Pushkin barked as he continued to watch the screen, “did you reach that goat fuck Sokolov? I want him to move his—”
Pushkin stopped speaking mid-sentence as a horrific sight filled the camera screen. He stared in disbelief at what he was now watching on the monitor.
Gennady looked over at his sergeant and saw him standing there, gawking at the flickering display. “I didn‘t hear what you were trying to tell me, Sergeant.”
Pushkin didn’t reply.
“Sergeant?” Gennady sprinted over to Pushkin and looked down at the monitor. “Oh my God! What is that?”
Pushkin continued to stand motionless, looking at the screen. “I’m…I’m not sure,” he finally muttered.
“Sergeant…one of those men,” Gennady stammered as he pointed at the monitor, “one of those men is on fire.”
Gennady was correct. One of the soldiers on the screen was actually walking around while his body was being consumed by flames. He wasn’t flailing about, he wasn’t falling to the ground and rolling around; he was simply strolling around—as if he was impervious to the fact that he was burning.
Pushkin then saw another soldier who walked into the view of the camera. He had a bloody stump where his right arm should have been. The gory trooper was twisting and turning in an erratic fashion and it looked like he was experiencing some sort of seizure.
As Pushkin took in the unbelievable scene, he could feel his body turning cold. Fear began to grip him by his stomach. He again thought of Alina and was now full of regret.
“Gennady, raise headquarters and tell them we have fires burning and we have casualties!” he said in a shaky voice. Realizing that he was exhibiting fear in front of his troops, the sergeant forced himself to regain his composure. He knew he had to get his unit moving in order to figure out what was going on. He also knew that his men were depending on him and he couldn’t fail them by turning into a frightened little boy.
With a sense of urgency, Pushkin pushed his way past Gennady and Leonid and he sprinted out of the building. He now had second thoughts about sending the troop carriers into the complex and he decided to send in a squad instead. He ran up to one of the soldiers who was protecting the guardhouse and he put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“Gorbachenko, get your men over to section three and see what the hell is g
oing on in there! Also, be prepared to handle possible casualties!”
Without so much as a word, Gorbachenko raised his hand in acknowledgment and led his squad through the gate, quickly disappearing around the corner of the windowless building.
As Pushkin directed the rest of his soldiers, Gennady and Leonid remained inside of the building and continued to watch the section three monitor. They were in disbelief at what they were watching on the display.
More and more troops ambled into view of the section three camera. The soldiers moved slowly, almost painfully slow. Some of the troops were walking on tattered and torn legs while others paced around with large pieces of flesh torn away from their faces and bodies. All of the troopers appeared to be in a daze and some of them reached up towards the sky and clawed at the air.
“Sergeant Pushkin, you better get in here and take a look at this!” Gennady yelled.
Pushkin rushed back into the guard house, pushing aside Gennady and Leonid.
“What the fuck is going on here, Sergeant Pushkin?” Leonid asked in a terrified voice. He began to tremble and started to back away from the monitors. It was obvious that the young trooper was completely unnerved by what he had seen on the cameras.
“Look,” Gennady said as he pointed to the screen, “all those men appear to be wounded, but they aren’t acting like it! They are acting like a bunch of drunken fools, even that one who was on fire. He acted as if it was nothing to be burning!” The human torch Gennady was referring to had since fallen to the ground and was grotesquely sizzling away. “How can this be?” Gennady asked in a terror-filled voice.
Pushkin’s mind was racing as he tried to clear away his disbelief and come up with some rational explanation. No matter how hard he tried though, he just couldn’t think of anything that could explain what was playing out in front of his eyes.
“This is Satan’s den!” Leonid screamed out. In his hysteria, he had taken off his gas mask and he had his arms crossed over his chest, grabbing at himself as he lost all control of his reasoning. “For years there have been rumors about the evil things that have gone on in here! All of you know this!”
“Put your mask on!” Pushkin yelled as he pointed to Leonid.
“It will do me no good!”
“What are you talking about?” Pushkin asked. Unable to keep from looking at the madness that was playing out on the monitor, he turned back to the screen.
“Masks will do us no good! Guns will do us no good! Can’t you see? This is the Devil’s work!”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Gennady screamed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! Now put your mask back on…like the sergeant said to do!”
“We all know that they’ve been working on things in here that weren’t meant to be worked on!” Leonid tossed his rifle aside and began to tear off his tunic. He was crying and tears were streaming down his dirty face. “They have unleashed Satan and he is here! God save us!”
Pushkin continued to watch the screen in horror. As he kept his eyes fixed on the monitor, he raised his arm and pointed to Leonid. “Put your fucking mask back on! That is a direct order!” As he chided Leonid, the cluster of troops on the monitor began to get peppered by rifle fire from somewhere off screen.
The sergeant could see the bullets ripping and tearing into the bodies of the soldiers, but none of them seemed to be affected by the gunfire. Realizing that the camera bank had controls, he reached down to a joy stick and zoomed the camera out to allow him to see who was doing the shooting. It was Kirilenko. Both Pushkin and Gennady stood in silence and watched helplessly at what happened next.
Kirilenko had just emptied his rifle into the group and was down on one knee, ripping the magazine out of his weapon. As he was retrieving a fresh magazine from his ammunition pouch, the group of dazed soldiers rushed him and were upon him before he could reload. The mob piled onto Kirilenko, tearing and ripping at him. One soldier sank his teeth deep into Kirilenko’s right bicep, tearing away a large chunk from his arm. Another soldier savagely scratched at his face, gashing away shreds of flesh. The struggling man dropped his rifle and tried to pull away from the throng, but he was yanked back and tossed down to the ground. The soldiers then continued to gnaw and scratch and pull at his body, screaming and howling as they did.
The battered soldier kicked and punched wildly at his attackers as he cried out. His body was then blocked from Pushkin’s view by the mass of crazed troops who were now huddled over their victim. When they dispersed a short time later, Pushkin could clearly see Kirilenko’s dismembered remains scattered across the ground. The poor camera resolution, along with its black and white color tone, had cast the entire ghastly act in a dimly lit and unfeeling presentation.
Pushkin and Gennady stood in horrified silence in front of the monitor. The sergeant looked over at the other working monitors and saw more soldiers and now some civilians in blue overalls moving across the screens. They all had the same tattered and bloodied appearance.
“We have to get in there,” Pushkin told Gennady. The frazzled sergeant knew that no matter was going on in there, it had to be contained until more help arrived.
As Pushkin and Gennady made their way towards the exit, Gennady stopped and looked over at Leonid. He was now shirtless. “Get your damned rifle and get out there! And put your fucking uniform back on!” he yelled at the terror-stricken soldier.
“Why? It’s all over! There is nothing you or anyone else can do! We’re all doomed! Can’t you see?” Leonid had a crazed, almost deranged look on his face.
“You’re a fucking coward!” Gennady screamed at the terrified man. He raised his rifle and pointed it at Leonid. “At least you can go out there and be with the rest of us, and if need be, die with the rest of us!”
“You’re all going to die!” Leonid snorted as snot bubbled from his nose and tears ran down from his eyes. He raised his hands in protest and began to sob and laugh at the same time. He had truly lost his mind.
“Then you’ll be the first to die, you cowardly bastard!” Gennady squeezed off a burst from his rife, ripping Leonid’s chest wide open.
Startled at the sound of gunfire coming from the guardhouse, Pushkin ran back in to see what had taken place He saw Leonid lying on the floor, crumpled and bloodied—his eyes staring up at the ceiling. The sergeant looked at Gennady, not bothering to ask what had happened. They both turned and ran out, joining up with the rest of the troops.
Pop! Pop Pop Pop! The loud staccato of gunfire erupted from somewhere within the facility.
Gorbachenko! Pushkin thought. He and his men must have encountered something.
Overwhelmed with an urgency to get into the complex, Pushkin yelled, “Everybody get ready, we’re going in! Form up behind the last track!” He ran out in front of the APCs and motioned for Sokolov to move through the gate. He then ran back to the rear of the column and just as his men were forming up behind the last vehicle, Sokolov’s APC suddenly and unexpectedly opened fired with its heavy auto cannon.
The roar of the gun was deafening as it echoed off of the concrete buildings. Pushkin stepped out from behind the carrier and saw Gorbachenko and several of his men running towards them. The terrified soldier wasn’t wearing his protective mask and he was screaming at Pushkin.
“Run! Run!” the frightened Gorbachenko yelled. He had a wild look of terror on his face. Right behind him was a throng of screaming and grunting soldiers and civilians. Their expressions were twisted in anger and they were howling and shrieking. Their faces were covered with blood and grime and they were reaching towards Pushkin and his men. Some of the crazed soldiers were carrying severed arms and legs and other body parts, and some of them were raising their ghoulish trophies above their heads in some sort of angry, obscene protest.
Pushkin turned to his men and he ripped off his mask. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He had lost his composure at the sight of the horror that was approaching him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and he was fighting the
urge to vomit.
As he heaved and struggled with his breathing, he looked down at the AK rifle that he was clutching in his gloved hands. It meant nothing to him right now. He had seen how Kirilenko’s weapon had been useless. All his rationale was slipping away from him and the only thing he could think of was his beautiful wife Alina. He knew that it was imperative that he stand firm in the face of his fear—the courage of his young men depended on it—but his brain was now in survival mode. He wanted to run.
In a violent eruption of deafening noise, the other APCs began to fire their guns at the menacing mob. Without any notice, Sokolov’s APC suddenly reversed recklessly into the line of fire and a round from the second APC’s cannon went right into the back of Sokolov’s turret, cutting the man in half. The damaged APC then lurched forward, and a second misguided shot tore through the top of the rear deck of the vehicle, igniting the fuel tanks located in the rear cargo doors and causing the troop compartment to erupt into an inferno. Showing little regard for whoever was behind them, the two remaining APCs backed away from the burning hulk of Sokolov’s vehicle.
Surprised and stunned, the troopers scurried out of the way of the retreating vehicles, but for one unfortunate soldier, he wasn’t able to move fast enough. As he tried diving from out of the path of one of the reversing vehicles, he was knocked down by its rear end.
Pushkin could only look on in horror as the screaming young soldier was turned into a red pulp beneath the grinding track. The sickened sergeant could hear the crunching of bones and the popping of organs as he rolled away from the APC.
As the mortified sergeant got back to his feet, he saw some of the advancing mob being turned into a mixture of red vapor, bloody entrails, and shattered bones as the heavy auto cannons tore into them. Screams and cries and howls came from the pack as more rifle fire broke out around him.
A Glimpse Of Decay (Book 1): Red Storm) Page 2