She was breaking down in front of me. Little by little, her emotions were seeping through the lid her shock had put on them, and she couldn’t handle them anymore. The truth was too much for her to handle. She started weeping, and any words that she wanted to say got lost in that mess of sounds.
I came closer and hugged her. She tried to resist, but without much enthusiasm. After a few seconds she eased up, and I felt her shoulders shake and tremble. I wanted to look her in the face to see if she was crying, but she pulled me in closer and burrowed her face into my jacket.
"Not like this," - she quietly sobbed. "I don't want you to see me like this. Not because of him."
She kept on quietly shaking, refusing to make even a single sound that would betray that she was shedding tears for him. All I could do was stand there and be there for her.
I wanted to hurt him, and strangely, not because he'd betrayed us or because he was behind our imprisonment. I wanted to hurt him for making Natasha cry. For leaving a bruise on her face. For scaring both of us.
And I planned to give him a piece of my mind personally very soon.
"Natasha" - I asked her quietly, trying to contain my anger. "Do you remember the number of his apartment?"
"Seventy Two" - she whispered. "Why?"
"Because if he's the welder, and he planned to keep us here until we were all converted, then he definitely should have something that can cut those doors open," - I told her. "…once you're ready - lead them outside. Unseal the doors." I should have seen it before, but I hadn’t thought about it since. Without knowing the welder’s location and identity there was no point in paying those words any attention.
"And if it's good enough for the door, then it should do the trick for those bars in the sewers, too."
CHAPTER 18 – The Plan
As the evening was descending upon us, I was trying to make sense of what was happening. The revelation Natasha had brought me was finally connecting the dots and making the picture whole.
According to the old man's account, all that had been happening around us for the past few days was somehow the fault of the Soviets. Something that they had been doing in our town yielded the results only decades after the country's collapse. Something he described as "looking for allies in other worlds." I had heard many wild rumors about the reasons for founding our town, heard bizarre theories about what the Soviets had been developing here – but not even the craziest of them claimed that the Soviets were looking into trans-dimensional tech.
And now, those "allies" were roaming the streets of our town. The military was ready for such an event - after all, it seemed like the purpose of "The Cricket" was to notify the higher-ups about the phenomena. It was too good to be a coincidence that it had stopped broadcasting just as those things started invading our town. But the military either underestimated the scope of the threat or dropped the ball completely because so far it seemed that the threat was far from eradicated.
There was also a strange cult, of which the welder - Nikita - seemed to be a part of. They had been biding their time for those creatures to arrive, and when they received a heads-up about an incoming invasion they did what was in their power to sabotage the evacuation - if Leonid's words could be trusted it seemed that we weren't the only ones who had our doors welded shut.
Their goal was still cryptic, but if the previous day was anything to go by, it seemed that they wanted us locked in so that the substance that had found its way into the pipes would be consumed by us. They had anticipated that once we'd be locked down, we would have no choice but to drink it. It wouldn't be a stretch to consider that it was only thanks to them that the water was still running - they had probably occupied the water station and polluted the waters there, where they would find their way to every apartment in town.
But they didn't account for the fact that most people started saving up water as soon as they were locked down. Judging by the fact that the water had acquired a strange taste only a day after the lockdown had started, it seemed that the initial batch was not polluted.
And, of course, the bandits, who had picked the worst time possible to pass through our town. Initially, it seemed that they also were just the victims of the circumstances, same as us. But, as more time had passed, they had become exposed to whatever it was within the pipes. The life in prison seemingly made them less cautious and less prone to thinking about the future. They were living in the present, so I could easily imagine them ignoring the common sense and never stocking up on the water.
Everything seemed horrible. We were an offering to their King In Rags. Nothing more than pawns in some upcoming greater game. An initial batch of followers to give his faith some credibility. It seemed that everyone was working against us – the creatures outside, the military, and even the people we used to call neighbors. We were discarded, abandoned things.
But now, on our eleventh hour, we finally had a shot at success. We knew the exact location of the welder, and we knew that he most likely had the tools to get the doors open - after all, the plan was not to kill us but to make sure we wouldn't be able to escape until it was too late. He had his shot to lead us all out of there the day earlier when the sirens distracted the beasts - but he blew it. Most probably because he had failed to indoctrinate the entire building.
Seizing those tools was our only shot at escape. But there was an obvious problem.
The fourth flight of stairs was occupied by the bandits. They had let it be known before that we were unwelcome there, and they had shown their true colors when they ransacked the third flight, and on top of that, judging by how they looked, they were now under the King's control, too. If they wouldn't have let us through to talk to him before, now they would probably lay their lives on the line defending him.
The direct head-on siege was out of the question: they had more firearms on their side, and besides, we weren't the soldiers. We were ready to risk our lives, but it didn't mean we would succeed. Rallying the rest of the tenants and crushing them with our numbers was an option, but if the elderly agreed to be our meat shield it would only mean more deaths on our side - in the narrow corridors the thugs wouldn't have much problem taking their aim at the crowd heading straight toward them.
We needed to proceed with caution. We needed to use our wits to defeat them.
According to Natasha, they had set up guarding posts right on the staircase. "They set up two guard posts – one on the second floor and one on the fourth. They seem to be really bent on protecting Nikita at all cost, either from us or from the creatures outside should they find their way inside" – she paused for a moment, when the memories seemingly overtook her, but then kept on talking. "I don’t know if they stay there around the clock but it seems that way – they have tables, chairs, and even mattresses set up right there, on the staircase. Lots of guns, too. You’ll have to get through them, first, and frankly, I don’t know if you can," – she finished, looking over everyone in the room.
"It's simple, then" - one of the men offered when we were discussing it in Alexei's apartment. "We start a fire underneath them, in the basement, and have it do the work. I’ve worked as a firefighter in the past – I’m sure I can keep it localized."
I spent a lot of time trying to talk him out of it. The fire would either subside before doing any damage, only serving to alert them to our plans and making them more cautious, or it would grow so big that we wouldn't be able to contain it. While the man wasn’t backing down, the rest started to heed my warnings that it wasn’t such a good idea and finally botched it. For the remainder of the meeting, the man gave me cold looks.
"I say we just storm the place" - Alexei suggested. "They're not that good with firearms, and you've managed to push them back yesterday. If we rush them at night, we might catch them off-guard. They don’t expect us to put up a good fight, but I’m ready to prove them wrong," – he said with bravado. A few men voiced their approval of his plan.
"Alexei, we’re back to square one" – I chimed i
n, raising my voice so that everyone heard me. I could feel the gazes of men on me, full of disdain for daring to question their martial prowess. The blood had gone to their heads, and boredom was urging them to give in to their instincts. For the first time in days they were given a target and they wanted to tear it to shreds, and my words were nothing but an annoyance to them. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let them die in vain, even if voluntarily. "You can’t fight them head-on. You-"
"That’s why I’m saying that we should strike them at night. Have you been listening?" – he questioned me.
"Yeah, kid. You best leave it to the adults" – someone remarked. I did my best to ignore it.
"Suppose you ambush the first guard post. There’s still a second one, and there’s no way we can ambush them as well. We’ll still have to face them head-on, and they’ll still have more guns than us. Then what? Are you going to rush the armed men with your hatchets and rolling pins? On a stairwell?" – I questioned them. No one had an answer to that.
Even though that wasn’t why I was doing that, it felt damn good to give it to them.
"Alright, then" - Alexei looked at me, throwing daggers at me with his eyes. "What do you suggest? Do you have a better plan?"
I, in fact, did have a plan. A plan so dastardly and dangerous, one that was so overly complicated and hinged on so many assumptions that it was ridiculous to bring to the table. Yet at the same time, it was the only plan that didn't involve having to blindly rush at the danger head-on.
As I was laying it out to the rest of the group, people were letting out smirks and grunts. I expected as much, so the only thing I could do was keep talking with confidence. I had to believe that my plan was feasible, that it was good on its own merit and not based on the opinions of others, because who else was going to believe in it if not me?
Little by little, as I was breaking down my plan and explaining why it was feasible, the men were getting silent, until the room was finally quiet. I could almost hear their thoughts and doubts, I could hear their brains rushing to find some holes in it – and yet no one was saying anything.
"You know, your plan is pretty solid, but it’s also pretty stupid" – one of the men finally said. Another man laughed. I wanted to object but instead found that I was laughing, too. The rest joined, too. For the first time since we’d gathered there, we felt the tension between us drop.
"Well, if it fails, we can always go back to the original plan and smoke them out" - Alexei said with a sigh. The rest of the men nodded in agreement, although I could see that not everyone was on board with what I proposed.
"And who's going to execute it? It’s also risky, you know" – one of the men wondered. I could see that he didn’t want to be the one to do it.
"I will" – I heard myself say. When I was formulating my plan, I hadn’t imagined myself as the one who’d be setting it in motion, and that was the main reason why I had agreed so easily. I simply couldn’t even picture what I was getting into. But someone had to. Since it was my idea I also had to bear the responsibility.
"And if your plan backfires and the welder is killed?" – Alexei asked.
"Screw him" – I was surprised at how easily I condemned my former friend to death, but it didn’t feel right to be concerned about him after everything he’d put everyone through. "We only need his tools. I think they’ll be alright."
I looked at Natasha to see how she reacted. She looked away, but a few moments later she nodded her head. That was all I needed to reaffirm my resolve. Two closest people to Nikita had agreed to put him to the knife. There was no going back after such a decision.
"Good" – Alexei nodded. "Just don’t get cold feet when push comes to shove. Alright, let’s get ready. We start tonight."
***
It was in the deep of the night when we started executing my plan.
The first thing we needed was the lure.
It was tough finding a piece of meat – no one had any. The meat was perishable goods, so if anyone had had it then they had eaten it by now, and even if they did have a piece lying in their freezer they wouldn’t admit it. We tried explaining to everyone that we needed it for a serious cause, but when they heard why exactly we needed it they'd spin a finger at their temple to show us what they thought about my idea.
Finally, after we almost gave up on our quest, one of the new militia members came from downstairs, bringing a bloodied parcel with him – a piece of meat wrapped in a piece of cloth.
"Don’t unwrap it!" – he warned when I tried to take a look at it. "Not yet".
The parcel didn’t smell fresh, and when I looked at his face he looked away, wiping bloodstains from his face.
I probed the parcel without opening it. A long, soft tube. On one of its ends, I suddenly felt fingers under the cloth. I resisted an urge to throw up.
"You are welcome" – the man grunted. "You wanted a piece of meat – I got you one. Risked my life, too, going into that apartment alone."
We brought it to the basement with us and headed toward the furthest door - the one that led to the stairwell Alexei wanted to burn down so much. The door must've been locked on the hanging lock from the other side, but it was old and wooden. There was a way to get past it - the trick was to do it completely silently.
They hadn't made any efforts to reinforce the door to the basement. Their logic must have been simple: the door was locked on a hanging lock, the same one as the one we broke on the day we went to the basement, and the key to which had been lost a long time ago. It wasn't meant to be open. As such, the lock would do well enough to keep any intruders out, and if they tried to break through the door they would make enough noise to wake up the entire building and alert those who were left on guard.
We spent a good three hours trying to drill through the wood with a wimble we'd borrowed from an old carpenter, making one crank at a time, listening all the while to the noises on the other side - in the complete silence we could hear the thugs who were on overwatch drinking and talking, and the nauseating hoarse voice of a chanson singer they were listening that rang in my ears. But at any moment the music could stop and their tone could change from cheerful to worried, which would mean only one thing - we were busted.
After two hours, the wimble's drill finally reached the nail which held the locking hinge in place, and we spent the next hour working around it, taking turns, trying to make the hole bigger, until finally the nail was separated from the wood. The hanging lock was just hanging from the doorframe now, and the door could be opened.
I took off my boots and entered the stairwell. From then on, I was on my own. It only made sense for me to be the one to bear all the risks - after all, it was my plan.
The men were just one floor above me. I could now hear them with perfect clarity. One wrong step, one noise - and they would come rushing down toward me.
It was time for the greatest gamble of my life. I reached out toward one of the doors.
Unlocked. Of course. When they were fleeing they didn't care about their belongings. They knew that the first floor was dangerous. That the brutish creature could tear down the grates on their windows.
And so did I.
I headed towards the kitchen, opened the window, and put the piece of meat on the floor. Then, carefully taking a knife out of the drawer, I slit my left palm and drew some blood, raining a few drops onto the piece of meat.
The plan was now set in motion. I didn't know how well the Ape could smell, but I banked on the fact that by sunrise it would be tempted enough to break down the grates and enter the stairwell, where it would quickly deal with all the bandits.
I hoped that the old welder would have enough sense to lock the door before that happened.
Looking over my trap one last time, I headed toward the exit. I made sure to leave the door open - that way, either the creature would find its way out of the apartment on its own or the bandits would hear it breaking in, which would prompt them to come over and take a look at what was goi
ng on, thus drawing it out onto the stairwell.
I headed toward the basement door, only to find it wide open. The hammer, nails, and pieces of furniture - improvised wooden planks that we planned to use to barricade the door afterward - were lying right next to it, abandoned.
"Weird" - I thought to myself - right before I heard it. The pitter-patter of many legs that was getting closer with each second. Coming straight out of the basement I came from.
"The windows" - was all I could think before I turned around and ran. The windows, the tiny windows that lined the walls of the basement, were an easy way for the creature to get in. We'd never seen it, so we had no clue whether it would be able to sneak in, but I should've anticipated that threat. Pavel was not only killed in the basement - we never even recovered his body.
And now it was in there. Cutting me off from safety and pinning me between a rock and a hard place.
And it was approaching fast.
I didn't have a lot of time to spare. I had two options: run back into the apartment I'd just left, where the bait was waiting for the ape, or run up the stairs, toward the bandits, and hope that their shooting skills weren't great.
I chose the second option. In a crisis, the primates had always sought to gain an elevated position or move toward their peers, and that instinct, buried deep within my psyche, re-emerged in the time of need.
The men were so drunk and so bewildered by my sudden appearance that none of them even reached for their gun. Since I only started running when I was already on the stairs to them it must've looked like I appeared there out of thin air. They just watched me with surprised eyes as I rushed past them, toward the third floor.
Toward apartment Seventy Two.
I was moving at such speeds that I had to grab on to the railings to make a sharp turn. My ligaments screamed in protest, strained to a maximum degree each time I made a turn, but it wasn't important. Death itself was on my heels.
One floor below me, the men's' shouts intended to alarm the rest to the intruder's presence turned to screams of terror - it seemed that even possessed and made to do their master's bidding they still could feel fear. One of the screams was cut short as a pair of mighty jaws, or mandibles perhaps, crushed the man’s throat. A second later, I heard gunshots.
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