Andy looked at his Piaget watch. 10:10 a.m. He glanced around the room, which contained two hundred seats. It was the best conference hall in Chelyabinsk, and it was packed with all modern high-tech equipment. A large LED screen was installed above the stage. It could even boast a simultaneous interpretation booth. The only one in the city.
He had tried to contact the owner of the hotel who resided in Vienna but failed because there was no phone and Internet connection. Now it was up to him to make all the decisions.
Not all the seats were taken in the hall.
Less than a third here, Andy thought. Maybe even less than a quarter. The rest are in their rooms, asleep or afraid to go out.
The Arkaim Hotel could accommodate up to four hundred guests and it had been ninety percent filled before the zombie crisis. Some people had checked out on that harrowing Saturday morning and gone to the airport or the railway station. Some of them had gone outside and never returned. Or they had come back as frenzied cannibals and shredded both of the doormen into pieces of bloody flesh. Half of the staff had escaped from the building.
Andy was looking at the people entering the hall and doing his mental calculations. There were about two hundred people in the hotel all in all. The item on Andy’s current to-do list was the headcount.
The people talked quietly, coughed, shuffled their feet, or sat silently. A man with disheveled hair had brought sandwiches and a thermos flask and was eating, looking thoughtfully through the window at the morning sky.
Andy looked at the gathering audience. In a span of two days, they became not just his customers and employees. He was feeling a personal responsibility for all these people.
When everyone was seated, Andy came up to the front of the stage. Diana stood next to him to interpret his speech into Russian.
“Please put up your hand if you don’t understand Russian at all,” Andy said in English.
Four hands were raised. An old bearded man, a young man with Nordic features and the Chinese man, and the teenage girl, apparently his daughter.
“Khorosho. That means I can risk speaking Russian instead. Hello everyone,” Andy said in Russian. Diana was taken aback a little, as she was ready to interpret from English to Russian and not vice versa. “My name is Andrew Thomas. I am the General Manager of this hotel. Er … I can’t find the right words now, firstly, because Russian is not my native language. Please excuse me. And, secondly, the situation we’re presently in is very dire.
“But I’m happy to see all of you here. Safe and alive. Hopefully, everything is going to be all right with you and with your relatives and friends.”
He paused and scanned the hall. He saw despair and hope in people’s faces.
“As you see,” he went on, “the hotel is officially closed at the moment. We accept no-check-ins.”
He tried to smile. Some of the guests chuckled nervously.
He dug out a piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at it. “We have two issues of primary concern on the agenda today: protection and food supply.”
One of the two cash messengers, a big guy with a round face, rose from his seat to be seen and said, “The garage entrance is not going to hold for long. It’s giving way. Maybe a couple more hours. Give or take.”
“Thanks,” Andy said. “We’ll reinforce the barricades. What’s your name?”
“Marcel.”
“Okay, Marcel. We’ll talk about it.”
The cash messenger sat down.
“Can you tell us what’s going on?” said a woman with a little boy sitting in her lap.
“I don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling right now,” Andy said. “What exacerbates everything is the fact that we know nothing about what is really happening in this city. It could be a war or a coup. It could be anything. Our main goal here is to survive till the government and the army restore order in the city. So that we’ll be able to see our loved ones. I realize you all have families out there. And I hope they’re safe and sound. The same your families would wish for you—to save your lives, to be able to see you, to be able to hug you again someday.”
The woman with the little boy started crying and left the hall. Andy asked one of the security guards to accompany them to their room.
“And we’ll survive only if we pool our forces together,” Andy went on. “We have safety in numbers. We have people of different occupations, qualifications, and expertise here. Well, I honestly hope you did not come to this town as a delegation for a stockbroker convention.”
People laughed in the audience. Diana looked at Andy and smiled.
“I hope we have medical doctors here, engineers, mechanics, electricians.” Andy made a pause. “Who else will we need? Athletes, welders, hunters, cooks … Hopefully, an assassin or two is present among you.”
More people laughing.
“With your knowledge, you can survive and help others to survive.”
Andy picked up a big book with the green cover from the desk. “I’m asking all of you now to come up and check in again. In this log book. It’s a paper book, as I anticipate power outages.”
“That’s a good idea,” Marcel said. His partner nodded in agreement.
Andy took a pen out of his breast pocket and invited everyone including the staff to go through registration.
“Please state your name, the number of your room and your useful skills. As of now, you’re free of charge. Let’s stay together and let this place really be your home away from home.”
People started clapping their hands.
Diana whispered to Andy, “You’re making progress in Russian.”
Andy rolled his eyes.
Goran stood up and roared with laughter. “Nice speech, William Wallace!”
Andy thanked everyone for their support.
“Now, as for protection,” he said, looking around the room in search of his security manager. “Where is Sorokin?” he addressed the guards.
The guards looked at each other. One of them flicked his finger at his Adam’s apple. Drunk.
“Great,” Andy muttered through his teeth.
“Andy,” Goran said. “How many times have I told you that you shouldn’t have hired an ex-cop!”
Andy frowned and went on. “I have to warn you that whoever’s outside the walls of this building,” he pointed at the windows, “are not human beings anymore. You can’t talk to them. You can’t beg them or please them. You can’t cooperate with them. Obviously, all they need is to feed. On whatever comes in their way. I know it’s not logical, but let’s face the bitter truth.”
People were absorbing each word Andy was saying.
“For how long are you going to keep us here?” A red-faced man with a big belly asked him. He held a beer can in his hand. There was a towel around his neck.
“No one’s keeping you here, brother,” Goran said. “You can hit the road any time you want. I can open any window for you to jump the hell out!”
“Hey, shut your trap!” The man’s face got redder. He leaned forward. “Who do you think you are?”
“No, you shut up!” Goran said.
The man got angry and stood up. He was about to attack Goran like a ferocious pit bull. Andy gave a silent sign to his guards, and they rose threateningly from their seats.
Diana held her hand up. “That’s enough, everybody! We’re going to stay here as long as deemed necessary. It’s not our choice. The hotel just happens to be the safest place around here so far. Mr. Pavic is right. We’re not forcing you to stay. But please do not try to leave this building. You’ll put everybody here at risk.”
The man slumped into his chair and seemed to calm down. He slurped his beer, clenching his jaws in anger. He crumpled the empty can and tossed it on the floor.
Andy’s eyes turned into slits but he did not say anything.
We’ll have to close the bar and withdraw all the liquor from rooms, he thought.
Goran got upon the stage. “We’ll check all the possible hole
s, through which these schizos could get into the hotel. We have to check the food supply as well. As far as I remember, it’s going to be enough for two weeks. If we ration the food, we’ll be able to not worry about it for over three weeks. I just need the exact number of people staying at the hotel. The data at the reception desk are messed up. We’re going to check every room in this building. Door-to-door. Each of the fifteen stories. I guess, the government is not going to help, so we have to keep up somehow until the air is clear. But, people, I’m telling you, the situation is crappy.”
Just as he said those words, the lights in the room went suddenly out.
“See?” Goran said.
“As if we haven’t had enough,” grumbled one of the hotel guests.
Goran turned to Andy. “Shit just keeps piling up.”
Andy cringed at the swear words. He looked wearily at others. “Goran, would you be so kind as to not swear? Save our ears, please.”
“Okay, no problem,” Goran said. “Pardon my French, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll swear in my native tongue, then.”
The conference room had been designed so that it was in the northern wing of the hotel and it wouldn’t be so stifling hot here during summer meetings without air conditioning. The sun was up, and the light was sufficient in the room. But Andy did not want to think about the time when the sun would go down.
“Let’s hope the power outage is temporary,” Andy said.
A dark-complexioned man in his forties raised his hand, “Sir? Do you have a power generator in this facility?” He spoke in English with a heavy Turkish accent.
“Yes, right,” Andy said. “Actually, we do but we haven’t got it installed yet. They delivered it to us two weeks ago.”
“Well,” the man said. “I’m a trained civil engineer. I could be of some help here.”
“Thank you, sir,” Andy said. “What’s your name, please?”
“Erkan Zorlu.”
“It’s a stroke of luck that we have you here, Mr. Zorlu.”
The man nodded and smiled. “Call me Erkan. Glad to be of service.”
“Fuck!” Goran exclaimed and slapped his forehead with his hand. “I mean, sranje! The fridges! Of course!”
Andy looked at Goran. He didn’t frown this time. He started getting used to Goran’s cussing. “What about them?”
“The perishable food supplies will go rot soon without the power if the outage is permanent. We have to do something about it.”
Andy nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”
“And also water,” Goran said. “Back in my teenage years, I was in the siege of our city during the Yugoslav Wars, and we suffered from lack of water.”
“Yes,” Marcel said worriedly.
“Yeah,” Goran said. “We gotta fill all the bathtubs and all the receptacles we can find with water.”
“Besides, there is the water in the pools,” Andy remarked.
“We also have to keep the drinking water and non-drinking water separate,” added Erkan.
“So, water won’t be a problem,” Andy said.
“But we have to do it fast,” Goran said. “Who knows what will happen next? Water supply cutoff?”
“I’m afraid to even to think about it,” Diana said. “And also about the heating cutoff.”
People got agitated about the current problems, and it was getting noisy in the audience. It took Andy five minutes to call everybody to order.
A young man raised his hand. “Can you give me a gun so I could protect myself and my family?”
The red-faced troublemaker snorted. “A gun! One gun won’t help you much if you come across a crowd of those bloodsuckers. You’re walking meat for them.”
“Now this is really a big problem,” Andy said. “We have only five firearms in the hotel. They’re with the security guards.”
The family man looked disappointed.
It’s six, actually, but they don’t need to know about my shoulder holster, Andy thought. Besides, it’s still a drop in the ocean.
“We never needed so many weapons,” Andy said.
“Nine firearms,” said Marcel’s partner, a tall guy, wearing a black sports cap. He showed his Kalashnikov and a handgun and pointed to Marcel’s same set of arms. “Count us in.”
“And what shall we do then?” said the family man. “I got a wife and two kids in my room.”
“Oh man,” the tall cash messenger said. “There’s a lot of stuff you can use here for killing— knives, forks, table and chair legs, hammers, screwdrivers, pool cues. Take your pick. Hell, you can even kill using a fucking mascara pen eyeliner.” He tossed a pellet of chewing gum into his mouth.
Marcel said to the man, “Gleb, you’ve always been a professional.”
Gleb sat back, smirked and started chewing the gum.
“What are you talking about?” said the red-faced beer drinker. He had opened another beer can already. “Without arms, we’re all going to be fucking fodder for those freaks in no time!”
There was a general commotion again, and Andy had to dismiss the meeting.
“We’ve had enough of talking,” Andy said. “The sooner we begin doing something, the better.”
After the meeting, everyone was given a task to do. Some people helped to reinforce the barricades near doors, dragging all the sofas, tables, chairs, hassocks, and whatnot from the upper floors to block the doorways. Erkan Zorlu went into the basement to install the power generator. The sanitary engineer and two technicians helped him. The garage door had to be sealed, and Erkan could handle a welder’s equipment. He did his job in three hours.
The chambermaids continued to serve in the rooms. Some of them sought to escape from fear and depression, and they wanted to be around people. They were glad to be useful again. The guests were supportive and helped the maids. It seemed ridiculous to be complaining about dirty linen or dirty pillows in a critical situation like this when everything was falling apart. Some of them put their rooms in order themselves.
The waiters and waitresses went back to their duties. Due to the shortage of waiters, some of the guests volunteered to help out at mealtimes.
None of the guards were gone during the beginning of the chaos. Many strong men among the guests offered to be guards.
Andy understood that the people were close to panic, and it was necessary to go on acting as if everything was normal to keep their spirits up.
***
Ivan, the guard whose presence was not necessary anymore in the CCTV room because of the power outage, was standing near the window, as Andy walked along the corridor. There was a shade of worry on the man’s face.
“What’s wrong, Ivan?” Andy asked him.
“I don’t know, sir,” the young man said. “I just remember clearly that the cash-in-transit truck was at the north of the building. Now it has moved here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Keep watching,” Andy said. “If you see something unusual,” he held up his walkie-talkie, “let me know.”
“Sure.” Ivan nodded. “Right away.”
***
Goran ran his kitchen like a general in a battlefield. He was barking out orders to his cook assistants, those of them who hadn’t yet lapsed into depression and had come down into the kitchen to make meals. Some of them had come wearing jeans or other casual clothes, but Goran had made them put on their uniforms. He himself had his immaculately white chef hat on. It gave him extra power in the kitchen.
“Why do we need this outfit?” one of his assistants asked him. “Who cares? We could be dead in an hour.”
“Remember the Second World War history?” Goran asked him. “What was the first sign, which showed that concentration camp prisoners weren’t going to make it and die soon?”
The cook shook his head and looked quizzically at him.
“They stopped cleaning their teeth,” he said.
Nobody said a word.
“And besides,” Goran said. “We’re the
Arkaim Hotel. We gotta be goddamn classy at all times.”
Not all of the cooks agreed, but they donned their uniforms anyway.
They hadn’t been so busy since the preparation for St. Valentine’s Day and were bustling in and out, washing dishes, bringing and taking away the trays. There had been no cooking since Saturday when all the employees and guests had had to fight against the unexpected visitors who were thirsty for their blood.
Goran treated his job as an art. This was one of the conditions, on which Andrew Thomas chose his staff: a person should see what he or she does as an art performance. Three days ago he had had twenty cooks under his command. Some of them had been carefully picked by Goran himself. He was a great team builder. But this Sunday he had a skeleton crew—only eight cooks. But he hoped to get some help from volunteers soon. After all, they were going to get the food, too.
A male cook came up to him with a plate in his hands. “It’s a pity, Goran. The fromage blanc is off.”
Goran took the plate, smelled at the cheese and handed it back with a wince. “You know what to do with it. Dispose of everything that is rotten. But don’t get rid of the expired food yet. We don’t know for how long we’ll be trapped here.”
The power had been out for three hours now, and Goran turned a suite on the second floor into an ad hoc fridge storage by bringing all the food there and keeping all the windows open to let the cold February wind preserve the perishable products longer.
Goran came up to the table where a huge cake sat.
Darya Petrakova, a slim woman in her thirties, who worked as a dessert cook, was covering the cake with white chocolate ganache.
“Hey, Dasha,” Goran said, smiling. “That’s a nice job! Yummy!”
He looked at her but she lowered her eyes—blue ice.
She said nothing. She finished the icing and went to the sink to wash her hands.
Goran and Darya had been dating for a week until this new redheaded chambermaid Marina appeared on Goran’s horizon. Naturally, he lost his interest in Darya, who was modest and a bit shy and whose kiss he had managed to steal only twice during this week, and focused his attention on Marina’s head-spinning boobs.
That Friday morning, when the meteorite arrived, he was standing in the middle of the little windowless locker room and kissing Marina on her naked breasts, which burst out her blouse like two ripe honey pomelos.
The Living & The Dead (Book 1): Zombiegrad Page 8