Carp checked the action of his handguns. “What are we waiting for?”
“Yeah, let’s move,” Bulldog said. His nostrils widened, and he was ready to kick ass.
“Wait,” Angel said. “What if we find Bandurov and shoot him accidentally?”
“The general said that any condition of the body would suit him,” Carp said. “You want to babysit him if we catch him alive?”
“I mean what if he’s shot?” Angel said. “Lying dead in that stinking pile outside?”
“Then we just retrieve the CCTV data and get the hell out of here,” Gavrilov said. “While the getting is good.”
“Fair enough,” Angel murmured.
“Echo One, this is Maestro,” Gavrilov radioed. “The first level looks secure. I suggest I, Joker and Afghan go upstairs to get Patient Zero. Angel, Bulldog, and Carp will go for the server. Over.”
“Negative, Maestro,” the captain said in an angry voice. “Do not split the group! I repeat: negative on splitting the group! There are more hostiles on upper levels. Your firepower will be insufficient. Over.”
“Understood, Echo One. Maestro, out,” Gavrilov said.
Damn bunch of pussies, Gavrilov thought.
“All right,” he said to the group. “Let’s get the things off our to-do list one by one.”
It was quiet in the corridor which wasn’t a good thing under the circumstances. Gavrilov started to distinguish two types of these creatures—wanderers and hiders. Wanderers were easier to spot because they were noisy and constantly on the move. Hiders were more dangerous. They were trapped in concealed places, strapped in car seats or stuck somewhere. They could be lurking in closed rooms biding their time.
The walk to the basement was a stroll in the park. There were no enemy targets.
“I don’t fucking like it at all,” Gavrilov whispered to himself.
The squad halted in front of a wooden door. Its edges were bound with iron.
“If all of us go down there,” Gavrilov whispered, “it might be a death trap for all of us. Carp, Joker and Bulldog, you go inside. I will be covering you here with Angel and Afghan.”
Carp and Joker gave a silent nod and gripped their weapons. Angel gulped and gripped his Mak pistol tighter. Gavrilov pointed both his guns at the door. Bulldog pushed the door. It opened with a metallic creak. The fighters’ faces were tense. Angel’s hand was trembling. A trickle of sweat slid down Afghan’s temple. Even this soldier, who had seen all the horrors of war, was afraid.
The basement was dark but the more the door opened, the more the sunlight beam coming through the window from behind them destroyed the gloom of the basement. The men’s breath was clearly visible in the sunlight. For a moment everyone had a feeling that a horde of ghouls would spring at them out of the dark and shred them to pieces.
Bulldog entered the basement, the flashlight on his helmet cutting the thick of the dark. They saw nobody. They walked along the dark corridor and found the server in the eastern wing of the basement. The server cabinet was too heavy to carry, and it was fixed to the floor and walls.
In the corner, a dead Spetznaz fighter lay face down on the floor. A rat dashed from under his stomach and Carp crushed it with his boot. Joker let out an insane laugh.
“Maestro, this is Bulldog. We’ve found the server,” Bulldog said over the radio.
Gavrilov and Afghan came down into the basement. Angel followed them, carrying his gear.
Bulldog came up to the server and tore off the front bulletproof casing. “Your turn now, Baby Face,” he said to Angel.
Angel connected the generator to the server and powered it up.
Gavrilov stood behind him. “I give you ten minutes and then we leave.” He pressed a button on his watch. “Starting now.”
Angel hooked up his laptop to the server and started typing maniacally. Rows of digits were running before his eyes.
“The data is coded,” he said. “But I can assume that the files are what we’re looking for. MPEG files, that is. We’re more than lucky here. It’s an IP server. I’m guessing it’s the main server of the complex.”
Angel’s helmet crackled with static. “Angel, this is Echo One. Do you confirm these are CCTV files?”
“Yes, I’m pretty sure,” Angel said, his fingers flying over the keyboard.
“We need to be 100 percent sure,” Voyevodin said. “I need a demonstration.”
“What kind of demonstration are you fucking talking about?” Gavrilov boomed.
“Prove to me we’re looking at CCTV files here,” the captain said. “Open any file and play it for me.”
Angel clicked on the first file, and one of the hospital corridors appeared on the screen. The image was black-and-white, and there was no sound. In the video, people in white coveralls were walking toward an elevator. People were coming out of the elevator. Patients sitting on benches near doctors’ offices, waiting for their turn. Just a routine day in a hospital.
“Look at the date,” the captain said. “It’s October 2012. The information is obsolete.”
Angel scrolled down the list of video files. “Yeah, the files are old. All of them.”
“Abort this part of the mission,” the captain said. “There must be another server somewhere. Get to the eighth floor now. Immediately. We don’t have much time. Echo One, out.”
“All right, everybody!” Gavrilov shouted. “We’re moving out!”
They were about to leave when Afghan said, “What’s that thing?”
Everybody looked at what he was pointing. There was a piece of equipment in the corner beside the dead soldier.
Bulldog took the equipment and tossed it at Angel. The hacker caught it.
“It’s a DVR,” Angel said, his face brightening. “A digital video recorder.”
“Is that good news?” Gavrilov asked.
“Let’s see.” Angel turned on the generator again. “Trying to open a video file,” he commented, punching the laptop keys. “The data has been automatically archived. But the recordings may be retained. I just hope the files are not overwritten.”
Angel opened a folder, chose a file and clicked it to check its properties. “The oldest security footage is of February 16, 2013.”
He played the video. It contained no sound either, but the image was color. Angel skipped the peaceful moments of the last Saturday and then played it in normal speed. The fragment depicted a young nurse caught in an elevator by her carnivorous patients.
“Bingo!” a wide grin spread across Angel’s face.
“All right, I think we got it,” Gavrilov said without a trace of emotion. “We’ll watch the flick later. Let’s roll.”
He went to the exit. Everyone moved after him. Afghan carried the DVR.
“Echo One,” Gavrilov said on the move. “We have retrieved the footage. Over.”
The hiss of radio static filled his ears.
“Go on with the operation,” the captain’s voice was iceberg cold.
Angel was left behind. He was busy putting the laptop back into his backpack when one of the doors opened, and a dark figure staggered out. Angel turned his head, the beam of his flashlight shedding its light on a male monster in green coveralls. A low growl was coming from the depth of his empty stomach out of his hungry mouth.
Angel stood up and ran. He stumbled and fell down, his helmet crashing against the floor.
Joker halted when he heard the noise. He turned around and saw the dark figure of a man shadowing over the sissy boy. The ghoul opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the fallen man’s leg. A piercing scream flooded the basement corridor. It was so chilling that Joker shuddered. He trained his gun at the zombie’s face and fired a shot. The dead man grunted like a pig and fell over in a clump.
Then he pointed the gun at Angel. “No more jokes.”
Angel stuck up his hand, “No!!!”
Joker squinted his eyes and shot. The bullet went through the hacker’s hand and came out of the back of his head.
As Joker went out of the basement, Gavrilov asked him where Stolyarov was.
“The damn wimp didn’t make it,” Joker said.
Gavrilov nodded and moved on. He didn’t care. In other circumstances, he would hate to lose members of his team but not now. They got what they needed, half of the mission was completed, and Angel would be a liability now.
Coming up the upstairs was surprisingly easy, too. There were only a couple of living dead on the staircase.
The building is already clear, Gavrilov thought. What the hell are we doing here?
Then he reminded himself that they were not there to clear the object. Something more serious could be yet in store for them. They reached Level 8 and stopped. It read “Intensive Care Unit” above the entrance. The metal door was not locked but it was barricaded from the inside. They could try to get to this level through another level but it would be too risky.
“Echo One, this is Maestro,” Gavrilov said into the radio. “We’re here. Over.”
“Good,” the captain said. “Enter the corridor.”
“What makes you sure Patient Zero is still … alive? I mean … still functional, unshot?”
There was a moment of silence, and then the captain said, “We know because we’ve received confirmation from one of the previous squads.”
“What?!” Gavrilov said. “You mean you’ve already found him?”
“Just go on with your mission, Maestro. You’re in no position to ask any questions here.” Then Voyevodin radioed off.
“May a dick grow on your heel, motherfucker,” Joker muttered under his breath.
“I don’t fucking like this at all,” Gavrilov said. “But we’re out of options here.”
“Take cover,” Carp said, fishing a hand grenade out of his pocket.
They hastily ducked behind the corner. Carp pulled the pin out, attached the grenade to the door handle and ran for cover. The explosion left a massive hole in the door. But the barricade behind the door still prevented them from getting in. He tossed another grenade through the hole, blasting the wooden furniture and iron beds to pieces.
Another empty and quiet corridor opened before them. Gavrilov gave everyone an all alert sign, kicked a bedside table aside and stepped over the rubbish. Glass crunched under his boots.
They went to the first right-hand room. It was the staff lounge. Gavrilov motioned at the door with his head, and Bulldog gave it a powerful kick. There was nobody inside, alive or dead. Or undead. They saw a TV set mounted on the wall, a computer on the desk, a fridge in the corner and a sofa. An ordinary place for physicians to have a rest and discuss current problems. Except there were bloodstains everywhere.
Gavrilov breathed a cloud of warm air, closed the door and moved on. The next room was a surgery full of dead bodies. Proper dead bodies. Not one of them rose up to claim the convicts for breakfast.
The neighboring little cafeteria was empty. Gavrilov was surprised it was clean. There were bullet holes in the walls, which had caused chips of paint and plaster to crumble onto the floor. But the dust and dirt had been neatly swept into a corner. There was a bed in the room. A tray with food on the bed. Somebody had apparently eaten here not so long ago.
Who would have a bed in a cafeteria? Gavrilov thought.
They moved to the room at the end of the corridor, stepping over the piles of rubbish, broken glass and spent shells. There were occasional body parts scattered here and there. The final room had a wide exterior window, through which caregivers could monitor the critically ill patients. The bloody handprint on the shattered glass looked like a heraldic device of Northern Ireland or Scotland, Gavrilov had forgotten which. The door was a code-activated type but as the power had been cut it could be opened easily. Gavrilov was the first to cross the threshold. Dead bodies of the patients in the beds. Bullet holes in the blankets. Bodies of the medical staff prostrated on the floor.
The rest of Gavrilov’s crew came in, ready to open fire any moment. There was an adjacent room with a small glass window in the door.
Through the window, Gavrilov saw a man clad in Spetznaz khaki fatigues standing in the middle of the room by a bed. He could distinguish a figure of a person concealed under the blanket. It was wriggling and squirming. There was muffled growling and moaning coming from the hidden shape.
“Don’t move!” the Spetznaz fighter shouted. “Or I’ll blow this place up!”
The party of five froze.
Using his left hand the soldier pulled the blanket away revealing the blackened face and chest of a man. The patient’s distorted features showed he was in terrible agony. Two white cords led up from the man’s body to the fighter’s right hand, which was gripping a small device.
FIFTEEN
Andy and Goran stood on the rooftop, looking at the burning apartment complex across the street. Hundreds of gas stoves and electric heaters had been left unattended around the city when the world had gone mad and plunged into chaos and burning buildings were forming part of the cityscape. The burning smell barely reached them as the wind carried it away. The midday sun shone on the blue carpet of the sky. The snow glittered in the sunbeams like crystal. Andy was smoking a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked since his boarding school years in Switzerland. Goran opened a steaming thermos flask and poured hot coffee into a plastic cup.
He offered Andy the cup. “You want some?”
Andy shook his head and flicked the cigarette butt into the air. It made a wide arc and dived into the middle of the shuffling zombie mob.
Andy rubbed his tired eyes. He had not eaten or slept since the gruesome news of another murdered girl had hit him. Her mutilated image was still before his eyes. The sliced throat. The butchered abdomen. Blood on her white coat. Hands tied to the bed by leather belts.
She had been found by Stas and Ingvar in one of the rooms on the second floor. They heard a door being shut. Then there was the noise of running steps in the hallway. Nobody was staying in that wing of the second floor. This time the girl was not one of the employees. Andy found out her name was Yekaterina Smolyakova. And that was it. What business had brought her to this city would be unknown forever now. She had been staying at the hotel alone.
The door to the rooftop opened, and Andy saw Viktor and Ivan coming to them. Diana, Dr. Erich Brodde, and Steven Clayton were following them. They came up to Andy and Goran blinking in the bright sun like moles that had just crawled out of their holes. They had not been out in the open for a long time.
“What a weird place for a meeting,” Steve observed.
“Everything’s weird nowadays,” Andy said. “I can’t see Ramses with you.”
“He’s having a seminar in martial arts,” Steve said. “Training some guys for their night shift.”
Andy smiled and nodded. “Is Igor coming?” he asked Ivan. He was worried about his Security Manager.
“No,” Ivan said. “He’s drunk as a swine.”
“Where does he get the booze, I wonder?” Andy said. “I had all the liquor locked up.”
“A Russian man always has his resources,” Ivan said. “You’ve forgotten there are still flower-scented eau-de-Cologne bottles in almost every room.”
“Hot damn!” Andy exclaimed. “I guess I’ll have to appoint you the Chief of Security.”
“I’d really appreciate it,” Ivan said.
“Then consider that you’re my new Security Manager as of this moment.”
“Thanks,” Ivan said. “I’ll do my best.”
The German cleared his throat. “Mr. Thomas—”
“Good morning, Herr Brodde,” Andy said to him.
“I checked the girl’s body for sexual intercourse,” Dr. Brodde said. He was so impatient to tell Andy his news that he forgot to greet him. “The girl had not been raped. Neither before nor after she was killed.”
Andy looked the old man in the eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure. More than that, I checked Darya’s body, too. The result is the sa
me. Though it was hard to do, as her body was frozen and …”
“Poor girl,” Diana said.
“Poor girls,” Dr. Brodde corrected her. “I’m starting to see a pattern here. Only girls are getting killed.”
“So we know now that it’s a man,” Ivan said.
“And we can take off over a hundred people off our list of suspects,” Dr. Brodde said. “If only I had the proper forensic equipment!”
Goran growled with anger. “I’m going to take my biggest cleaver, find that motherfucker and cut his knob off!”
“We’re dealing with a psychopath here, not a rapist,” Dr. Brodde said.
“I’m gonna chop it off anyway!” Goran said.
“Maybe he didn’t have time to get to it?” Steve said. “Or is he impotent?”
“What about that guy on the staircase?” Andy asked, deep in thought.
“Nein. I think it was an accident,” Dr. Brodde said. “He had drunk too much and fell asleep in the cold.”
“So he chooses only girls,” Andy said.
“This is so terrible,” Diana said. “I just don’t know who could do that.”
“Two options here,” Steve said. “He’s either an employee or a guest.”
“No-brainer,” Goran snorted. “He must be a strong guy, too. It could be your black friend as well.”
“And maybe you?” Irritation was seeping into Steve’s voice.“Why not you, huh?”
Andy held out his gloved hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Easy, everybody, easy.”
“I wish Igor were sober,” Ivan said. “He is good at this. Investigations and stuff. He used to tell me he was an investigator back in his police service years.”
“It could be anyone,” Andy said. “There may be two of them. Or even three. Crap.” He wanted another cigarette, but he took Goran’s flask instead.
“What shall we do?” Diana said. “Do we have to keep quiet about it now?”
“I don’t know,” Andy said, taking a sip of hot coffee.
The Living & The Dead (Book 1): Zombiegrad Page 16