Sergei hugged her a little tighter and buried his face in her hair. “Baby, I want you tonight.”
There was wine on his breath.
“I would love that, too,” Ksenia said. “But … we know each other too little.”
“Now we’ve got the chance to know each other a little better.”
But she didn’t give him this chance. As she left Sergei’s apartment that night, she thought about how it was stupid of her to refuse to spend a night with him. She was not a little girl anymore. She could wind up all alone if she kept acting like this. But she wanted it to be something special. Not just a quick bam-slam only because it was St. Valentine’s Day. Whose idea was it any way that you definitely had to fuck on a St. Valentine’s Day, whether you wanted it or not? Yeah, sister, but don’t you forget the popular Russian song that goes, “According to statistics, there are only nine lads for every ten girls”?
After an hour of cruising around the city in a half-empty bus, Ksenia went back to Sergei’s apartment house. She pushed the intercom buttons and called his apartment.
In a minute, she finally heard his voice.
“Yes?”
“Hello! It’s me,” Ksenia said.
“Oh, hi!” Sergei sounded hesitating. “Did you forget anything? Come on in.”
The signal beeped and the front door opened.
There was no elevator in the apartment house, so she had to use the stairs to go to the fifth floor. On the second floor, she heard a commotion somewhere upstairs. A door opened, then slammed. She heard whispers. Then a door closed again. She came up to Sergei’s flat and rang the doorbell. He opened the door. He was tipsy.
“Hi!” He flashed a smile.
The first thing she noticed, when she entered the flat, was a faint smell of perfume.
Ksenia hung her purse on a peg and began unbuttoning her coat. “Did you have visitors?”
“Ah, yes, my cousin sister dropped in for a sec. With her husband.” He paused and then smiled. “Hey, what is it? Did you change your mind?”
“Maybe,” Ksenia said. “Let me use your bathroom.”
“Be my guest,” he said. “I’m going to put the kettle on.”
He went into the kitchen.
She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the taps. She looked down and saw the end of an electrical cord stretching from under the bathtub. She took it and pulled out a pink-cream colored hairdryer. It was still warm. Not his appliance, obviously. He was generally crazy about keeping all things in order. He even washed food cans with soap before putting them in the fridge. Throwing a hairdryer under the bathtub would be an act of crime for him.
So it belonged to that twat who lived next door. Ksenia was a cop’s daughter, after all.
“Bastard,” she said.
Her eyes started to get wet, but she forced her tears back. The bastard did not deserve them.
He stuck his head into the hallway. “Come again, Ksyu?”
She showed him the hairdryer.
“Oh, that’s my sister’s.”
“And she left it under the bathtub, right?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “She’s so forgetful, you know.”
She threw the hairdryer at him. “You think I’m an idiot? I thought you’re a real man. How stupid of me—”
She started putting her coat on. “And I was so naïve as to come back to you for the night.”
He was silent for a moment, and then his face darkened with rage.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he yelled. “You said you don’t want to fuck. Fine with me! I found someone else. The sun doesn’t shine through your ass!”
Ksenia put her scarf around her neck, shouldered her purse and kicked the door open.
“Son of a bitch,” she said, slamming the door as hard as she could.
She got into a first streetcar and sat down in a corner seat. Only then did she let her emotions take over her. Her tears were running down her cheeks. She looked through the window at the falling snow. The snowflakes melted on the window surface and accumulated in drops, which rolled down the window.
***
Helping people helped her forget her grief. Her father used to tell her that a hard work is a sure cure for negative thinking.
Ksenia was washing the dishes in the ballroom, thinking of her happy childhood, a never-ending holiday while her mother was still alive. But all holidays come eventually to an end. After Mom’s death, her father was devastated. He plunged into work, and it helped him survive. He worked his ass off to put the bread on the table and to keep the household, but he did not have much time for her. It hurt her and left a dent in their relations for many years.
At school, the girls teased her because she had no mother. Kids can be very cruel. She did not have a boyfriend, and it became a reason for mockery too. She was beaten many times after classes.
Once, a boy from another class invited her on a date. They kept on meeting each other for two weeks, and then the boy got bored and ditched her. It was Valentine’s Day. That night, she cut her wrists. Luckily, her father came home earlier and saved her. He blamed himself for what was happening to his daughter. He had been so drowned in his own sorrow that he hadn’t seen what was going on around him.
Next day, he took her to his police station. There was a little gym there. He trained her how to fight and defend herself. That was his way to make amends.
***
She was on her way to her hotel room when the battery in her torch discharged. She reached out her hands in front of her and groped her way in the dark.
A sudden laugh made her startle. A couple. A man and a woman. Kissing.
She walked past them quietly and used her gas lighter. The bleak light shone her way. The lighter got hot to hold, and she released the wheel. She blew on it to cool it down as a heavy punch in her face knocked her off her feet. She hit the floor with the back of her head. The copper smell of blood filled her mouth.
Someone’s strong hands grabbed her throat, squeezing the air out. She felt leather on her skin. Gloves.
Her first thought was that it was that killer who had murdered the two women in the hotel. Her second thought was that it was Ingvar.
She tried to struggle from under him. Her hands touched a hoodie on the attacker’s head. Her father had told her about a method a girl being raped could use: look the rapist in the eye and address him in a calm voice.
But she couldn’t see anything in the dark and she couldn’t utter a sound, either.
She made a terrific effort to grab her gun. She fired a shot through her sweater. There was the smell of burning wool. The grasp on her throat weakened, and the attacker slipped into the blackness.
She coughed and pulled her legs to her stomach. She fumbled on the floor for the lighter. It took her some time. She spun the wheel and what the flame illuminated made her recoil to the wall just behind her and cup her mouth with her hand.
NINETEEN
“Well, I be damned,” Ramses said picking up an assault rifle from the big pile of weapons. “It’s a fucking Fort Knox here. Now we’re gonna kick those dead asses real hard. With all this serious heat we’re about to become the toughest sumbitches in da hood.”
Everyone in the group walked over and started checking out the guns, feeling just like kids in a toy store.
“Well, we should all count our blessings,” Steve said and pointed at the weapons. “There is enough firepower here to start a civil war.”
Andy took a hunting knife and read the tag on the sheath. Made in Sheffield, England. He slid the knife out and the polished steel glinted dully in his torchlight.
“Nice,” he said. “A piece of homeland.”
They checked the next room. It was full of crates with ammunition. The third room was empty.
They would have to come here at least three times to collect all the stuff but they didn’t have to. They agreed to take only handguns, assault rifles and shotguns and as much ammo as possible. Their goal was
not to start a guerrilla war but to get two hundred and fifty people safely across the city to the nearest emergency center.
When they put everything in six shopping carts, which they had found at the nearby supermarket, darkness had fallen, and they decided to move out in the morning.
Two men were set to keep watch every two hours. Marcel and Gleb volunteered to be first on watch.
The rest of the crew slept in the empty room. It was cold down in the basement, and from time to time they went up to the showroom where the night watchers had set a campfire. They boiled water above the fire and poured it into bottles to keep themselves warm in sleeping bags. Marcel advised everyone to take their boots off. Sleeping in a sleeping bag with boots on was a bad idea. Bad for blood circulation.
Ramses ate some food from his backpack and tried to sleep but to no avail at first. He felt warm in his sleeping bag covered with a pile of blankets he had brought from the supermarket, but his thoughts were wandering. He was excited about how they were lucky with all the firearms they had found. Then he thought about his current situation. He still could not fully comprehend all that was happening around him. He was feeling like in a Hollywood horror movie. Then he started thinking about Ksenia. He liked her in a way. If it were not for all this crap, he would have a go at her.
With these thoughts, he finally lapsed into a troubled sleep.
***
A deep laugh shook the basement, and Ramses snapped his eyes open. Goran. No mistake. His booming voice was coming from the outside, bouncing off the walls and coming down into the basement. Ramses drew his gun and looked around. The men in the room were asleep.
The laugh got louder, and he heard heavy footsteps. In a second, everyone was on their feet.
“Guys,” Goran said. “You have to see this.” He bent from laughter and just could not stop. His torch was shaking in his hand.
Andy came up to Goran and touched his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
Goran led everyone out to the showroom window, exhorted one more peal of laughter and pointed at a black car, a Russian brand, parked nearby. “Look at Gleb.”
A terrifying growl broke the night silence.
Ramses flashed his flashlight in that direction. His eyes caught a glimpse of a massive shape moving at a fast speed. It disappeared around the trunk and rattled the car from behind. Gleb’s silhouette was visible in the backseat. The unknown beast let out a bloodcurdling roar, and Ramses’s first thought was that a gigantic troll had attacked the vehicle. Though he doubted there were trolls in Russia.
“What the fuck?” Stas said, straining his eyes and trying to see something in the darkness.
Goran kept on laughing. In a moment the shaking stopped and a white furry animal lumbered from behind the car. They saw it was a polar bear.
“Hey, Gleb,” Goran said holding his stomach. “He thinks you’re meat in a can.”
The bear scratched at the back door and gave a deep roar.
Steve’s eyes were round with terror. “What the hell? Do fucking polar bears live here?”
Erkan shrugged his shoulders. “He must have escaped from a circus.”
“I know this furry dude,” Stas said. “He’s from the city zoo. Not sure if it’s a he or a she. They had two of these.”
“A chick most probably,” Goran said laughing. “She digs Gleb sooo much.”
The bear smashed the back window with its paw and the window glass exploded. Gleb moved away far into the car salon.
Goran stopped laughing. “Oh man. She’s gonna get him.”
Andy scolded Marcel for leaving their post.
“We just wanted to siphon some gas from that car,” Marcel said. “It’s not so far from here.”
Andy, Marcel, and Erkan went out of the store and turned on their torches.
Erkan unshouldered his rifle and took aim.
“Hold,” Andy said to him. “Don’t kill it. Just scare it away.”
“Okay,” Erkan said and placed his finger on the trigger.
He shot over the animal. At the same time, Marcel popped a flare and tossed it at the bear. The bear growled and turned away from the car.
The cones of the flashlights hit a cluster of dark shapes peeling away from the darkness. The red eyes of the undead were not blinking in the light.
The bear gave another menacing growl, and the walking dead went to it like heat seekers attracted by a jet fighter. Everyone froze in their tracks.
The polar bear lost its interest in the car and advanced the staggering figures. Gleb jumped out of the car and broke into a frantic sprint across the parking lot toward the gun store, the gas can in his hand. A sudden wild idea got in his head and he stopped to open the can. He doused the nearest group of zombies with gasoline and shot at them. The ghouls flashed in the night like Christmas trees.
A burning dead man, his beard on fire, approached the bear and got a fierce hit in the head. The head tore away and went rolling on the night snow. The bear’s paw caught fire, and the bear snarled in pain. It set the paw on the snow-covered ground, and the fire extinguished.
Another walking corpse, a woman in a cashier’s uniform, attacked the polar bear from behind. She tried to bite the bear in the neck but the fur was too thick for her. The animal shook the assailant off its body. The zombie flew in the air and crashed on the pavement like a ragdoll. It started to get up, and Ramses tried to aim his gun at it to finish it off but the bear was in the line of fire. It shadowed upon the lying creature and dug both its front paws into its stomach ripping its intestines out. Then the bear set its jaws on the flesh.
“Oh man,” Steve said.
“No, Brother Bear,” Ramses said. “Please. It’s bad meat. You don’t want to eat it.”
Gleb ran into the store.
Another group of walkers betrayed their presence by moaning. The men’s guns started blazing. When all the zombies were down, it got silent again except for the gurgling and munching noises of the bear.
Andy opened a can of beef and tossed it near the bear. The bear raised its bloodstained muzzle, sniffed the can and licked the food out in one go. It clumped the can between its teeth but soon understood that it was inedible. The bear dropped the crumpled can on the ground and looked at the people waiting for more.
“Sorry, chab,” Andy said. “We’re out of snap ourselves.”
The bear walked to a garbage bin and turned it upside down. It rummaged through its contents with its nose for a couple of minutes and walked away.
Ramses nudged Steve in the ribs. “And everyone used to tell me there are no bears walking down the streets in Russia!”
TWENTY
Ksenia sat in a rocking chair in the suite which was qualified as the infirmary. She had wrapped herself in a plaid up to her chin and was drinking warm black coffee. Her gun rested in her lap, covered by the plaid. She looked at the fireplace. The burning fire made the place look like a cave, especially at night.
The kids, Dr. Brodde’s little patients, slept peacefully in their beds. The drunkard with the wounded head had received minimum treatment from Dr. Brodde and had been sent back to his room. His place was now taken by Ingvar who lay on a mattress spread on the floor. There was no spare bed for him, though there was enough space in the room for four or five more beds. Ingvar was unconscious but according to Dr. Brodde, his life was out of danger. Ksenia saw his chest was heaving up and down. His labored breathing sounded like the wind whistling outside.
The door opened, and a woman entered. She went up to a sleeping girl, her daughter, and took her temperature. The parents became more concerned about their kids after the incident, and they posted extra guards in the hallway. They peeped in to check on the kids every fifteen minutes.
The coffee warmed up Ksenia’s sore throat, but every gulp made her wince with pain. The glove marks on her neck were still visible. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she bit her lip. She was scared. She was disgusted. She was enraged. She grasped the cup more firmly in both hands,
and a surge of rage swept through her body. If only she could get her hands on that murdering bastard, she would let out every bullet out of her gun at him and then, when she was out of ammo, she would smash his face with the gun butt into a bloody pulp.
Ingvar groaned in his sleep. He was out of luck too. He had a severe trauma to the head. Ksenia had found him lying under the fire hose valve cabinet in the staircase. The hose line had been wrapped tightly around his neck several times. He had probably been following her when the attacker assaulted him in the darkness. Ingvar had lost consciousness, and he would have choked of air if it were not for Ksenia.
The girl’s mother went out. Ksenia put the cup on the floor and leaned back into the rocking chair, ready to get some sleep.
A knock on the door made her startle. Her hand gripped the gun and pointed it toward the door without lifting the plaid.
Ivan came in. “Hi! You’re all right?”
She sighed with relief. Being jumpy with all these extra security measures was ridiculous.
She said, “Trying to be. I want to get the hell out of here.”
“Get some good sleep,” Ivan said. “I’ve posted three guards at the entrance in the hallway—Viktor, Matvei, and Zhang Wei. You’ll be safe.”
She doubted that one could be safe here with a maniac raving around.
“Thanks and good night,” she said.
“You have a good night too,” Ivan said and left, closing the door behind him.
Ingvar moaned again. He was clearly in terrible pain.
“I’m sorry, Ingvar,” she said softly. “You were such a dick most of the times but I do apologize. I started believing it was you.”
It had been the third attack this week. Tomorrow she would insist that Ivan made a more thorough investigation to nail that son of a bitch. She shuddered at the thought she had come within inches of her death. If it had not been for her gun, she would have been raped and butchered by that lunatic stalking his victims in the dark hallways. If it were not Ingvar, who could it be? Her analytical mind she had inherited from her dad started working. Her father had even considered sending her to law school to become a criminal investigator, but he had turned down the idea because it is a dangerous profession even for men. Besides, Ksenia showed a remarkable talent for English at school.
The Living & The Dead (Book 1): Zombiegrad Page 20