Ramses stepped through the hole in the wall.
“Yo, hold on your horses,” he called. “I’m here, okay.”
Joker stopped. The thugs turned their head toward him. Joker stopped, too. Let go of Ksenia, and she dropped to the ground.
Ramses walked, his hands raised, and stopped about ten yards before them. “Look. I don’t want no one to get hurt no more today. If it’s me you want, here I am. But please let these people go.”
“Let my people go,” Gavrilov intoned and smiled. “Fucking Moses.”
“Just tell me what you want,” Ramses said.
Gavrilov said, “What I want? I want you to die. You do not deserve to live. You are an insect. Look around you. The whole city is a mess. Thousands of people are dying all around. People of my country are dying. And you are still breathing. A fucking nigger.”
He hiccupped and raised his gun at Ramses. His eyes became bloodshot with hatred. He was drunk but his eyes were full of attention. Focused. His gun hand was steady. He put his finger on the trigger.
“You just shot a man of your country dead,” Ramses said.
“A fucking Tatar?” Gavrilov said. “He did not deserve to live, either. In this new world. In my new world. You know, I see it as a blessing. All this shit storm happening. The world is going to change soon. It is changing. It is the beginning of great cleansing. Nature is claiming it all back. The weak must die. The strong must move on.”
“You call yourself strong?” Ramses said. “You who tortures weak women and kills unarmed men? Pfft, some frigging Nietzsche.”
Gavrilov took his knife out of the sheath on his thigh. “How about finding out who is the strong one here?”
“First, let my friends go,” Ramses said.
“All right. They will not get far away anyway. Once I am through with you, I will rip them up like chickens.”
“So is it a deal?” Ramses said. “Are they free to go?”
Gavrilov nodded. “Yes.”
Ramses pointed at the hole in the brick fence and said to Andy. “Go that way. Get the hell out and never look back.”
Andy looked at Ramses and shook his head. “No, it’s wrong, man. We can’t leave you here.”
Ivan lingered, too.
“Just go,” Ramses said. “Find another shelter.”
Andy looked at Ramses and nodded. Ksenia mouthed a “thank you” to him. Tears filled her eyes.
They walked to the hole. All this time Gavrilov’s people had them at gunpoint. Ramses followed them with his eyes. As soon as they disappeared, he turned to Gavrilov, slipped his kitchen knife out of his sleeve and held it before him. Gavrilov looked at the piss poor piece of metal and guffawed.
Ramses remembered his two years spent in a Mexican prison. He used to be a drug runner. He and his friend were busted by the police for transporting marijuana. In the prison, he had learned to use the environment as a weapon. He could kill with a toothpick. And this knife was more than a little piece of metal. It was a deadly weapon in his hands.
A dozen creatures walked through the broken gates and shuffled toward them. Gavrilov and his thugs climbed on top of the tank where the ghouls wouldn’t reach them. Carp ducked inside the tank and came out with a box of beer bottles. Everybody cheered and popped the beers open. The spectators were ready for the show.
An undead, who apparently used to be a homeless man, walked near the tank. It sported a gray beard, which was smeared with frozen blood.
Joker pointed his gun at the creature but Gavrilov said to him, “Let him pass.”
Joker smiled and lowered his weapon.
The creature raised its hands and growled. Ramses came up to it and drove his knife into the dead man’s eye socket up to the hilt. The monster’s other eye widened and faded away. Ramses pulled the blade out. Its tip was broken, but the knife was still a dependable weapon.
The next ghoul was a female ex-office worker or a secretary. Her business suit was rotting away as was half of her frostbitten face. Ramses gave a hard kick to the zombie’s knee, and it popped like a twig in a forest. He finished it off with a stab through her ear to the brain. He killed off three more creatures in the same way. After the final kill, he lost his balance and fell on his butt.
Carp laughed and Gavrilov kicked him off the tank. The thug looked up at Gavrilov and then back at Ramses. He understood without words what he had to do if he wanted to survive and be accepted into the band again. He stood up, taking out his gun, and trained it on Ramses without pointing. As he pulled the trigger, Ramses dodged the bullet and ran around the tank. The snow whirled around, giving him extra protection.
Gavrilov shouted something down the upper hatch. The tank’s engine roared with life and set off.
Ramses ran into the basketball court. The tank turret turned and fired at him. He jumped to the side, and a horrible blast destroyed the fence wire, puncturing his eardrums. In a daze, he got to his feet and ran in the direction of the shed.
Gavrilov pointed at Ramses and called, “You are a dead man now!”
In about three seconds, there was another shot. The shed blew up into the air.
A cold wind blew bringing a pall of smoke from the burning hotel. Together with the snowstorm, it blocked their vision. The tank headlights turned on and pierced the gloom.
Ramses kept on running. He heard multiple gunshots behind his back. The thugs were shooting at the oncoming ghouls. The firearms began talking, and the creatures fell down one by one, blood and brain matter spraying from their heads in all directions.
He stopped and looked around him. He stretched out his hand, brandishing the knife in front of him. He was cut off from the hole in the brick wall.
A dark shape loomed up behind his back. Ramses turned around on the instant and got a right hook in the mouth. His knife dropped on the snow. Carp took aim with his gun but Ramses kicked it out of the man’s hand. The thug lunged at him, and they both fell to the ground. They began rolling. The man put his gloved hand into Ramses’s mouth and tried to tear it apart. Ramses snarled in pain.
The tracks of the tank were advancing at his upper torso. Ramses drove his knee into Carp’s groin. An unfair trick unworthy of a gentleman but all is fair in love and war.
Ramses took the man by the throat and started choking him. The man’s fingers reached his gun, and he fired it behind his back. He missed Ramses’s head by half an inch. As the tank was about to smash them, Ramses grabbed Carp by the shoulders and pushed him under the tank. The tracks squashed the man’s head and the gun into a pulpy mess.
When the tank was driving by, Ramses found his knife and thrust it into the right leg of the thug who was sitting alone on this side of the tank. The man shrieked and came down, croaking and holding his leg. Ramses stabbed him in the chest, and the knife broke at the hilt. Ramses pocketed the broken knife and yanked the AK-47 off the man’s shoulder.
Yeah! Two-nil in my favor. But eventually, the luck may run out even for Rambo.
Three thugs jumped off to the ground, their rifles and guns blazing.
Ramses was panting. And he desperately wanted to puke. He dropped on one knee and killed his attackers off in four quick spurts of fire.
“Okay,” he whispered, catching his breath. “Who’s next?”
He was out of ammo and he held his Kalashnikov high above his head like a club. It was still useful for something. The freezing wind bit through his thin torn clothes.
The tank stopped and moved backward. The turret turned one-eighty degrees and aimed at him. Ramses sprinted across the tennis court to the brick fence. He expected a projectile to blast from the tank’s barrel and shred him to pieces, but there was none. The submachine gun was silent, too.
Out of ammo, he assumed.
The tank was getting up speed. Ramses ran to the brick wall as the upper lid opened, and Gavrilov appeared, holding a gun with both hands. He started shooting right away. Ramses zigzagged, bullets striking the snow around him.
The visibility i
n the snowstorm was so bad that Ramses didn’t see a person running almost into him. He had come out of nowhere. Ramses tripped over and sprawled on the snow.
The man jumped over him and ran to the tank, a red cylinder in his hands. Ramses realized it was Goran. The top of the cylinder, where the piece of cloth had been attached, was burning. A bullet hit the cylinder and Ramses cringed expecting an explosion. There was no explosion. Goran threw the gas cylinder under the tracks of the tank. There was an ear-splitting explosion. Goran screamed and fell down. But he was quick enough to rush out of the way of the onrushing tank.
Ramses scrambled to his feet and ran to help Goran. The tank stopped. With its right track broken, it was an immobile lunchbox now.
Gavrilov hit the turret in a fury and jumped down. He shot at Ramses and hit him in the left shoulder. Ramses grunted and screwed up his face in pain. The Russian man advanced him, flexing his muscles. He was taller and bigger than Ramses. He aimed the gun at Ramses and pressed the trigger. There was a dry click but Gavrilov kept on squeezing the trigger as he was approaching. Then he slapped the gun across Ramses’s face.
Ramses grabbed Gavrilov with his healthy hand by the throat and ripped a chunk of flesh. The gun dropped. Blood painted the man’s camouflage fatigues red. Gavrilov headbutted him and Ramses collapsed on the snow-covered asphalt.
Goran couldn’t help Ramses. He was struggling to his feet, his pant leg soaked in blood. The wound was caused by a flying piece of metal from the exploded gas cylinder.
Three tank drivers crawled out through the bottom escape hatch and ran for it.
Joker got off the tank heavily. He was clutching a backpack, which was familiar to Ramses. The hulk went straight to him.
“Remember what is in my backpack?” Gavrilov said. “That is right. It is our old friend. He is still longing for that kiss of death.”
Joker dropped the backpack on the ground by Gavrilov’s feet.
A choir of moaning zombies rang out. Ramses looked at the march of the dead through the sheet of snow and shook his head. “Let’s call it a day, men. There are too many of them.”
Gavrilov said, “Shut your mouth, you dirty ape, and prepare to die.”
He stepped on Ramses’s chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Joker cackled. There was a harsh moan followed by a sudden movement behind his back. For a fleeting moment, Gavrilov’s eyes darted sideways. In a swift movement, Ramses took his broken knife out of his pocket and stabbed it into the backpack. He pulled it out with a wet smack. Gavrilov made at him, and Ramses slit the stub of the knife across the man’s ankle, letting out crimson blood. Gavrilov shrieked and doubled over in pain.
Ramses grimaced with effort as he scrambled to his feet. Joker was amidst the infected ones, giggling nervously. He hit one deadhead in the jaw, and it was the most he could do. The zombies crowded him in seconds.
Gavrilov howled. More with fear that he had been infected rather than with pain. Then he gave out a horrendous cry and ran at Ramses. Murder was in his eyes.
The dead kept marching on. They stumbled over Joker’s body and fell over each other into a pile. They were just stupid enough to step over the bodies of their comrades. Still, more of them were advancing, and it was not safe to stay here.
Ramses was too exhausted to go on fighting, but he stood where he was. He balled his hands into fists.
Always protect yourself, he recalled Steve’s maxim with which he was constantly drilled.
Gavrilov was approaching him, limping on the wounded foot. His eyes were beginning to redden.
Time to make your stand, buddy, Ramses thought.
The crazy Russian guy was symbolizing now all the wrong things, which had happened in his life. He imagined he was about to fight with his own dark half.
Ramses blocked Gavrilov’s first attack and landed a good right hook to the man’s temple. He immediately came across with a left punch. His wounded left shoulder reminded him of itself. Gavrilov’s nose blossomed like a red flower. Ramses kept on hammering. Suddenly, the second wind kicked in.
With each hit, he tried to fight his former weaker self. He was beating the ex-drug runner. He was beating the abusive husband. He was beating the junkie. He was beating the liar. He was beating the negligent father.
Gavrilov coughed, drowning in his own blood. There were red-and-white bubbles coming out of his broken nose.
Then Ramses pinned Gavrilov to the ground and held him there, waiting for the infection to settle in. Soon Gavrilov lost his consciousness and his body became limp as a piece of cookie. Ramses released his hold, panting.
Ramses raised his fist to finish the man off. Tears and sweat blurred his vision.
The bastard doesn’t deserve to die, Ramses thought. Let him turn and lead a stinky life till he rots away in warm spring.
He blinked and slowly lowered his hand.
At exactly this moment, the man’s eyes snapped open.
Ramses raised his hand again to deliver the final, fatal blow. Then he heard the shrill whistle of a fired missile and a powerful explosion right behind his back. In a split second, he found himself lying on his back, blood flowing down his forehead. He made a feeble attempt to rise but got dizzy and collapsed on his back again. He felt the cold snow under his neck. He saw dozens of battle drones hovering above his head in the swirling snow-stained sky. There was the smell of burned flesh in the air. He turned his head to the left. Gavrilov had been torn to pieces by the missile. Crowds of ghouls were approaching. The drones were firing at the oncoming creatures. More explosions and flying body parts. Then his vision got obscured and Goran’s bulk blocked his view. After that—only darkness and the sensation of being dragged somewhere.
***
When he came to, his first feeling was that of insatiable hunger. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was lying near a cozy burning fire in a semidark spacious hall, which looked like a foyer of a shopping mall. He saw shops and businesses all around him—cafés, IKEA stores, radio shacks, and bookstores. There were motionless escalators. Dummies in the shopping windows of a clothing store. He could hear quiet laughing and subdued conversations coming from above. Goran was not anywhere to be seen.
There was a mattress underneath him and a clean pillow under his head. He tried to move but his hands and legs had been tied with a rope. What the fuck?
He winced. His left shoulder was bandaged and it hurt.
Although, his mouth wasn’t duct-taped. He parted his parched lips to say his thoughts aloud. “What the fuck?” he mumbled.
He could speak. Okay, he was not a zombie. Zombies couldn’t speak. But why were his hands and legs tied?
He was dizzy and panicky and wanted to vomit. His head was swimming. His respiration rocketed sky-high.
“What the fuck is going on?” he said hoarsely. He was gasping for breath. “Hey, anybody!”
Then another dark thought crossed his mind. What if he got into the hands of cannibals, who were about to feast on him now? Roast him alive right above this fire.
He shut his mouth and stopped shouting. He listened hard. Stupid, stupid! He could untie and sneak away quietly.
“Oh, you woke up,” he heard a familiar voice.
Ramses shuddered and looked up. He saw Ksenia standing on the upper level.
Ramses exhaled with deep relief. “I’m in heaven and seeing an angel, right?”
She smiled and said, “I’m so happy we’ve come out of that mess alive.”
Then she paused, and her smile waned. “Well, not all of us, unfortunately.”
Ivan stepped out from behind Ksenia’s back, hugged her shoulders and waved at him.
“What about Goran?” Ramses asked. “Did he make it?”
“He’s badly wounded,” she said. “But they’re patching him up. They have a good doctor here.”
“They?” Ramses said. “Who are they? Where are we?”
Ksenia said, “The people who gave us shelter. Since you were unconscious, it took a lot of trouble to
convince these people to take you in.”
“Can you guys untie me?” Ramses said. “I desperately need to take a piss.”
“Sure,” Ivan said.
He gave Ksenia a knife. She took it and walked downstairs. She knelt by Ramses and cut the ropes binding his legs and hands.
“What was all this about?” Ramses said, rubbing his stiff wrists.
“They had to make sure you wouldn’t turn,” Ksenia said. “It was part of the admittance deal. And it was hard to get here. Consider this your ticket to Paradise. Come on now. You gotta meet our new hosts.” She lowered her voice and added, “But keep it hush about the balloon station. Andy said we’re here just to spend the night. Then we’ll leave.”
They walked up the nonfunctioning escalator to the upper story. Two armed men stepped out of the dark in the hallway.
“So your friend is alive,” one of them said. “Welcome to our community.”
Ksenia led Ramses through a maze of hallways.
Ramses looked around. “What is this place?”
“A shopping mall, obviously.”
“Do they have pizza here?”
“Actually, they do,” Ksenia said with a smile. “It’s frozen, though. They even have burritos.”
Ramses said, “Damn! So I am in heaven.”
***
Lots of open spaces were pressing on Ramses. His friends were accommodated in a furniture store. Goran was sleeping. His leg was badly injured. Marina was sitting on the bed, guarding him while he slept.
Zhang Wei was feeding his daughter from a spoon. Alyona was rummaging through new warm clothes piled up on her bed.
“Andy is over there,” Ksenia said pointing toward a big hall.
Andy was sitting by a fire, which was set in a drained fountain. A huge pile of chopped pieces of furniture was nearby. He was talking to a man who wore a woolen beret and had a mustache and looked like a University professor. He was presumably the leader of the group. He was a quiet man who spoke softly. He smoked a cheap cigarette and looked into the fire. Drinking tea from a faceted glass.
The man nodded at Ramses and pointed to a vacant spot by the fire. Ramses sat. An unknown woman brought him a steaming bowl of soup, and Ramses gulped it down.
The Living & The Dead (Book 1): Zombiegrad Page 39