by Byrd, Daniel
“How many do we have upstairs?” the man complained, “because it would be a waste of time for me to go up if it's covered.”
“Whatever gets you away from me.”
“Harsh,” the man replied as Roman was sliding the window up. The sudden silence was unsettling, and a glance over his shoulder only instilled that feeling deep into his chest. The visor was facing him.
“Uh…boss?” the individual began.
“What part of go upstairs are you having a problem with?!” The woman was oblivious.
“There's a man here.”
Roman swallowed his fear and continued to inch the window up as the armored figure turned his whole body towards him.
“What do you mean there's a man there?!” the woman yelled back. “Has he been questioned?!”
The armored man stepped into the room, gun still cradled as he cleared his throat. He spoke calmly in German, “Sir?”
“Officer?” Roman didn't really know what to say to the man, but he knew damn well this wasn't some German police force.
“Who are you?” The man then noticed the rope and briefcase in Roman’s arms. “What are you doing?”
Roman looked outside, then back to the man. “Well I noticed that the elevators were having issues, and the stairs seemed crowded so-”
Then Roman jumped out of the window.
***
Mikhail snatched the wheel around as a figure in the red and black armor pointed a rifle at them. The tires screeched across the road as the car raced around the corner that led to the columns of stone that made up the memorial. All three inhabitants inside of the car were scanning the buildings for signs of a man fleeing trouble. Jackson realized the obvious problem. He and Max didn't know who the hell they were supposed to be locating. “Any idea what we’re supposed to be looking for?”
“A man not in red and black, somewhere around that building with the the orange roof to our left.”
Max and Jackson dropped their gaze to the ground level around the building. Their expectations were a little jarred by the appearance of what looked like rope hitting the pavement, and their sight shifted up to a man quickly repelling down it with something tucked underneath an arm.
“Is that our guy?” Max asked.
“Yes that would be him,” Mikhail replied as the car suddenly lurched forward. Jackson almost flew past them into the windshield by the time the car had come to a stop. Mikhail snorted. “I warned you.”
Jackson grumbled as he struggled to get back into his seat. The man coming down the rope finally reached the sidewalk and hit it running. He wasn't even halfway to the car before the window behind him exploded, and he hit the ground as the case slid into the road. Hard impacts could be heard slamming into the side of the car as Max and Jackson ducked down in their seats. Mikhail remained calm as he turned to face the cowering Max, focusing on him with his good eye. It creeped Max the hell out.
“Are you familiar with suppressing fire?”
Max was cringing as something else struck his door. “Y-yes?”
“Good. Work on that.” Mikhail rolled down Max’s window before reaching into his coat and drawing a Makarov that he proceeded to fire past the frightened kid and into the window of the building. A cry of pain rewarded his efforts as he looked to Max and nodded. Max opened his door and leapt out before bracing himself on the roof of the car, focusing his sights on the armed men among the slabs of the memorial across the street. Dozens were dashing between the slabs, and among them was a familiar figure. Max recognized the brief glimpse of Dr. Hamilton and hesitated.
“Wait! We can't-”
Gunfire broke out, and bullets began to pelt the building behind the car. Max jumped at the sounds of bullets whizzing past him and ducked down behind the car while Mikhail returned fire through his own window. Jackson readied his carbine and was rolling the window down when it erupted into shards that pelted him as a bullet zoomed past his ear and took out the other window. Swearing, he opened the door and nearly hit Max who was still crouched low to the road as he jumped out and joined the firefight.
“Where is the blonde one?!” Mikhail yelled. “Is he hit?!”
“No!” Max shouted back from the ground.
“Are you not trained for this?!”
“I was trained to fight zombies!” Max cried. “Not this goddamn shit! I'm not even a private yet!” Mikhail was saying a bunch of words in a language Max didn't understand, but he didn't sound happy. “What?!”
“Make yourself useful! Get Roman off of the ground! Make sure he is okay!”
Max assumed that Roman was the man struggling to his feet, so he crawled in that direction while Jackson reloaded another magazine and kept up against the storm of bullets.
“Why is he here?!” Mikhail shouted from inside the car.
“Long story!” Jackson hollered back, more focused on lining up his next shot. One of the gunners across the street was in his sights as he squeezed the trigger and fired a shot into his arm. The individual went down grasping his wound, not getting back up anytime soon. That was fine with Jackson, because rendering someone ineffective for combat was good enough right now. About a dozen more were still firing upon their location, and the other side of the car was a mess of riddled bullet holes in the chassis. The car was a nice shade of red, but Jackson was sure that side was more of a metallic-silver by now. He emptied the magazine into the general direction of their enemies when another voice barked behind him.
“I am fine! Get off of me!”
Jackson crouched down to reload, looking back to see Max being shoved by the man who had come from above. He was to his feet, his head ducked low as he limped towards the car, snatching the briefcase he'd dropped before slamming his back to the vehicle. Max joined them and they all took cover as a hail of bullets went above them, on either side of them, or just impacted the other side of the car. They were pinned down. Jackson poked his head up to check on the old man. He had reclined his seat back and was reloading his pistol. Jackson noticed how calm he was, and when Mikhail saw Jackson’s head poking above the window he actually smiled at him with his yellow teeth.
“It is a shame that we must abandon our mission, but we must regroup and try again another time!”
“Whatever the fuck you say, old man!” Jackson bellowed frantically. “Does the car still work?!”
Mikhail leaned the seat back up and stretched his arm out to fire away. He was precise in his aim for a guy with only one eye. Two of the first four shots hit their targets, and one of those dropped to the ground. Jackson noted that some of the others retreated for cover at the sight of their own being outgunned by a pistol.
“Jackson!”
Jackson snapped his head around and saw an armored individual leaned out of a window a story up. He was about to take action when the figure tumbled back into the building in a spray of blood. A pistol was in the outstretched hand of the guy the old man had called Roman. It was a damn good shot, so Jackson couldn't complain. Still, that peashooter wasn't going to be doing much in the long-run.
The rear passenger-side door opened up, and Roman hobbled inside with his briefcase to his chest. Max got in behind him to see Roman’s hands reaching for his sling. He had no time to react as Roman quickly snatched the carbine from him.
“What the-”
“If you will not make use of it, then I will!” Roman used the butt to wipe away glass on the sill before propping his arms on it to aim across the street. He only squeezed the trigger for brief moments at a time, sending burst shots at their aggressors. Jackson took the time to jump into the passenger seat. He nudged Mikhail who was busy tucking his pistol away.
“Can we fucking go now?!”
“I agree with the American!” Roman yelled as he smacked his free hand against Max’s vest. The poor kid didn't understand the voiceless request for another magazine. “We cannot approach the targets! We are compromised, and I am hit, Mikhail!”
“Where?!”
“The
leg! It went through, do not worry! Just drive!”
“Yes, yes, we may go.” Mikhail shifted the car into drive.
“Wait!” Max cried. “What about Hamilton!”
“What about him?!” Jackson shouted back over his shoulder. “We did our job!”
Roman shoved the magazine in, but didn't bother to pull back on the bolt after hearing that. “Wait…Who?!”
“Here we go!” Mikhail roared. The car violently took off, slamming everyone back into their seats. Roman almost lost the carbine out the window, but snatched the sling as they accelerated and fled the scene. A few stray shots struck the car as they sped away to the north. Max took a chance to look behind them to see if they had any pursuers. Instead he noticed a series of black vans pouring out past the memorial. None were heading in their direction.
“What the…”
A helicopter then soared past them overhead for an instant between the rooftops, climbing higher and higher before it was lost past a building. The rushing wind through the missing windshield nearly drowned out the sound of what had to be more, but as Max looked around he didn't see anything else in the skies.
“What the hell is this car made of?!” Jackson said with an anxiety-filled laugh. He was just glad they were alive at the moment. The old man grinned as he replied.
“Armored steel! It would take all day to go over the features! Impressive, yes?!”
Roman hadn't forgotten the conversation from before. “What name was that?!”
“Hamilton?!” Max replied.
“Which was he?!” Roman demanded. Max was expecting him to aim the gun at him next.
“Uh…dark-haired man! Brown coat!”
Roman slammed a fist into the door. “Blyadj!”
Jackson turned around in his seat. “What?!”
“Why do you know him?!” Roman demanded.
“That was our mission objective, and from the looks of things you were planning on fucking that up, pal!”
Roman glared at him. “Mission objective?!”
“I don't have to explain myself to you!” Jackson snapped. Max could see that this was about to get ugly, so he did he only thing he could think of that would be somewhat smart. While they were distracted and the old man was busy driving, Max undid the strap on his hip holster and placed his hand on the grip of his M9.
“You will tell me, or we will leave you two here for those mercenaries to pick up!”
Jackson looked Roman dead in the eyes and said the two words that have caused conflict in many egotistical battles throughout the years of humanity. “Fuck you!”
Everything happened fast. Mikhail could barely hear the actions from three different guns around him over the wind. He sighed.
“Youth these days.”
The car lurched forward as Mikhail stood on the brake pedal. Everyone hit something solid except for Mikhail, who was still buckled in. A stray M9 hit the dashboard and landed in the flood between Jackson’s feet. All three cried out in fury before Mikhail flashed his pistol among them. The kind old man from before was gone. His speech was firm, yet calm.
“Let us get this settled now. Introductions are in order.” He nodded towards Roman. “You first. Where are your manners?”
Roman grunted, but answered as he directed his hateful state out of his broken window, “I am Roman Serebrov. I am affiliated with this geezer.”
Mikhail made a sound of disapproval. “Close enough.” He then looked to Max. “You?”
Max wasn't sure how to respond, so his eyes found Jackson. Even he didn't look to hopeful, and Max could understand why. While the chaos was happening, Max was the one who wasn't fighting. Even his guns were misplaced; Roman was holding his carbine while his handgun was somewhere up front. “I'm Max Dawson. If I can speak for the two of us,” he said pointing to Jackson, “Private Zachary Jackson and I are part of the U.S. Army, and we’re here on-”
“Max!” Jackson barked. “Shut your damn mouth!”
“It is not like it is a secret,” Roman remarked, eying the flag embroidered on Jackson’s shoulder. “Now, tell me what your business is here.”
Jackson scowled, but Mikhail still had the gun trained on him, and since Roman had the carbine, Jackson wasn't in a position of power at the moment. Suddenly he wanted a car to hit these two as well. There was no way out, and even he knew defeat when it was pointed in his face.
“We’re just errand boys.”
“And?” Roman pushed on, ever so slightly leaning the barrel of the carbine closer to Jackson’s face.
“We delivered a very important package to men claiming to be behind the global outbreak of the undead,” Jackson relied. He really hated this guy.
“And?” Roman asked once more.
“And fuck you!”
Roman sneered as his finger tightened, but the barrel of the carbine was swatted down by Mikhail, who was shaking his head. Roman was about to argue back, but just one good leer from the one-eyed man shut him up. Jackson wanted to know who the hell this old guy was. Mikhail put his own gun in his lap and smiled. Oddly enough, Jackson didn't think it to be false. Mikhail finally began to drive again before speaking once more over the wind.
“You will have to excuse him! Losing a shot at revenge tends to boil one’s temper!”
“Well then,” Max began as the tension began to die down, “what about you, sir?!”
Mikhail chuckled. “Ah! The mannerisms in this one! Roman, you could learn a thing or two from his ways. I was wrong to be angered; you are clearly not a fighter. I wonder then, why are you here?”
Max stuck his thumb in Jackson’s direction. “I'm supposed to keep him from killing the wrong people!”
Mikhail couldn't help but note that as his eye shifted to Roman in what was left of the shattered mirror. “Understandable! You see Roman?! This is an innocent being caught up in this!”
“Now,” Jackson said in a demanding tone, “your turn!”
“Yes, yes!” Mikhail sat up straight and offered his hand to shake. “I am Mikhail Guskov!”
“And?!” Jackson asked, keeping an eye on Roman as he shook Mikhail’s hand. Roman flared up. At least the feeling was mutual, he thought.
“We are just two men on operations of our own! We are on the trail of some men that may be a part of this, and I believe that the man you claim to have brought here was of our interest!”
“Dr. Hamilton?” Max asked. He didn't notice Roman’s piqued curiosity…nor the finger wrapping around the trigger…nor the slow rise of the barrel of the carbine once more.
“Roman!,” Mikhail’s voice said loudly, yet calmly, “contain yourself!”
“What's wrong?” Max asked. He finally caught the aggression and immediately pressed himself against the window.
“This Dr. Hamilton,” Roman said through his frown, “what do you know about him?!”
“Not much…and I'm not sure how much we’re even allowed to say.”
Jackson was far more interested in learning what these men knew. Fuck Houseman, anyway. “He was part of the group that created the undead! Know anything about that?!”
He was given no immediate answer. Roman was still fuming in the back seat next to a nervous Max, tending to his wounded leg while things were calm. It would have been an awkward silence if not for the speeding air whipping at their faces. Jackson took the time to reflect while he awaited a response. He and Max were now considered AWOL. They had been stranded in Berlin, with enemies that were completely unknown to him. Whoever they were knew to be there, and knew that Hamilton was to be dropped off. He had too many questions swimming around in his head, and the barrage of thoughts almost caused him to miss the reply from Mikhail.
“Project Second Fall!”
“Mikhail!” Roman hissed. Max couldn't help but notice the similarities between this man and Jackson. Yet they were too blinded by themselves to care.
“It is fine, Roman!” Mikhail reassured him. Roman resumed pouting in the back while Max and Jackson kept t
heir ears trained on the old man’s words. Mikhail actually slowed the vehicle to a crawl so that he wouldn't have to shout, and so the others could hear.
“The plan to animate the dead. Not many outside of the U.S. knew of it's existence, but those that even heard a rumor doubted its potential.”
“How do you know about it?” Jackson inquired, a little doubtful of the man’s words.
“Fortunately my informant was credible, so I took interest. You see, I keep track of things that interest me in the world, and it just happened that some of the names pertaining to the project were names of people I already had my eye on.”
“Like Hamilton?” Max asked. Mikhail’s head cocked to the side.
“Not him, but there is another name I have been following for a while.”
“Who would that be?” Jackson asked.
“I believe you have heard of him recently. You are familiar with a Frank Tuefel, no?”
Jackson knew of him. His name came up during the briefing. “The guy who was behind the outbreak in the States? Yeah, what of him? He's dead now.”
Mikhail was grateful they weren't completely in the dark. “Do you know of any others?”
Jackson thought on that for a moment. “Not really. I only know of him and Hamilton, and he's currently with the enemy.”
“You gave him to them,” Roman said in spite. “Why?”
Mikhail rolled his eye and sighed. “Perhaps it is time for a history lesson while we find a safe place to stay, no?”
“A lesson on what, exactly?” Max asked him.
“That'll have to wait,” Jackson said, trepidation in his tone as he pointed ahead. Max followed the finger to see a military barricade coming up. Roman grew uneasy.
“Mikhail…”
“Remember when I mentioned seat belts?” Mikhail asked as he kept his eyes ahead. The car began to pick up speed.
“Old man,” Jackson spoke as he buckled in tight, “what the hell are you doing?”