Diaries of the Damned (36 page)

Paul jumped backward
, his legs buckled beneath him and he came close to falling from the edge of the shack. The blood was spreading, thick and black even in the cold light of a cloudless day. There, as he hovered over the abyss of his own existence, Paul saw Monique. She was three buildings away, waving at him frantically. Paul realized then that he had become deaf to the world around him. The noise came back: the grunting and snarling of the undead, the pleas from Monique; something about the shack falling.

As if prompted, the building gave a great tremor, and the sound of cracking wood ripped through the air. Running, Paul leapt from the shack to the roof of the neighboring building. It was in a not much better state of repair and the undead were soon upon it also, but Paul had no plans to stop. He had jumped three more buildings, and caught up with Monique, who had turned to leave the moment she saw Paul was moving, when he heard it. The shack they had been sheltering in, and then upon, was gone. Eaten by a cloud of dust. Hidden by an army of the undead.

I’m sorry
Paul thought to himself. He felt no better for it. He had no time to further indulge his growing self-loathing, as there was already a crowd gathered around his new position. Leaping, he made his way across the rooftops toward Monique.

The camp was enormous, larger than he had ever dreamed. In the rear, was a large, concrete structure, which looked as cold in its appearance as the winter weather that slowly worked its way into their bones. The shacks were arranged in three rows, and were three rows wide and at least twenty-five rows deep. He could see the first of the group – those that escaped with Robert – making their way along the far side of the camp, they had separated into two smaller groups, one took the central lane and another took the far side. Both kept relatively good pace with one another. Robert could be easily identified. He would not leave the shack they were upon until the last of the group, in either lane, had moved past him. Ahead, Paul saw Monique, and ahead of her the people she had led to safety.

A cry went up in the group ahead. Someone hadn’t made the jump. They had fallen to the ground. Their cries called to the zombies, summoning them like a dinner bell.

“Keep moving,
” Paul and Monique cried in unison. They knew that stopping to help was just a waste of valuable time.

After what felt like an age, the last of the group reached the officers’ area. They knew what it was, for besides the shacks it was
the only building on the site. Well, besides the tall circular building that stood in the far corner of the site, and nobody needed to ask twice what its purpose was. The large pit and tractor that stood the other side of the fence showed where the Russians had planned on hiding the bodies. Paul wondered for a second just how the UK thought they would get away with such a crazy plan.

“How do we get inside?” Monique asked as they stood on the roof of the final shack. The group, whose numbers had dropped to twelve, following a few more stumbled jumps, and one man who freely leapt after his wife, when he had been unable to save her
, pondered her question.

“There is a broken window on the first floor,” Robert pointed out. They stood spread across the three shacks, with Paul, Robert and Monique alone on the central building.

“It’s a big jump,” Paul said as he studied the window. “What do you think, Monique?”

The zombies had kept pace with them, and the crowd around their shack was gathering.

“What other options do we have?” The three looked at one another and none of them uttered another word. They were covered in sweat, dirt and blood. None had slept in days, and all knew that making the jump would further reduce their numbers.

Paul looked to his left. He saw – against all odds – the small frail old woman who had first sat beside him on the plane. She stared at him, her old face kind, yet weathered. He wanted
her to say something, to call to him, and tell him it was okay. That she understood. Yet all he saw in her eyes was hope. In that one fleeting glance she had begged Paul to save her, to let her live on.

“They won’t all make it
,” he said finally, his voice broken.

“Nope,” Monique agreed, “but we could save most of them. These shacks won’t last forever, Su
gar. We need to make a decision,” she pushed, even though they all knew what the answer would be.

“What if there are Russian soldiers in there?” Robert asked. The question came at them like a firm punch to the gut.

“I guess we will cross that bridge when we come to it. These things have kind of unified the playing field a little, don’t you think?” Paul pointed to the gathered crowd; a sea of unresponsive faces, their features twisted into something horrific beyond adequate description. “Unless…” he paused, staring at the other two.

“Paul, come on, Sugar, they need you.” Monique looked at him with wide, worried eyes.

“Robert, you’re the youngest, quick on your feet. You jump first. If the coast is clear, we will send the others across,” Paul announced, his voice quivering as he spoke. He knew he had become an every bit the executioner to balance out his part as savior.

Robert made the leap through the open window with relative ease. His arms strong, even in their weary state, and he hauled himself up and through the gash in what appeared to be an otherwise locked tight exterior. The moment he disappeared, Paul felt his heart freeze.
What if it is crawling with zombies; locked up to keep them in? What if the Russians are there? I killed Robert… I killed another kid.
Paul wobbled on his feet, his legs disappearing from under him. He caught himself before he fell, and blamed the unsteady shack they stood upon.

A few moments later, a period of time that felt like hours to Paul, Robert appeared in the window and announced that the room was empty.

It was a start.

Chapter 26 – Base of Operations

It didn’t take long for the first person to fall, and while two more jumped across before the zombies had finished their first fistful of fresh human innards, there was an extra weight added to the air. As if even gravity had turned against them.

“I won’t make that jump,” t
he old woman told Paul. It was just the two of them left. He had purposefully hung back until the end.

“Maybe you can. S
ee, Robert there will catch you,” Paul lied.

“Young man, I may look good for my age, but I was not born yesterday.” The old woman, who still held a strange and repugnant odor, which Paul had first noticed when she sat beside him on the plane, complaining that he was in her allotted seat.

Beneath them, the shack began to tremble, as the growing weight of the undead increased on all sides. A cold wind whipped through the compound, generating a howling cackle of a laugh as it danced between the other wooden buildings, frolicking like a nymph, much to the chagrin of those that stood by, unable to enjoy the freedom.

“Come on, I’m not jumping until we have you in that building.” Paul was not sure why he wanted to help this woman above the rest. Their entire interaction had happened at the start of their flight, and lasted maybe thirty seconds at most. Yet there was something in him that refused to give up. Maybe because of her age. She had been through so much in her life, that to have her die at the hands of the undead, on the frozen ground of a Russian concentration camp just felt wrong. She should die in a warm bed, surrounded by fat grandchildren.

“Then I shall make it easy for you.” She gave another smile, one that highlighted the creases in her flesh, the dried blood flakes that sat between them, and the dignity that she insisted on holding onto as she entered her final moments. Without saying another word she walked backward, and fell from the rear of the shack and into the crowd. She never cried out as the zombies ripped her apart at the joints. Paul saw her blood spurt into the air, a thick red; a healthy red.

“Paul, come on, jump,
” Monique called. Paul turned and saw both her and Robert in the window of the building. He paused, looked around and saw how the world had changed. In the matter of a few weeks, the world had become twisted into a wilderness that would see only the strong survive.
I killed my babies. I saw my wife change. I killed…people. I killed them because I needed to survive. I am strong. We are strong, and we will survive this.
Paul found his strength. Then he wiped the tears from his eyes, and whispered a goodbye to the weight that he had been carrying since the first day of the outbreak; releasing his wife and children to enjoy their forever together, he stood taller, and felt stronger that he ever had. He leaped through the window, lifting himself through and into the arms of the two people he now considered his closest friends.

The room they found themselves in was a simple, military grade sleeping quarters. One bunk bed, complete with itchy blanket and khaki colorings, along with a table, two chairs and a bottle of vodka completed the look. Clothes were folded and neatly secured within the two chests that stood on the floor at the foot of the bed; one against the frame, the other against the wall. There was no sign of a TV, or even a radio. A small collection of books stood on the floor behind the chests, and what looked to be a Russian porn magazine poked from beneath the pillow on the bottom bunk.

“Cozy.” Monique nodded to herself as she looked around the room. The rest of the group stood in silence. They numbered nine in total. Yet, while the zombies could be heard scratching at the walls, each would admit to having never felt safer in all of their lives. 

“What do we do now?” a
young voice, that of Keisha, Leon’s daughter spoke up. It was the first time she had really spoken out since her father’s death. It was clear within seconds that she had the same spirit as her father.

“We stick together. We make our way through this place. We have shelter. Our next concerns are arming ourselves for protection, and food. Whichever we find first, we take first. I
f we find anybody else in here…well, that we will deal with as we come to it.” Paul took charge, stepping into the role willingly now.

As a group, they walked along the upper corridor of the building. It was laid out in a brutally stark and simple fashion. One corridor. The walls bare and unpainted.
The floor was concrete, although there were signs that something had been laid upon it in the past. Every room was the same, in terms of size, layout and contents. There were seven rooms in all on the first floor, and with one floor above them, along with the rear of the building, Paul guessed that there would have been up to forty people residing in the complex at any one time.

There were other rooms in the side wings of the building, but they were locked. The rear of the building was much the same as where they entered. Bedrooms, as far as they could tell,
but the dust and cobwebs that covered the windows made it clear that this half of the building was no longer in use.

“I gu
ess they only moved in recently,” Robert spoke as he swatted at a thick cobweb that dangled before his face.

“Yea
h, well, it gives me the creeps,” Monique answered. She looked around like a girl in a museum; surrounded by wonder, yet aware of the history that each item told.

“We should keep moving. I want to make sure there are no zombies around before we let our guard down,” Paul spoke. His eagerness to leave the cold shadows was well hidden, yet easy to see if one knew what they were looking for.

The first floor was quickly cleared, the window they had used to enter the building was the only visible entry, and by moving the bunk beds in the room – an afterthought that Robert had raised – they managed to create enough of a barricade to ensure that nobody would be able to fit through; at least, not without a struggle.

There were two flights of stairs in the building, and it was quickly decided that if no zombies were found on the first floor, the second would be equally empty, and so the decision was made to head to the ground floor.

Paul’s stomach ached. It felt as if it had been tied into a knot as he dismounted the final step. The air on the ground floor was cold. Their breath fogged before their eyes. A low wattage bulb hung naked and alone in the center of the ground floor. The wooden floor told a tale of grand elegance back in the days when the death factory was in full swing. Paul could almost feel the nostalgia: the high powered military officials’ milling around, drinking vodka and telling stories of how their latest batch of victims had all turned blue in the face, choking on their own swollen tongues during the more recent gassings.  Oh, the folly!

“Whoever reopened this place didn’t d
o much in the way of decorating,” Paul commented as they walked further into the large hallway. The impressions left by the previous fixtures and fittings could still be seen. Discoloration from where great paintings, statues and mirrors hung told of lonely times at the end of the wars. A forgotten warrior, consigned to serve the Russian regime for eternity.

“Quiet down, everybody. Keep quiet,” Paul whispered his command, as a nervous murmur went through the group at the very same moment that a noise echoed through the
darkness.  “Quiet,” he barked once more, doing his best to keep his voice as low as possible, to avoid starling the other occupants of the building.

“What is it, Sugar?” Monique asked, whispering in Paul’s ear.

“We’re not alone,” he answered, and the short sentence was enough to make Monique turn rigid with fear. Paul felt her body stiffen against his, but had no time to concern himself with her condition. Before they knew it, they were bathed in light, and screaming Russian voices deafened them. Paul collapsed to his knees, hoping that the others would do the same. He had seen enough bloodshed for one day.

“Do you have the bite? Do you have the bite?” A strong, yet scared sounding voice demanded from within the light that blinded them all.

Paul, who had his arms raised into the air, looked in the direction that he thought the voice came from and began to speak. Doing so with a raised voice to ensure he was heard above the screams of his people, and the nervous chatter of the Russian soldiers. He knew the other group was Russian because of the heavy accent on the words they spoke.

“No, we have no bites. We are clean.” Paul had no idea what he was saying, but he hoped it worked.

“Let us see. All of you, on your feet.” The same voice, calmer now it would seem, as a result of Paul’s answer, demanded.

One by one the group was patted down by a pair of rough, and incredibly large hands. Only once the group had all been given the all-clear did the blinding light disappear, though if it did nothing more than throw them into a second blind state for a few moments.

“My name is Captain Yuri Shuyvarin. I was sent here to command this station. I take it you are the flight we were expecting.” There was something chilling in his words, an undertone that put Paul on edge. He and Yuri had, after a long discussion to see who the leader of each group was, had moved off to one side, away from the others. Both sides were scared.

“Yes, we were attacked at the gate. They killed
all of your officers. I’m sorry,” Paul added the last sentence as an afterthought. It was the truth, although the level of relief he felt at the demise was almost at an equal level.

The pair walked further away from the group, and after a while, Yuri turned and shouted to his small group of men. Paul had no idea what they had said, but it sounded important, and then they turned to lead the others away. Paul made no attempt to stop them. Monique and
Keisha looked over their shoulders at him, but with a gentle nod of his head, Paul comforted them from across the room, and they too went off into the darkness.

“You are safe here now. We did not want to run the executions anyway, but the government, they are scared. They wanted to show we had nothing to do with the…”

“Zombies,” Paul added.

“Yes, the zombies. It is not normal to be saying this.” The Captain had taken on a much more relaxed manner following the departure of his men. “I am leader, you are leader. We must stay strong for the others. Come, now. We go here. We sit, and talk like men.” With a sweeping gesture of his arm, Yuri pointed to a door that opened onto an area Paul would never have assumed existed in such a place: a library.

The room was small, but the walls were lined with a series of book cases, which were in turn filled with all manner of books. A thick carpet lay underfoot. Music played softly in the background and two deep burgundy leather sofa’s stood facing one another in the center of the room, positioned before a large antique desk. The room was high ceilinged, comprised of the ground and first floor to say the least. It was a strange room, and given the location and the condition of the rest of the camp, it was even more surreal.

“Please, take a seat. Would you like to drink, with me?”

Paul turned his head and saw a large liquor cabinet had been set into the bookcase, hidden behind a panel of fake books; only noticeable once you knew they were there. “Yes, please,” Paul answered in a haze, unsure what to make of everything. For a few moments, he forgot where he was; forgot that the undead had ripped apart his country, that he had killed his family in order to survive, and now, stood surrounded by a new batch of the undead in the deepest, darkest corner of the Russian wilderness.

“This is my special place. I come here to…” He paused, after handing a glass with what Paul had already assumed to be Vodka. Yuri’s eyes were burning red with tears. “I come here to forget about what I have done; to leave this world behind. We got our orders, a
nd we must see them through. I…it was…I apologize to you, for what I have done, and for what I should be doing now. There will be no more death here, besides our own I fear.” Yuri sank into the leather sofa, shrouded in a cloud of confused self-loathing.

“Orders are orders. You couldn’t say no. I understand. Yuri, there is something you need to know. This whole thing is staged. The
UK, my country, released this…plague, if you will, upon themselves. They want you all to help hide the bodies, so they can use it as a guilt trip to gain power later on.” Paul was surprised at how relieved he felt to pass the message on.

“How do you know this?” Yuri’s interested had been caught, and he sat forward in the chair, draining his glass in one shot.

Paul looked at him, adjusted his own seating position and likewise, drank is vodka down. “One of the people on my flight, he worked at the place it happened. He knew nothing about it, but he saw it all happen. Then… well, one of the others killed him. She was with the military, and he blew the secret.” Paul hoped that the man would understand. His grasp of English seemed excellent, and his fears were unfounded.

“Is she still here, with you?” There
was anger rising in his voice.

“No, she died on the plane, too. We are all victims here. But tell me, how did this happen here? The zombies?” Paul was eager to know, as he doubted the Russians invited the previous arrivals into their personal quarters.

“That is unfortunate. One of our soldiers, Andrei…he committed, how you say, the suicide. He could not live with what we did. We laid his body to rest, waiting for the time to come to bury him. He stood up and attacked us. My men and I survived, but, as you can see, the damage was already done.” Yuri lowered his head, and without speaking refilled both glasses.