A Glimpse Of Decay (Book 1): Red Storm) (4 page)

Still clutching his rifle, he was looking down at his bleeding arm.  He could see the exposed muscle and bone and his frightened heart was pumping large amounts of blood from the gaping wound.  As he surveyed his injuries, out of the corner of his eye and to his disbelief, he saw Gennady moving again.  The shattered trooper slowly rose to his feet and staggered around on shaky legs.  With his head rolling from side to side, he looked down at his feet and then looked back over to Pushkin, his eyes now glazed over in a milky white film.

Pushkin recoiled in horror as the two looked at each other.  This was impossible!  There was no way on earth Gennady should have been standing up.  He should have been dead.  He was dead…just a second ago.  How could he have survived that blast from the rifle?

Gennady regained his balance and let out a high pitched scream that was filled with anguish.  He came at Pushkin, but this time Pushkin miraculously had the use of both of his arms.  He clutched his rifle and delivered a vicious butt stroke across Gennady’s forehead, cracking open his skull.  Gennady went down to the ground but Pushkin continued to bash at his head, yelling and screaming as he did.  “You fucking bastard!”  As the desperate sergeant continued to strike Gennady, fragments of bone and brain matter flew from the rifle butt, flinging into the air.  In a matter of seconds, Gennady’s head was a mashed pulp of brain and crushed skull.  He was no longer moving.

What in God’s name is happening here!  Pushkin was completely befuddled at what he had seen and experienced.  How could men suffer such traumatic injuries and still be running around as if nothing had happened to them?  How could someone walk around while burning like a human torch and not even flinch?  How could someone literally come back from the dead?

Pushkin fell back against the earth and tried to catch his breath.  The pain from his face was fading away and he felt as if he was losing control of his facial muscles.  He touched his cheeks and with his left hand and he could feel the deep gashes in his flesh.  He tried to move, but a sharp and violent pain in his stomach made him clutch at his gut.  The muscles in his arms, legs and abdomen tightened and shuddered, causing him to scream out in a blinding pain as his tissues tore themselves in uncontrollable spasms.

He felt like his gut was boiling and he could taste his acidic puke as it gurgled up into his throat.  His nostrils then began to burn as the vomit flowed from his nose.  After a few more painful heaves, he rolled over and tried to wipe away the foul goo that was oozing from the corners of his mouth.  He looked up at the blue sky, thinking about Alina and wishing that he was back at home, safe in her arms.  His lungs tightened and it became difficult to breath.

As he continued to think of his wife, his vision faded and he lost his auditory senses.  In the next instant, or at least that’s what it seemed like to him, he found himself out of the trench and walking in the meadow.  He looked back at the complex and saw it in flames, the thick black smoke coiling up into the sky.  He began to hallucinate, seeing Alina’s face in front of him.  Her long blonde hair.  Her thin lips.  Her soft cheeks.  Her sad, deep blue eyes.

His fluttering thoughts were interrupted by the deep thumping of helicopter blades.  The craft was flying low and he could see that it was packed with soldiers.  They were looking down at him through the open cargo doors.  They were probably young troops, just like his boys were.  But where were his boys?  Where were his baby soldiers?  Where had they gone to?  Wait a minute, weren’t they all together just a few minutes ago?  He struggled to recall everything that had happened, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts together.  He couldn’t even sense his own body.  Now, the barking of a gun.  Pop Pop!  Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop!  Probably coming from the copter.  It had to be.  No one was left on the ground to do anymore shooting.  They were all gone now.  But where had they all gone to?

Run.  His mind was telling him to run.  But to where?  He saw Alina again.  He needed to run to her.  She would take care of him.  She would save him from the others.  She would save him from everything.  He found himself running in the middle of the meadow.  He could hear the tall grass as it brushed against his legs.  He was running away from the madness.  Running home to Alina.

He could hear himself screaming, but he didn’t know why he was screaming.  He couldn’t understand what he was yelling—what he was trying to say—but he could clearly hear himself.  And then the anger began to set in.  He was enraged—wanting to strike out at something…anything.  He continued to run, but he didn’t know why.  He just knew that he needed to run.  And so he did.  And then his sight went dark and his mind left him.

And then
It
took over.

Day 8

Russian armored formation just outside of Ozersk

Captain Nikita Kozlov stood in the commander’s hatch of his aging T-72 main battle tank.  He was going over several different drills with his crew, making sure they would know what to do the next time they went into action.  The crew—the driver and the gunner—had performed as well as could be expected when he considered what they had been faced with.  With their senses still reeling from their first encounter with the infected, it was a wonder that any of them had been able to retain their sanity.  In a deep state of despair, he just couldn’t come up with the words to describe what he had witnessed and experienced over the past week, so he chose to focus on the task at hand—staying alive.

After feeling confident that the crew was prepared, he scanned the perimeter he had established with his unit.  The other tanks and personnel carriers were cast in a green glow as he looked at them through his night vision apparatus.  After reassuring himself that his vehicles were positioned properly, he looked back to the front of the tank and he flipped up his night vision.

He was still in disbelief at what he was seeing, and he struggled to keep the fear he was feeling from overwhelming his mind.  He gazed at the black horizon ahead of him as it glowed orange.  Ozersk was burning wildly out of control.

***

It had already been over a week since the Incident had taken place.  According to Command, both the city and Antov were total losses.  All communication with the initial responding forces had been lost and there was a strange, almost unbelievable story that some crazy strain of rabies was behind the calamity. 

Rabies?  Bullshit!  There was no way that rabies could be responsible for the mayhem that was going on around Ozersk.  And there was no way rabies was responsible for what they had encountered upon their arrival to burning city.  Rabies didn’t make people act like that.

Earlier in the day, Kozlov had heard some unsettling news over the radio that something was also occurring at Kyshtym.  He tried frantically to find out what was going on, but his inquiries were met with either confusion or silence.  It was obvious that no one really knew what was happening, and he attributed that to the government.  They were definitely trying to keep a lid on whatever was taking place.

Throughout the previous week as his unit rolled from one area to another, Kozlov had tried checking with other commanders to see if they had heard anything new or different.  One lieutenant had told him about a rumor he had heard—that the rabies really wasn’t rabies, and whatever it was, it was showing up as far south as Chelyabinsk itself.

What was very unsettling to him was the fact that most of the villages near Ozersk, including Tatysh, Novogornyy, and Ayazgulova, had emptied out almost overnight.  There were reports indicating that the villagers and townsfolk were frantically moving south towards Argayash in an attempt to catch the train to Chelyabinsk.  Kozlov knew that although no official evacuation had been ordered, it was obvious that something was causing the people to flee.

As his attempts to learn any new information were met with frustration and aggravation, he decided to simply focus on his own situation.  He needed to worry about what was going on around Ozersk and now Kyshtym and not concern himself with anything else.  Although he would have liked to have had at least some sort of reason or explanation on what was going on, he knew that he was serving in the Russian Army, and being uninformed was standard operating procedure.

Yes, they were in a situation alright, a situation that made no sense.  It was obvious that the rabies was just a cover story, but the captain knew that whatever had broken out at Ozersk was much more severe than rabies—and much more sinister.  The last time he had checked, rabies didn’t resurrect the dead—and the dead were definitely being resurrected around Ozersk.

After realizing that the outbreak was spreading unchecked, the military had quickly decided to quarantine the areas around Ozersk and Kyshtym.  Kozlov and his division were ordered to surround Ozersk and the nuclear facilities on the south end of the town.  The division was also tasked with holding the Kyshtym complex since its garrison had gone missing.  The airspace over the entire region had been shut down and strict orders were given to “neutralize” anyone who showed any signs of “sickness.”  The president was aware of the gravity of the situation and of the consequences his nation would face if any real media coverage was given to that situation.  Reporters were not allowed anywhere near the sites and the military was given a free hand to deal with any “persistent” journalists or camera crews.

Kozlov had heard from some of the other commanders that several news crews had actually been shot and their bodies burned.  If that were true, then things must have really been bad.  He found himself hoping that the unfortunate reporters weren’t international crews, because if they had been, that would just be one more thing that the world could hate Russia for.

While staring at the eerie sight of the burning city, Kozlov replayed in his mind the events that took place the day his unit had rolled up to the burning plant just outside of Ozersk.  Without warning, they had been set upon by a large mob of both soldiers and civilians—bloodied, ragged and crazed.  Swarming over the vehicles like ants attacking pieces of food, a few of his troops were snatched from their hatches before they could react.  Those unlucky few were then torn to shreds in the most grotesque and gruesome ways.

After securing themselves inside their vehicles and getting over the initial shock of what had just happened, Kozlov and his men were forced to take action against the rampaging horde, decimating a large number of them.  It was then when the captain noticed the terrifying sight of some of the dead returning to life.

As Kozlov had just finished strafing a group of about 20 or so people, he was about to shift the sights of his co-axial gun to another cluster, but before he was able to do so, he noticed that several of the people who he had just shot were getting back to their feet—again.   He delivered a second burst into the group, noticing that some of the people were still walking around—some of them with missing body parts.  Without explaining why, Kozlov then ordered his driver, Kuzma, to plow into the crowd.  If he couldn’t kill the lunatics with bullets, he would crush them under his treads.

As the day wore on, the captain found it easy enough to destroy the crazed attackers, but he found himself wondering just how much ammunition would be required to blast them away, or how much petrol it would take to run them down.  The Russian Army was a mighty force, but only as long as they had supplies.  A shortage of provisions could mean a whole new take on this outlandish, almost unbelievable situation, and with their president ordering a general mobilization of the military, getting re-supplied could get real dicey.  He shuddered at the unimaginable thought of running out of ammunition and fuel.

***

As the dazed captain continued to stare out at the burning horizon, his headset blared with the voice from battalion command.  They were receiving new marching orders—orders that he couldn’t believe.  They were being sent south to Chelyabinsk.  He passed the order on to the other vehicles and he looked down at his driver below.  “Alright Kuzma, let’s head back to the main highway.  The division is being sent to Chelyabinsk.”

“Chelyabinsk?” questioned the driver.

“Yes, Chelyabinsk.”

“Uh, who’s going to hold this area?” asked his gunner, Radimir.  “We just can’t leave this place unsecured.”

“They didn’t say.  Anyway, that’s for them to figure out.  Our job here is done, so we need to get moving.”  Kozlov himself had many questions about what was going on, but he knew that he didn’t have the time to discuss it with his crew.  He flipped down his night vision, grabbed onto the turret mounted heavy machinegun, and aimed it out into the darkness.

“Sir…how do you explain those people coming back to life?” the frightened driver asked.  “The ones we first ran into outside of the Antov.”

“What?” Kozlov asked as he tried to ignore his trooper’s question.  In truth, he had wanted to avoid having such a conversation, but he knew that eventually they would have to talk about what they had experienced.  He didn’t want to add any extra distractions to his crew and his unit, and he felt that if they didn’t discuss what they were thinking—keeping them sharp and focused instead—then they would be better off in the long run.

“I can’t really say that the dead are coming back to life.”  Kozlov knew that he couldn’t allow his crew and his unit to become unraveled because of speculation and fear, so he was trying to choose his words carefully.  “But something is happening…something beyond explanation.”

“That’s what Borya said back at division,” Kuzma explained.  “He said that somehow the dead were returning to life and that they were killing everything in their path…that no one could explain it.”

“Look,” Kozlov said as he sighed, “it would be wise if you don’t spread those rumors to any of the other units.  We don’t need to start a panic over a bunch of ghost stories.  Now, just focus on your job and get those thoughts out of your head.”  Kozlov peered down into the tank and pointed at the driver to make his point.  “Now let’s get going.”

“Yes Captain,” Kuzma said.”  He looked at Radimir in the dim red light of the tank interior.  Fear was splayed over the man’s face.

The tanks and carriers slowly rumbled down a dirt track that weaved through the woods, connecting with one of the roads that linked Ozersk and Kyshtym.  As Kozlov struggled to balance himself in his open hatch, three helicopters buzzed over the top of their formation.  Through his night vision he could see their bright navigation lights and dark forms as they headed towards the burning town.  Flying fast and low, the aircraft were out of his view within a matter of seconds.  A few moments later, the sound of rocket fire could be heard, followed by the resonating thumps of explosions.  The helicopters were firing into Ozersk.

As the captain contemplated the sudden order to withdraw from their position, his thoughts were broken by the loud and fear-filled voice of his driver.  “Contact at our ten!”

Spinning around in the hatch, Kozlov looked to his left and began scanning for targets.  His heart was racing and he was desperately searching through his night vision for any signs of movement when one of the carriers behind him began to fire at something off to his right.  The captain immediately recognized that he had action on both sides of his column.  More guns began to fire and the vehicles were illuminated by the bright flames that were leaping from the ends of their barrels.

Kozlov was able to catch sight of a group of people running full speed towards his tank.  They were coming out into a clearing and he saw from their clothing that they were civilians.  He aligned the sights of the turret mounted machine gun and opened up.  The sudden and brilliant flash from the weapon flooded his night vision with a white light.  When he let up off of the trigger, he could see several bodies scattered in front of his gun sights.

The survivors began to wave and scream at him.  One chubby man in particular managed to make his way to the edge of the road, jumping up and down and flailing his arms frantically.  A well placed burst from one of the carriers cut him in half.  Kozlov could see his intestines as they exploded from out of his large belly.

As the captain fixed his sights on another group, he realized that they weren’t charging anymore.  They were simply jumping up and down and they were whirling about.  Some of them had actually turned and were retreating back into the woods.  That’s when he saw one woman who was down on her bent knees, hands clasped together.  It looked like she was begging.

Suddenly, it dawned on Kozlov what was taking place. 
Oh my God, these aren’t infected people!
“Cease firing!” Kozlov screamed into his headset.  They were murdering innocents!  “Cease fire!  These people aren’t infected!  All units stop and turn on your lights!”  He looked down at his driver and yelled at him to bring the tank to a halt.  The guns immediately fell silent as all the vehicles came to a stop, kicking up dirt and grass into the air.

Kozlov unplugged the communication wire from his headset and frantically climbed out of his hatch, jumping down onto the rear deck.  Through his night optics he could see some of the people taking refuge at the edge of the trees.  He tried not to look at the bodies that were strewn over the clearing.  He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Don’t be afraid!  Come out and we will take care of you!”  He was trying to choke back his tears of guilt and shame as he called out into the darkness.

“Please don’t shoot anymore!” cried a voice from the tree line.  “For God’s sake, we’re not sick!  Please help us!”

Kozlov reached into the hatch and plugged himself back into the radio.  “I want the infantry to dismount and bring the wounded and survivors back to the column.  Now!”

“But sir,” questioned Kuzma, “won’t that expose the men?”

“We just slaughtered a bunch of helpless people.  Would you have me leave them here?  Besides, that’s the least we can do for them.”

The driver lowered his head, embarrassed.  The captain climbed back down into the hatch and swung the machine gun around to cover the dismounting troops as they cautiously maneuvered away from the safety of their carriers.  Moans and whimpering could be heard from all around.  Unplugging himself again, Kozlov grabbed his rifle and sprung from his hatch, jumping down onto the hull.  His heavy boots thudded on the steel of the tank.