Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End (19 page)

I shuddered. I imagined the horror and utter despair those people must’ve felt, trapped in the port
,
cornered by those things. When they were bitten, those former refugees were now hunters, joining the pack of the undead, attacking their friends or relatives. The eerie glow of roaring fires lit up that madness.

“There’s not much more to tell. The carnage continued for thirteen or fourteen hours. We couldn’t see the shore because of all the smoke. Finally, all the noise stopped. We didn’t hear another thing except the occasional crackle of a charred building collapsing or the low moan of one of those things.” He paused. “Well, and that sound, of course.”

“Sound? What sound?”

“At first we didn’t know what it was. We were used to the racket hundreds of thousands of people made. Now the port was strangely quiet, the way it is now,” he said, pointing out a porthole.
“The silence took us by surprise. That’s how we were able to hear the noise.”

“You still haven’t told me what the noise was,” I protested.

“You keep interrupting me!” he snapped. “As the dense smoke lifted, we figured out the source of the sound.” He shuddered. “It was the sound of thousands of feet, in shoes and barefoot, shuffling across the pavement.” He looked at me. “The feet of all the refugees who didn’t die before they got infected and became undead.”

I was horrified, crushed by the thought of hundreds of thousands of innocent people bitten and maimed, rising again, turned into monsters. Jesus, it was shocking. I felt dizzy. I needed some air.

“Evidently, not all the refugees succumbed. The most resourceful, the hardiest, a handful, maybe even a few hundred, found a way to survive that terrible night. They hid in the ruins of the port until the vast crowd of undead scattered. When only a few hundred undead remained on the pier, they fled in every direction, alone or in small groups,” concluded Ushakov.

“Yeah?” I looked at him, glassy-eyed. “How do you know?

“Simple.” He smiled, gesturing theatrically. “One of those survivors is on board the
Zaren Kibish
. I’ll introduce you to him,” he said. He stood up and headed for the cabin door.

I got to my feet to follow Ushakov. But as soon as I stood up, I felt nauseated. I realized that my delicate Western stomach couldn’t handle the combination of vodka, damp heat, the gruesome conversation, and the smell of food and motor oil. I pushed aside some chairs, threw open a porthole, and left a lovely pattern of vomit on the hull of
Zaren Kibish
. Terrific! I was making a great impression on my new friends.

I wiped my mouth, turned, and headed back to Ushakov, who was watching me from the cabin door with an ironic look on his face. He must’ve thought I was a wimp, but at least he didn’t say so. He simply nodded for me to follow him.

We walked down a short hallway crowded with pipes and cables and lots of doors. Overall, the ship was a complete wreck. It was amazing to think it had traveled tens of thousands of nautical miles from Southeast Asia. We came to a hatch at the top of a staircase that led down to the bowels of the ship. The damp, musty smell was stronger there, but I seemed to be the only one who noticed.

Through the open hatch, I saw a cabin laid out like the captain’s cabin, but smaller, with narrow cots instead of a wide bed. Sitting on one of the bunks was a heavyset man in his fifties. His face was very wrinkled, and his beak of a nose was covered with broken capillaries, on account of his fondness for alcohol. Across from him sat another man in front of an upside-down wooden box with a chessboard set up on it. He was about forty, short, muscular, blond, with piercing blue eyes and a droopy mustache. He reminded me of the comic-book hero Asterix the Gaul.

When we entered, Asterix and Drunk Nose were engrossed in the final moves of a game of chess. They jumped to their feet when they saw us.

Ushakov exchanged a few quick sentences with them in Russian. He pointed to me several times during the conversation. I felt very ill at ease. Ushakov and Drunk Nose were having a heated discussion about something. Asterix merely looked at them sadly and occasionally gave me a resigned look. Finally, Ushakov turned and beckoned me over.

“Mr. Lawyer.” I didn’t like the sound of that. It had a disrespectful ring. “May I introduce you to the first officer of the
Zaren Kibish
, Mr. Aleksandr Grigori Kritzinev,” he said, pointing to the man with the red nose.

I shook his hand cautiously, as Ushakov introduced me in a torrent of Russian I couldn’t decipher.

“My first officer is old school. He says he’s sorry he hasn’t mastered any language but Russian, so I pass his greetings along to you.”

“Tell him I’m happy to be aboard this ship and to meet all of you.”

“Such formalities aren’t necessary between friends,
nyet
?” Ushakov replied in a tone I was starting to dislike. “Let me introduce Mr. Viktor Pritchenko, Ukrainian like Alexander and me, and survivor of the Vigo Safe Haven.”

I studied the little blond guy with the mustache as he shook my hand and tried to keep the surprise from showing on my face. What the hell was a Ukrainian guy doing in Vigo? What a strange coincidence. I was totally blown away when the Ukrainian guy addressed me in halting, rudimentary Spanish.

“Nice to meet you, sir. My name, Viktor, Viktor Nikolaevich Pritchenko.”

“You speak Spanish?” I replied, astonished. He wasn’t what I expected.

“
Da
, I living in Spain for six months. I live in Spain several times before, since four years. I come Spain every year,” he answered, with a sad look in his clear eyes.

“What brings you to Spain?”

“I work. I work many years for Siunten.”

I was too stunned to ask what or who the hell Siunten was. There’d be time for that later. I realized a few things as I looked at the little man and his honest blue eyes. He wasn’t lying to me. But he was terribly afraid. Something had terrified him, and they’d kill me if I figured out what it was.

I could see that Ushakov, who didn’t speak Spanish, was uncomfortable not knowing what we were saying. He abruptly cut off our conversation, barking a couple of orders to his first officer and sending him and the Ukrainian guy up the stairs. He beckoned
me to follow him. As we climbed the flights of stairs, he told me the rest of Viktor Pritchenko’s story. The night of the slaughter at the Safe Haven, he swam to the
Zaren Kibish
and shouted for help. When Ushakov heard him speaking Russian, he decided to take him aboard. He’s been there ever since. In the port, he worked as a longshoreman or technician or something like that.

Ushakov’s story made me suspicious. He wasn’t telling me the truth—at least, not all of it. What was he hiding? And why?

When we reached the top of the stairs, I was surprised to discover we were headed for the bridge. When we got there, Ushakov sat at his captain’s chair, his eyes boring into me.

“What’s going on?” I asked, more and more confused.

“Let’s see, Mr. Lawyer. If I remember correctly, you told me you’re from a town near Vigo,
nyet
?”

“Yes, Pontevedra, twenty miles away,” I replied, not sure where he was going with that.

“So, you know this city pretty well, right?”

“Well...yeah, sure.” I was more confused. I didn’t understand where those questions were leading, but something was in the air.

“
Da
, perfect.” He thought for a moment. Then out of the blue he blurted out, “Know where the main post office is?”

“Sure. What the hell is this about, Captain Ushakov?”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure a smart guy like you has figured it out. I need something from there.”

My expression must have been comical. From the post office? What was he up to?

“Two months ago, I received the last communiqué from the company,” he began wearily. “When we docked in Vigo, right after the storm, the first thing I did was phone the company’s agent in Spain for instructions. But the phones weren’t working in Estonia, and no one answered in Greece.” He stretched out in his chair. “He promised to mail me complete instructions from
Madrid, but the evacuation to the Safe Haven prevented us from picking it up at the post office.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Isn’t it obvious, my young friend? I need that package. Someone has to pick it up. Someone who knows where the post office is. That someone is you.”

I just stood there, staring at him. Was he joking? This guy was asking me to go ashore, cross a city infested with thousands of undead, as if I were just going out for a loaf of bread? He wanted me to find the post office and deliver his damn package like some postman? The vodka had definitely addled his brain more than mine.

“Captain, you can’t be serious. I’m sorry about your package. As far as I’m concerned, if it’s in that post office, it can stay there till the end of time. You don’t know what you’re asking. I’ve been around those things. Let me assure you they’re monsters.” I was getting all riled up. I couldn’t help it. “It’s sheer madness! It’s absolutely impossible for a person to set foot in that city without those hellish monsters getting him! I’m dead serious!”

“Oh, you won’t be alone. My first officer and some of my men will go with you.” He smiled mischievously. “That package is from my employer, and you’re a stranger, so we don’t know if we can trust you. Your only job is to guide them there and back.”

He was nuts. I had to get far away from there.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but count me out,” I said as I stood up. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I think I’d better go. So, if you don’t mind—”

“Oh, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong,” he interrupted. “I’m not asking you. I’m ordering you. If you don’t agree in five minutes, you’ll be floating in the water with a bullet in your head. You don’t have a choice.” That son of a bitch leaned back in his chair, looking very pleased with himself, and glared at me. We both knew he had me by the balls.

I swallowed hard. My blood turned ice cold at the sight of Ushakov comfortably seated in his captain’s chair, watching me. That bastard thought that was funny.

“Come, come,
tovarich
, don’t take this so seriously.” He leaned forward and whispered right in my ear, “After all, I’m just asking a small favor in exchange for another favor,
nyet
? I brought you on my boat. In exchange, you bring me the one little thing I need. That’s all.”

“You have no idea where you’re sending us, Captain. We could all die for one lousy package sent by someone who’s probably dead,” I said, forcing back my anger.

“I’m counting on your expertise to bring everyone back. You’ve made it this far without a scratch,
nyet
? I’m confident you can take that little trip without anything bad happening.”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, grimacing.

“I’m afraid not.”

“I guess appealing to your good nature or your humanity would be pointless, right? You’re a real bastard, pal! Fuck you!”

The words were barely out of my mouth when Ushakov leaped out of his chair as if he were on a spring and grabbed my neck with one of his big, beefy hands, lifting me up against a wall. He caught me completely off guard. Who knew that such a big guy could move so fast? He held me a few inches off the ground and pressed his now demonic mask of a face right up to mine.

“I’ve been stuck in this hellhole on this goddamn boat with my crew for a month, understand?” he shouted, red with rage. “I’ve waited for someone in charge to send me that package. Know who came? No one! Absolutely no one!”

I was choking, spots dancing before my eyes. That psychopath was going to strangle me. He must’ve noticed my strange color, or maybe he realized if he killed me, he’d have no postman.
Whatever it was, it broke the spell, and he let go. I fell to the ground, gasping for air.

“I need that package! I need it! A week ago I sent a team ashore, and we haven’t heard from them since. I can’t afford to lose any more men.” He sat back down, glaring at me. “You
will
get that package for me. And if you think about straying even a couple feet off the path, I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in your head. So don’t try to fuck me over. Understand, Mr. Lawyer?”

I nodded, unable to speak, as I struggled to get up off the floor. That fucking nutcase was capable of killing me if I refused. On top of that, I couldn’t go anywhere. From the bridge I could see a couple of sailors relaxing on the deck of the
Corinth
, smoking, with AK-47s lying across their laps. And I didn’t know where Lucullus was.

“Okay,” I said, when I could get the words out. “You give me your word that if I bring you the package, you’ll let me go on my way?”

“Absolutely. You do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

I’ll believe that when I see it! And as a parting gift, a couple of blondes in bikinis and a keg of beer!

I had to be pragmatic and get control of the situation before it got completely out of hand. Taking a crushed Marlboro out of my pocket, I leaned against the wheel and fixed my gaze on him through a column of smoke. My mind was racing at top speed.

“Okay, but I have one condition. On shore, I’m in charge. Your guys will do what I tell them and won’t fuck me around. Agreed?”

“I totally agree.”

“I don’t know why I even care. They’ll probably kill us before we’ve been ashore ten minutes. Besides, I don’t know a word of Tagalog or Urdu. How the hell am I going to make myself understood? In Morse code?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. Mr. Pritchenko speaks Spanish. My first officer will go with you. You can talk to everyone through them.”

“Why not just send Pritchenko? Didn’t he live in Vigo before all this started?”

“Pritchenko never lived in Vigo,” he replied laconically.

“But you said—”

“Enough of this crap. You’ve got a lot to do,” he interrupted, and motioned for me to follow him.

I’m still alive. Banged up, bruised. My wetsuit’s in tatters. But I’m alive. I’m still trying to get over the shock. It was one very long day. All I want now is a few hours’ rest. This mission or “journey”—I don’t know what to call it—was doomed from the start. From the moment we set foot on land, things have spiraled out of control. We have no plan. We’re flying blind.