Dark Days (Apocalypse Z) (28 page)

Outside there was chaos. Hordes of people pushed their way through the crowd and shoved each other down the stairs, stumbling, shouting hysterically. A group of nurses were trying to treat the wounded in the hallways, but the flood of people overwhelmed them. Gunshots still came from inside the hospital. Some of the security forces must not have realized they were chasing their own shadows.

“Hey, you, come here!” A stocky, dark-skinned male nurse grabbed her arm. Terrified, Lucia tried to break free, but the man was too strong. “Calm down, honey, I just want to help you! Here, let me see those cuts.”

Before Lucia realized what was happening, the nurse swept her into a garden area where a doctor had set up a makeshift hospital.

“The cut on your leg isn’t very deep, but your forehead took a good hit. What the hell did you get in your eyes? Someone must be spraying tear gas,” he said as he flushed her eyes out with distilled water. Lucia instantly felt relief.

“I’m fine, thanks, I’m fine,” was all Lucia could mutter.

“You don’t
look
fine. Better take it easy for a while, at least until things get sorted out.” The nurse gave her a scrutinizing look. Just then, two orderlies set down a stretcher; on it lay a soldier with a gaping gunshot wound in the chest. When the nurse turned his attention to the wounded man, Lucia slipped out the side of the garden.

A few feet from the hospital, she stopped, hoping her head would stop spinning.

She leaned against an empty shop window and stared at her reflection. She looked like she’d been through a hurricane. Her hair was matted
from the chemical showers, her white pants were stained red from the cut, her eyes were red and swollen, and she had a huge bump in the middle of her forehead.

No wonder people’re staring at me. It’s strange that they aren’t running away in terror. I look like a junkie strung out on crack.

A group of civil guards came running down the sidewalk. Lucia’s first impulse was to tell them what had happened. Sister Cecilia and Maite had been killed before her very eyes. The police needed to catch the killers. They might still be in the area. She shuddered and glanced around fearfully.

She started to cross the street, but a dark thought stopped in her tracks. If you tell those guards that crazy story about gunmen, a nun, and some Undead, they’ll probably lock you up while they investigate that mess. Especially looking the way you do. Those doctors in the lab (the Zoo, they’d called it) were probably giving the hospital guards a detailed description of a nurse with red eyes who was “wounded” by the Undead.

Those doctors wanted to kill me. I didn’t do anything wrong, but they wouldn’t listen. They’d wanted to kill me. But why?
She was on the verge of tears.

Because they’re afraid of you, idiot. They’re terrified of another outbreak of that virus and they think you might open that door to hell
.

But I haven’t done anything wrong! I didn’t even get near the Undead.

Think anyone cares about that?
The voice in her head laughed bitterly.
Now, be a good girl and run along. Save your own neck
.

Keeping her head down, Lucia walked past the guards. The honk of a horn startled her. A heavy military truck roared up and screeched to a stop in front of the hospital. Heavily armed legionnaires jumped out and ran inside.

With a shudder, Lucia took off running in the opposite direction. She realized she had nowhere to go. She was a fugitive.

44

MADRID

“What the hell is this?” growled the sergeant, too stunned to move. “Some kind of sick joke!”

“This is no joke, asshole,” Marcelo replied slowly, almost chewing his words. “It’s simple. We’re leaving, you’re staying.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Broto shouted. “The Undead’ll be here any minute! We gotta get the hell out of here!”

“Oh, we’re going, just not to Tenerife. We’re headed to Gran Canaria.” Pauli kept her eyes glued on us. “Those drugs are the property of the
legitimate
government of Spain. Is that clear?”

Tank had been too shocked to talk, but he couldn’t stay silent anymore. Fuming, he walked up to the soldiers perched on the vehicle, ignoring the weapons pointed at him.

“Fucking Froilists! You royalist scum! You miserable traitors! Where’s your honor and dignity?” he spat out.

“You’re the traitors!” Pauli shouted. “You people think you can blow off the laws! You betrayed the legitimate democratic government and installed that phony Republic!”

“You call that damn Froilist government
democratic
!” Tank was livid. “What’s legitimate about it! You’re just a gang of soldiers hiding
behind a child. You’re using him to promote your own interests and calling it a democratic monarchy!”

“That child is the King of Spain!
He’s
the legitimate government! Only a traitor or a communist would set up a republic behind the people’s back!” Pauli’s voice broke.

“Nobody went behind the peoples’ back, you fool! The republic is democratic!”

“Democratic? Like hell it is! When were elections held? Or a referendum?”

“What about you? Has your damned monarchy held an election?
Nein!
You don’t give a shit about legitimizing what you claim!”

Marcelo suddenly fired his machine gun over our heads. Terrified, Prit, Broto, and I threw ourselves to the ground; lead flew just inches over our heads like buzzing flies. Only Tank and the sergeant remained standing, unflinching. When I dared to look up, the Argentine was glaring down at us, his eyes bright with anger.

“Sorry, folks, we don’t have time to air our dirty laundry. The Undead are headed this way and we’re getting the hell outta here!” His face red with rage, Marcelo waved Pauli into the tank. As she climbed aboard, she looked away for a split second.

That was enough for Tank.

The German pulled a small pistol out of his boot and shot the lame soldier as he struggled up the side of the tank. The soldier flew backward and crashed to the ground. A red stain spread across on his chest. With the measured precision of a professional gunman, Tank didn’t miss a beat. He turned to Marcelo and fired twice. The first bullet hit the Argentine’s arm and he let out a scream of pain; the second bullet just barely missed his head. He took cover behind the metal plate that shielded the turret. Tank advanced steadily, still firing, trying to climb into the vehicle, his bullets crashing against the metal shield.

Just then, Pauli popped out of the hatch like a jack-in-the-box, her face contorted with hate, and fired four bullets into the German commander’s chest.

For a second, Tank gasped like a fish out of water. He locked eyes with Pauli, just inches from her face. He fell to the ground, with a look of disbelief that he, Kurt Tank, the great survivor, had been gunned down—by one of his own soldiers.

Other shots rang out on our left. Marcelo, his right arm bleeding, opened fire on the sergeant, who was clawing up the hatch of the tank. The Argentine’s bullets shook the sergeant like a rag doll and he collapsed in the dust next to the German.

For a split second, the silence was so thick I thought I’d drown. I watched with horror as Marcelo aimed his MG3 at us. Death danced in his eyes.

We’re dead. It’s over.

“Hold your fire!” Pauli screamed. “Don’t shoot, Marcelo! Wait a fucking minute!”

The Argentine’s expression didn’t change. We didn’t dare move a muscle, as we lay there, unarmed and defenseless. At that distance, his MG3 would cut us in two before we made the slightest movement. Marcelo finally exhaled and relaxed his trigger finger. I nearly died of relief.

“Listen carefully! You civilians shouldn’t be caught in the middle of all this!” Pauli said, standing very erect in the hatch. “But these are difficult times in the struggle for freedom and the future of the human race. They require sacrifices from everyone. Including you.”

This is amazing! She’s giving a fucking speech!
From Prit’s expression, I knew he was thinking the same thing, but we were smart enough to keep our mouths shut.

“It’s time to take a stand! Illegitimate republic or legitimate government? Are you with us or against us? The Airbus at Cuatro Vientos Airport should be in the hands of loyalists by now. If you support the true prime minister of Spain and King Froilan, there’s a place for you on that plane. Otherwise, you’re on your own!”

I couldn’t believe it. I’d heard about the political tensions on the islands, but I never dreamed I’d get caught in the middle of a civil war. I wasn’t even clear which side was right and which was wrong—or if there was a right or a wrong side.

Pauli was waiting for an answer, so I stood up and said, “My wife’s in Tenerife and so’s my friend, Sister Cecilia, who’s seriously ill. Those medicines could mean the difference between life and death for her. I can’t abandon them. I’ve gotta get back to them. I’m not going to Gran Canaria.”

“What about you,
Pretyinko
? That terrorist government means to throw you in jail. Here’s your chance to be free and serve the representatives of the people.”

“It’s
Pritchenko
, ma’am,” the Ukrainian replied, regally. “True, they want to put me in jail. But both islands’re full of spies. In Tenerife, if they found out we’d collaborated with you, they’d make our friends pay. What’s worse, they’d say we ran away like cowards. Viktor Pritchenko has never run away, and I’m not going to start now.”

The Slavic peasant’s code of honor
, I thought, looking down to hide a smile.

“Besides,” Prit said, throwing his arm over my shoulder, his terrifying, blue eyes boring into Pauli. “I never leave a friend behind. If he stays, I stay. We’re a team. Comrades, him and me. That’s how it’s been and how it’ll always be.
Kapish
?”

Pauli studied us for a moment with both contempt and amazement. She shook off her thoughts, then turned to Broto, standing next to us, his hair caked with dirt and dust.

“What about you, Broto? Are you coming or staying?”

David turned and studied us for a few seconds. Then he swallowed, coughed loudly, and bent down to pick up Tank’s pistol, which was lying on the ground at his feet.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been fucking great to me. You really helped me out. But all that’s waiting for me in Tenerife is a jail cell. On Gran Canaria, I got nothing to lose and everything to gain. I’m going with them. Sorry, pals.”

“Okay, kid. No hard feelings,” Prit said, disappointment in his voice.

“Enough with the speeches!” Marcelo’s voice boomed. “Let’s go! You two, hand your backpacks to Broto. Get a move on, tenderfoot.”

We did as we were told, and Broto loaded our backpacks into the hatch. Marcelo kept his MG3 trained on us and didn’t take his eye off us.

“Hold on, Marcelo!” Pauli blurted out. She jumped off the Centaur and raced over to the other tank sitting just a few feet away. She raised the hood, leaned over the engine, took out her knife. She cut out a bunch of wires, then stuck them in her pocket.

“Nothing personal. We don’t want you following us… not for a while anyway.”

“This is cold-blooded murder,” I stammered. “Without that tank, we’re dead. You know that as well as we do.”

“Not true,” she replied, as she slipped back into the Centaur. “I’m sure somewhere in this shit hole there’re spare battery cables. But by the
time you get that heap fixed—
if
you get it fixed—we’ll be flying toward Gran Canaria.”

“We don’t have any weapons!” Prit protested.

“Not my problem. You made your choice,” Pauli recited in a singsong tone. “Hey! Don’t say I never gave you anything.” With that, she threw the Ukrainian’s combat knife at his feet, then closed the hatch and drove away in a cloud of black smoke. We watched as it disappeared around the corner. The sound of its engine rang in our ears over the deathly silence of Madrid.

45

MADRID

A fine rain started to fall as the Centaur disappeared in the distance. The pinging grew louder as big raindrops hit the dusty pavement, but I didn’t notice. We were alone, unarmed, with no transportation, in a huge, deserted city infested with Undead. A despairing moan escaped my throat.