Читать книгу Zombiegrad. A horror novel - Win Chester - Страница 10

Room 317 was quiet, but it was not lifeless. Goran Pavic was lying in the bed, his hands clasped behind his neck. He was looking at the ceiling. A young woman was lying beside him. Naked. Her rosebud nipples were half covered with a cascade of red hair. His semen was drying on her belly. Her chambermaid’s black-and-white uniform was in a heap by the bed.

“Goran?” She stroked his raven black hair. He kept on staring at the ceiling. Saying nothing.

“Are we all going to die?”

He closed his eyes and said nothing.

“I’m scared.” She put her head on his chest. “Talk to me. Please.” He felt hot breath on his skin.

He sighed, and his hand touched the shock of her red fluffy hair. But he kept silent.

She looked at the watch on his wrist. “It’s ten already. We’re late. Everyone must be looking for us.”

His lips parted. “Let them.” He opened his eyes.

She smiled. She liked the way he spoke Russian with his funny Serbian accent.

Silence followed his words again.

“Was the war in Yugoslavia worse than this?” she said.

He looked at her but kept silent. It frightened her. A couple minutes ago he was so warm when he was inside her. Now he was as cold as an iceberg.

“Will you kiss me?”

His eyes turned into slits. He brushed her hand away and sat on the bed.

“Time to go,” he said, looking at his watch. “The meeting’s in the conference hall in fifteen minutes. And I need to check the things in the kitchen once again.”

“Goran … Won’t you kiss me?”

He went up to the chair where his clothes were hanging, and started to get dressed. He turned his back to her.

“Why are you so silent all of a sudden? You’re acting like I’m not here.” There was sadness in her voice.

“Can’t see anything wrong in silence,” he said, without looking at her. “Do we have to fill the air with chatter all the time?”

“It’s not just chatter.” She pouted, sitting up. “What kind of a man are you? Can’t you even pretend you have some feelings?”

He put his shirt down and turned to her. “I don’t love you, all right? Straight and simple. These are my feelings. Is that what you want to know?”

She looked at him with her big gray eyes. The right words died on her lips.

“And I don’t want to pretend,” he said. “It was just a fuck. Like a handshake. Now I need to go.”

His sperm was feeling cold against her skin now. She stood up, wiped her stomach and started putting her clothes on.

“Oh, you’re such a bastard,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Hey, woman,” Goran said and pointed his index finger at her. “You watch that mouth of yours! What the heck do you want from me, huh? I told you, I like you, but enough only to sleep with you. We’ve made an agreement, remember? That was pretty sincere. To my thinking.”

“I just feel like a whore.”

Goran looked up at the ceiling. “Nobody says you’re a whore.”

The cufflink he was holding slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. He looked at her.

“Look, Marina, I am really sorry. I thought we had agreed.”

“You’re a freak. You know that?” Disappointment clouded her eyes. “A fucking freak.”

He sighed and looked at the ceiling again. “Oh, Lord! Chicks are just impossible sometimes.”

Marina adjusted her chambermaid’s uniform in front of the mirror and burst out crying. She was about to leave the room, when he came up to her and said, “Please wait.”

She stopped and turned to him. “What now?”

He took her by the hand. “You’ve taken the pill, haven’t you?”

Tears instantly smeared the mascara on her face. Without saying anything, she rushed to the door and slammed it behind her. The door banged shut like a rifle shot.

Goran stood in the sudden quietness of the room. He got on his knees and tried to find the cufflink but failed.

“Jebo te patak!” He took off his other cufflink and threw it against the wall.

Then he went into the bathroom.

“Ah, whatever,” he said and spat into the toilet bowl.

***

Andy was sitting at a desk on the stage of the conference hall. Diana Grinina, his deputy manager, was sitting near a flip chart opposite him. She was a cute young woman in her early thirties. It was unusual for Andy to see her wearing casual clothes today instead of a strict suit.

“You slept well?” Andy asked her, looking at people seeping into the spacious room one by one.

Diana nodded to a short Chinese man, who came into the room, escorted by a tall Chinese teenage girl, who had sunglasses on. They sat near Goran Pavic, who was having a lively conversation with a blonde woman.

“I was worried about my mother all night,” Diana said. “She lives in Yekaterinburg. I hope she’s well. But then I slept like a baby. All this stress and fear … My God.”

“Let’s hope this disaster is being stopped,” Andy said, putting his hand on her hand. “I saw tanks in the street. The military are trying to contain it.”

She nodded silently.

He looked at her scars. “How’s your cheek?”

She touched her cheek and said, “It’s all right. The pain is gone.”

“I hope it’ll heal before your wedding,” Andy said. “Is that the Russian expression?”

She smiled. “The doctor said there won’t be any scars left once the stitches are removed. Though, I have to look like Chucky the Killer Doll for a couple of weeks.”

Andy sighed. “It’s a miracle we’ve survived this nightmare.”

He flashbacked to the moment, when mutilated corpses started slamming against the main door, foaming at their mouths, and felt a snake of terror uncurling in his stomach.

Two big guys wearing camouflage uniforms sat in the front row. One of them had a snub-nosed Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder. Cash messengers. They were in the lounge removing the money from the ATM when the chaos broke loose, and they sealed the main entrance in time before the crazies could rush inside the hotel.

Andy looked at his Piaget watch. 10:10 a.m. He glanced around the room, which contained two hundred seats. It was the best conference hall in Chelyabinsk, and it was packed with all modern high-tech equipment. A large LED screen was installed above the stage. It could even boast a simultaneous interpretation booth. The only one in the city.

He had tried to contact the owner of the hotel who resided in Vienna but failed because there was no phone and Internet connection. Now it was up to him to make all the decisions.

Not all the seats were taken in the hall.

Less than a third here, Andy thought. Maybe even less than a quarter. The rest are in their rooms, asleep or afraid to go out.

The Arkaim Hotel could accommodate up to four hundred guests and it had been ninety percent filled before the zombie crisis. Some people had checked out on that harrowing Saturday morning and gone to the airport or the railway station. Some of them had gone outside and never returned. Or they had come back as frenzied cannibals and shredded both of the doormen into pieces of bloody flesh. Half of the staff had escaped from the building.

Andy was looking at the people entering the hall and doing his mental calculations. There were about two hundred people in the hotel all in all. The item on Andy’s current to-do list was the headcount.

The people talked quietly, coughed, shuffled their feet, or sat silently. A man with disheveled hair had brought sandwiches and a thermos flask and was eating, looking thoughtfully through the window at the morning sky.

Andy looked at the gathering audience. In a span of two days, they became not just his customers and employees. He was feeling a personal responsibility for all these people.

When everyone was seated, Andy came up to the front of the stage. Diana stood next to him to interpret his speech into Russian.

“Please put up your hand if you don’t understand Russian at all,” Andy said in English.

Four hands were raised. An old bearded man, a young man with Nordic features and the Chinese man, and the teenage girl, apparently his daughter.

“Khorosho. That means I can risk speaking Russian instead. Hello everyone,” Andy said in Russian. Diana was taken aback a little, as she was ready to interpret from English to Russian and not vice versa. “My name is Andrew Thomas. I am the General Manager of this hotel. Er … I can’t find the right words now, firstly, because Russian is not my native language. Please excuse me. And, secondly, the situation we’re presently in is very dire.

“But I’m happy to see all of you here. Safe and alive. Hopefully, everything is going to be all right with you and with your relatives and friends.”

He paused and scanned the hall. He saw despair and hope in people’s faces.

“As you see,” he went on, “the hotel is officially closed at the moment. We accept no check-ins.”

He tried to smile. Some of the guests chuckled nervously.

He dug out a piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at it. “We have two issues of primary concern on the agenda today: protection and food supply.”

One of the two cash messengers, a big guy with a round face, rose from his seat to be seen and said, “The garage entrance is not going to hold for long. It’s giving way. Maybe a couple more hours. Give or take.”

“Thanks,” Andy said. “We’ll reinforce the barricades. What’s your name?”

“Marcel.”

“Okay, Marcel. We’ll talk about it.”

The cash messenger sat down.

“Can you tell us what’s going on?” said a woman with a little boy sitting in her lap.

“I don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling right now,” Andy said. “What exacerbates everything is the fact that we know nothing about what is really happening in this city. It could be a war or a coup. It could be anything. Our main goal here is to survive till the government and the army restore order in the city. So that we’ll be able to see our loved ones. I realize you all have families out there. And I hope they’re safe and sound. The same your families would wish for you – to save your lives, to be able to see you, to be able to hug you again someday.”

The woman with the little boy started crying and left the hall. Andy asked one of the security guards to accompany them to their room.

“And we’ll survive only if we pool our forces together,” Andy went on. “We have safety in numbers. We have people of different occupations, qualifications, and expertise here. Well, I honestly hope you did not come to this town as a delegation for a stockbroker convention.”

People laughed in the audience. Diana looked at Andy and smiled.

“I hope we have medical doctors here, engineers, mechanics, electricians.” Andy made a pause. “Who else will we need? Athletes, welders, hunters, cooks … Hopefully, an assassin or two is present among you.”

More people laughing.

“With your knowledge, you can survive and help others to survive.”

Andy picked up a big book with the green cover from the desk. “I’m asking all of you now to come up and check in again. In this log book. It’s a paper book, as I anticipate power outages.”

“That’s a good idea,” Marcel said. His partner nodded in agreement.

Andy took a pen out of his breast pocket and invited everyone including the staff to go through registration.

“Please state your name, the number of your room and your useful skills. As of now, you’re free of charge. Let’s stay together and let this place really be your home away from home.”

People started clapping their hands.

Diana whispered to Andy, “You’re making progress in Russian.”

Andy rolled his eyes.

Goran stood up and roared with laughter. “Nice speech, William Wallace!”

Andy thanked everyone for their support.

“Now, as for protection,” he said, looking around the room in search of his security manager. “Where is Sorokin?” he addressed the guards.

The guards looked at each other. One of them flicked his finger at his Adam’s apple. Drunk.

“Great,” Andy muttered through his teeth.

“Andy,” Goran said. “How many times have I told you that you shouldn’t have hired an ex-cop!”

Andy frowned and went on. “I have to warn you that whoever’s outside the walls of this building,” he pointed at the windows, “are not human beings anymore. You can’t talk to them. You can’t beg them or please them. You can’t cooperate with them. Obviously, all they need is to feed. On whatever comes in their way. I know it’s not logical, but let’s face the bitter truth.”

People were absorbing each word Andy was saying.

“For how long are you going to keep us here?” A red-faced man with a big belly asked him. He held a beer can in his hand. There was a towel around his neck.

“No one’s keeping you here, brother,” Goran said. “You can hit the road any time you want. I can open any window for you to jump the hell out!”

“Hey, shut your trap!” The man’s face got redder. He leaned forward. “Who do you think you are?”

“No, you shut up!” Goran said.

The man got angry and stood up. He was about to attack Goran like a ferocious pit bull. Andy gave a silent sign to his guards, and they rose threateningly from their seats.

Diana held her hand up. “That’s enough, everybody! We’re going to stay here as long as deemed necessary. It’s not our choice. The hotel just happens to be the safest place around here so far. Mr. Pavic is right. We’re not forcing you to stay. But please do not try to leave this building. You’ll put everybody here at risk.”

The man slumped into his chair and seemed to calm down. He slurped his beer, clenching his jaws in anger. He crumpled the empty can and tossed it on the floor.

Andy’s eyes turned into slits but he did not say anything.

We’ll have to close the bar and withdraw all the liquor from rooms, he thought.

Goran got upon the stage. “We’ll check all the possible holes, through which these schizos could get into the hotel. We have to check the food supply as well. As far as I remember, it’s going to be enough for two weeks. If we ration the food, we’ll be able to not worry about it for over three weeks. I just need the exact number of people staying at the hotel. The data at the reception desk are messed up. We’re going to check every room in this building. Door-to-door. Each of the fifteen stories. I guess, the government is not going to help, so we have to keep up somehow until the air is clear. But, people, I’m telling you, the situation is crappy.”

Just as he said those words, the lights in the room went suddenly out.

“See?” Goran said.

“As if we haven’t had enough,” grumbled one of the hotel guests.

Goran turned to Andy. “Shit just keeps piling up.”

Andy cringed at the swear words. He looked wearily at others. “Goran, would you be so kind as to not swear? Save our ears, please.”

“Okay, no problem,” Goran said. “Pardon my French, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll swear in my native tongue, then.”

The conference room had been designed so that it was in the northern wing of the hotel and it wouldn’t be so stifling hot here during summer meetings without air conditioning. The sun was up, and the light was sufficient in the room. But Andy did not want to think about the time when the sun would go down.

“Let’s hope the power outage is temporary,” Andy said.

A dark-complexioned man in his forties raised his hand, “Sir? Do you have a power generator in this facility?” He spoke in English with a heavy Turkish accent.

“Yes, right,” Andy said. “Actually, we do but we haven’t got it installed yet. They delivered it to us two weeks ago.”

“Well,” the man said. “I’m a trained civil engineer. I could be of some help here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Andy said. “What’s your name, please?”

“Erkan Zorlu.”

“It’s a stroke of luck that we have you here, Mr. Zorlu.”

The man nodded and smiled. “Call me Erkan. Glad to be of service.”

“Fuck!” Goran exclaimed and slapped his forehead with his hand. “I mean, sranje! The fridges! Of course!”

Andy looked at Goran. He didn’t frown this time. He started getting used to Goran’s cussing. “What about them?”

“The perishable food supplies will go rot soon without the power if the outage is permanent. We have to do something about it.”

Andy nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”

“And also water,” Goran said. “Back in my teenage years, I was in the siege of our city during the Yugoslav Wars, and we suffered from lack of water.”

“Yes,” Marcel said worriedly.

“Yeah,” Goran said. “We gotta fill all the bathtubs and all the receptacles we can find with water.”

“Besides, there is the water in the pools,” Andy remarked.

“We also have to keep the drinking water and non-drinking water separate,” added Erkan.

“So, water won’t be a problem,” Andy said.

“But we have to do it fast,” Goran said. “Who knows what will happen next? Water supply cutoff?”

“I’m afraid to even to think about it,” Diana said. “And also about the heating cutoff.”

People got agitated about the current problems, and it was getting noisy in the audience. It took Andy five minutes to call everybody to order.

A young man raised his hand. “Can you give me a gun so I could protect myself and my family?”

The red-faced troublemaker snorted. “A gun! One gun won’t help you much if you come across a crowd of those bloodsuckers. You’re walking meat for them.”

“Now this is really a big problem,” Andy said. “We have only five firearms in the hotel. They’re with the security guards.”

The family man looked disappointed.

It’s six, actually, but they don’t need to know about my shoulder holster, Andy thought. Besides, it’s still a drop in the ocean.

“We never needed so many weapons,” Andy said.

“Nine firearms,” said Marcel’s partner, a tall guy, wearing a black sports cap. He showed his Kalashnikov and a handgun and pointed to Marcel’s same set of arms. “Count us in.”

“And what shall we do then?” said the family man. “I got a wife and two kids in my room.”

“Oh man,” the tall cash messenger said. “There’s a lot of stuff you can use here for killing— knives, forks, table and chair legs, hammers, screwdrivers, pool cues. Take your pick. Hell, you can even kill using a fucking mascara pen eyeliner.” He tossed a pellet of chewing gum into his mouth.

Marcel said to the man, “Gleb, you’ve always been a professional.”

Gleb sat back, smirked and started chewing the gum.

“What are you talking about?” said the red-faced beer drinker. He had opened another beer can already. “Without arms, we’re all going to be fucking fodder for those freaks in no time!”

There was a general commotion again, and Andy had to dismiss the meeting.

“We’ve had enough of talking,” Andy said. “The sooner we begin doing something, the better.”

After the meeting, everyone was given a task to do. Some people helped to reinforce the barricades near doors, dragging all the sofas, tables, chairs, hassocks, and whatnot from the upper floors to block the doorways. Erkan Zorlu went into the basement to install the power generator. The sanitary engineer and two technicians helped him. The garage door had to be sealed, and Erkan could handle a welder’s equipment. He did his job in three hours.

The chambermaids continued to serve in the rooms. Some of them sought to escape from fear and depression, and they wanted to be around people. They were glad to be useful again. The guests were supportive and helped the maids. It seemed ridiculous to be complaining about dirty linen or dirty pillows in a critical situation like this when everything was falling apart. Some of them put their rooms in order themselves.

The waiters and waitresses went back to their duties. Due to the shortage of waiters, some of the guests volunteered to help out at mealtimes.

None of the guards were gone during the beginning of the chaos. Many strong men among the guests offered to be guards.

Andy understood that the people were close to panic, and it was necessary to go on acting as if everything was normal to keep their spirits up.

***

Ivan, the guard whose presence was not necessary anymore in the CCTV room because of the power outage, was standing near the window, as Andy walked along the corridor. There was a shade of worry on the man’s face.

“What’s wrong, Ivan?” Andy asked him.

“I don’t know, sir,” the young man said. “I just remember clearly that the cash-in-transit truck was at the north of the building. Now it has moved here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Keep watching,” Andy said. “If you see something unusual,” he held up his walkie-talkie, “let me know.”

“Sure.” Ivan nodded. “Right away.”

***

Goran ran his kitchen like a general in a battlefield. He was barking out orders to his cook assistants, those of them who hadn’t yet lapsed into depression and had come down into the kitchen to make meals. Some of them had come wearing jeans or other casual clothes, but Goran had made them put on their uniforms. He himself had his immaculately white chef hat on. It gave him extra power in the kitchen.

“Why do we need this outfit?” one of his assistants asked him. “Who cares? We could be dead in an hour.”

“Remember the Second World War history?” Goran asked him. “What was the first sign, which showed that concentration camp prisoners weren’t going to make it and die soon?”

The cook shook his head and looked quizzically at him.

“They stopped cleaning their teeth,” he said.

Nobody said a word.

“And besides,” Goran said. “We’re the Arkaim Hotel. We gotta be goddamn classy at all times.”

Not all of the cooks agreed, but they donned their uniforms anyway.

They hadn’t been so busy since the preparation for St. Valentine’s Day and were bustling in and out, washing dishes, bringing and taking away the trays. There had been no cooking since Saturday when all the employees and guests had had to fight against the unexpected visitors who were thirsty for their blood.

Goran treated his job as an art. This was one of the conditions, on which Andrew Thomas chose his staff: a person should see what he or she does as an art performance. Three days ago he had had twenty cooks under his command. Some of them had been carefully picked by Goran himself. He was a great team builder. But this Sunday he had a skeleton crew – only eight cooks. But he hoped to get some help from volunteers soon. After all, they were going to get the food, too.

A male cook came up to him with a plate in his hands. “It’s a pity, Goran. The fromage blanc is off.”

Goran took the plate, smelled at the cheese and handed it back with a wince. “You know what to do with it. Dispose of everything that is rotten. But don’t get rid of the expired food yet. We don’t know for how long we’ll be trapped here.”

The power had been out for three hours now, and Goran turned a suite on the second floor into an ad hoc fridge storage by bringing all the food there and keeping all the windows open to let the cold February wind preserve the perishable products longer.

Goran came up to the table where a huge cake sat.

Darya Petrakova, a slim woman in her thirties, who worked as a dessert cook, was covering the cake with white chocolate ganache.

“Hey, Dasha,” Goran said, smiling. “That’s a nice job! Yummy!”

He looked at her but she lowered her eyes – blue ice.

She said nothing. She finished the icing and went to the sink to wash her hands.

Goran and Darya had been dating for a week until this new redheaded chambermaid Marina appeared on Goran’s horizon. Naturally, he lost his interest in Darya, who was modest and a bit shy and whose kiss he had managed to steal only twice during this week, and focused his attention on Marina’s head-spinning boobs.

That Friday morning, when the meteorite arrived, he was standing in the middle of the little windowless locker room and kissing Marina on her naked breasts, which burst out her blouse like two ripe honey pomelos.

They heard a key being inserted into the keyhole. It was turned twice, and the door opened.

The couple stopped doing what they had been so passionately doing and looked at Darya, who entered the room. It was her day off, and she dropped by to get some stuff she had left in her locker.

Darya clutched her purse she was carrying and gave a gasp of surprise. Marina let out a trickle of laughter and began hiding her delights. Goran looked angrily at Darya. Darya’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints, and she threw the purse at them. Goran ducked, and the purse caught Marina’s earring. A red droplet of blood fell from the bleeding ear on Marina’s white blouse.

“Are you fucking mental, you fucking cow?” Marina said. She was beside herself with anger. There was a vehement exchange of altercations in rude Russian.

Finally, Darya said, “Look. I don’t want to fight either of you. I’m tired. My mother is ill and needs medicine. Just let me grab my stuff and I’ll leave this place for good. I have to go to the drugstore.” She looked at Marina. “I don’t care about you, poor bitch. The same will happen to you after this womanizer finds a replacement for you.”

She clenched her fists and her nails left pale crescents on her palms.

Marina kicked the purse lying on the floor and sent it flying. Then she went to the door, setting her blouse straight. The door slammed behind her.

“Dasha,” Goran said.

“Please don’t say anything,” Darya said, interrupting him. “Just leave. Have it your way in your life. As you always do.”

She burst out crying. He came up close to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away from him.

She opened her locker and took out a plastic bag and a watch. As she was trying to lock the locker, her fingers disobeyed her, and she dropped the key. He bent down to pick it up.

“Just leave me alone!” she shouted and slapped him across his face.

As she did it, Goran’s face exploded. For a split second, he thought some explosive hidden inside his head detonated. But his face did not disintegrate. The room shook two or three times. Then it was normal again.

“Sranje!” he exclaimed. He always swore in his mother tongue. He looked at her. “What the hell was that?” He looked astonished, and his face was funny to look at.

Darya stopped crying suddenly. “How do I know?”

The dramatic situation was turning into a comic one.

Goran could not see what was happening outside as there were no windows in the locker room. Darya looked a little frightened. She picked up her purse, and they hurried out of the room.

After Darya had bought the medicine for her mother, she came back to help around in the hotel. And she helped to build the barricades around the main entrance and sealing back entrances and emergency exits the next day, too.

This Sunday morning Darya returned to her duty as a dessert cook. She was glad to be useful again.

There were half a dozen kids in the hotel, and they were to be fed in the first place. Andy wanted to keep everyone’s spirits up, and Goran decided to make a huge cherry cake for them. Cherries were expensive in winter, and with the power outage, they were getting bad pretty soon. That would be a waste of good ingredients.

“All right, guys.” Goran clapped his hands like a teacher in the classroom. “Let’s bring all the sweets up.”

His cooks took the ice-cream cones, bottles of Irn-Bru and boxes of chocolate and went out.

Darya drove a trolley with empty cups and saucers to the door.

“Dasha—”

The trolley squeaked on its casters and pushed through the door.

He was left alone in the kitchen. He came up to the cake, removed the cherry from the top, threw it into the dustbin and replaced it with a fresher one.

He nodded in approval. “Much better now.”

That very instant, the vent tube above his head broke apart, and a man covered in soot and dirt fell out of its torn womb, flailing his hands in the air as he fell. He landed on top of the cake like a shot bird, splashing the white chocolate around the shiny kitchen. His tattered shirt was speckled with blood.

The man tried to focus his gaze at Goran’s face looking through the dark gray cobweb covering his spectacles, rolled his eyes, and his head smacked against the table surface.