Murmansk-13

Katja too watched Jamal leave. She had sat unflinching while Jamal had stood in Gennady’s cell, now she swooped voraciously to the mess tin. Her eyes wide as she messily shovelled food into her mouth and down her tattered scrubs, little concern for the plastic cutlery poking from the amorphous yellow eggs. Propriety lost, Katja paused only to give a small embarrassed smile to Tala. Tala couldn’t shake the image of Katja’s father leaping ravenously onto Peralta. The image stole the remnant of Tala’s hunger.

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Jamal had waited outside while Katja ate. Tala had never quite regained her appetite and had allowed the starving girl to finish her mess tin of processed and rehydrated food. Now her stomach squealed beneath the clingy velour jumpsuit, the strong smell of powdered egg still wafted from the soft fabric.

Much like their arrival in District four, the eyes of the population monitored their short passage between Gennady’s cabin and his office. The stares had hardened and the tension remained. Tala saw a few men muttering under their breath, incomprehensible Russian drowned out by the District’s generator. Now conscious, Katja balked at the attention, trying to conceal her taller frame behind short, muscular Tala.

Where a day before the looks of most had been of fear or lust they were now replaced with curiosity and loathing. The demographics of each countenance roughly dividing the room. Tala sensed sedition amongst Gennady’s motley ranks and rebellion in the air, many of the afeard men from yesterday now stood in close proximity to Ilya beside the guardroom door, the iron bars slung across the strikes. His cold small eyes fixed Tala as she paced behind Jamal. He guards the door, thought Tala, coldly.

A youthful man with a sharp chin nodded at Jamal, Tala remembered his name, Andrei. She was relieved to see three survivors stood beside him in the half of the district occupied by Gennady’s office and quarters. No weapons were drawn, but Tala had little doubt each man concealed a kitchen knife or a rapidly fashioned shank. Whatever passed for normality within the kingdom had rapidly unravelled as Tala and Katja slept. Now the television room lay dark and silent, the designated mess hall empty. A wheeled crate lay in the centre of the District, filled with processed foods in tins and hermetically sealed silver foil packets. Tala wondered if it was the remnants of the enclaves food supplies.

Jamal knocked on the door, Andrei and his group closed ranks around them like bodyguards. The eldest looking, a man in his late thirties perhaps, strawberry blonde hair thinning in curls, shook visibly as he eyeballed the gathering around Ilya.

“Come.”

Gennady struggled to his feet as the group entered the office. Andrei and his companions waited outside. Tala could see Gennady glance over her shoulder toward the insurgents siding with Ilya at the guardroom entrance before signalling Jamal to close the door. Deep red rings hung beneath bloodshot eyes, Gennady had not slept and his greying skin appeared to have slackened from his skull. He gestured to the chairs, “Please sit.”

“It is good to see you awake,” continued Gennady, a sad half smile tweaked his lips as he addressed Katja. “How are you feeling?”

Katja gave a blank look at the ashen faced man, then turned to Tala. Tala simply shrugged “I don’t believe she remembers you, sir.” Sir didn’t seem appropriate, not to an escaped Gulag inmate, but it seemed the most fitting. For the time being Gennady was the most important man in their tiny world.

“I imagined she wouldn’t, but I’d rather hoped you had filled her in. I suspect the weight of my name is diminishing by the moment,” he shook his head and removed the old Cola bottle of Gulag Moonshine from the chiffonier, Gennady drained the remnant of the bottle into a shot glass and looked at the delicate cloudy tendrils twirl. “I suspect it may be some time until I can get another stiff drink again.” He slung the moonshine back, then gazed dumb and wistful at the empty glass.

Tala broke the silence. “Jamal said you wished to speak to us.”

“The architects of my demise,” Gennady spoke to nobody in particular, then put the shot glass down atop the chiffonier. “Understand, I do not blame you but as I am sure you have observed, mutiny is afoot. After you arrived the shifts and rotas broke down, some of the men organized an unauthorised meeting from which men loyal to myself were barred. Now they are refusing to comply with their duties and are only associating with their allies.”

“I suppose you must be familiar with political dissidence.”

Gennady winced and slowly turned to Tala. “ So Jamal has told you then.”

“I asked, it was hard not to when I spent the night sharing an office space with an old Gulag prisoners uniform.” Tala held Gennady’s gaze.