Murmansk-13

Tala could feel tears stream from her eyes, felt the warmth of them wash over her swollen cheeks, stinging the little lacerations that etched her face. When had she last cried? She hadn’t cried about the girl she killed, that had only made her numb. Neither when her father forced her into the streets – or at least she hadn’t let him see her cry.

But she had cried that night.

As Ilya climaxed loudly, Tala screamed. Although she no longer registered the sound. She only heard Katja her sobbing quietening and Ilya, braying.

“Tala please!” Andrei pleaded. “Please trust me. Please be quiet. Oh, shit.”

The door opened, two darkened figures entered speaking Russian. Tala still strained against the ties, no longer knowing, no longer feeling her flesh tearing. She spat at the first man as he grabbed her roughly by the hair. She was forced to the cold deck. The second man stood over her. In the dark she felt the needle pierce her flesh, thin and hot. Felt the warm flow of something violate her blood. One of the men managed to force a rag into her mouth. One of the loose teeth tore from her gum.

“Don’t fucking come near me with that shit.” Tala heard Andrei say as the men left her paralyzed on the deck.

Tala wept as the light from the open door faded into darkness. Her head suddenly felt heavy, she felt the numbness spread from her hands and feet, rising through her limbs. She couldn’t keep her eyes open.

☣☭☠

Kirill walked nervously from one side of the office to the next, idly tapping the empty .25 junk gun against his temple. He’d relinquished the weapon from Jamal the day before and had brandished it since. Jamal missed the security of the weapon, it was his insurance from becoming infected, or at least it was when it was loaded. But after Gennady’s supporters were overwhelmed, the weapon has been discovered and handed over to Kirill.

Now the man muttered to himself. It hadn’t been much of a battle. After Ilya jumped Pavel, Gennady’s men were outnumbered. Watching the life slip from Pavel’s body, Gennady ordered his men to stand down, in part to save Katja who’d become lifeless in Ilya’s great paw. Jamal imagined Gennady had seen enough suffering in Russia, he would not tolerate any further harm in his name. Ilya relinquished Katja’s windpipe and those loyal to Gennady had been paired up, separated and bound. The civil war lasted less than five minutes. Kirill had probably expected greater resistance.

Jamal sneered at Kirill who paid him no heed. Since his victory, Kirill grew anxious and erratic. Instead of securing his position with the confused men outside, he’d sequestered himself in Gennady’s office. As each new hour past he grew increasingly agitated, regularly snatching glances at the Sputnik modelled wall clock.

Jamal passed the time fantasizing about what he would do to Kirill and Ilya when he found a weapon.

Beside him, Gennady was kneeled and bound. His face frozen in confused disbelief since his surrender. Kirill had been a quiet member of their tiny nation since they holed up in the offices four years ago. He’d welcomed Jamal into the fold as their final citizen. In recent months, as rationing grew severe, he’d become withdrawn. Some of the men noted that he’d stopped writing home, a cathartic practice many of the citizens observed. Neither Jamal, nor Gennady believed he harboured delusions of control, if anything they’d feared he would succumb to depression as Murat had almost a year before.

Jamal remembered the terrifying morning when he’d awoken to find the District wide open to the corridors of Murmansk-13. Ageing Murat, once a deli owner who’d fallen foul of the Politburo, had been on duty. Perhaps he’d fancied himself a modern day Oates, walking willingly into the maw of the infected at the onset of rationing. His disappearance was not altruistic however, only luck had saved the District from becoming overwhelmed. After that day Gennady had mandated that all watches would be carried out by two men stationed fore and aft of the guardroom door.

Until the uprising.

Now the guardroom had been breached, the outer door tripped. The infected massed against their final defence, unseen but not unheard, not inodorous.

Only a month ago reports of dissent began to emerge. While Ilya had become the public face, covert assemblies were held under the guise of card games. Kirill was testing the waters, questioning loyalties through Ilya. Misinformation regarding the quantity of supplies started to spread, Ilya helping to strong-arm the Districts weakest members.