Murmansk-13

In hindsight, Jamal realised the downfall of Gennady had wholly been the arrival of Katja and Tala. His aborted supply run lit the touchpaper. It left the District dangerously bereft of supplies. Katja and Tala had been promised to some of the other men once the District was under the care of Kirill. After four years, female flesh tipped the balance. Jamal tried to block out the sounds of the poor girl. They’d put her in the near empty storeroom, alone save her new captors, and her dull sobbing which floated in waves above the moans and bangs of the infected and the thrum of the generator.

“What I don’t understand, is what you hope to fucking gain from this?” Kirill stopped in his tracks and regarded Jamal’s question. He didn’t answer and resumed his pacing. “We had a modicum of safety and we had a way out, and you’re pissing it away for what?”

“We cannot leave,” Kirill said, distractedly. He continued to pace.

“Why?” Gennady’s voice was hoarse.

“This isn’t what I was promised,” complained Kirill.

Jamal and Gennady looked at each other. “Promised by who?” They asked in unison.

“By Murat!” Kirill slammed the .25 pistol down on the conference table. “When he came to me, a couple of months back. When that girls ship arrived.”

“Oh fuck, this guy has lost it, man,” Jamal almost toppled forward attempting to gesticulate with his bound hands. “Murat’s a fucking dead man.”

At the door Oleg stood guard at Kirill’s behest. The former army deserter looked disconcerted by Kirill’s apparent crumbling mental state, his eyelid twitched at Murat’s name. His thick Slavic features were drawn. Kirill had not stood him down since taking Jamal and Gennady prisoner. “Kirill, I don’t intend to advise, but perhaps you should address the men. They are probably seeking guidance after the,” he paused and looked at Gennady, “transition.”

“What do you know what the men want?” Kirill’s tired bloodshot eyes were wide and feral. “You’ve been in here with me the whole time. The men are doing fine ploughing the blonde whore,” he sneered. “Or do you feel you’re missing your turn?”

“No, that’s not it…”

“You want the butch Asian dyke, huh? You can take your leave if you wish to get your dick wet.”

Oleg shifted uncomfortably under the glittering-mad gaze of Kirill, but didn’t answer. Sweat beaded his forehead. Kirill resumed pacing.

“They shouldn’t be out there,” Kirill muttered. “That wasn’t part of the deal.

“The deal you made with Murat?” Gennady tried to sound calm.

Kirill eyed Gennady suspiciously, but didn’t respond.

“So, say Murat came to you, what the fuck does a dead deli owner have to offer you a billion miles from his fucking shop? He planning on restocking Murmansk-13 with deep freight sausages?” Jamal shuffled forward on his knees causing Oleg to flinch. The guard looked nauseous.

Kirill stopped and slowly directed the barrel of the .25 pistol at Jamal. “Murat didn’t kill himself, monkey boy. There’s so much you don’t understand about this place.”

“Then educate me, Kirill,” Jamal replied, staring down the barrel of his own gun and hoping Kirill hadn’t found time to load the weapon.

A cold smile spread across Kirill’s lips as he cocked the hammer. Red rings cast raw shadows down to the mottled flesh of his cheeks as he sighted the weapon. Despite himself, Jamal cringed.

“Kirill,” Oleg’s said calmly and slowly. “Lower the weapon.”

“Why?” Kirill didn’t turn from the sight. “What’s the point? There is no going back now. It’s all bust. The District is finished. Something big is happening. Mark my words. They’ve tired of playing with us.”

A single tear ran down Kirill’s cheek as he squeezed the trigger. Distantly, Jamal heard someone shout as blood rushed in his ears.

But the bang never came.

When Jamal opened his eyes he saw Kirill drop the gun to the deck, then slump to his knees, crying. A pasty looking Oleg delicately retrieved the weapon. Jamal turned to Gennady to ensure he was OK. Gennady had blanched and breathed heavily, but was unhurt.

“Kirill,” Gennady began shakily, “You must address the men and end this madness. Together we may stand a chance, but like this we cannot endure.”

Oleg helped the broken man back to his feet and wheeled the leather office chair Gennady rarely used behind him. “I’m tired. I am a tired old man. All I wanted was to go home, to see my wife and children again before it was too late. I thought this was my chance,” Kirill sobbed, then tried to compose himself. “I was promised, this was my chance. I would be rewarded. I sold you out, I’m sorry. I just want to sleep.”

“Kirill! Enough with the self pitying act. Stop this, all of this.” Gennady strained to keep his voice quiet so as to not alert the miniature kingdom beyond the office door.

“It is already too late. Ilya would kill me if I backed down now, so would the others,” Kirill’s lip quivered again.

“Tough fucking shit, man.” Jamal strained at his restraints, “and fuck Ilya too. If you don’t do something we’ll all be killed by those fucking infected on our doorstep.”