Murmansk-13

Behind them, Gennady hung back. His body, wearied from months of selfless additional rationing, was weak and taking a longer time to recover from a day in restraints. He would prep the conduit for a quick exit upon their return. Jamal gave him the empty gun, if for no other reason than a sense of security. Gennady wished them luck.

As Oleg and Jamal slipped from Gennady’s office, Jamal found himself for the first time thankful for the noise of the generator and the distraction caused by the infected. Over a day had passed since Kirill ascended to power and his supporters manning the barricades looked exhausted waiting to hear about the next phase in their survival. It’s going to be a long wait thought Jamal with wry sadness. His time in District Four was drawing to an end and while it felt like a purgatorial continuum of his imprisonment at the hands of the Soviet, it had also been his sanctuary when he needed it most. Now only uncertain freedom lay ahead.

Oleg gestured with his head toward the guardroom. The old copy machine and filing cabinets were clustered haphazardly about the entranceway. The iron bars rattled loosely within their strikes. In their sleep deprived state, the men grew heedless. It would suit Oleg and Jamal for their purposes as they inched in a crouch toward one of the thick black wires snaking from the generator.

Jamal felt his heart hammering in his chest and his palms slicken with sweat. He almost dropped the knife when one of Kirill’s men sneezed. The air was acrid with fumes, the water tank filtering the generator had filled with a tarry syrup. Huge bubbles plopped in slow motion at the surface. If the men didn’t change the water soon they would asphyxiate. Jamal wondered if they even cared, it seemed after their one final paroxysm of survival instinct in deposing Gennady, the District succumbed to the ennui of their situation. Jamal licked his lips and suddenly realized how dry his throat had become. He rolled the textured grip in his hand.

Oleg and Jamal pushed off from the frosted glass and on all fours and crept to the edge of the largest wire feeding into the generator. Tentatively Jamal gave one last glance to the men near the guardroom door and scanned the rest of the open District for signs of the other men. One of the missing men, Yuri, was staring at them, mouth agape. Wide eyed, Jamal just had time to hope he wouldn’t be electrocuted before plunging the knife into the wire.

The lights in District Four fell dark with a fizz and a crackle. The sudden blackout elicited a shrill cry from one of the men at the door. Yuri also shouted, betraying Oleg and Jamal’s position. “Better move, now.”

Jamal shut his eyes in the total blackness and ran, recounting mentally the door behind which Oleg indicated Andrei and Tala were being held. Behind them the sound of the still running generator faded as the stagnant air rushed past his face, only slowing as he neared the door. Jamal didn’t want to slam into it and indicate his new position or worse, knock himself senseless.

Carefully Jamal groped for the door handle, Oleg’s heavy breathing warm on his back. Behind them, Jamal could hear booted feet on the carpet scurrying around, but not toward them. He hoped he had the right handle as he wrapped his hand around the cool steel.

☣☭☠

“Andrei, is that you? Wake up!”

The world was dark and it swam. Urgent whispered words, meaningless in their composition drifted like flotsam in the impenetrable blackness. When the last of the light extinguished, Tala assumed she was dead. But she could feel her head bob lightly to the irregular rhythm of her chest.

“What did they do to him?”

The core of her body felt hot, but her limbs were so very cold. Beyond that was only numbness. She tried to call out, but her mouth was clogged with an old rag, blood caked and hardened within the empty socket in her gum, pulling with each muffled word.

“Is he…?”

“He’s cold, I can’t feel a pulse. Shit. Shit.”

The door opened a second time, a headlamp blasted Tala in the face. She tried to cry out and shut her eyes. The newest entrant to the room made it two steps in before a knife flashed from the blackness into his throat, Tala saw the glint of the weapon in the head torch before it disappeared into soft flesh. Tala felt something warm and viscous spray across her face as the knife was removed and the man lowered quietly to the deck. The door was closed again and the headlamp switched off.

Now hands were on her. Tala squirmed against the grip. The smell of stale, earthy body odour, oddly familiar, filled her nostrils as moist hands explored her injured jaw. She felt the plug of blood in her gum come away as the rag was pulled from her mouth.

“Keep away from me,” Tala slurred.

“Tala, it’s me Jamal.”

Tala remembered the man’s smell from the conduit. The black man who’d she’d helped save… “Katja!”

“We’re going to get her, just hang on.”