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section7mfu2014-10-30 10:02 am
"It's the end of the world as we know it" PART 2 ~ for the Writer's Choice` The 7 Days of Halloween
link to : Part 1
Illya managed to wriggle free of its vice-like grip, (surely this thing was not human?) and it let out a piercing shriek that was at such a decibel that it hurt the Russians ears.
As he covered them with his hands, Illya ducked out of the harms way, moving much faster than the lumbering figure, who still had not turned around to come after him. Kuryakin grabbed the tool box filled with the supplies along with the bike pedals, and clambered out onto the street; searching for Napoleon, and finding his partner running towards him as he yelled, trying to warn him.
“Did you see them?” Solo called, nearly out of breath.
“Just one,” Illya said as the two came together.”
“You didn’t get bit by it did you?”
“нет_no.” Illya answered in Russian.
“Good, because if you did, you’d become one of them...the walking dead.” Solo ran his hand nervously across his face.”
“Walking dead? How do you know this?” Illya demanded.
“Reading comic books and going to Saturday afternoon matinees when I was a kid, watching Dracula, Wolfman, Frankenstein, and Zombies.
“That hardly qualifies you for such expertise as it is mere fantasy. Though what I saw was definitely a re-animated corpse. How it is possible for these dead to return to life?”
“You’re asking me tovarisch?” They both suddenly turned, remembering they’d been chased by these zombie creatures, and looked to see if anymore of them were coming. Thankfully there was no sign of them.
“I wonder if they have a problem with light,” Napoleon asked, venturing a guess, though he was secretly relying on his matinee and comic book knowledge from his childhood.
“If that is indeed the case then we best find a place that is secure, somewhere we can build a fire, and we must do it quickly, as the sun is beginning to set…
They gathered what timber they could find, along with rags, and as again, luck was on their side, a small container of lighter fluid. They fashioned two torches out of them, setting them on fire with Napoleon’s Zippo lighter and carrying them into a small two story building that was standing, apparently intact, amidst nothing but debris. The first floor was windowless, and as soon as they had verified there were no zombies inside, they used whatever they could find to board up and blockade the only door to the outside.
Once exploring the other rooms, they found a kitchen with of tins of food, a bottle of vodka and several cases of bottled mineral water from the Elbrus region. At least they wouldn’t go hungry or thirsty for the time being.
They locked themselves into an upstairs room, barring the door with furniture and and started a fire in the fireplace. There were oil lamps, matches... basically everything they needed. Napoleon even found an older Kalashnikov rifle with it’s bayonet intact, hidden in a closet, with a full case of ammunition.
He checked the rounds, finding them in perfect condition, with no corrosion, and deemed them safe to use. Though he wasn’t sure if bullets or a bayonet would work on someone who was already dead.
With the oil lamps and hearth giving off welcoming light, they began to hear those blood curdling screams outside in the streets below. There were dark curtains covering the window, blacking out the light source, not drawing any attention to their hiding place.
Napoleon dared to take a peek, moving the curtain just enough to see darkened shapes staggering through the streets in search of who knew what….living human beings he supposed, as he recalled the tales of imaginary undead monsters from his childhood.
These were real monsters though, created by maniacs who wanted to rule the world at whatever the cost. Perhaps they were the real monsters and not these doomed souls staggering around in the dark.
Another scream pierced the night, this time definitely human, but Napoleon couldn’t see where it came from. There was nothing they could do to help at this point, and not be murdered themselves, as there were too many of the un-dead out there.
The screams and shrieks continued through the night as Illya worked feverishly on his jury-rigged dynamo. He and his partner found the noises outside unnerving and they saw each other cringe at the calls of human pleas for help that eventually faded.
“I know I’m usually the optimist tovarisch, but do you think we’re really going to make it out of here alive. Do you think New York, and the other cities could still there?”
“I do not want to dwell on anything other than finishing this. Though it is my usual fatalistic feeling that we are going to die.” Illya tried giving a little smile. “But that is just me, and I know I tend to say that a lot when we are in precarious predicaments.”
Napoleon was going to make a wisecrack on the alliteration, but decided his usual banter just wasn’t needed here, and offered no counterpoint to the Russians statement. He knew they were both scared, though not willing to admit it. They’d seen nothing like this before, there was no precedent set to help them deal with it. Yet they were both survivors and found their way out of the worst of situations, maybe...just maybe they’d make it out of this one.
They managed to remain safely undiscovered throughout the night. Illya decided to take a break from his work, and stopped to stare at it with slightly bloodshot eyes.
“Hey, sun’s coming up chum.” Napoleon peeked through the curtains again, finding the streets clear and now silent. The bodies were gone too… he guessed they’d reanimated and were were hiding in some darkened place.
Illya dug through their supply of food, finding a jar of pickles, a tin of caviar as well as a box of crackers.
He opened vodka, “Care to join me in a toast my friend.” He poured glasses for the both of them...Illya tipping a little bit of the drink to the floor to honor the dead.
“К умершим_to the dead, may they not rise again.” He tipped his glass, took a deep breath, and swallowed the vodka in one gulp. Breathing out through his nose and reaching for a pickle, he took a great bite, crunching away on it.
“Pickles and vodka?” Napoleon cringed, “Are you for real?”
Illya finally laughed, “Zakuski, otherwise known as snacks, traditionally enhance the drinking of vodka. Sometimes it is onions, bread, caviar...whatever is handy. You should try it my friend.” Illya poured himself a second drink.
“No thanks, you can have my mine….but I will take some mineral water along with the caviar and crackers if you don’t mind.
It was late in the afternoon and after a few two more vodkas, Illya shouted “Успеха_success! It is done.”
Napoleon looked over the contraption jury-rigged by his clever partner. It was a conglomeration of nuts, bolts, and everything but the kitchen sink... held together by wire and electrical tape, with two bicycle pedals to be used as the cranks.
“Shall we give it a try?” He asked, dubiously.
“Yes, turn the pedals with your hands, once I connect the wire to my communicator.”
There were a few sparks as Solo started turning the pedals, slowly at first, then as he found his rhythm and picked up speed, a steady grinding hum began to emanate from it from Illya’s creation.
“Do not slow down Napoleon, you need to maintain that speed.”
Illya opened his communicator, and spoke into it.
“Open Channel D-Kuryakin here. Is there anyone out there?” There was no response. “Channel F? Anyone?” He sighed his disappointment, until the sound of static broke the silence.
“This is Channel F… Agent Müeller here, Mr. Kuryakin.”
“Müeller where are you, what is your location?”
“West Berlin sir, and where are you?”
“We are in Moskva.”
“Nothing happened to the city?” Illya asked, controlling his anxiety.
“We’re fine here sir. I’m patching you through to Mr. Waverly in New York.”
There was a little static, followed by the voice of the Old Man, coming through crystal clear.
“What is your status young man...we heard Moscow was hit.”
“We are fine for the moment. The city has suffered great damage, but has not been destroyed. There is no power and whatever chemicals T.H.R.U.S.H. used in their device is somehow reanimating the dead. They seem to only to be able to roam in the darkness and must avoid any light. They are killing whatever living human beings they find.” He paused to take a breath. “And New York sir?” The Russian spoke matter-of-factly, without any emotion to his voice.
“New York is unscathed. It seems that we, along with INTERPOL and numerous security agencies around the world were able to stop the attacks, only Washington, and Rio De Janeiro, suffered some damage and now apparently Moscow was affected.These zombie-like creatures have appeared in those cities as well and as you say, only come out in the darkness. We have them fairly well contained, as it were. Do you need extraction?”
“Yes by all means, “Napoleon called out, “How soon can you get someone here.”
“We’ll be sending a helicopter to get you out a.s.a.p. Mr. Solo, and good to hear your voice.
“From where will it be coming?” Ilya looked at his partner, wondering how long this could take.
“We’re working that out at the moment Mr. Kuryakin. We’ll contact you as soon…”
“That might not be possible, as my communicator is being run off a hand-cranked dynamo and I do not think we can maintain it for much longer. Can you give an approximate ETA?”
“Where would we find you?”
“At what is left of Red Square and the Spasskaya Tower in the Kremlin,” Napoleon called out.
There was a sudden silence on the communicator.
“Hello? Are you there?” Illya asked.
“Still here gentlemen. Just doing some calculations. You can expect a helicopter to arrive just before sundown.”
“That is cutting it a little close sir, considering the ugh...zombies.” Solo looked concerned.
“Well it’s either that or stay where you are for another few days. At present, many of the helicopters are involved in search and rescue missions and such.”
“I think we’ll take our chance today sir.”
“Very good gentleman. Safe journey home. Waverly Out.”
Napoleon stopped turning the pedals, shook out his arms and looked at his wristwatch.
“That gives us a few hours to make our way to the pick up chum.”
“Perhaps we should start out now. Best we bring as many prefabricated torches as we can, along with the rifle just in case our chopper arrives late. We can scout out a safe room perhaps in St. Basils or the tower.”
They set themselves to the task, using the copper wire from the dynamo to hold cloths in place for the torches. Illya doused them with the remaining lighter fluid, and after taking one last swig, he poured the contents of the vodka bottle on the torches, just for good measure. Each of them tucked a box of matches in their pockets.
Illya dug out a pair of pants from a dresser cutting them apart and tying of the legs to make quivers, allowing each of them to sling the unlit torches behind their backs.
“Here,”Solo said, offering the old Kalashnikov to his partner.”You’re more familiar with this than I am.”
“You keep it, I would rather hold this.”Illya produced an old scimitar, slashing it through the air a few times.”
“Where the hell did you find that thing?”
“It was under the bed. Whoever lived here must have been a member of the military at one time, perhaps a Cossack, by the looks of the sword.”
“And it’ll be useful ho?”
“Decapitation, of course. I recall reading that is one way to stop the undead...in theory that is, since until today it was all just myth and fantasy.”
They removed the barricade from their refuge, taking one bottle each of the mineral water with them as well.
It took longer than they had first estimated and they arrived at the designated area just as the sun was beginning to set. There was no time to search for shelter and deemed it was time to light the torches.
Out of the shadows, a host of figures began to appear, heading straight for them.
Napoleon laid his torch on the ground in front of him, kneeling as he began to shoot round after round at the oncoming creatures. Bullets weren’t stopping them as he watched their bodies jerk each time they were hit...yet they just kept coming towards him. Finally he started aiming for the heads, and that seemed to bring them down, but there were just too many of them.
He grabbed another torch from his pack, and lit it, swinging it wildly around him. The flames kept the undead at bay for the moment, as they surrounded the two agents; the zombies arms flailing as they uttered their piercing screams. Napoleon knew they couldn’t keep this up indefinitely. The rifle was out of ammunition and he swung it, smashing one of the Zombies in the head, though it did nothing to stop it.
“Where’s that damn chopper?” He roared.
Illya lashed out with the scimitar, cutting off the heads the undead, one after another after another, as he too swung his torch at them with his other hand, keeping the ones he hadn’t beheaded at bay.
The circle of creatures was closing in around them, getting smaller as the walking dead closed in on them.
Suddenly the air around them came to life, and the helicopter appeared from nowhere, hovering just above them.
A safety harness was lowered, right on target.
“You go tovarisch, I’ll hold them off.” Napoleon called out.
“Like hell you will, I at least am disposing of some of them, now go!” Illya swung at another creature, eliminating that one’s head as well.
Napoleon threw one torch at his partner’s feet, the other he kept in his hand, swinging it at anything that moved near him as he pulled on the harness. He gave signal and was lifted into the air; and sent the torch flying, setting several of the zombies below on fire.
As soon as he was pulled into the chopper, he tossed the harness over the side.
Hurry it up!” He yelled, anxiously looking down and seeing Illya being surrounded.
He watched as the Russian dropped the sword, and grabbed the harness, holding on by one hand, but still waving about the torch in the other.
The crank started pulling him up; Illya kicking out at the deathly hands that sought to ensnare him.
The tension on the cable became slack and the harness arrived but it was empty.
“Did he fall?” Napoleon dreaded looking out.
A hand suddenly appeared in the open hatch, and Napoleon grabbed it, pulling his partner to safely.
“I lost my grip on the harness, and grabbed the landing strut just in time,” Illya smiled.
Solo pulled the man into a bear hug.
“I am all right, trust me.”
“I know buddy, I know.”
The fortunate agents were brought to safety. After a few days recuperation, they returned to New York and went immediately to Alexander Waverly’s office for debrief.
The Old Man looked up from his console with a glint of happiness in his eyes at the sight of his best agents.
“Welcome home gentleman, glad to see you are in one piece. There is good news regarding this epidemic of undead. Apparently the formula, like so many of our feathered friends concoctions, had a limited life span. Those who died during the catastrophes in Washington, Rio and Moscow are now permanently dead. An approximate body count has put their numbers at only a few thousand. A far cry from the numbers that could have been had T.H.R.U.S.H. succeeded.“
Amen to that sir,” Napoleon nodded, as did his partner.
“The damage to these cities has been from moderate to severe, yet the rebuilding process has already begun. The government of the Soviet Union is intact as well as that of the United States. The capital of Brazil was unaffected….though I think Carnivale in Rio will be in jeopardy of being cancelled next year.”
Napoleon gave a quick glance of disappointment to his partner, as he’d booked his vacation for Rio for carnival week.
“You’ll be pleased to know gentlemen... the resources belonging to T.H.R.U.S.H. that we have confiscated over the years has been donated to an international fund established to aid in the recovery efforts. Though the failure of their grand scheme to come to fruition, I fear we have not seen the end of our feathered friends. Now have either of you anything else to add?”
“No sir, other than gratitude for the speedy rescue,”Illya said.
“You have the Swiss to thank for that Mr. Kuryakin….now dismissed gentlemen. You both have a bit of work to catch up on that accumulated in your absence.”
Their meeting concluded, the partners headed out to their office to start on their paperwork. It was back to business as usual inspite of the fact that the world had come very close to ending.
“Though these undead were chemically induced by T.H.R.U.S.H. admittedly they are something I would never want to see again,” Illya said as they left the conference room.
Napoleon stopped, flashing a grin at his partner.
“Remind me chum never to let you watch a movie called “Night of the Living Dead.”
“Yes, I would appreciate that…” Illya cringed.
“How about we go to the commissary and get some lunch before we dig into our reports. I hear they’re serving grave-lax, deviled eggs, ‘hallow-weiners’ and 'finger foods'....get it? Lots of ghoulish goodies. It is after all, October 31st you know.” Napoleon couldn’t resist dishing it out..
If looks could kill, the one Illya Kuryakin gave his partner would have done so... but if it had, would Napoleon have turned into a zombie, it being Halloween?”
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