Zombiegrad. A horror novel

“I hoped it was all a bad dream when I woke up today,” Goran said. “I came down here and saw it was not a nightmare.” He looked at Andy. “We’re not sleeping.”

“This is all crazy,” Andy said. “But no, Goran. You’re not sleeping. You’re not Alice, and this is not Wonderland.”

An obese man in his late forties walked up to them. He was wearing a black suit with a name tag, which said, “Igor Sorokin, Security Manager.”

“Dobroye utro, Mr. Thomas,” Sorokin said. There was a portable radio set in his hands. “Your walkie-talkie. The mobile connection is still down.”

Andy could smell whiskey on the man’s breath, but said nothing about it. He took the device from him. “Spasibo, Igor. How’s the perimeter?”

“The front door is secure,” Igor tapped on the door glass, and a male monster snarled at him behind the glass. “The space in the lobby is too tight for these customers here, so they don’t get enough leverage to break in. They’re packed like sardines.”

“Still, one cannot be too careful,” Andy said. “Reinforce the barricade.”

“We’re on it,” Sorokin said.

“And we’d better clear the yard and close the gate,” Goran said. “Knowing that these sorry sickos walk around and can break in any minute just gives me the creeps.”

Sorokin nodded. “Yes, but we’re short of firepower.”

“What else?” Andy asked.

“The underground parking lot is gone,” Sorokin said and rubbed his eyes wearily. He seemed to be in desperate need of sleep. “And we need to have the parking lot door welded to make it more stable. But it’s holding. So, we’re golden here so far. Like we put it in Russia, we’re under Christ’s armpit.”

“That’s good to hear,” Andy said. “Give me two of your boys for a tour around the hotel.”

“Won’t be a problem.”

“Good,” Andy said. “And will you check on Diana, please? Tell her I’ll do the tour around the hotel myself today.”

Diana Grinina was Andy’s deputy manager, his right hand. She was so devoted to her job that after the shock wave had shattered the hotel windows and glass splinters nicked her cheek, she got four stitches and was back in business in an hour.

“Sure,” Sorokin said. “See you in three hours in the conference room.”

He left and Goran took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Andy. “Here. I’ve translated your speech into Russian. It’s pretty good.”

“Thank you so much. This is my first emergency speech.” Andy took the sheet of paper and put it in his breast pocket.

Goran looked at his watch. “Okay. I’m gonna check the kitchen now. Keep in touch. And take care.”

“I will,” Andy said.

Goran left.

Andy looked at the vacant reception desk, frowned and turned to the guards, “For chrissake, find that front desk clerk, will you? Whose shift is it today?”

“It’s Pyotr’s.”

“Get him back asap. We’re a five-star hotel after all. I want the things to remain the way they had been before.”

Andy heard a rumble outside the hotel. He came to the window and saw a battle tank, trundling along the street and sending stranded cars flying.

“What are you talking about, Mr. Thomas?” One of the guards named Viktor stood by the window. “The world is going to pieces. Things are not going to be the same again.”

Three more tanks rushed down the street.

Andy sighed and kept silent for a bit. Finally, he said, “Is the radio ready?”

“It always is,” Viktor said.

Andy went to the security operations room. It was small. It does not have to be large. There were two desks, two chairs. CCTV monitors, and the armory. Generally, the room was occupied by one guard on duty. Sometimes the security manager sat at his desk, busy with paperwork. The work of a security guard was all about legwork.

A young guard with a bowl cut was watching the monitors.

“Any suspicious activity, Ivan?” Andy asked him.

“It depends on what you call suspicious,” Ivan said. He pointed at a screen. “There’s a man taking a piss on the stairwell between Level 5 and Level 6.” He pointed at another screen. “And there’s a woman in the parking lot, who has just eaten her poodle.”

“Good heavens,” Andy muttered and turned away.

He noticed that one of the monitors was switched off. So, it was impossible to see what was happening in the backyard.

“What’s with this one?” he asked the guard.

“That was on Friday. Kids broke the video camera on the western side of the building. With a pneumatic rifle, can you believe that?”

On a normal day it would not be a problem to have the technician fix it immediately, but with the yard swarming with these cannibalistic ghouls, the mission was next to impossible.

Andy took out his notebook and scribbled some notes. The walkie-talkie on his belt gave a hiss of static. He took it and pressed the button. The walkie-talkie crackled in Andy’s hand and a grumpy voice of the sanitary engineer told him that a pipe burst down in the basement. The water was cut off, but there was a decent puddle of water on the basement floor.

Andy clicked off the walkie-talkie. “Problems just keep piling up.”

Back in Harvard Business School, Andy received his MA in conflict management. He was trained to work under pressure and deal with various problems and conflicts.

For every problem there is a solution, he kept saying to himself. New situations, new solutions.

Andy sat in the chair, pushed buttons on the control panel to switch on the radio equipment. The loud-speaking communication system kicked in. He placed his note with the Russian text of his speech in front of him and spoke into the microphone.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!”

Though I doubt that it’s good, of course, he thought, but he did not say it aloud.

He cleared his throat and went on, “My name is Andrew Thomas. I’m General Manager. As you very well know, we’re witnessing a bit of a complicated situation in this city. No one seems to know what’s going on at the moment. Apparently, the local authorities cannot shed light on the current situation either. The national news abounds only in reports of the recent meteor crash. But no information whatsoever is available on the true causes of the acts of violence we’re seeing in the city streets. There are some rumors of a contagious infection. On behalf of the Arkaim Hotel, I ask you to remain calm and not to attempt leaving the hotel. The building is surrounded by murdering insane persons. So I repeat – for your safety, and the safety of other employees and guests, do not try to leave the building. For further information, there’ll be a meeting in the conference room at 10:00 a.m. this morning. Once again, I’m Andrew Thomas, General Manager. Please enjoy your stay at the Arkaim Hotel – your home away from home.”

He read his speech aloud again, this time in English, and went out into the corridor. He saw Viktor, the guard, who stopped him and said quietly, “We found Pyotr, Mr. Thomas. He’s dead. Hanged himself.”

SIX

The news of Ramses’s imprisonment shattered Steve Clayton. He called Vassili Koshkin at once and asked him what to do. Vassili had a good lawyer in mind, but it was a weekend, and the least they could do for Ramses was to bring him some clothes and food.