Zombiegrad. A horror novel

“I can see that, sir.”

“But, according to an international treaty, an American individual detained abroad has the right to consular notification and representation.” Rambler paused. “That’s why I am here.”

Rambler put on his glasses and opened his files. He was looking like Clark Kent now. “You’ve committed a murder. On the crime scene, they found a knife with another person’s fingerprints. The Russian police are looking for him. There’s also a gun, but the snow erased all fingerprints. And they found the bottle with the young man’s fingerprints. You claim it was out of defense. But they have no witnesses.”

Ramses looked at the Romanovs. Ksenia was whispering interpretation of the consul’s words for her father.

“How come no witnesses?!” Ramses said with a booming voice that made Rambler sit up. “Did you check the CCTV cameras outside that club?”

“Really sorry,” Rambler said, “but the report says there were no witnesses. And the club hasn’t installed video cameras outside the property.”

“That’s unbelievable!” Ramses said. Then he remembered suddenly. “Ask Roman, the barman. He saw me that night.”

“He saw you leaving. Who saw what you were doing outside?”

The clock on the wall was ticking away the time. The Russians kept silence observing all this like a theatrical play. Birds sang in the trees outside, leaping from branch to branch.

Ramses sighed. “What’s the term of imprisonment gonna be?”

Ksenia Romanova translated the question and gave her father’s reply, “According to the Russian law, between three and five years. But everything will depend on the court adjudication.”

“What can you do for me in my situation?” Ramses asked Rambler.

“We’ll try to arrange for legal representation and find you a good lawyer. And we’ll keep looking for your assailants. But don’t worry. They have separate prison blocks for foreigners.”

Ramses slumped back in his chair. “Some consolation.”

Rambler turned to the Russians. “Please see to it that Mr. Campbell is contained in a single cell. We have to keep him away from more trouble.”

After a moment of thought, Ramses asked, “Can my relatives or ex-wife bail me out? Can’t they send me back to the States? My friend Steven Clayton is in this city right now. He could contact them.”

“I’m afraid, you can’t leave this country,” Rambler said. “You’re subject now to its laws.” He looked into his files. “Especially after you’ve served a similar prison sentence in the US. Sorry, but you’ll have to serve your sentence in a prison facility within this country.”

Ramses slammed his fist on the desk. “Damn!”

Rambler rose from his seat and started collecting his papers. “We’ll do what we can possibly do, Ramses. In the worst-case scenario, I’m not afraid for you. I watched a couple of your fights on HBO. They were great. In other circumstances, I’d ask for your autograph.”

“Yeah, man, thanks,” Ramses said. “For nothing.”

The light in the office became very bright.

Ramses looked at the lamps above, wondering what was wrong with the illumination. The lights were off. It was a sunny morning, and it was bright enough to do without switching the lights on.

The light was getting brighter. The Russians followed his glance and froze with surprise. Rambler looked up too. The blinding bright light reflected in the American consul’s spectacles and flooded the room. It was too dazzling to look at. Shadows moved around the room rapidly.

“The hell is that?” Ramses said.

A huge fireball streaked across the sky at a fast speed. Making no sound. The glowing orb was of irregular shape, and its contours were constantly shifting. It was brighter than the sun.

Rambler dropped his files on the desk and came up to the window.

All of them turned their heads toward the window.

In a few seconds, the monstrous fireball flew away at breakneck speed. It was gone as if it was just a trick of a magician.

In a moment the light became normal again.

“Un-fucking-believable!” Ramses said as the weird phenomenon vanished. He was seeing rainbows floating before his eyes. He blinked to adjust his eyesight.

“Oh, my God! What was that?” Ksenia Romanova said. It was the first time Ramses saw her showing any sign of emotion.

“A falling plane, maybe,” Rambler suggested. He looked concerned. Even anxious.

The Walrus looked in. He confirmed that everything was all right and closed the door. He probably had not seen a thing.

Ramses heard noise from the corridor. Someone was running. Heavy boots were shaking the building.

“Never seen anything like that,” Rambler said. “Hope it’s nothing serious. You guys better call the emergency and check if everything’s okay.”

Ksenia Romanova interpreted Rambler’s words for the police chief. He nodded and took out his cell phone. He pressed the cell to his ear, looking through the window. Then he clicked it shut.

He shook his head. No connection.

A deafening explosion broke out in the sky. The windows rattled in their frames. The birds soared up from the tree branches and flew away in panic.

The curtain blew in. Slivers of glass splashed over Rambler.

The police chief dropped his cell phone and swore in Russian. But he was not hurt.

“Shit!” Ramses ducked under the desk. Years of living in California taught him how to react during an earthquake to save his ass.

There came more explosions, three or four in a row. It looked like the city was being attacked by missiles. His ears were ringing. He felt the smell of sulfur in the air. Somewhere in the distance, car alarms started whining.

Rambler was screaming.

Ramses glanced at the windows. Some were shattered. Other window frames had withstood the shock wave but buckled.

Rambler pressed his hands to his cheek, which was cut by the flying glass. Blood dripped through his fingers on the floor littered with wooden splinters and broken glass.

The police chief sprang to his feet, rushed into the corridor and called out something in Russian. A medical officer came in.

Rambler took a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to his cheek. He backed away from the windows as far as he could. He tried his cell phone. No signal.

“There’s no cell service.” He turned to Ksenia Romanova. “How about trying the landline?”

The girl came up to the desk and picked up the receiver. “Nothing. It’s dead.”

“Shouldn’t we leave the building?” Rambler said.