Necromancer: Undead Lives Matter

CHAPTER 6

Vladivostok, Kosmonavtov Street, Building 78

Well.

I was screwed.

I'd just finished talking to some guy on the phone who claimed he was a cop. Even I knew that wasn't how the police worked. They were supposed to identify themselves properly before starting an official conversation.

That had been warning number one.

Then, while the mysterious “police officer” was keeping me occupied, I heard Polina Nikolaevna's voice in the background.

The dorm guard. Which meant they'd already been there.

Warning number two.

And then I heard another man's voice—an actual cop, apparently—talking to Polina Nikolaevna.

Maybe he was the guy's partner.

Maybe.

But when you put all the pieces together, none of it made sense.

So I hung up.

Then I started calling 102.

And for some reason, the calls kept getting disconnected.

At that point, I was starting to feel—

“102. What's the emergency?”

Finally.

“They're following me!” I blurted out.

I practically shouted the whole story into the phone.

“I was going to Fix Price, and I saw a group of people cutting up a man inside a minibus! One of them saw me and chased me! I managed to escape through the courtyards, but now they're calling me and pretending to be police officers!”

I sucked in a breath.

“They were in my dormitory!”

“Please identify yourself.”

“Anatoly Maksimovich Dushny!”

“Where are you, Anatoly Maksimovich?”

“I'm at Building 78 on Kosmonavtov Street…”

I stopped.

“An apartment?” the dispatcher asked.

That was a very good question. Was I really supposed to tell them?

How did I know the people cutting up corpses in broad daylight didn't have friends inside the police?

“Which apartment are you in, Anatoly Maksimovich?”

I ended the call. Then I sat down on the couch.

I'd rented the place from some Korean guy who introduced himself as Dmitry Lee.

Fifteen hundred rubles a night.

For a one-room apartment that couldn't have been more than ten square meters. Robbery, basically.

But what choice did I have?

If I stayed on the street, they'd find me. And then they'd kill me. No trial. No investigation.

Probably no paperwork either.

At least the apartment had a television.

I'd also stopped at a shop on the way and bought a pack of Churchill cigarettes. I needed something to calm my nerves.

I put an ashtray on the coffee table, turned on the TV, and lit one.

The immediate terror eased a little. The danger hadn't.

I was genuinely in trouble.

That guy from the minibus wouldn't hesitate.

He'd stab me like a pig, then take a surgical saw to me afterward. And there'd be nothing I could do about it.

The television was showing some program about honest, hardworking police officers.

Perfect. Exactly what I needed.

It would've been much better if television cops were corrupt and the real ones were honest.

But no.

Apparently, reality had decided to reverse the arrangement.

I changed the channel.

“…the launch is scheduled for the first half of 2023,” the Channel One presenter was saying, “with the exact date to be announced separately by the Space Wings press service.”

I paused.

“For the first time in history, living organisms will be sent aboard a spacecraft bound for Mars. Mice Cynthia and Steven will become the first living creatures to reach the surface of Mars.”

Huh.

That was actually interesting. Very interesting.

Although, personally, I was more concerned with surviving until 2023.

The broadcast moved on, as these things always did.

International news. Then domestic news.

President Lutin meeting with President Fazlerbayev.

Was Fazlerbayev the president of Kazakhstan or Uzbekistan?

Whatever.

Agricultural achievements followed. New combines.

Farmers complaining about something.

The usual.

I started getting sleepy.

Stress does that to you.

One minute you're convinced you're about to be murdered, and the next your body decides it desperately needs a nap. Then the phone rang.

A loud, shrill trill.

I nearly jumped off the couch. I wasn't expecting anyone to call.

I grabbed the phone and stared at the screen. No number. Hidden. Wonderful.

“Hello?”

I answered anyway.

“Hi, Anatoly.”

A woman's voice. Pleasant.

Almost soothing.

“Do you know who's speaking?”

“No idea.”

At least I could be honest about something.

“Call me Virgo.”

“Okay, Virgo.”

A brief pause.

“They're coming for you,” she said. “And I don't know what they're planning.”

My stomach tightened.

“Who are they, Virgo?”

“Get up.”

Her voice remained calm.

“Go look.”

“Look at what?”

“Go to the window.”

I didn't move.

“Carefully.”

There was something strange about her voice. Deep.

Warm. Inviting. Almost hypnotic.

It reminded me of the saleswoman at the bakery where I'd occasionally buy a bun when I'd managed to save enough money.

A ridiculous thing to think about at a moment like this. But my mind was wandering anyway.

The orphanage had been a lousy place to grow up. Still…

Even there, there had been a few good things. A few people. A few small memories that weren't completely terrible. And somehow, right now, that woman's voice had dragged one of them back into my head.

I dropped into a half-crouch and crept toward the window.

Then I looked down.

A German car. BMW, I think. I didn't recognize the model.

Three men climbed out. Two of them were strangers.

The third wasn't.

The muscle-bound bastard who'd chased me from the minibus.

He looked up.

I immediately dropped flat onto the floor.

“Oh, shit…”

“Yeah,” Virgo said quietly.

My heart was hammering.

“What do they want from me?”

Stupid question. I already knew.

“I don't know,” Virgo replied. “If you don't want to find out, I'd suggest leaving.”

“How?”

My eyes darted around the room.

“There has to be a way out.”

“I'll get you out.”

Virgo's voice remained maddeningly calm.

“Do exactly what I tell you.”

“Understood.”

“Go to the kitchen.”

“But there's no—”

“Go.”

The tone left no room for argument.

I hurried into the kitchen and stood there, staring around like an idiot. How the hell was I supposed to escape?

The cops were obviously working with these guys. There was no other explanation. The criminals couldn't possibly have tracked me down this quickly using normal methods.

Unless…

The Korean landlord had sold me out. That bastard.

“Open the window,” Virgo said. “Climb onto the ledge.”

I pulled back the curtain. Looked outside. And immediately regretted it.

“Holy shit.”

Eight floors.

The ground looked very, very far away.

“Where exactly am I supposed to go?”

“There's a balcony to the left.”

Virgo paused.

“Jump onto it.”

I stared at the balcony.

“You're insane!”

“Try not to die.”

“That isn't reassuring!”

“Keep your voice down.”

I swallowed.

“It would've been much safer to go upstairs. Or just run down the stairs!”

“Two of them took the stairs.”

I froze.

“And one took the elevator.”

I turned toward the phone.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“No time to explain.”

Virgo's voice hardened.

“Open the window.”

I opened it. Cold air rushed inside. I leaned out and examined the ledge.