Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End by Manel Loureiro

Author:Manel Loureiro [Loureiro, Manel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2012-10-23T06:00:00+00:00

ENTRY 62

March 10, 12:02 a.m.

* * *

False alarm. Those young guys out there have just been on edge a bit.

The situation couldn’t be any bleaker. We’re trapped in this shithole of a store, exhausted and hounded by those creatures. I tried to fly under the radar, but Kritzinev whispered a couple of times that this was all my fault and gave me looks that weren’t exactly reassuring. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When we determined that the van was in good working condition, we got ready to set out. The more we thought about it, the better that vehicle sounded. An armored van is as close to a tank as you can get in civilian life. We had one parked right in front of us, with the keys in it, beckoning to us to get in. The problem was that its gas tank was dry as dried tuna. After idling for God knows how long, it was completely empty.

We came up with a solution, thanks to Shafiq, one of the Pakistanis. He’s a wiry guy, very dark skinned. His monstrous black mustache makes Viktor Pritchenko’s mustache look puny.

When we discovered the tank was dry, Kritzinev muttered a string of words in Urdu to this kid. While another Pakistani went back to the Seguritsa parking lot, Shafiq shrugged off all his gear and stripped down to his shirt and shorts with the ever-present Kalashnikov strapped across his back. Viktor and I were sitting with our backs against the wall, slightly amazed at the scene. The remaining Pakistanis kept an eye on the street through the half-open metal gate, watching for any unwanted visitors.

After a few minutes, the guy returned from the lot with a long piece of rubber tubing cut from a hose. Taking the rubber tube and a five-liter plastic jug, Shafiq headed back to the Zodiac, not saying another word. He untied the boat and paddled quietly toward the Citroën depot about fifty yards from us, disappearing into the black night. We could only hear his rhythmic paddling in the distance.

As I sat there, dying to light a cigarette, I could imagine the scene: Shafiq crouched down, running up and down the rows of cars ready to be shipped to the four corners of the world, the keys in the ignition and a couple of liters of gas in the tank, just enough to drive on to the boat and then the tractor-trailer. A trip they’d never make.

The plan was simple. He’d empty that gas into the jug and then fill the van’s tank. Since the jug only held five liters, he’d have to make at least a dozen trips. But we didn’t have any other containers, except for our canteens. The job would take a while. At least we’d have a vehicle to safely cross the city in. We wouldn’t have to walk. And we’d be setting out in daylight. Call me a coward, but I’d rather see what’s around me than head into a dark ghost town full of mutants.

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