Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution (9 page)

Rebel Mountain Base, Gora Lyavochorr Murmansk. 26
th
June 2014, 1100 hours.

We sat nervously in the back of the old, long-retired Russian army truck as it bumped and whined its way upwards. Brief glances out of the open canvas back covering revealed spectacular views over Murmansk. Barbie refused to let go of my thigh. Her grip tightened with every rutted bounce until I had to physically pry her fingers apart, for fear of her cutting my circulation. Pins and needles down my right leg soon followed, though I could empathise with her agitation. We only had the word of one man who seemed to know another man, neither of which we knew well, in whose hands I had effectively placed our future and possibly our lives.

It was impossible to tell where we actually were as there didn’t seem to be any signs denoting nearby villages or towns. The troops escorting us chatted amongst themselves. There were incidences of laughter at which I could only offer a smile, oblivious to the nature of the humour. Time itself held no definite, my watch had long since given up after the icy union with the sea; my waterlogged phone had suffered the same untimely end. Barbie didn’t wear a watch at all, in fact, no visible jewellery, which I thought unusual for one of her years.

We began to climb another steep section, so steep that I found myself leaning heavily against her right side. I had to pull against the low metal sides of the truck to ease the pressure of my weight against her small frame. The gradient continued for what seemed like an age. The muscles in my arms were already screaming for surrender by the time we levelled out and came to a brake-screeched stop. The dust enveloped us forthwith; a clotted, choking cloud of forest floor swirled around the battered vehicle long before the tailgate dropped. How I wish I had my glasses still. Somewhere in the Barents Sea, a fish was swimming around with a very expensive pair of spectacles.

Dammit! I liked those glasses, too. Not that I need them to see, more to keep the dust from my eyes. That was weird, too.

Soldiers, on either side of the rear of the truck, beckoned us to disembark. Almost blinded by the power of the sun, I took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust enough to appraise our new surroundings. A high rock wall loomed before us, with a natural cave large enough to park several trucks in. Beyond the entrance, soldiers came and went in large numbers, all with tasks to be completed. Defence outposts had been constructed in the rocky terrain above the cave, and dugouts visible in the surrounding trees provided an excellent combat advantage. This mountain fortress was well protected, for good reason.

“Ah, Simon. You look parched. Not the comfiest of rides, I’m afraid, but necessary. Welcome to my home. This is the stronghold of the People’s Resistance Army, a natural fortress we have added to over the years. Come, something to drink after the journey for you and your lady friend. Take time to refresh and I will give guided tour then,” General Volkov assured.

He led us into the open mouth of the cave, which appeared to be in total darkness from the outside. It boasted a multilevel, cavernous space with several carved tunnels leading off the main area. Low-level lighting gave a visual impression of warmth despite the functionality of the fortress.

“Impressive, da?” Volkov commented.

“It must have taken years to build this,” I blurted. In awe, I pulled out the pack of smokes and offered Volkov one of his own. He smiled, which made the lines around his eyes furrow, belying a man with much responsibility.

“Um, I hate to sound stupid, but is there a bathroom anywhere? I think I’m about to pop,” Barbie winced, dancing on the spot.

“Ah, yes. Forgive me, Barbie, is it, or do you prefer Barbara?” Volkov asked. His accent softened as he spoke to her. The charming eastern tone struck a chord as Barbie’s face flushed.

“Just Barbie, um, General.”

“Barbie it is. Petrov! Ah, there you are. Would you show Barbie where the facilities are?” It was a well-disguised order rather than a question open to debate.

“Yes, General,” the young soldier, Petrov, replied.

He can’t have been more than early twenties. Fresh-faced and boyish, even in khakis with an AK-47 strapped over his shoulder, he looked young. Barbie smiled at him, clearly enjoying the attention. I waited until the two of them were out of earshot before I addressed the general once more.

“The light, Mr Lloyd?” Volkov smiled.

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry, please, call me Simon. You mentioned that Mother Russia is looking for me. What did you mean by that? Why would they want me? How could they, or you, know who I am?” I asked as I held the flame to his cigarette. He drew on it hard and exhaled in one long blow.

“My superior is a very powerful, well-connected man, Simon. He knows everything. He has eyes and ears all over the world. Come, join me for a drink and we’ll talk. There are some things you need to know,” Volkov stated.

His choice of words perplexed me.

Who was higher than the General of an independent army?
But then, where did the funding come from for the equipment I’d seen, let alone the building work to fortify this entire area?
What could I possibly have that Russia wants?
I direct trains, for God’s sake.
My mind continued to race as we walked deeper into the mountain stronghold.

“We have clothes for you and Barbie. It is best you blend in with the troops as much as possible—for your safety,” Volkov began. “When the young lady returns, she will join us for some food and drink. Petrov will escort her here.”

“General. Why do you protect us? From what?” I attempted.

We had entered a carved room off the main tunnel. On every wall, maps, charts, and news reports were posted, the headlines of which I didn’t understand. There were black-and-white photographs that appeared to be almost blank, save for the odd dark patch here and there. It was impossible for me to focus at such distance despite the vast improvement in my visual ability. Volkov extended his arm towards a plush, leather sofa.

“All in good time, Simon. Please. Sit,” he directed.

Volkov took the grand high-back chair behind the sturdy wooden desk, adorned with precision-placed papers and files. He took the first folder and thumbed nonchalantly through it. Barbie, followed by Petrov, bounced into the area shortly afterwards, her face still flushed a crimson red. It would seem that her guide, the fresh-faced, young rebel, had made a lasting impression upon her. I can only imagine how the communication issues were resolved.

“Barbie, you found it okay? Petrov took good care of you, I trust?” Volkov smiled.

“Um, yes. Yes, he did, General.” She beamed.

“Excellent. Please sit. Petrov, would you bring refreshments? Food and drink for our guests, if you please,” the general requested.

A curt answer from the young soldier then saw him turn upon his heels, away to his task.

“Do either of you know of Kazimir Aslanov?” Volkov asked.

Barbie shook her head, eyes wide as if caught in main beam headlamps.

“Should we?” I countered.

“It’s unlikely you’ll know who he is, or what his specialities are. He is the chief science officer of the Russian military—his field is chemical, biological warfare.” Volkov paused. “He wants you very badly, Simon—you too, Miss Barbie. Do either of you have any idea why?” Volkov continued the cat and mouse guessing game a little longer.

“General. Clearly, you know far more than we do. Yaromir will have told you all about us. I assume that was the debate in the cabin back there upon your entrance?” I stated, a degree of agitation rising within me.

“Indeed. Well observed. You will not know of the accidental chemical outbreak in your country some months ago. This may come as a shock. The UK experienced a serious incident which involved the breach of a chemical laboratory deep below the surface of a town called Salby. Our satellites have been monitoring the area and press releases, though the Internet before and after has proved to be a great source. My superior has agents in the UK able to feed information to us here, to aid our fight against our government.

“We suspected it was an engineered virus, manmade. Right now, you two are the living proof of that. I can see by your eyes. Let me stress this, we are no threat to you, have no desire to harm you or hold you to any form of ransom.” Volkov paused for a moment to allow us time to process what he said. Barbie smiled at him, a kind of “are you crazy?” grin. She looked at me, only I wasn’t smiling.

What the general recalled to us made sense. It took a minute or two for Barbie to relate what the man said with what happened to us on our journey to the docks in Hull. She clasped her hands over her mouth when the penny finally dropped.

“General, please go on. What do you know about what’s wrong with us?” I urged, keen for answers.

“I think that you have some sort of natural immunity to the virus strain that escaped into the atmosphere over England. You should both be dead by now and yet here you sit, looking very well, and very much alive. Can you tell me about things you felt, changes in your moods, any incidents that happened to you before you boarded the vessel?” Volkov pressed.

I related to him the events from the time I left my job, to the last point I remembered before I passed out as we climbed the ramp to the ship. Barbie filled in the blanks and added her own events to the tale. Throughout, Volkov scribbled frantically, sheet after sheet. When Barbie ran out of things to tell, the general looked up from his desk, a degree of sympathy to his stare.

“I mentioned Dr Kazimir Aslanov, do you remember?” he began. “He would like nothing more than to take what you, Simon, have inside of you. He will not use it for anything good, he will use it to destroy us and many thousands of others opposed to the government. Inside you, we think, is a variant of the Salby virus strain. It was designed by Dr Evelyn Shepherd, formerly based at the top-secret government biosciences lab, buried deep beneath the town. When the Shale Gas Fracking Corporation blew up part of the facility, the original strain escaped, infecting just a handful. No more than few hours later, hundreds, possibly thousands, had succumbed. The virus spread like wildfire. Most of the early casualties died, either through starvation, sleep deprivation, or sunlight exposure, though not before killing thousands more.” Volkov stated.

“I remember the news broadcast on the day it happened. I was still at work,” I mused.

“You, Simon, have survived for months as an infected. Barbie, you’re infected too, we suspect from Simon—which is why you’re still alive also,” Volkov stated.

“Are you gonna, like, experiment on us and stuff?” Barbie asked, clearly agitated by the idea.

“No, we have samples of your DNA already. While more samples would be helpful so that we can check you are physically fit and well, and to help us identify this strain further, we will not take them by force. My men, my comrades, have direct orders from me to ensure that you are treated respectfully at all times.” When Volkov spoke, he did so shifting his gaze between my eyes and Barbie’s. It gave me the impression of a man who stood by his word.

“But how did you …?” Barbie began.

“Yaromir. He gave you fresh clothing, fed you, gave you drinks. My staff took hair and saliva samples after we left, then destroyed any other evidence. It’s only a matter of time before Aslanov checks the cabin. It’s the closest inhabited place to the port,” the general informed us.

Petrov interrupted us then, and a trolley rattled along the stone floor of the room. Before us, the young soldier wheeled an array of food and cold, canned drinks.

“General Volkov, your refreshments, Sir,” Petrov announced.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Petrov. Oh, Starshina? Prepare for the arrival of Mr Seuchencko, please.” The general used the rank of the young soldier as he gave the instructions.

“Petrov is my son,” Volkov stated, almost in an offhand way. “He is a good soldier, obedient and true. He will make a fine officer of this army, some day.” He beamed.

“He is a credit to you, General,” Barbie smiled.

“Thank you. His mother, my beloved wife, died in the uprising when the USSR disintegrated and reformed into the Russian Federation that it is today. Many states still long to be free from central government. That, poverty, and poor living standards is why I left the Federation military. People died for freedom, a basic right of life. Many followed me. When my dear wife died, I formed the People’s Resistance Army. At first, we were hunted, executed, or locked away, but then, as our numbers grew and my superior offered support and finance, we became a fighting force that the government now fears. Today we fight for freedom from the Federation, liberty, and democracy. We offer help and aid to those besieged by government troops. Our Syrian counterparts continue to fight on the borders,” he finished with an air of sadness in his eyes.

“I am sorry for your loss, General. You must have loved her very much,” I added.

“That, I did. She was everything.” He drew a breath inwards, followed by a long, wistful sigh. “Enough! You must be weary from the journey. I have quarters assigned. Rest now, both of you. We will discuss more in the morning. Tomorrow, Mr Seuchencko will arrive, and we will meet with him. He will be pleased to see you, I am sure. Petrov will show you to your bunks,” Volkov concluded.