The Adler Chronicles - Langford Ch. 02

Warning: this story contains explicit descriptions of sex and violence.

Part 2: Hell Cometh In Red

On the docks of Big Port St Petersburg in Neva Bay, Aglaya opens her eyes looking up through the groggy haze at the ceiling of a small transit van. For a brief moment, her body feels numb in her confusion, and it crosses her mind that she may have passed on to the hereafter, but then the pain sets in. Her entire body aches. Her joints feel like the bones have been pulled loose from them, and as she slowly reclaims her faculties – the awareness of her surroundings coming to the fore – she suddenly looks down with horror to see a the top of a large greasy haired man's head. He was in the act of removing his trousers, and within the next instant, he is attempting to force his semi flaccid manhood inside her without success.

She does not scream, consciously resisting the natural urge to do so as she breathes in sharply with a short gasp. He looks up at her, and it seems he is pleased to see that she has waked. He leans forward suddenly, grabbing her shoulders and trying to kiss her. She turns her face to the side, away from him, and he begins to kiss her neck. She can feel his cock becoming harder against her thigh as she struggles against him. She hears the crackling of plastic; indeed, she can feel a sheet of it sticking to her back beneath her.

She feels his hand go down between her legs as he tries to get inside her again. She turns to him and bites into the side of his face. The flesh of his chubby cheek is salty with sweat against her tongue as she clamps her jaw down on him. He is the first to scream. His piercing, hoarse cry rings out and bounces off the walls of the van – too loud for this small space. He backs up reeling, his hand hovering over his cheek yet not wanting to touch it and risk more pain. He strikes her with the back of his fist, and she momentarily rolls to her side with the force of it.

"My face! You fucking bitch," Lyov shouts, reaching for the gun he had laid beside them on the floor of the van.

She moves before the decision can be consciously weighed in her mind, twisting her small body, she grabs his wrist with both hands, pushing the gun up and away from her.

"You little bitch," he growls, reaching with the other hand he grabs a clump of her hair.

She screams, her eyes shut tight as she kicks out at him wildly; in the melee she stamps the heel of her foot into his groin.

He yelps, his eyes wide with the shock of the numbing pain, and for a minute instant he loosens his grip on the handle of the forty-five. She feels it and snatches the gun from him.

"No... Noh..." he reaches out for her, his hands grasping at the air desperately as he comes forward, some stubborn sense of denial still gives him the belief that somehow, he can regain control of the situation. His face is only inches from the gun as she pulls the trigger. The back of his head pops open, spraying blood across the roof of the van, and coming down on her like red rain.

She screams again, half crying in disgust and horror, as she pushes and kicks his limp body off and away from her. She tries to push herself up, faltering on the plastic, which has become slippery beneath her. With the back of her hand, she wipes at her face, and breathing deeply she makes a conscious decision to calm herself. She looks down at the blood soaked sheet of cellophane that covers the van floor and then behind her at the big bundled roll of it, pushed against the back, inches from where her own head had lay.

The long dark hair of a head beneath the plastic is impossible to miss. Even in this dark van, she can see that it is a body and the body had belonged to her friend Varya. She can feel the tears coming on again and her throat tightening, and almost put her hand to her mouth as she looked at the roll of plastic, but with a start, she notices the blood on her hand, his blood.

Holding the gun firmly, and not wanting to let it go, she shifts herself out of the van, jumping over Lyov's body, she runs as fast as she can with her bare feet beating across the hard concrete. She comes to the back of another large truck - a vehicle so big that she can crouch down and hide behind back wheels. Cold and shivering against the filthy tyre, she looks around her at the empty port.

"But this is stupid," she thinks to herself; She is completely naked. She decides to go back to the van and with the gun in hand she creeps between the numerous parked vehicles, taking more care this time not to be seen, and then she sees it.

She stares at the small van with its doors wide open, and Lyov's dead body lying on the ground in front of it. Slowly she approaches it tentatively, looking about her all the time, to be sure that she is not being watched. But the place is completely deserted. He must have brought them here to dispose of their bodies, she considers as she looks down at him. Suddenly she kicks his body – Stiff, lifeless. With great effort, she pulls him up, lifting his torso to an upright position. She takes his shirt and his trousers, and with a piece of nylon rope from the van, no doubt brought there to tie her body-bag with, she ties a knot around her waist to keep the trouser up. Then she picks up the gun and runs, leaving the naked Lyov on the ground, and the van doors open.

11:46 am

She wakes to the sound of a rolling shutter slamming against the roof of the trailer. She had managed to get inside the trailer at around two this morning, as they were loading it. Unseen by anyone, she had crept on-board between the pallets of plastic tubing. It wasn't hard to find a safe spot below the back shelf where she would not be seen, but now it seems a lot of the stock has been removed. How had she slept through that?

She shifts quickly sitting up, her back against the wall as a man climbs aboard the back of the truck. He doesn't see her straight away, but then he looks directly at her, and stops in his tracks, obviously startled.

"Hey! What are you doing in here" he shouts, "How did you get in here? Get out! Get out of here." He shouts the words as he walks towards her, as though they are pronouncements of priest attempting to exorcise some vile demon.

"Please" she raises her hands as he comes closer and then stops, stricken with fear. She had the gun in her hand though she did not point it at him.

He stands there, afraid to move or waiting for her.

"Please, I don't want to hurt you," she says, "I'm not a thief; I didn't come to steal anything, I just need to get out of here. Please, you have to help me. I need to leave St Petersburg. People are trying to kill me."

The man looks at her, his eyes still wide with expectation, and then slowly he starts to shake his head. "We are not in St Petersburg," he says.

She looks beyond him at the bright morning sky outside. They are in some kind of truck stop; there are nothing but huge lorries out there.

"Where are we?" she asks.

"We are in Poland," the man says, his fear giving way to suspicion as he looks at her. It seems he sees her bruises and notices the man's clothing she wears.

"Where is this truck going?"

"Look, you can't stay on this truck. If you are found... " he steps closer as he continues to speak.

Suddenly, she turns the gun on him, standing up herself in a wide stance, one foot before the other and her two hands clasping the weapon out in front of her. "Stop!" she barks.

The man ducks with his hands raised above his head yet tight to his body as he cringes "Okay! Okay! Don't shoot. Please I, I..."

"Stay there" she says, her voice lower now, yet still infused with the authority of a fatal threat. He looks up at her nodding emphatically. He is a thin man, maybe in his forties or early fifties with short greying hair under a worn looking baseball cap. He wears a dirty workman's jeans and an equally soiled narrow denim shirt, which hugs his thin frame. He is skinny yet tough looking, as though years of labour have hardened his body into a thing of rigid bone beneath his dirty denim exterior.

"Where are we going?" she asks him again.

"France."

"You have to take me with you."

"Listen, please, I wish I could help you" he says, looking pointedly at her belly, "but I cannot, we will be stopped"

As he continues to speak, she looks down at her stomach, and then clasps her hand to her mouth, gasping loudly at the sight of her swollen belly, noticeable, even under the baggy shirt. "Oh God, no!" she exclaims, "No! No! No God. No!" She falls to her knees crying, completely unconscious of him now. He stares at her in disturbed confusion as she begins to whale and pound at her belly with her fist.

Finally, she doubles over, crying in wretched sorrow. Cautiously, he comes closer, perhaps meaning to comfort her, but he stops as she looks up at him. He looks down at the gun in her hand and then so does she. She drops it on the trailer floor between her knees wringing her hands as she looks about her in despair.

"What is wrong with you?" he says finally.

She only shakes her head as she looks up at him.

"Let me take you to the hospital." He says nodding as he speaks with genuine concern.

"No, No hospital. No!" she begins to shout hysterically, grabbing for the gun again.

"Okay, okay take it easy," he implores her.

She looks at him shaking her head dismally, hers hands by her sides and the gun pointed at the floor.

"What do you want?" he asks, gesturing desperately with his open hands out before him.

She looks down gingerly touching her belly as she swallows her tears, "France," she says, looking up at him, "Please take me with you to France."

He begins to shake his head, "I can't. If you are seen..."

"No one will see me; I can stay in the back here. If they catch me you can say you didn't know."

"I, I..."

"Please!" she breaks down, crying desperately as she looks at him again.

"Okay" he says, "I will take you."

Petya

The big 4x4 clambers its way roughly across the uneven dirt path that cuts through the field. The field workers steal furtive glances of the approaching vehicle from down turned heads as they pull the crops, none of them daring to look up from their work and risk their overseer's displeasure. The jeep swings to a stop in front of a small cabin office and Petya steps out from the passenger side. He puts a fresh cigarette in his mouth and uses one hand to shield the flame from the dusty wind and the other to spark the fire as he lights it. Two other large men exit the vehicle and flank him on both sides.

Sergey emerges from the cabin door enthusiastically and approaches them with a smile on his face.

"Petya, how are you doing man," says Sergey extending his hand to Petya.

Petya smiles as he takes Sergey's hand, pulling him closer and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Sergey,"Petya exclaims in recognition. "How's your father?"

"He's good, He's still a mean old motherfucker but he's good."

Petya cocks back his head and laughs "And you? You're running the show now huh?" he says slapping Sergey on the shoulder as he turns and goes around the car to look out at the field.

Sergey comes to stand beside him, "you know that old ox is too stubborn to hand everything over yet," he says with an ironic smirk. "But soon the business will be mine," he says, turning to look at Petya.

Petya nods absently, his eyes still riveted in the vast field, and those working upon it.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure?" asks Sergey.

"I need bodies," Petya says plainly.

And now it's Sergey's turn to nod "No problem, I'll give you a good price. How many do you want?"

"I need twenty, and I'll take them at 75 each," says Petya, turning to go back to the jeep.

"What! Are you crazy, they're worth at least three hundred a week to me where they are, my father would kill me."

"That's between you and him," sighs Petya casually as he pulls the car door closed behind him.

"No I can't do it," Sergey says as he steps closer to the car door. Both men look up as they hear the engines of two large white vans coming down the dirt path.

Sergey looks back at Petya with obvious alarm. "No, 75 is too little. I cannot take it," he says almost desperately.

"Is it?" quizzes Petya, "Okay fine, I'll take them for nothing,"

"My father is not going be happy about this," shouts Sergey, his eye continually darting to the approaching vehicles.

Petya nods.

"You're not taking them, you think you can just come and bully us here," shouts Sergey hysterically.

"Look at you Sergey, Calm yourself. You have plenty to go around. I only want twenty. You don't like it: get in the field and pick it yourself."

The two vans stop at the edge of the plantation and from them comes six large men bearing assault rifles. A woman of maybe twenty-eight or thirty looks up from the basket she has been filling with asparagus. One of the large men grabs her by the arm roughly and the basket falls to the grounds. The other five men start to round up the workers who are close by with course shouts and harsh threats.

Sergey flicks up the back of his shirt and draws the forty-five that was stuffed in his waistband. He thrusts it swiftly with his outstretched arm into Petya's face, who sits in the passenger seat staring at him calmly, with the nozzle of the gun less than two inches from his eye.

One of Petya's henchman —the one closest to Sergey— draws a pistol too, and points it at the side of Sergey's head, the other pulls a much larger automatic, which he also has trained on Sergey as he edges back around the car.

Petya smiles while the man closest to him takes the gun from Sergey's hand.

"Say hello to your father for me," says Petya. His men jump back in the jeep and he laughs as they take off up the dirt path.

Sergey stands in front of his cabin looking on helplessly as twenty of his livestock – mostly travellers from Albania who had come looking for work and ended up being duped into a life of virtual slavery – are loaded into the large vans by Petya's men. To him the loss is not only of monetary value, but the blatant attack is an affront to his family's name and reputation, a loss that should not and must not be borne, a loss that his father will inevitably blame him for.

"What the hell are you looking at? Get back to work!" he shouts at the remaining workers as he heads back inside the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him.

Langford

He gently touches her cheek, surprised to feel the softness of it beneath his fingertips. A short laugh escapes his lips.

"You're here," he laughs again, almost hysterically. "You're really here," he declares as he gazes at her.

"Yes my love," she answers him, tenderly touching his face, "You finally did it," she says, smiling at him.

"Me!" he says quizzically.

"Yes, you found what you've been looking for. I'm here now because of you. Look at me," she steps back, smiling as she open her arm to let him see her, and it dawns on him suddenly.

"Mary!" he stares with amazement, "Mary you're walking."

She nods as if to confirm his beliefs. He rushes towards her, and with his arms around her waist, he lifts her into the air, burying his face into her stomach. He shuts his eyes tight as the tears begin to well up in them.

She slips her hand gently under his chin and lifts head to face her, and smiles down at him as he looks back at her questioningly, "So it worked? It's the serum. The serum worked!"

She nods, taking his face in both her hands once again, "I knew you would do it." She bends to kiss his forehead, and then his nose, and then she straightens, looking at him with an almost mournful expression, "I love you."

"I love you too..." suddenly the loud piercing ring from his phone shocks him violently from his slumber. He jumps out of his sleep. Disorientated for a moment he reaches for the alarming handset, which slips to the floor. The back of the phone pops off on impact and flies under the bed, but the phone continues to ring one vexing peal after another. He swings his leg over the edge of the bed —having to drag the bad one— and reaches down to pick up the phone, careful not to let the battery fall from the back as he brings it to his ear.

"Dr Langford speaking"

"Professor, it's Eidris. Sorry to disturb you sir. Did I wake you?"

"Yes Eidris, it's fine. What is it?"

"Is there something happening at the lab today professor?"

"What do you mean: is there something happening?"

"Well, I just got here to start preparations for phase three testing on subjects twelve to sixteen, as you told me to, but they're not letting me into the lab."

"Fielding, what the hell are you talking about, who's not letting you in"

"The security professor, they won't even let me into the reception. I told them I was here under authorisation, but they said nobodies allowed inside today."

"What!"

"Yeah, they said the whole buildings under lockdown"

"Is Valuev there?"

"No I haven't seen him, it's just me here. I can't even be in front of the building; I'm standing across the street."

"Just wait there I'm on my way." Langford says, not waiting for a response as he hangs up the phone.

Aglaya

She opens her eyes with a start, knowing her whereabouts and predicament instantly, as she listens with her finger curled over the trigger, to the hollow sound of footsteps on the wooden trailer floor. The top of the old man's head comes into view above one of the tall crates in front of her.

Quickly he ducks down covering his head, as he sees the barrel of the raised gun lifted and pointed right at him. "Stop! Stop! It's only me."

Slowly he creeps out from behind the box holding a brown paper bag in his outstretched hand. "I brought you some food."

Approaching slowly, he stretches to pass it to her without getting too close. With the gun still in hand she reaches into the bag and withdraws a large hotdog. She looks up at the man for a moment and he nods, and then she bites into it hungrily.

"Good. You must be hungry," he says. "We'll be passing a Hospital soon" he says stepping closer warily.

Suddenly she stops chewing and looks up at him, the gun in her hand, which rests on her thigh casually with the barrel still pointed directly at him. He stops.

"No hospital" she says sternly.

He nods. "Look, you don't need that gun you know. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not your enemy."

She looks down at the forty-five in her hand nodding her head slightly as she begins to speak, "I know. I am thankful for your help. But it makes me feel better to have it. And you're not supposed to know I'm here; remember? It's as much for your protection as it is for mine."

"Perhaps you're right" he says, "We're in Schwabach near Nuremberg, by tonight we'll be crossing the border at Neuenburg into France..." he pauses, clearly struggling to say what he wants to tell her.

"I know," she says, "don't worry. You have helped me a lot. When we get into France I'll be fine."

He doesn't say anything as he looks at her.

"And thank you," she says.

He nods, bowing his head slightly as he turns to leave the trailer.

Langford

"Oh for God's sake," mutters Dr Langford impatiently as he pulls the car abruptly to a stop behind a very slow moving 1976 Vaz, whose driver decided to stop at the amber light and wait at the line for it to turn red.

Langford heaves a deep breath, his fingers tapping anxiously on the staring wheel. It's usually only a ten-minute drive from his apartment in the Kalininskiy Rayon to the lab: this morning he is on schedule to make it in seven. Perhaps he's overreacting. Surely when he gets to the lab, some logical explanation will present itself to explain the whole thing. Eidris is a brilliant lab technician, with expertise far in advance of what you might expect from someone his age, but his precocity in the lab is not always matched by his grasp of common sense in the world at large. Maybe he just had it wrong, though as the morning goes on that sentiment is proving harder and harder to accept. Langford thought that it might have just been an issue with the leasing contract, though he had assumed that the property belonged to the company. To be honest such things had not concerned him before. He had tried to call Mr Adler in England, but was told that Mr Adler was away on business and unfortunately unavailable at present: "Sorry Mr...?"