Help. Help a Russian scumbag? He’d sooner cut his own throat.
The man must have seen this in Anton’s eyes.
“I help American scientists,” he said. “Nezhit vaccine. I help. I make vaccine.”
The words finally made it through. Anton felt them enter his body.
“Nezhit vaccine?” His words were rough, dragged from his parched throat by willpower alone.
“Yes.” The man nodded his head vigorously. “Dr. Kozlovovich. My name. I make nezhit vaccine.”
Vaccine. Anton remembered the Russians had a vaccine. It’s the reason they could walk among zombies without fear of being bitten.
“We must go now. Yes?” The man nodded eagerly, studying Anton’s face.
“Nezhit vaccine?” Was this guy fucking with him? Was this the KGB agent’s idea of a sick joke?
“Vaccine, yes. I make. I give to American scientists. But first you help me.”
The world spun around Anton. He was hyper aware of the dead Craig family. He ground his teeth, trying to focus on the man. The sound of gunfire made him twitch. There was still shooting outside the jail.
“What’s going on outside?” he asked.
Dr. Kozlovovich shook his head. “Very bad. No one listen to me. We must go. Hurry, yes?” He turned the key in the lock.
The cell door swung open. A mere six feet separated Anton from the bulky Russian scientist.
It looked like the guy hadn’t changed his clothes in weeks. His white lab coat was covered with dingy brown stains.
Anton held himself back. He wanted to tear this man to pieces with his bare hands. The desire nearly overpowered him.
He clung to sanity with a fingernail. Nezhit vaccine. This man knew about it. He could help America if Anton could keep himself from killing him. His chest heaved with the effort.
In his hand, Dr. Kozlovovich held a Soviet fatigue shirt. He extended his arm, holding it out to Anton.
“Disguise,” he said. “Hurry.”
Anton refused to touch the shirt. No fucking way. No fucking way would a Soviet uniform ever touch his skin again.
A dull throb on the right side of his chest caught his attention. It was faint in comparison to the rest of his aches and pains, but it arrested Anton’s attention. He ran his fingers over the lumpy scabs that had formed over the Soviet sigil that had been carved into his skin. Rage beat within him.
He attempted to stride from the cell. His legs nearly collapsed. Dr. Kozlovovich caught him in the doorway. Anton noted the handle of a pistol sticking out from the man’s lab coat jacket.
“You wear uniform,” Kozlovovich said.
“No.”
The man grunted in annoyance, but he dropped the shirt to the ground and adjusted his grip on Anton. “We go. Hurry.”
Anton had one last dizzying look back into the prison cell. His mind took a snapshot of the dead Craig family. Distantly, he knew the sight should cause him pain. All he felt was rage.
Soviet fuckers needed to die for this.
“Come, hurry.” Dr. Kozlovovich tugged him away from the open doorway.
The Craigs disappeared forever as Anton allowed himself to be led along. He was limping on his left side. No, that wasn’t accurate. He was limping on his left and right side. Each step sent pain lancing through him. The rage burning inside him made it easy to ignore.
Anton wasn’t quite as tall as Leo, but he wasn’t small by any means. Dr. Kozlovovich was a huge man, taller than Anton by at least two inches. He was built like a bear with massive shoulders. And there was that gun in his pocket.
The guy didn’t look like a scientist. He looked like a tank. Was he fucking with Anton? Was this a fucked KGB trap?
Anton snatched the pistol out of the guy’s pocket and jerked himself away. He pressed his back against the corridor wall to keep himself from collapsing.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snarled. “Did that KGB fuckhead send you?”
Kozlovovich held up his hands. “I scientist. Nezhit vaccine. You help me. I help you. Don’t shoot, okay?”
“Where is that fucker?” Anton screamed. He wanted the KGB agent. He wanted to kill him with his bare hands.
Kozlovovich’s eyes were full of understanding. “I show you. Come.”
He turned his back on Anton and strode away. If he was worried Anton would shoot him, he didn’t let it show.
Anton limped after him, gripping the pistol like a lifeline. He would shoot himself in the face before he let himself be taken again. No fucking way would another Soviet scumbag lay a finger on him.
13
Tank
“What’s your plan for getting out of here?” Anton asked.
“Tank.” Kozlovovich paused, waiting for Anton to catch up.
“A tank?”
“Yes.”
There must be a translation issue. Anton dropped the subject. The guy clearly had a plan for getting out of here. Anton didn’t care if all the guy had was a pair of pogo sticks. He’d use whatever means of travel he could get his hands on.
The screaming outside escalated. So did the gunfire. Anton hunched his shoulders and looked back down the corridor to make sure no one followed them.
Nothing but bad memories looked back at him.
They reached the end of the cell block. Kozlovovich pulled out a set of keys.
“Where did you get those?” Anton asked.
“Agapovovich.”
Whatever the fuck that meant.
Kozlovovich hesitated as he inserted the key into the lock. He gestured to the gun Anton carried. “You shoot. Many infected.”
Infected. Fuck. He should have guessed. There must be a shit pile of mutants out there raising holy hell. The screams and gunfire finally made sense.
“I’ll shoot any infected that tries to fuck with us.” And any Russian he laid eyes on, but Anton didn’t mention that.
Kozlovovich pulled open the door to the cellblock. He and Anton peered out into the hall beyond.
Anton felt like he was stepping through a time machine. He exited the hell of the prison block and entered a very normal looking hallway with white-painted walls and linoleum
