“We don’t have any weapons!” Prit protested.
“Not my problem. You made your choice,” Pauli recited in a singsong tone. “Hey! Don’t say I never gave you anything.” With that, she threw the Ukrainian’s combat knife at his feet, then closed the hatch and drove away in a cloud of black smoke. We watched as it disappeared around the corner. The sound of its engine rang in our ears over the deathly silence of Madrid.
45
A fine rain started to fall as the Centaur disappeared in the distance. The pinging grew louder as big raindrops hit the dusty pavement, but I didn’t notice. We were alone, unarmed, with no transportation, in a huge, deserted city infested with Undead. A despairing moan escaped my throat.
“Cheer up,” the Ukrainian said, patting me on the back. “It could be worse.”
“Oh yeah? How? How it could be worse?”
“Calm down,” Prit said as he picked up his knife. “We’ve gotten out of tighter spots, right? Don’t worry. We’ll get out of this mess, too. All we gotta do is start that thing. Now, think. Where can we get some battery cables before things get ugly around here?”
Just then I heard a groan behind me that made my hair stand on end. I braced myself, looking around for the Undead, but there were none in sight. I heard the moan again. Confused, I looked down and saw the sergeant’s hand move feebly.
“Prit! He’s alive!”
He had four bullet holes in his chest, but he was still alive. When I grabbed his hand, he looked up at me. He had a hard time focusing on my face and when he tried to speak, all that came out of his mouth was bloody foam.
“Take it easy, friend,” I said. His nametag read Jonás Fernández. “Listen Sergeant, keep your eyes on me, okay? Come on! Stay with me, Jonás. Prit’ll get the Centaur started, then we’ll get the hell outta here.”
“Shit!” Prit bellowed in a fury. “That bitch ripped out the battery cables! Even if we find a replacement, I can’t splice it without tools. This heap won’t start without a battery! Son of a bitch!”
The blood drained from my face. The Undead could show up at any moment.
“Prit.” I pushed a lock of rain-soaked hair out of my face and tried to keep the fear out of my voice. “This man’ll die unless he gets medical attention right away and we’re not going to be much better off if you don’t think of something, dammit!”
“There’s nothing we can do!” Prit said, pounding his fist on the side of the Centaur. “Without a battery we’re dead!”
The Ukrainian straightened up and stared at me. “We’ve got to think of a way out, fast! Maybe if we take that wide street… La Castellana. Or maybe the subway tunnels.” The Ukrainian’s mind was racing.
“Prit.” I pointed to the wounded sergeant. “What the fuck do we do with him?”
As an answer, Prit patted his knife. We couldn’t take him with us if we had to make a run for it, but we couldn’t leave him either. Helpless. A tasty snack for those bastards.
I took a deep breath, trying to muster up my courage. I could justify shooting an Undead monster but not taking a human life.
“Prit…” I wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Just then Sergeant Fernández weakly lifted his arm, trying to get our attention.
“Back… back… up…” Then he choked as a fountain of dark red blood gushed out the corner of his mouth.
“Sergeant, take it easy.” I loosened his flak jacket to make him more comfortable. “We’ll get some backup, don’t worry.”
“Back-up… you idiot…” Impatience flashed in the sergeant’s eyes as he coughed up red phlegm. “The… back-up… battery…”
“Back-up battery?” Prit pounced on his words. “Where is it?”
“In… the… turret.” Rain mixed with the blood pooled around the sergeant. “Same terminals… and… voltage.”
Before he finished talking, Prit had already scrambled up the Centaur like a monkey and slipped inside the turret. As the Ukrainian tinkered around inside, I lifted the sergeant’s head so he could breathe better. I didn’t know what else to do. Even if I’d had some medical training, I was pretty sure Jonás was beyond hope. He must’ve known that too, as he stoically endured the pain that had to be tearing him up.
“Here it is!” Pritchenko stuck his head out the turret, triumphantly cradling a rectangular box. “Just give me a couple of minutes and it’ll be ready!”
We didn’t have much time. Around the corner of the parking lot appeared three staggering Undead.
“PRIT!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Hurry! We’ve gotta go NOW!”
I threw an arm around Sergeant Fernández’s shoulder and eased him as gently as I could through the Centaur’s hatch. Fortunately Sergeant Jonás Fernández, veteran of the Tercio Don Juan de Austria Regiment of the Spanish Legion, was feeling no pain; he’d passed out. Over my shoulder, I saw that the Undead had advanced half the distance between us and them. In a burst of bravery, I ran to the three backpacks we’d abandoned under the window back at the tower. The Undead saw me and started walking in my direction. I grabbed two of the backpacks and dragged them along the pavement. As I staggered toward the tank, I threw a wary glance over my shoulder. Those things were already about a hundred yards from us.
“Prit! Get that damn thing started! They’re right on our ass!” I shouted as I tossed the packs inside the tank.
“Almost… got it…” Sweat was pouring off the Ukrainian. His hands moved at lightning speed inside the belly of the engine. “All set! Get in! Get in!”
We scrambled into the Centaur and sealed the hatches overhead. Just in time. As we settled into the front seats, the Undead were roaring and beating on the sides of the armored tank.
“Start it, for God’s sake!” I yelled at Prit.
“Whadda you mean?” He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “I don’t know how to start this thing!”
“What do you mean you don’t know how?” My eyes grew wide. “You’re the damned pilot!”
“Helicopter pilot!” Prit replied angrily. “In the air force, we didn’t have anything like this box on wheels! I thought you knew how to drive this thing!”
“Me?” It was my turn to be astonished. “Prit, I’ve never been in a tank in my life! I didn’t even serve in the army. I was a lawyer, dammit!”
“Tell that to our friends outside! Do you or don’t you know how to start this thing?”
“No! Of course not!” Suddenly, a flash of insight struck me with force. “Wait! The sergeant must know! Hey! Jonás! Wake up! Come on, Sergeant, open your eyes! We need you!”
Sergeant Fernández took a while to come around. His breathing had become spasmodic. From time to time, he vomited blood, which mingled with the blood coming out the holes in his chest. It was a wonder he was still alive.
In a wheezing, shaky voice, he told Prit how to start the tank. The ignition system was very durable and it still worked after over a year out in the open. But it was also painfully complicated. Prit got the ignition sequence wrong twice and had to start over. Meanwhile, dozens of Undead had gathered around the Centaur. Some even had climbed up on it and were walking above us, trying to get in. Even though the tank weighed several tons, it shook with all the Undead pounding on it. The noise was deafening. If we couldn’t start the engine, we’d be trapped in there until we died of hunger and thirst. That was a chilling thought.
With a grinding screech, Prit finally got the tank in first gear and the engine coughed to life for the first time in a year. The Centaur lurched forward and stalled.