Oh, God, not Oksana, too!
Zoya had to force herself to breathe, but she couldn’t make her body stop trembling. She felt frozen to the ratty carpet of the corridor, afraid to glance behind her, certain that her pursuers must even now be stalking up behind her. She heard nothing, either from the corridor or from the open apartment door.
What do I do? I can’t just stand here. Slowly she turned her head until she could view the hallway behind her. Empty. Sweat trickled into her eyes, and she rubbed an arm across her forehead. She remembered the gun, jammed into the waistband of her trousers, and she reached back for it. Its pebbled grip was reassuringly cool as she pulled it forth and aimed loosely at the crack in the apartment door.
“Oks—” She tried to call her friend’s name, but it came out as a wheezing croak, so she worked her mouth to generate some saliva. Licking her lips, she tried again in a loud whisper: “Oksana?”
Silence. She considered approaching the door, but her feet wouldn’t obey her orders. A metallic clack made her cry out and whirl around to point the gun down the corridor. No one was there, but the apartment door of Oksana’s neighbor opened. Zoya’s grip on the gun felt slick with sweat. Why didn’t you put the card in? You won’t hit anything this way.
A small dog yapped from the neighbor’s apartment, and an elderly man in a brown bathrobe stepped through the doorway. Zoya was so frightened she nearly pulled the trigger. The man looked at her and his eyes widened. He put both hands up, mumbled something inaudible, and stepped back into his apartment. The door slammed shut.
Zoya had stopped breathing and her lungs burned, but she couldn’t make her throat work. She opened and closed her mouth like a dying fish. Finally she gasped and sucked the stale corridor air into her burning lungs. Panting, she lowered the gun and turned back to Oksana’s door.
She stood for a full minute, trying to work up her courage before she remembered the card. With her free hand she searched her pocket until she found the smaller card, then slid it home into her slot. The effect wasn’t quite the shock to her system it had been the first two times. A row of data above her line of sight reminded her that the gun she held was a Gsh-18 pistol. When she focused her attention on the data, more gushed forth: the pistol was manufactured in 2083 using a civilian design from 2012; weight 470 grams; eighteen round magazine…she ignored the rest of the data for now.
Somehow the card had brought her galloping heart under control. She tried to step up to Oksana’s door, but instead she moved to the side closest to the knob. She didn’t enjoy the sensation of the card choosing her movements for her. For a moment she considered the idea that the card might cause her to shoot Oksana, but she recalled the yellow and red auras and decided that probably wouldn’t happen.
Was that a sound from the apartment? She listened intently but heard nothing. When she tried to think what the sound had been, she couldn’t say or even know for certain that it wasn’t simply her overactive imagination. She scanned the column of tactical options until she found one for urban warfare. When she selected it, a new row of options appeared. She mentally selected the choice for ‘apartment building’, followed by ‘door — metallic’, and ‘unlocked’, and continued making choices that seemed to fit her situation until the card seemed satisfied. Yes, she had a small mirror in the pouch in her solar jacket. No, she didn’t have any grenades or flash bangs. She didn’t know whether there were enemies inside or not, and yes, it was possible there might be friendlies. Without making a conscious decision to do so, Zoya’s free hand lashed out and shoved the door open. She stood hidden behind the wall for a couple of seconds, then dropped low and glanced through the doorway.
The entry hall looked normal — pegs on the wall holding coats, hats, and umbrellas; pictures of various family members on one wall; a stand-up mirror; open doorway into the empty kitchen; closed door on the left leading to the bedroom; and an open walkway to the right leading to the living room. The living room light was on.
Almost as quickly as she had knelt, Zoya regained her feet and pressed her back to the wall to study her tactical options again. The card didn’t offer much this time. She could call out, make a quick entry through the door, or change her mind about entering altogether. The top choice was to use the mirror. At first she thought it meant the small mirror in her pouch, until she understood it meant the mirror in the entry hall. As soon as the thought occurred to her, she spun across the gap of the doorway to the other side. From this angle she could see into the mirror, which reflected a small part of the living room. Both the ceiling light and a lamp were turned on, and she saw part of the dining table and one of the couches. Nothing else.
She wanted to cry out in frustration, but the card wouldn’t let her. What to do now? The living room was the obvious place to check, but it would mean leaving the bedroom door at her back. At least the door was closed; anyone in there would need to open it first to get at her. The living room it is, she decided, and as she took her first step and her heart began to pound, the world about her seemed to slow. She saw everything with the crystal clarity with which she had attacked the big thug in her own building. Gun held upright, she spun through the doorway. Using one wall of the entry hall to narrow the angles of sight any attacker might have, she leveled the gun into the living room and scanned every corner. No one…except…
“God! Oksana!”
Despite the ropes, the gag, the gaping, terrified eyes, it was clearly her friend bound to one of the wooden dining chairs. With recognition, the card placed a green aura about Oksana, and then flashed an insistent warning that she should check both the bathroom and the bedroom. Zoya ignored the warning and rushed toward her friend, only to find herself heading for the bathroom door instead. Goddamned chip! She halted and looked through the options the card gave her, and this time she noticed a little override option in the lower right corner of her vision. She chose it and cried out with relief when she could move freely again. Oksana made funny, muffled sounds through the gag, and her eyes were so large they sent a chill through Zoya.
“I’m here, Oksana,” she cried, and tears coursed down her cheeks. “Everything will be okay now.”
Oksana continued her hoarse cries and frantically shook her head. Zoya could only imagine the terror her friend had gone through. She wanted to remove the gag, but she felt compelled to look into Oksana’s eyes first and try to calm her somehow.
“Shhhh,” she said, and brushed a hand across Oksana’s sweaty brow. “I’ll remove the gag and—” Her breath caught in her throat in horror, and she yanked herself upward and away as Oksana began to thrash uncontrollably within her bonds. An angry red welt rose at the spot where she had brushed Oksana’s forehead. Oksana screamed continuously through the gag and shook so hard that the chair tumbled backward to the floor. Zoya was desperate to help in some way, but she had no idea what to do and even the card gave her no good options.
Oksana’s skin turned red all over and seemed to be moving in some way, crawling or sizzling, like the moment a frozen slice of bacon is first dropped onto a hot frying pan. Her eyes bulged crazily and turned crimson.
Zoya stuffed her fist in her mouth to stifle a scream. Her only thought was Oh God! over and over and over again.
A faint smell like rotten eggs filled the room. Over Oksana’s muffled screams Zoya heard something, the barest crackling sound, and this sound, too, seemed to be coming from Oksana. Then Oksana’s left eye burst from its socket and ran, like a soft-boiled egg, across her nose.