Equinox - the chilling conclusion

Equinox

Chapter Three

***

Arkady stirred himself. ‘It’s going to corrupt our communications, isn’t it? What if keeps going up to the fourth floor? There’ll be more Russian enigmas up there. Ones that work.’ He swallowed.

Yakov put his hand on his shoulder in a fatherly way. ‘Looks like we’re all going to disappear in a mushroom cloud before you can say hot borscht.’

Arkady was not prepared to be humoured. ‘We have to stop it.’

‘At least slow it down, or it’ll be there in minutes. Wait here.’ With that, Yakov ran off.

‘Wait! Where are you going?’ Arkady was shouting down an empty corridor. ‘Bloody hero.’

Fresh sludge appeared from under the other office doors and swept nearer. Arkady edged away, trying not to panic. Then the lights went out and all he could hear was the sticky noise of the oozing gloop. He nearly yelled, before realising what Yakov had done. A minute later, he heard plodding footsteps come back up the stairs, accompanied by a welcome beam of torchlight.

The caretaker appeared, breathing hard, and handed him a heavy torch with a solid, reassuring handle. ‘Best Russian technology for a truly Russian-style blackout,’ he said and grinned. ‘Industrial strength, this is. I always keep spare torches down next to the master switch. Switching off the power should work for a while, until we figure out a better plan.’

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

‘Beats the hell out of reading last month’s Izvestia for the tenth time.’

‘Touché.’

They moved away from the second-floor devastation and perched on the stairs to the third floor, catching their breath.

Arkady coughed, trying to clear his throat. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t suppose we could just blow up the whole damned building?’

‘Not with uranium inside.’ Yakov shook his head. ‘Might cause a bit of an international incident. Defeat the object, you might say.’

‘Then what about a flood? Blow the water tanks in the roof?’

‘Not bad. But water alone can’t stop it – as we saw in the lecture theatre.’

Arkady glanced at his watch. Half-past nine. ‘Perhaps we should just give up and call in the cavalry and alert security? I could run outside and raise the alarm ...’

‘And get arrested for what’s been happening. I don’t recommend being shipped off to a gulag.’

‘Again.’

‘Quite. Besides, the guard’s useless. He’ll be away with the fairies already. Drinks like a fish. Some nights he barely sobers up for the eleven o’clock round. Should be fired. Anyway, the rate this thing is moving, it’ll have taken over the whole building before we could throw a bucket of cold water over him.’

‘What if we got rid of the uranium, and then blew up the place.’

‘Where would we put it? It’s horrible stuff. And even then, a good honest explosion mightn’t stop this thing. It seems to be spreading in the circuitry.’

They both fell silent. ‘How long have we got?’

‘Minutes.’

Another pause. ‘Can we trap it somehow?’ mused Arkady.

‘How?’

‘Give it what it needs, then ...’

‘Yes.’ Yakov slapped his shoulder. ‘Smart boy, Arkady. We’ll switch on the emergency generator! Of course. We lure it down there then blow it up, seal it in. It’s a science institute after all. Chemicals galore and it’ll look like an accident … or maybe some subversives indulging in a little anti-Stalin sabotage. Yes, that could work. Oh, yes.’ He beamed. ‘I like a good explosion.’

‘But-’

‘Not the whole building, dear boy. And not really an explosion. Just put the generator out of action. Superheat all the metal and seal the damned thing in. White phosphorus should do the trick. Nasty stuff but effective.’

‘We have some in stock, I think.’

‘Good. Then I just need some string, a can of red paint plus a brush and something very, very heavy.’

Arkady gave him a look.

‘Ad hoc bombs were my specialty.’ Yakov rose. ‘First, let’s slow this damned thing down. Hit the third floor, find anything electrical we can and rip it out. That should turn it around.’ He nodded towards the glass panel of a fire alarm. But as he levelled his elbow to smash it, a red haze thickened around it, purple sparks spraying outwards into his face. Wincing, he backed off. ‘So much for that idea.’

‘Now we couldn’t even raise the alarm if we tried.’

Yakov rubbed his cheeks, flecked with livid marks where the sparks had struck him. ‘Give me a second.’ He turned on his heel and loped back down the corridor to a cupboard set under the stairs. After rummaging for a second, he returned with a pair of long-handled bolt cutters and a pair of pliers. ‘We’ll have to do this the hard way.’

A quarter of an hour later, they’d hacked every cable they could find, disconnecting telephones, lights and equipment. Hot and dusty, they headed back downstairs, trying to ignore their blistered palms.

Yakov checked his watch. ‘You get the phosphorus and the rest of the stuff while I switch on the generator. See you in the basement in five minutes.’

A distant crackle made him whip round and the strip light above them glowed red.

‘Make that two.’



***



Carrying a carton of bottles and bag of other supplies, with the torch balanced on top, Arkady hurried back down the stairs. He passed the door to ‘Repairs’ and along the corridor to the small chamber that housed the emergency generator. It was a car-sized barrel-shaped piece of equipment, covered in pipes and dials and bolted to the floor. He set down the box and lay the torch on a table, its beam pointing towards Yakov, who was crouched beside the generator, his own torch angled on a series of nozzles. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Checking the diesel supplies. Should be OK. Got what we need?’

‘A dozen bottles. The crystals are soaked in water. That all right? And will there be enough?’

Yakov looked up. ‘Hope so.’

Arkady lifted out the screw-top jars from their straw packing.’

‘Set them on the top in a clump. Quick as you like. I’ll string up this old battery. Should be heavy enough to smash the lot when it drops. And stick some paper underneath to absorb the water.’

‘All right.’ He tore some notices off the wall and laid them on the top of the generator and began to line up the bottles on top in rows, his palms sweating. The final bottle wobbled and Yakov flashed out his hand and caught it just before it hit the floor. ‘Sorry.’

Yakov set it down with care and then patted Arkady’s arm. ‘Not to worry.’ He fished out a roll of duct tape and secured them in place. He straightened up. ‘Here. This’ll help your nerves.’ He reached for his hip flask. ‘First we drink,’ he tipped a decent measure down his throat and handed the vodka to Arkady. ‘Then we save the world.’

‘Your health.’ Arkady took a sip, relishing the stinging in his throat. He leant against the wall. ‘I’ve been thinking. Why now? What caused this thing to activate? And don’t’ say “blood moon”. That’s just superstitious nonsense.’

Yakov stepped back from the generator. ‘Just a fluke? Or maybe just a typical autumn storm? All that lightning ...’

Arkady suddenly pictured the storeroom calendar. ‘What if it is the time of year? The exact time of year.’

‘Pardon me?’ Yakov glanced up.

‘It’s the autumnal equinox tonight. Exactly twelve hours of darkness and light.’

‘Equinox,’ they said at the same time.

‘Quite. Just like the planet we saw on the televisions. You think the similar conditions might have brought the virus to life?’

‘You know, Arkady. You’re more than just a pretty face, eh? It’s a good theory. I like it.’ He retrieved his flask. ‘One last swig to fire me up. Thank God there’s enough diesel in the tanks. Or else I would have had to use this. Would’ve made quite a bang. Did me proud on several occasions back in the day. I called it a Yakov Special.’

Arkady found himself staring at the flask. ‘Oh no.’

‘What?’

He put his head in his hands. ‘This is all my fault.’ He began to rock forwards and backwards.

‘What? You’re talking like a crazy person.’

‘I spilt some vodka,’ whispered Arkady. ‘It went through the floorboards – and onto the crate.’

To his amazement, Yakov burst out laughing. ‘You think it awoke the device from outer space?’ He laughed and laughed, wiping his eyes on a grimy handkerchief. ‘Must have been good stuff, eh? High octane!’ He laughed until he wheezed, then pulled himself together. ‘Probably just a coincidence, but it’ll make a great story to tell your grandchildren.’ Still chuckling, he picked up the can of paint that Arkady had found in the stores. ‘This wall, I think.’ He popped open the tin and daubed the words ‘Down with Stalin! Free Kyrgyzstan now!’ He went into the corridor and added more slogans, whistling cheerfully through his yellowed teeth. ‘This is positively cathartic.’

Now it was Arkady’s turn to laugh. ‘You’re mad, you know that?’

‘Yup. Feels good. Haven’t had this much fun since I blew up a bridge, along with half a dozen Nazi tanks, in Silesia. Good times.’ He sighed. ‘Ready? Get your torch and stay in the corridor. Here goes nothing.’ He pushed and held down the ignition coil button, waited for a few seconds and engaged the starter motor. The generator coughed twice, then chugged into life.

Arkady drew back, listening for the familiar crackle of wiring that would herald the return of the invasive red mist. In fact, he felt the vibration in the walls before he saw anything. Within minutes, all the cabling in the generator room was flailing against the walls like rigging in a tempest. The air crackled and sparked and the generator began to rattle, as if straining to free itself. Yakov just watched, his eyes calculating.

It was soon lost in a haze of scarlet mist amidst the eerie sound of the bottles of phosphorus on top, chinking together anxiously.

‘And now my pièce de résistance, as you might say.’ Calmly, Yakov rolled a cigarette, sealing the paper with a dab of his tongue. Hands steady as a surgeon, he lit it with his dented Zippo lighter, then lay it on a shelf, directly underneath a length of taut string, which was looped into a hook in the ceiling above the generator. He retrieved his torch, backed out of the room and pulled the door closed as gently as if he had just tucked in his grandchild, leaving it to sleep in peace.

Both men peered through the tiny glass window, waiting with baited breath. ‘Ten, nine, eight ...’ counted Yakov. ‘Three, two, one.’ At first, Arkady could hear nothing over the generator, then there was a swish and a clank, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. ‘Wait for it ...’

The red mist cleared, revealing a mound of pale crystals on damp paper. Then, the first lump glowed and a dazzling whiteness blotted out the scene. The continuing incandescent cloud went on and on, like some eternal Roman candle, searing Arkady’s vision. When he turned back, a fine powder caked the inside of the glass.

Finally, the room went dark.

‘Did it work?’ he croaked.

‘One way to find out.’ Yakov hurried off and Arkady heard the clunk of the master switch. The ceiling light came on.

‘Good. Let’s find something to plug in.’

They hurried upstairs to Arkady’s desk in stores. It seemed pleasantly familiar – an oasis of calm in a world turned mad. He went to a cupboard and brought out a typewriter. After a nod from Yakov, he inserted the cable and switched it on. It hummed happily. They waited. He typed a few words. No red mist. No grey sludge. They both peered at the words.

Yakov peered at the words. ‘“Long live Mother Russia and all who sail in her.”. Ha. Very patriotic.’

‘Well, it worked.’ Arkady found himself beaming.

‘Yes, yes. But, it’s time to vacate the premises for you, my lad. I’ll alert the drunken sot in his little kiosk and report the shocking discovery of mindless sabotage. You won’t get the blame this time.’

‘Thanks.’ Arkady head spun, and he suddenly felt exhausted. Outside, the rain drummed against the windows and onto the pavements. ‘Feels cooler already.’

Yakov shooed him out the door. ‘Go home. See you tomorrow, my friend.’

Touched, Arkady shook the caretaker’s sinewy hand. ‘Indeed.’ He made to leave, then turned, his hand on the doorknob. ‘Think it’ll be back?’

Yakov cocked his grizzled head. ‘Let’s hope not. But let’s make a note to keep watch when the Vernal Equinox comes around, eh?’

‘Twenty-first of March, then. I’ll bring the vodka. Oops. Perhaps not.’

‘Beer will suffice. Now, go.’

Arkady laughed. ‘’Night.’ He waved and slipped out the side door. As he turned the corner, he heard an alarm go off, followed by the sound of someone running.

He smiled and walked on.

The rain had settled into a soft drizzle, freshening the air. Above, the city buildings formed craggy outlines of concrete fortresses against the dull, red sky. His shoes were already leaking, but he didn’t care, smiling to himself as he strolled home, choosing the longer route through the park. Trees dripped and the sound of his footsteps echoed wetly.

He recalled something Yakov had said and laughed out loud, clapping his hand over his mouth in case anyone heard and thought he’d gone mad. The hideous Olga had just been promoted to Head of Internal Security. And what a terrible breach there had been that night! Labs ransacked, chemicals stolen, subversive graffiti, violent sabotage.

Shocking.

Even sneaky Olga couldn’t hang on to her job after that lot. So, with her gone, there might soon be a vacancy on the fourth floor. He could make himself useful. Working with codes might be rather fun. Besides, Yakov might have some useful insights ... Perhaps he could work in the institute for a while and then even apply for the space programme? Hmm. He pondered his changing fortunes.

By the time he squelched up the dank stairs to his little flat, he felt pleasantly cool and agreeably tired.

Not a bad night’s work, he thought. Made a new friend. Prevented an alien invasion. Ensured the human race hadn’t destroyed itself in an orgy of nuclear retaliation. Well, not this time.

And most importantly, he hadn’t got incinerated in the process. Or caught.

Not bad at all.

He stripped off his wet clothes and stepped into his pyjamas. As he clambered into bed, he wondered what the world’s leaders would have made of the whole business. Not that he or Yakov would ever breathe a word.

Who needed medals, anyway?

A minute later, he was fast asleep and dreaming of space ships in the dark.



THE END

***



Author’s note

Supermoons, lunar eclipses and ‘blood moons’ get folk excited. The year I wrote this story, the supermoon was followed by a lunar eclipse, the fourth in a row, which some call a ‘blood moon’. The Earth moved between the sun and the moon, so that a shadow was entirely flung over it to cast the previously super-bright moon into darkness.

Some skywatchers and religious groups fear that the unusual events might have been an apocalyptic sign that the world is about to end, although NASA is quick to reassure us all, saying that some tides might be affected, but that’s it. Forget the prophecies and get out the binoculars. Besides, it’s a good basis for a 1950s ‘creature feature’ plot with a seasonal theme.

Meanwhile, if you think the Enigma machines faded in the mid-1940s, think again. The Fialka (meaning violet, so you’ll forgive a reference to an autumn crocus, I hope) turned up on the West’s radar just a few years ago, having been kept secret by the Soviets. It was a real Enigma spin-off, complete with its ten rotors, punch tape and touch-type facility. And yes, there were clever Bond-like plots featuring typewriters that were bugged to replicate what was last typed on them. You couldn’t make it up.

Uranium was mined in Kyrgyzstan – and still is – although there is some discrepancy as to when it started, although some official websites claim it was in 1946 when the USSR was desperate to create its very own bomb.

Arkady and Yakov are figments of my imagination but there have been many, many brave unsung heroes both in the East and West, trying to make the world a better place.

NB: The full story will be available in one installment on the BlueFernPrints.