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Zombiegrad. A horror novel
Win Chester
When a meteor explodes over a Russian industrial city spreading a deadly virus that turns thousands of its dwellers into the walking dead, Ramses Campbell – a martial arts instructor – must fight to survive.In this deathtrap of a city, Ramses and a group of survivors barricade themselves in a hotel and desperately fight back against the attacks of bloodthirsty cannibals. But, it turns out that sometimes it is easier to fight the living dead than your neighbor from across the hallway.
Zombiegrad
A horror novel
Win Chester
© Win Chester, 2022
ISBN 978-5-0059-1818-5
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
ZOMBIEGRAD
an apocalyptic horror novel
by Win Chester
Copyright © Win Chester 2020
Cover Artwork © Vladimir Grigoryev
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the author, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review in a newspaper, magazine, or electronic publication; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, without written permission from the author.
Contents
PART ONE. CONTAGION
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
PART TWO. UNDER THE SIEGE OF THE LIVING DEAD
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
PART THREE. DAYS OF SORROW
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
About the Author
Other books by this author
PART ONE. CONTAGION
ONE
Ramses Campbell stood by the frost-bitten window and looked at a dark figure shambling in the unlit part of the alley. It walked like a dead man, which had just crawled out of the grave and was learning to walk again. It hit against a lady who was walking her dog. The woman flailed her arms. The figure fell down on the icy path. Ramses cringed looking at this scene. He could see now that the shambling figure was a man. The woman sawed the air with her hand, and Ramses was sure she was shouting at the man, but he could hear nothing through the soundproof window glass of his room in the Arkaim Hotel.
The woman walked away in a hurry, dragging her dog on a leash. The man lay on the ground for a while and then struggled to stand up. He leaned over and picked up something from the ground. He stepped into the cone of streetlight, and Ramses saw that it was a drunkard clutching a bottle. The man took a gulp, threw the bottle into a snowbank and walked away.
Ramses shook his head in disapproval. He was a tall African American with huge biceps bulging under his gray T-shirt. His long black hair, which fell on his shoulders, was in dreadlocks.
It began snowing.
“Damn snow,” Ramses said with sadness, watching the snowflakes slowly waltzing outside the window glass. Snow always makes Californians, which Ramses was, unhappy.
His view opened on a busy tree-lined street and a huge LED screen on the corner. It flashed advertisements for cell phones, lingerie, and movies and highlighted the latest news about Chelyabinsk City.
He heard the kettle whistling. He killed the fire under it and poured himself a large cup of coffee. Drinking coffee was the second thing he usually did in a foreign country to battle the jet lag. The first thing was to catch a good sleep right after arrival at the hotel. Which he had already done.
The third thing to do would be to soak a little in a foamy bathtub, and he would enjoy doing it right now, but there was a bang on the door.
Ramses glanced at his watch. 6:00 p.m.
Punctual as death, he thought.
“Open up, old dog,” a male voice said behind the closed door. “Time to rise and shine!”
Ramses took a sip of the hot brew, sauntered to the door and opened it. A fifty-something bespectacled man of medium height was standing there. Steve Clayton, his business partner, and best friend. His room was opposite Ramses’s across the hallway.
“Hey, Steve,” Ramses said. “I ain’t old yet. I’m twenty years younger than you.”
Steve smiled. “Ready for the party, you young big black fight fish?” he said. Steve was not a racist. It was just his way of showing affection – the more you got closer to him, the more he insulted you. Five years living in New York might have influenced him.
“Oh, just leave me alone, Steve,” Ramses said, stepping aside and letting Steve come in. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“What do you mean?” Steve said. “Are you nuts? Everyone’s waiting for us. We have to celebrate the launch of our martial arts seminars in Russia.”
Ramses slumped into a chair. Had another sip from his cup. “Coffee?”
“Er, no, thanks.”
“I know this is all important, Steve. But look at this, man,” Ramses said, pointing at the window. “The snow.”
Steve followed his glance and made a “Doc” Brown stunned look on his face.
“We’re in Russia, pal.” Steve smiled. “In the dead of fucking winter. What did you expect? Beach bunnies and surf dudes playing volleyball under the hot sun?”
“You grew up in Chicago,” Ramses said, sipping his coffee. “Then you moved to the Big Apple. You won’t get it.”
Steve came up to the window and looked at the falling snow.
“No harm in a little bit of snow and frost for your brown Californian ass,” he said. “Will put more energy into you. Next time you will complain you’re missing burritos? Come on! We’re in a hurry! Let’s not keep the tough Russian guys waiting.”
“Where does it say in the contract that we have to go somewhere and celebrate something?”
Steve looked at Ramses with pleading eyes.
“All right.” Ramses drank up the coffee and put the cup in the sink. “But keep in mind that I’m doing it for you.”
Steve smiled and patted Ramses on the shoulder. “Now we’re talking. Still, you’re such a prima donna!”
Ramses put on his coat and looked at the falling snow outside the window.
