Everyone Dies in the End #28

Berliavskii

The boy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the skinny throat. A tendril of smoke curled through the shattered windows, carrying a hint of burning rubber and charred flesh. Viktor winkled his nose and smiled at Berliavskii.

“Sure, sure, ask anything.” The skinny boy named Bill, croaked.

“How many people do you think are left in this pig sty, Vasillii?” Berliavskii gestured out the window with the Makarov.

“I... I don’t know.” Bill cringed, as if he expected Berliavskii to shoot him for not knowing the post-apocalypse population of Charlotte. Berliavskii laughed.

“Yes, Vasillii, I understand that no one knows exactly how many people live in this shit pile. But you and your tough,” The word tough slid out of Berliavskii’s mouth like a piece of bile, and he paused, remembering how the gangers had beat him when he was a young boy in Moscow. He was enjoying this. Perhaps he was enjoying it a bit too much. It didn’t really matter. Nothing would matter soon.

He resumed. “your tough gang mates, certainly travel the streets looking for women to rape, old men to beat, don’t you?”

“I…I…” Berliavskii struck Bill across the face with the Makarov, and the boy screamed. “Quiet please, Vasillii.” Berliavskii’s voice was soft, sonorous. Bill quieted, blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

That probably knocked a tooth out, thought Berliavski.

Berliavskii knelt in front of the boy, keeping his voice soft, looking into the frightened eyes. “Now Vasillii, I just need to know one thing…” a shrug, “okay, maybe two things, but let’s take them one at a time.”

“Ossay.” The boy’s speech was slurred, but he nodded enthusiastically. Yeah, I guess he did lose a tooth.

“Number one,” Berliavskii held up his index finger. “Where are the people?

The whimpering grew louder. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a bunch in one place, just ones and twos, here and there.” The speech was better now. Fear did marvelous things. Berliavskii starred at the boy. More pain wouldn’t help. The boy obviously didn’t know. He kept his voice soft.

“Okay, Vasillii, I believe you.” Berliavskii smiled, and the boy smiled back, the corners of his mouth quivering.

Berliavskii held up two fingers. “Second question. If you had a nuclear weapon, where would you place it to do the most damage?”

“I…I…”

Suddenly, Berliavskii shoved the Makarov under Bill’s chin, shoved it hard. “Vasillii, don’t try my patience. Where?”

The boy’s eyes flicked side to side, wild with fear. “I wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” Berliavskii screamed.

The whimpering started again. “I…I wouldn’t put it here. Charlotte ain’t got shit, mister. I know where you can put it. A good place to put it. A great place, I swear. But promise you won’t kill me. I know a place where there are lots of people. Rumor is that it’s almost like it was before the missiles. But you gotta promise me.” His eyes were imploring. “Please. Please mister.”

“Berliavskii smiled. “Of course, Vasillii. Tell me this place and I promise not to shoot you.”

“It’s Philadelphia.”

Really?”

The boy nodded, and Berliavskii stood. “Victor?”

Victor squeezed the trigger of his AK74 and Bill died, his skull burst by the impacting rounds.

           “I didn’t say anything about Viktor not shooting you,” Berliavskii said to no one in particular.