18
Na Celné 1391/11, Prague, Czech Republic
November 28
Eva gasped, moved away from Pyotr urgently. She had no mask, no protection… she covered her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater, taking shallow breaths. Slow, shallow breaths. The elastic started unravelling onto the floor.
Pyotr didn’t even notice her.
“I spent six weeks in quarantine,” he said. “Couldn’t see another living person for six weeks. They shoved food in under the door, and all I had to do was knock twice a day to tell them I was still alive. Lived in my own shit. They torch each cell after you die, so why bother cleaning?
“After five weeks, I’m sure I’m near death. I’m losing my mind, I’ve lost so much weight. I’m on the verge of a massive breakdown. This doctor in a full biohazard suit comes in, takes some blood, and tells me… he tells me Maselle died a week earlier. I can’t see her. I can’t see her at all. She’s already being carted off to be incinerated, and all I get from her is the ring I got her when we… we got engaged.”
Eva didn’t move her arm, but tears were in her eyes, and she blinked them back.
“A week later the doctor comes back, tells me they’ve re-run my blood, and I’m clear for Nuremberg. It was a lab error the first time. I was fine. I could have… I could have been with her at the end, but they made a mistake. So she died alone, starving, drowning in her own shit. It’s just wrong, Eva. It’s so wrong.”
Eva carefully, gently, lowered her sleeve from her face, reached out towards Pyotr. He was still staring out the window, watching something that wasn’t there. They sat in silence, the snow making no sound as it drifted onto the window ledge.
Eva offered the last of the wafer to Pyotr.
“Are… are you hungry?” she asked quietly.
Pyotr looked at the wafer, his eyes narrow, then carefully plucked it from her hand, perched it in his fingers, but didn’t move to eat it.
“What were you doing at the police station? Was it business or pleasure?”
She laughed at this.
“Very much business,” she said, leaning back on the mattress, the dampness making her shiver. “They think I’m some master virus-maker.”
“You?” he laughed. “Our little Eva? You’re joking, right?”
“Wish you’d tell them that,” she said, shaking her head. “they don’t believe me.”
Pyotr patted her knee, held his hand there a bit longer than necessary.
“They don’t believe anyone,” he said.
“I’ve noticed. But listen… we need to get moving… I have no idea where my mother is, and there isn’t much time before the virus hits, whatever it is.”
“You really trust cops? About this virus theory of theirs?”
Eva’s eyes darted to the ground.
“I do. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
He nodded, started on her wrist again, wrapping faster this time. She gritted her teeth.
“Sit tight. I’m not a doctor or anything, but I’ll make you useful again.”
Eva looked outside, the snow falling, then back to Pyotr.
“Thanks for this. I’d be lost here without a friend.”
A gust of wind outside blew drops of water into the room. Pyotr wiped it off his face.
“Don’t worry about it. Thank you for warning me about the impending doom and all.”
Eva laughed.
“Sorry about the accommodations, by the way,” he said, frowning. “You interrupted my apartment hunting. The police keep the best list of vacant buildings in town, so I like to plan a little raid every so often to find some new digs.”
“Why do you live like this anyway?” she asked.
“My folks died two years ago. Battinger’s D. I wasn’t there, but y’know… when the bank account stops getting filled, you kinda figure.”
“God, I’m so sorry, Pyotr.”
“It’s okay,” he said, but his expression said otherwise. “Part of the package, right? Anyway… I made it this far home, ran out of money just east of Prague and had to turn back. Been living the life of adventure ever since.”
“For how long?”
“Almost a year and a half, I guess. Can’t afford a watch battery,” he said, smiling again, showing her his stopped watch. Eva frowned at it, then pulled the wad of papers and cards out of her pocket, fished through them until she found a hundred-euro note. She handed it over to him.
“Here you go,” she said. “Get yourself hooked up. It’s on me.”
He took the money, waved it a bit, smirking.
“Now all I’ve got to do is find someplace that sells batteries, that’s still open for business. And accepts cash. Yay!”
“So it’s really that bad here? They were still taking paper money in Stuttgart when I left a few days ago. What’re you supposed to do then? How does anyone survive?”
“They don’t, mostly,” said Pyotr seriously. “But when you need food, there’s a government stockroom across the Charles that’s open most days. A lot of the packages are ripped open or otherwise trashed, but it’s better than nothing. But for the rest… yeah, it’s not too good in Prague. Pockets of civilization next door to splashes of apocalypse. It’s surreal sometimes. The only fully-functioning facility left in town is the Motol, and even that’s not what it used to be.”
“You got sick?”
“Broke my arm. They set it in the parking lot and sent me home without pain meds, just in case. No x-rays, no follow-up. Too dangerous to go inside. Kind of like how I’m treating you, but I think they had medical degrees.”
“Jesus, that’s brutal,” Eva whispered, glanced outside and noticed the snow was falling harder now. Pyotr put the final touches on the bandage and turned her arm around back and forth.
“How’s it feel?” he asked.
“Like utter crap, but well contained.”
“That’s what I’m going for!” he smiled, then his expression changed. Worry. “Eva, is this your passport?”
“Yeah, why?”
Pyotr got to his feet with a start, looked around himself, then ran to the window, crunching glass as he went, leaned out. Eva stood up too, the room colder without the blanket, and watched as Pyotr threw the passport into the empty fireplace, kicked ashes onto it.
“What’s going on?” Eva asked as Pyotr started picking up his things, shoving stuff into his pockets.
“You’re 17-5, right?” he asked, and she flinched.
“Yes. I mean, they keep saying—”
“It means tag and trace,” he said seriously, looking out the door to the landing. It had taken some work to make it up the fire-ravaged steps on the way here. Rushing down was not an option. “They put a chip in your passport so they can find you if they lose you.”
Eva looked back at the fireplace, at the ashes kicked around, then back at Pyotr, who suddenly shifted back into the room. A flashlight beam shining up from the floors below.
“Ms Kolikov!” came a voice, calm and determined. “we’re not done our chat yet!”
“Sobotka,” growled Pyotr, backing up till window glass broke under his feet. He turned round, looked out the window. Eva was by his side in an instant, saw the fire escape, checked his expression.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” she said, swinging one leg over the window ledge and planting a foot on the rusted metal outside. She grabbed hold of the railing with her good hand and pulled herself out. The metal was slippery from the snow, and before she could stop it, she slipped sideways, landed on the window sill on her right shoulder, the fragments of glass cutting into her skin, and she called out in pain.
Pyotr put his hand over her mouth before she could do much damage, a panicked look in his eyes. He climbed out, too, helped Eva to her feet, and without a word, nudged her down the stairs.
After one storey, Eva got her footing, and picked up speed. She skidded round the last bend, grabbed hold of the railing, but with her bandaged hand, and the pain was so terrible she shrieked and let go. She slipped onto her back and fell off the edge of the gate, only catching hold of the metal at the last second, holding on so tight it felt like her fingertips had fused into her palm.
Pyotr was on his chest, wrapping his strong hands around her forearm, his teeth gritting audibly.
“Hold on,” he whispered through the strain, trying to pull her back up, the sidewalk cold and icy below them.
“Ms Kolikov and friend!” shouted Sobotka from the window above. “Bonus for me!”
Eva heard the sound of heavy feet on metal. Pyotr wasn’t making any progress getting her back up… their eyes met quickly, urgently, and for a second neither said a thing. Then Pyotr knew what she was going to do, and he shook his head as much as he could manage.
“You can’t,” he grunted.
“I can’t go back,” she said, and pulled herself free.