Vizhivaniye (Survival)

[Vlad Kyznetsov]

Vlad Kyznetsov sat in his leather wingback chair listening to the staticy radio prattle on about relief efforts going underway and how the US Government was doing all it can to stop the economic crisis. He didn't believe them. He'd heard the same broadcasts from Russian stations before the fall of the Soviet Union. All they did was give false hope to the hopeless.

He took another swig from the bottle of Vodka on the small table beside the chair. It was dark outside. He could hear the screams and shots in the nighttime streets and leaned back further into his chair.

He'd emptied his shop the minute the economy went into the shitter and stored his merchandise, what little he felt was valuable, behind a panel in the wall of his bedroom beside the photo of him in his Spetsnaz Officer's uniform, taken fifteen years ago. He'd then booby trapped the store underneath his home with makeshift, home made explosives. Would-be looters quickly learned how lethal any attempt at robbery could be and soon stayed far away from Kyznetsov's shop after he'd dumped the first half dozen bodies on the street in front of the building.

Vlad shrugged and set the bottle back on the table. After they had learned, most stayed away. There were a few who tried it from time to time, and the ex-Spetnaz soldier occasionally had to dump a body in the street or, more often, scrape the residue off the walls. He was used to the gruesome task though. He'd survived Afghanistan hadn't he?

He picked up the whet stone next to the half empty bottle and began to sharpen his knife. A Ballistic model, issued to Spetsnaz that he'd kept as a keepsake. A momento of his past life. He closed his eyes and listened to the radio as he slowly sharpened his knife, the grating sound somehow soothing to his weary mind.

Tomorrow will be better, he thought. Ono boodyet ochyen' bolyeye loochshye.

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Ono boodyet ochyen' bolyeye loochshye = It will be much better.

[Vlad Kyznetsov]

Vlad was roused from his dreams by the annoying buzz of his alarm clock. He immediately rolled out of bed, slightly slowed by his bad knee, and turned it off. He moved to his dresser and rummaged through his clothes. He pulled out some utilitarian garments; jean and an OD T-shirt. He dressed and pulled on boots and socks before walking to the small kitchen on the other side of the house, picking up various things he'd need for the day arrayed in the order of his morning trek to breakfast. He opened the fridge and grinned to himself at what lay inside.

I knew finding and saving that would be good idea, he thought.

He reached in and pulled out a pound of bacon and two eggs. Vlad then reached under the counter and pulled out the necessary cookware and extra ingredients. Soon, he had breakfast made and the wonderful aroma of cooked food filled Vlad's home.

"As much as American culture confuses me at times, I must admit, they know food. Ochyen' vkoosniy!" he said to the empty apartment. He then cleaned up and washed the dishes before heading out, grabbing his Knife as he left. He locked the door behind him and then began the semi-ritualistic task of disarming and then rearming the various explosives he'd rigged throughout the store on the first floor. He made it to the street out front without difficulty and pulled out the handwritten list in his pocket.

"Okay. I need to find food first. Then I need to find medical supplies." As if on cue, his knee started aching badly. "Proklyatoye kolyeno! Bah! I'll get some pain medicines today, too." He peered at his list a bit longer, but kept himself aware of his surroundings. He gotten distracted the other day and paid for it when someone tried to mug him for the supplies on his back. Thankfully the idiot only had a kitchen knife. Vlad simply introduced the would-be mugger to his Ballistic knife from a good distance away, retrieved the blade, and later resharpened and recharged the knife. He nodded to himself and started moving.

"Last things on list I need to find today. I need to be having more repair things and a better weapon." He patted the Spetsnaz knife on his hip sadly. "I am sorry, old friend, but I need something a bit bigger now," said the Russian.

He moved down the street towards the remains of the French Quarter in the hopes of finding what he needed.

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Ochyen' vkoosniy! - Delicious or Very Tasty

Proklyatoye kolyeno! - Damn/Cursed Knee

[Vlad Kyznetsov]

Vlad shrugged the now bulging pack onto his back. He'd managed to find a mostly untouched food supply in a half burned shop that looters had apparently avoided due to its instability. He could understand their hesitation. He'd fallen through the floor twice while looting the singed canned food in the back. He'd also managed to find some medicine there as well in a lockbox behind the charred remains of the storeroom cabinet. He'd tossed it all in his bag and then picked his way through the rubble to the street, his knee aching slightly.

He turned down Bourbon Street away from home and headed towards Canal Street and the Warehouse District. As he neared the intersection, he spotted a fire gutted house. It looked different in a way and it took Kyznetsov a moment to understand why. There were nice, neat holes in the siding. Granted, they looked like they were put there completely randomly, but they were definitely bullet holes.

Must have been ammunition inside. Cooked off maybe, he thought.

He decided to see if anything was salvagable and ventured inside. He found nothing in most of the rooms, but in the closet of the one bedroom he found what he was looking for, but not in the way he would have liked. He pulled out the burned husk of a wooden box and dug in the charcoal where it had stood. He pulled out an assorted variety of pistols and bullet casings, but the guns were rendered unusable by the heat and the fire had cooked off the rounds. Vlad sighed with mild disappointment and turned to leave. As he put his left foot down, the burned wood flooring gave way, and his foot dropped a good eight inches. He started cursing vehemently but stopped when he noticed something odd. Whatever his foot was standing on was hollow and moved when he shifted his weight. Kyznetsov extricated himself and looked in the hole he'd made. He saw an oblong, plastic box and excitement grew. He quickly pulled up the boards and after a few minutes, brought the box up and set it on a charred, but sturdy table.

A gun case!, he thought. Looks like a highly protective one, too. What's inside?

The former Spetsnaz opened the latches (after finding a sufficiently sized rock to bash the cheap padlock off) and lifted the case's lid. Inside, nestled amongst protective foam, lay just what he needed; an AK 47.

What luck! And there's extra magazines! He did a quick count. Six of them! Hah! But... any ammunition? He pulled the AK out and slid the magazines into his backpack but no ammunition was to be found. He was about to give up when he decided to pull the foam out. He'd remembered a trick the Insurgents had used to hide things they didn't want found from those who sought them. Sure enough, underneath the protective foam was a box of 7.62 rounds taped to the inside of the outter casing. He pulled the other half of the foam out and there was another box. Vlad let a wintry grin crack his weathered face.

Just what I need. Khorosho!

He strapped the case to his backpack, loaded the mags with the 7.62 rounds, put the remainder in his bag, and moved towards the warehouse district, the AK slung on his back with a piece of synthetic cord he'd found. Now he made his way into the Warehouse District. He looked up at the warehouse signs for bearings.

Warehouse... 32... Hmmm... Damn English lettering. Ono razdrazhayet, he thought, then shrugged.

"I'll go check it out. Probably nothing there, but you never know."

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Ono razdrazhayet. - It is irritating (Literally, "It irritates")

[Michael Hobbar]

Good posts, long and in-depth.

I am going to be granting you 5 [SP] for this work. Its only 3 posts long, but they are good long posts.

-Hobbar