Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

‘Look at this place,’ gasped Gor, scratching his head as he squinted up at the three-storey casket. ‘Just imagine ending up here.’

The colour palette in its design had heavily utilised shades of grey, varying from cemetery grey to November grey to sewage grey. It squatted like a concrete coffin on the edge of the creek, broken nets fluttering between the flag-poles above its entrance: no fishermen’s nets, they were there to protect visitors’ heads from falling masonry.

‘I’m sure it’s not that bad on the inside,’ said Sveta, although her face puckered as she looked up. ‘I know people who have holidayed here. Yes, it’s true!’ Gor was shaking his head. ‘Yes! It was a few years ago, but people used to come. There is a mini-cinema, and a masseuse, and they did sketching and keep-fit and all sorts. It was quite desirable.’

‘Maybe, Sveta, back in the “good old days”, but who would want to stay here now? Party has-beens who’ve gone gaga: people abandoned by their families. No one comes here on holiday.’ Gor shuddered under his jerkin, and turned to Albina. ‘Take note, Albina: if you waste your youth, and do badly at school, you might end up working in a dump like this.’

‘No way!’ cried Albina, stomping off along the bottom of the entrance steps, her boots crunching on the gravel. ‘I told you, I’m going to be rich!’

‘I think it’s just a phase,’ said Sveta quietly.

Gor blinked slowly and nodded. ‘Well, let’s find our friend Vlad, and see what he has to say for himself.’

They started up the steep bank of crumbling steps with quick strides and had reached the darkened glass of the entrance doors when a familiar shriek made them pause.

‘Good Lord,’ murmured Gor, ‘what is it now?’

‘Mama!’ Albina appeared from the far end of the building, running, her rubberised legs threatening to tangle at any moment as the gravel squirmed under her feet. ‘Stop!’ Her face glowed red, the breath coming in steaming gasps. ‘Help!’

‘Oh goodness! What is it?’

‘Look!’ she galloped to the foot of the steps and skidded in a shower of muddy stones to point back the way she’d come.

‘Oh malysh , that’s just the rubbish dump. Nothing to be scared of. Although there may be rats—’

‘Not there,’ persisted Albina, ‘there!’ The girl pointed upwards, towards the far end of the building.

They trod back down the steps to crane their necks in the direction Albina was pointing.

‘Is it a bonfire?’ Sveta’s voice trembled.

‘No bonfire,’ said Gor.

A thick black snake of smoke was writhing into the clouds.

They heard a crack of breaking glass followed by a cry.

‘Oh!’ Sveta began to push Gor in the direction of the car. ‘You must get away immediately! Remember the warning!’

‘Now Sveta—’ he began, but the smell of the smoke had bled his face white and his hands, raised in protest, were shaking. She propelled him backwards.

‘Albina, go with Gor to the car, and make sure he stays there. I will raise the alarm.’

The girl stood stock-still. ‘But Mama!’ She frowned. ‘It might be dangerous!’

‘There are fragile people in there, Albina: I must do my duty, and make sure the alarm has been raised. I won’t do anything dangerous.’

‘But Sveta—’ Gor took a step towards the building.

‘Don’t tempt fate, Gor! I will be back almost immediately!’ She smiled her best and bravest smile and, without a further word, trotted up the steps. She did not look back.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the entrance hall. She made out a mosaic covering one wall, depicting workers and peasants engaging in recreation, their jaws square around smiling, ruby lips. She spied the reception desk at the far end. There was no one there. No alarm was ringing: she heard no scurrying. The only sound was the muffled clack of a typewriter, coming from a doorway behind the desk.

‘Coo-eee!’ The typing continued. ‘Hey! Emergency!’ Sveta crossed to the desk and shouted over it. The clattering of keys continued. She scanned the hall, eyeing the doors leading off from each corner to who-knew-where. All was peace. Her hands hammered on the desk. Still there was no response. She noticed a small brass bell, like those they have in hotels. Under it read the legend ‘Ring for attention’. She patted the bell and it let out a mournful ding. The typing stopped and an anaemic-looking administrator sauntered through the door in her slippers.

‘You’re on fire!’ cried Sveta, jigging from one foot to the other.

The administrator looked down at her legs and over her shoulder.

‘Not you – the building! There’s smoke – in that wing!’ Sveta pointed, now jiggling on the spot.

‘I don’t hear the alarm,’ said the administrator, and pushed her glasses back up her nose.

‘Go and look if you don’t believe me. But hurry! People may be trapped!’

The administrator sighed, undid the latch on the counter and scuffed her heels towards the main doors.

‘I don’t see anything,’ she intoned, poking her head out of the door. A blob of ash fluttered around her face like a charred butterfly and stuck to her glasses. ‘Oh, over there?’

She scuffed back to the office and grabbed the handle of the fire bell, cranking it in slow motion. ‘It needs oiling,’ she said, ‘I’ve told Ivan a hundred times…’

Sveta stood open-mouthed as the girl struggled to get more than a clank out of the bell.

‘No one will hear that! Shouldn’t you go down the corridor and warn the staff? Lives may be at stake!’

‘You do what you like. My role is to ring the bell. It’s in the regulations.’ She jabbed her elbow at the small print plastered to the wall behind her.

Sveta’s eyes fell on the reception desk bell. The wood cracked as she ripped it from its moorings and then bolted for a corridor she guessed would lead her to the fire.

‘Hey!’ shouted the administrator. ‘You can’t—’

Sveta prised open the creaking door, took a deep breath and plunged on.

The corridor was badly lit, windowless, and long. There was no sign of life. She trotted down its middle, filling it with the sound of her steps, the dinging of the bell and her alarm call.

‘Fire!’ she yelled in a voice loud enough to wake the dead.

‘Fire!’ There was no reply.

‘Fire!’ The lights before her flickered gently in the gloom, and went out.

Ding-ding-ding went the little bell on her palm as she hurried on, confused there was no one to save, and no one came running. Where were all the guests, all the staff? Her boots echoed. She pushed out a fist and rapped on a door marked ‘Dietary Advice and Monitoring’. No one answered. She felt foolish.

‘Fire!’ she yelled, and dinged the bell. Now her voice wobbled, and she coughed as the smoke began to bite the back of her throat. She stopped and looked around, wondering whether to turn back. She thought of Albina waiting at the car. She thought of Madame Zoya’s warning. The burning smell was strong now. Was that a cry she heard, behind the far door? She was sure she had heard a shout. Someone was trapped, scared. Maybe they were becoming unconscious down there, in the dark and the smoke? They were probably elderly, immobile, alone. If she turned back now to fetch help, it might be too late! She squared her shoulders, dinged her bell, and ran down the corridor.

‘Let me out!’

‘Mama said to make you stay in the car.’

‘I have to go and help!’

‘But what about your warning?’ She arched a dark eyebrow and waggled her finger at him from the other side of the glass.

Gor had allowed himself to be returned to the car and had sat immobile behind the wheel, face grim as he watched the black smoke pulse like blood into the insipid sky. He couldn’t make out the source: the broken window must be at the back. But now he couldn’t sit still. He should not have let Sveta go. He had been a coward.