Hail Warning

Termez, Uzbekistan

Victor’s friend, the doctor, had just sat down to eat a bowl of soup and to read his book when the phone began to ring. He hadn’t answered his phone in over twenty years, and he wasn’t going to start now. The only person to call him was Victor Kornev. There were a few other people he had cultivated loose friendships with over the years in Uzbekistan, such as his lawyer, his maid and a man who picked up and delivered groceries for him.

The doctor was about to put a spoon of hot soup in his mouth when he heard the voice of a woman.

“This is Victor’s friend, Tonya,” the answering machine said.

It had been forever since the doctor had a beautiful woman call him, and he really liked Tonya. She might be the most beautiful woman he had seen. An impulse the doctor hadn’t had in many years seized him. Suddenly answering the phone became of utmost importance.

The doctor slid his TV tray from his lap, and he struggled to get out of his deep chair. Time was passing too quickly for his old body to accommodate. Halfway to his feet, his left foot hit the leg of the TV tray, causing the contents of the bowl of soup to splash on his left leg. The boiling soup on his skin sent intense jolts of pain, and he inadvertently reached down to swipe the liquid off his pants. He had not yet reached a full upright standing position, and his center of gravity sent him backpedaling across the living room. He frantically attempted to catch up with his increased momentum — but it was of no avail. The doctor came to an immediate stop once his skull smacked into the kitchen’s stone countertop.

The doctor’s scream ceased as if a plug had been pulled from a speaker. The old man folded in a heap on the floor. The back of his skull caved in, and he was dead before the message had finished recording.

“—and he needs your help to get out of one of them. If you don’t help him, he will most certainly die in the tunnel.”