Читать книгу Apocalypse «Beginning of the End» - Азизбек Набиевич Карамзин - Страница 3

The sky before my eyes was clear, and it seemed that I had never seen it so bright and deep blue. Now, in general, all things were perceived differently, especially those that were not particularly appreciated before. Even the chirping of birds and the chirping of insects in the grass was somehow perceived differently and had a special value, as if very soon this would never be heard again.

Despite the fact that around the transformer box, on the roof of which I was lying, looking at the sky, a crowd of stinking gray "ghouls" wandered around, I did not feel their smell. It smelled of wet roofing material, and for some reason I really liked this smell.

I sat down and looked at my watch, it was nearing dinner time. The infected below subsided a little, losing sight of me, but they were not going to leave anywhere – I was still trapped. In the aisle between the garages, through which I came here, there were also three caricatured characters: a fat, skinny and hunchbacked woman with a hand gnawed to the bone. Rolling over on my stomach, I crawled along the perimeter of the roof, studying the situation. On the left side, I found a high staircase, which I did not immediately notice. She led to the roof of a two-story garage, and from there there was a direct road into the forest. This was my only way to salvation, only the descent from this damned roof separated me from the stairs, and then it was necessary to somehow overcome about ten meters of the passage clogged with bloodthirsty citizens.

On the opposite side was a garage with large gates, clearly designed for freight transport. Theoretically, it would be possible to throw something heavy into this gate. The roar should have been strong, and perhaps it would distract the attention of the infected from the stairs. I looked around, but found nothing more suitable for this purpose than my axe.

On the other hand, there was nowhere to hurry, and I could just wait until the infected dispersed out of boredom on their own, and I would have the opportunity to run across to the saving stairs.

I decided that this is how you can wait indefinitely, especially since I have already seen how the infected froze, as if sleeping standing up, waiting for the victim. Therefore, crouching down and trying to avoid being noticed with all my strength, I threw the ax at the large iron gate of the neighboring garage.

The rumble turned out not weak, as I expected. Frightened birds flew up from the trees twenty meters behind the garages, and sounds from below suggested that the infected were beginning to gravitate towards the sound.

I quickly turned back and, putting my backpack on my shoulders, crawled to the left edge, to where I could see the stairs leading to the roof of the neighboring garage. Looking over the edge, I saw that the infected, absurdly pushing, slowly go around the corner of the building, clearing the way for me to escape. You can not hesitate, but also make noise. After waiting until the last infected was out of sight, I prepared to go down.

Carefully leaning over the edge of the roof and trying not to make any noise, I jumped down onto the soft grass and almost sat on my ass, being pulled by the backpack that hung back. Waving my arms, I regained my balance and looked around. The infected did not look in my direction, and I immediately took advantage of this. For some reason, spreading my arms wide and crouching, I crossed the garage courtyard and reached the rescue ladder, and remained unnoticed. It was weakly fixed, so when I began to climb it, the old piece of iron rumbled loudly, attracting the attention of the infected. From the stairs, I saw a pregnant woman with a blood-stained mouth quickly rush towards me. She was followed by the others like the leader of the pack, which made me climb onto the roof like a bullet. At the top, breathing heavily, I looked down, waiting that the pregnant woman would follow me, but this did not happen. She stood and silently looked into my eyes without blinking. The rest of the infected, crowding around her, pulled her hands and moaned. I had a great desire to spit down, but I restrained myself, and, straightening my backpack and tucking my T-shirt into jeans, we went to the forest that separated the garage cooperative from the outskirts of the city.

Even during the day it was unpleasant to be in the forest. Especially after the events that have taken place somno in the last couple of hours, seriously undermined my composure. Trees swayed and creaked in the wind, bushes rustled, and pine cones kept falling to the ground. In every extraneous rustle and movement of nature, I imagined the approaching infected. My imagination played a cruel joke on me, forcing me to constantly turn my head in search of danger, which made my neck pretty tired, and soon I was already trying to turn my whole body. So, like an idol, I wandered out of the forest.

A field stretched across the front of the house, and immediately behind it was a private sector of fifty houses, separating me from the city. The village, unlike the smoking city, looked serene. I think I even heard the barking of a dog somewhere in its depths, but I could not say for sure. After the stress, everything seemed a little unreal.

Climbing up a low hill, I sat down under a tree. The place was comfortable, elevated, and the view was picturesque. I plucked a straw and clamped it between my teeth and began to observe, but absolutely nothing happened in the village.

My stomach growled insistently. There, in the construction camp, I had no problems with food. I didn’t even really think about how and where to look for it. However, this was now a pressing problem, and, judging that I would certainly be able to find something in the village, I got up and headed towards the serene-looking houses.

The nearest building was an unfinished three-story cottage. It was supposed to offer a gorgeous view of the entire district. I decided that it would not be superfluous to look around once again from a height, and I headed there. The bushes growing here and there on the entire plateau between the forest and the village concealed my approach well.

Having reached the cottage and just about to enter it, I suddenly heard a strange shuffling sound somewhere on the second, or even on the third floor. It was hard to understand exactly. Of course, there were no doors or furniture in the house, solid bare walls created such acoustics that every rustle was heard. Sitting down, I leaned against the wall and listened, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. The sounds were no longer repeated, and I even began to doubt that I actually heard something – deathly silence. It seemed that there was not even wind and birds. And as soon as I was about to move, there was a quiet female voice, turning into a groan: “Bitch! Cut… Wow bastard…”. It looked like the woman was in great pain, and I couldn't think of anything smarter than just asking out loud:

– Hey! Need help?

The answer was complete silence. I waited, but nothing happened.

“Your friend, whom I nailed, just doesn’t need any more help,” a woman’s voice finally came from somewhere above. – If you want to die next to him, get up. There was an air of confidence in her voice. She even broke her voice a little to sound more serious.

– I don’t know who you are talking about … My name is Artem. Are you okay? – I tried to sound as harmless as possible in intonation. “I can leave if you want, I don’t want trouble.” – I added and started to rise in order to really leave this place, but after a long pause, the woman upstairs answered again:

– My name is Ira … – she said, and then asked an unexpected question. – What were you doing before the epidemic?

– Signalman. Built cell towers.

“Infection, it would be better if you were a doctor,” she muttered quietly.

My anxiety intensified. All this was somehow strange, but I decided to keep the conversation going a little more and asked:

– Are you local?

– From "Oplot"

– What's this?

“And where did this one come from?” This is one of the survivors' camps, not far from here, in the industrial zone…

“If you’re hurt, I can go there and bring…”

– No, stop! she interrupted me, a little frightened. “Stay here…” the voice trailed off as the words progressed.

"So is there anything I can do to help?" I asked for the second time.

“Yes… I don’t know. Go up to the third floor, it's hard for me to speak. And put your hands up so I can see them.

I hesitated, but my conscience did not allow me to leave a person in trouble, so I began to slowly climb up. A couple of times I stopped and looked around, wondering if I was being smart. The times are now when life is worth little, and it needs to be protected more than ever. I got up and stood at the doorway, behind which Irina was supposed to be. I did not go in right away, but at first I quickly looked into the room and immediately removed my head. At a cursory glance, the room seemed empty except for an old stepladder to the left, and a stack of boxes of tiles in the middle of the room, behind which Irina hid, looking at the passage through the front sight of a rifle.

"Put your weapons away, I'm not armed!" – I leaned against the wall at the doorway and tried to take such a position that, in case of emergency, I could quickly escape.

“Come in, don’t piss…” There was pain and irritation in her voice.

– Well, just don't shoot, for God's sake, – I entered the room, raising my hands, and saw Irina lying on the floor, leaning on a pile of tiles. The boxes, tiles and the floor around the girl were stained with blood, and she herself had a deathly-pale face, which wrinkled a little, intensely looking forward through the front sight of the Dragunov rifle with half-closed eyes, in which consciousness was barely kept. Her imposing overall image caught the eye: dark green pants, powerful army boots, easy unloading over a black turtleneck and a brand new black Dragunov rifle. Despite the fact that the whole girl was stained with construction dust and blood, her appearance inspired respect.

“Put the gun away, I won’t do anything to you,” I remained standing a step away from the doorway and held my hands up in front of me. The girl looked at me with dull and almost closed eyes, without uttering a word.

“Hey…” I waved at her, trying to figure out if she could see me at all. Irina again did not react in any way, and the thought slipped through my mind that she had already died.

Coming closer, I took the rifle from her hands and carefully placed it against the far wall. Next to Irina lay a gray backpack, from which an army first-aid kit was sticking out, smeared with blood. It looks like she was trying to reach it with one hand while holding the wounds with the other. I pulled out a first aid kit and looked into my backpack: there were a couple of cans of stew, a bottle of cola, several boxes of cartridges, empty magazines for SVD, a walkie-talkie and … of course, cosmetics. Putting everything back in, I looked around the room one more time. It was only now that I noticed a corpse lying to the left of the doorway through which I had entered. It was a man in torn and soiled clothes, looking like a bum. As soon as I noticed him, I immediately felt how he stank of urine and smoke. He lay face down, blood spreading around his head with dirty red hair, mixing with construction dust,

Turning to Irina, I found that she was alive and breathing evenly, but large wet blood stains on her chest, leg and shoulder suggested that the situation might soon change. The wound on the chest was especially fearful, a bag of scarlet arterial blood had already accumulated from the clothes, which indicated very heavy bleeding.

For a few seconds I hesitated, but soon, gathering my thoughts, I began to act. Taking the girl's limp body in my arms, I laid her on top of the boxes with tiles, as they seemed to me cleaner than the floor, on which a porridge of blood and dust had already formed.

The wound on her chest throbbed, splashing out a fountain of blood and life from the girl's body with each push. I firmly pressed this place with my hand, but I felt how warm and sticky blood continued to spread under my clothes. It became very hot, and sweat broke out on my forehead. I doubted that I was doing everything right, but now I had to think and act quickly and coolly. Pulling myself together, I examined the remaining wounds on the leg and shoulder, making sure that they were not dangerous, I returned to the wound on the chest. Unfastening the unloading and unceremoniously tearing off the turtleneck, I saw a deep stab wound under the right breast. The injury looked very serious. After wiping my blood-stained hands on my clothes, I parted the girl's jaws and made sure that there was no blood in her mouth. This is a good sign, it means that the lung was not pierced, because otherwise, she would be doomed.

I reached into my backpack and took out the first aid kit. A bunch of cartridges and food caught my eye again. I looked at the rifle that stood against the wall, and the thought crept into my head that all this could be mine. Well, theoretically, if you still can’t save her, don’t leave these things here … I looked at Irina, who was lying unconscious, her chest heaved measuredly.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I opened the first-aid kit and immediately found a paper brochure in it, which contained a list of contents. After a quick run through the list, I found out that there is everything you need and much more. I needed bandages, peroxide and painkillers. There were even broad spectrum antibiotics. I looked at the girl again, she was still breathing heavily and was unconscious.

Grabbing the first aid kit that was in the girl's backpack, I quickly shook it. Having found hydrogen peroxide and a bandage, he began to tear off pieces of the bandage and, after soaking them with peroxide, push them into the wound with dense balls, thus making a tamponade to stop the blood. At some point, Irina groaned from unbearable pain, and I tried to talk to her, calming her down and explaining what you were doing, but she was already unconscious again and did not hear me. When the blood had been stopped, I took dicynone and novocaine from the first-aid kit, making injections around the wounds, as taught in the shooting club, I proceeded to dressing.

Ten minutes later I finished and sat next to the girl on the boxes of tiles. She was still unconscious, and I felt exhausted and sweaty. Now everything depended on her. I washed off the dried blood from my hands with the rest of the peroxide and wiped my hands on the girl’s pants. “You don’t care to wash things, don’t be offended,” Irina did not answer …

After sitting like that for some more time, I finally calmed down a little and began to think about what to do next. In a good way, you should not leave Irina here in this state, she needs medical help. We should at least take her to the survivor camp she was talking about. Would also like to know where to look for it. Picking up the first-aid kit, I found a bottle of ammonia and sniffed its contents. It seemed that the pungent smell penetrated to the very brains, even the eyes got wet. Raising the girl's head, I brought a bottle of stinking liquid to her nose, and after a few seconds, she, moaning, began to turn her head, trying to take her nose to the side. I helped her sit up, holding her and putting my arm around her shoulders.

– It's all right, I treated and bandaged the wounds – I tried to smile at her, but it didn't seem to come out very well. – You need to see a doctor. Do you have a doctor in this Stronghold?

For a while she looked at me with expressionless eyes. Her vidocq was such that for a second I wondered if she had been infected for an hour? God forbid now how he rushes at me. But the girl, having parted her dry and blue lips, croaked: “Give me a drink …” – pointing to her backpack with a glance. I quickly found a can of cola and, having opened it, gave it to Irina. She slowly drained it to the bottom, then, hiccuping loudly from the gas that hit her nose, she writhed in pain, but after a moment, noticeably perking up, she began to examine herself. Only now did she notice that there was nothing above her waist except for bandages and an unbuttoned unloading. Although her chest was bandaged around and tightly fixed, Ira quickly fastened the unloading, and her gray-pale face darkened noticeably:

– Bandaged so that I'm about to suffocate, – she tried not to look into my eyes and, pointing to the bandaged chest, asked. – As there? Everything is bad?

“If you are talking about a wound,” I smiled, “it’s not that it’s completely bad, but it’s not enough good either.” The wound is deep, but the lung is not affected, but the artery is cut. You need to be sewn up and quickly, there is a risk of pneumothorax and infection.

– You're a signalman, aren't you?

– I go to the shooting club … I went. There we were taught how to help with bullets and knives.

– So I'm lucky?

I did not have time to answer. Two armed and well-equipped fighters in black balaclavas quietly entered the room. Two AKM muzzles stared at my face. I looked towards the SVD standing against the wall, but one of the guys shook his head, making it clear what not to do.

Anyone who has ever been directed with a military weapon knows this nasty feeling of fear, covering from head to toe, trying to relax the muscles in the lower abdomen …

– Calm down, guys! – I raised my hands up and heroically covered Irina with myself, but she pushed me aside.

– Guys, put it down … he helped me, – she began to get to her feet and one of the guys, putting the weapon behind her back, picked her up. – I need to see a doctor … stitches.

– What about this? – The second fighter pointed at me with his head.

Irina stopped the fighter, who was already carrying her to the exit.

– Thank you, Artyom… go to the industrial zone, go to Oplot, you will see the sign. It’s better not to go to the Zastava – they don’t like strangers. Orientation in general.

After these words, the big man carried the girl out of the room, and the second fighter, picking up the SVD and Irina's backpack, approached me and extended a hefty paw in a fingerless leather glove.

– Thanks bro! His voice was no less impressive than his appearance. I responded to his handshake, after which he, winking at me, quickly followed his comrades.

I was left standing alone in the middle of the room, a little discouraged by the swiftness of what was happening. My attention was again attracted by the corpse of a bum. Overcoming disgust, I decided to search it and not in vain: in one of the pockets there were several cartridges, and in my clamped hand I found a token on a torn chain. The name on the token indicated that it belonged to Irina Nikolaevna Borkova. Judging by the date on the token, Irina was twenty-nine years old, and she had the first blood type. Most likely, in a fight with a girl, a bum tore the token from her neck, and it remained in his hand. Maybe you should return it to its owner? Let's see… Putting the finds in my pocket, I carefully brushed off the white dust and left the building.

The day was in full swing, and the sun was hot in full force, causing a desire to hide in the shade. The singing of morning birds was replaced by the chirping of millions of insects from the grass, which formed into a rumble against the background of general silence.

I was standing at a fork in the road that had been broken by trucks. On my right side was a yellow gas pipe, mounted on metal supports, on the left was an artificial bridge, and under it was a dirty semi-permanent rivulet, the banks of which were everywhere trampled by cattle. A low picket fence, rickety in places, framed private houses and stretched in a string along the road into the very depths of the village. The houses here were different: both small, rickety old ones, and solid-looking cottages, but they all looked empty and abandoned with the shutters of the windows tightly closed. I did not hesitate to go to the city.

The sun was in full swing, and the streets of the city center were clearly visible. Garbage not removed for months, which was taken away by stray dogs, cats and crows, filled the roads and sidewalks. Colliding wrecked cars were abandoned at almost every intersection.

People in a panic left these places, leaving the city infected, which at that time were not so many, and I even met other survivors. True, everyone who could now be met looked too belligerent, so it was not always desirable to make contact. Most often they exchanged greeting gestures and dispersed.

Sheets were hung from the windows, with calls for help written on them or radio frequencies to communicate with rescuers. Blood stains on the walls and sidewalks and the unbearable smell of burnt plastic created a depressing atmosphere. You usually experience something similar when you are in a cemetery.

It was easy to move around without being noticed during the daytime. True, I understood that luck cannot be eternal. Sooner or later you can run into trouble.

Soon I reached the central intersection of roads, from here it was possible to get into the industrial zone, where the survivors' shelters were located. In a neighborhood abandoned by people, next to which there was an old garment factory. The road led from here to the exit from the city, where I organized a shelter for my car. On the left, the road went down to the private sector, there was little of interest to me there. Among other things, it was possible to look around here, because in the houses abandoned by people leaving in a panic, for sure, one could get hold of something useful.

Under the scorching afternoon sun, along a broken dirt road, I reached a fork in the industrial zone. There were no infected here at all, and it was possible to move around safely. Finally getting out onto the asphalt and shaking off the dirt that had stuck to his shoes, he looked around. In front of the house stood a stand made of boards with signs. The inscription on it, executed with obvious errors, said that if I went to the left, I would come to the Oplot shelter. If I go to the right, it will lead me to the Zastava hideout. Walking to the territory of the warehouses, which were located directly, was highly discouraged. There, according to the words on the stand, there was a corral for the lost infected, who were herded there during the cleansing of the territory. Among other things, it was said that gasoline can be purchased in Zastava. And in the Oplot to rest and eat, however, the Oplot was closed for the night,

Behind the booth one could see warehouses fenced off by a high strong fence. There, a real army of the infected walked around the territory. To think of approaching them, you need to be absolutely reckless, because this is, consider, certain death. To the left was a high fence, behind which the Oplot was located. On the right hand in the distance one could see a wall sheathed with rusty tin and a large blind gate, near which stood two men with weapons. It was a survivor's camp called Zastava.

The first thing that caught my eye on the way to the gates of the Oplot was several dozen corpses scattered along the roadsides. Traces of blood on the pavement and white-painted curbs indicated that the corpses were dragged there from the road, freeing the roadway. Some traces of blood were fresh, and in their clots one could see hair, pieces of bones and brains. In order not to smell, I covered my face with my sleeve and tried not to look at my feet.

The stronghold was located on a huge storage area, surrounded by a tall stone and wooden fence with barbed wire on top. The fence rested on a two-story building with a checkpoint, which, in turn, grew into silver-colored metal sliding gates. An imposing searchlight hung above them, and the gates themselves were upholstered on the back with plywood, which hid the territory of the warehouses from prying eyes. On the outer side of the gate hung a huge poster which read: “Attention, driver! 5km/h,” and then in red crossed out circles there were images of a cigarette, a bottle, a dog, a fire, a camera, and so on. At the end of this list, someone artfully depicted an infected stretching his hands forward, crossed out with a red line and circled in the manner of other prohibitions. Checkpoint, painted in beige color, with barred windows on both floors and a heavy iron door, it looked very shabby. Some of the windows were broken and covered with plywood on the inside. There were many bullet holes and dents on the walls and the door, judging by which, the battle here had once been serious.

Approaching the gate, he felt eyes on him, but could not see anyone who could observe the zamnaya. They could see me from at least two points: this is the second floor of the checkpoint, where a dark window could hide the shooter, as well as a three-story building located on the territory, closest to the gate. On the roof of this building was a high pillbox made of sandbags, the roof and loopholes of which were covered with a dense layer of camouflage mesh.

Just in case, I raised my hands a little, showing my good intentions, slowly approached the iron door of the checkpoint and, loudly knocking on it with my fist, began to wait. From the territory of the Stronghold, various sounds reached me: the voices of people, the barking of dogs, someone's laughter, and even the noise of a jackhammer. Life in the refuge was in full swing. Nobody opened the door for a long time, and as soon as I was about to knock on it with my foot, the latch on the other side clicked loudly, and a thin man in a vest opened the door. At first glance, he could have been about thirty-five years old, but the short gray hair on his head made him look older, and his weathered face with long black eyelashes betrayed gypsy blood in him. Squinting and wrinkling his forehead, he looked me up and down and greeted me in a loud, perky voice:

– Hello, tramp! Come on, raise your hands and this … turn around!

Shrugging my shoulders, I complied with his request. Meanwhile, he continued to take the lead in the conversation.

– Bites, abrasions, scratches? Have you been in contact with infected people?

“No…” His pressure was a little discouraging. – In the sense of having contact, but God had mercy – they did not bite.

– Refugee?

– Something like that.

“It’s rare now that new ones come,” he stepped aside, letting me inside. – Come in…

I entered a dusty and heavily smoky room. The man who opened the door for me, slamming and bolting the door, proceeded to the watchman's booth, located immediately to the left of the entrance. I followed him and, standing at the watchman's window, I expected what would happen next. Now I noticed two more men with weapons sitting at the other end of the room, silently watching me. Meanwhile, the gypsy who met me sat down in the watchman's chair and, opening a thick magazine that lay in front of him, looked at me inquiringly.

– Do you have a passport?

With some disbelief, I took out my passport and placed it on the table in front of him.

– So, Artyom! – said the gypsy, looking at my ID and writing something in his journal. – Our procedure is as follows: now I am writing you down as a guest, then you go to Trofimych, he is in charge here. You will talk with him, decide where you will be sent, there are generally few civilians here, they are in Lesnoy for the most part. Call me Pasha, if anything. What questions do you have, ask. I decided to ask him what he knows about the virus.

Well, what do I know about the virus? Yes, that's all – foci of infection around the world, as if they happened at once. People began to go crazy and attack other people. And whoever gets bitten, he, consider, is doomed – and half a day will not pass before he becomes the same. Even here recently, so to speak, empirically found out such crap, from which the hair stands on end. Estimate, if a person dies by his own death, then after some time he comes to life and also becomes a ghoul. The walking dead, damn it, like in a movie in the best traditions of the genre …

Yes, I have read about it online. – I confirmed, – You yourself, how did you get here?

“My wife and son and I sat at home, waiting for the epidemic to end, but the food ran out earlier, and several dozen infected crawled into the entrance, and we lived on the eighth floor. I already thought the end of us, but there was a military unit near the city, and my friend was serving on it, so when they entered the city and organized a refugee camp in Lesnoy, he came looking for me first thing. They cleared the entrance and took us to the shelter. My family was assigned there, and I was to be on duty here. Lucky it happened at the right time. And then for the second night a mutant was spinning around our house.

– Mutant? – I was surprised – are you talking about the infected or what?

“Do you know about mutants?” – I shook my head in response – Brother, you are lucky. Here at night this happens sometimes – mother do not worry! He smiled bitterly and continued. “We don't know how yet, but some of these. – he pointed somewhere through the wall, in the direction where I came from. “They mutate into some kind of half gorillas and half wolves… Fuck understand, maybe you’ll see it yourself somehow… although, God forbid. So they only come out at night. Fast and strong. They, consider that only with a machine gun can be killed. So after all, they, bastards, are also smart, they hunt more than cats. In general, if you want to live, try not to get out anywhere at night, otherwise if such a creature notices you, you will not have time to blink an eye when you find yourself in her belly.

– Piz ** ts … – I summed up his story, and asked him about the Outpost.

“Uuu, brother, don’t go to the Outpost unnecessarily, they don’t favor strangers. They can put a bullet in the forehead. – Pavel collapsed on a chair more comfortably, throwing his legs over his legs. – Yes, only if you need gasoline. True, the horse's price tag is bent, most likely.

– And who are they anyway? – The opportunity to purchase gasoline interested me.

– Yes, there used to be a coal mine there, the largest of the local ones. Guest workers and former convicts worked there like hell. The contingent there has always been bad, the work is a real nightmare, they pay a penny, and you go underground in a dubious environment of people whose souls are black and embittered, like coal itself – Pavel took out a cigarette and, striking a match on a shabby box, set fire to it, releasing it into ceiling thick plume of smoke. – When the troops entered the city, one of the units was based just on the territory of the mine. They brought equipment, weapons, and even twenty tanks of gasoline rolled in from somewhere. And then, as it got hot, everyone deserted almost to the last. Yes, this is understandable, damn it, who wants to serve when your relatives, not even an hour, are devoured by some ghoul? They seized state property, which means and they went to their native lands, who was on what, and the local gangsters and the criminals who worked there before, judging by the rumors, united and took the territory by storm. They killed the remnants of the warriors … Oh, and the massacre, they say, was …

– Understandably. What kind of relationship do you have with them? I continued to wonder.

– Yes, at first they butted too, and then it seemed that they agreed to change food for fuel. Here they calmed down. They don't touch us, we touch them. We change as needed and that's all, but mark my word, Artem, they will still come to us at night with knives and guns … – Listen, Pash, I have a family in Novosibirsk now, I'm going to go to them. I would like gasoline and food for the journey. Maybe you can tell me what?

Pavel scratched the back of his head. “I definitely can’t help you. It is necessary to talk with Trofimych. Only you don’t count on much: gasoline, food and cartridges are the main resources now, but there aren’t enough hands, so, you see, it will give you the opportunity to earn money. Talk to him first… Will you have tea? Pavel went to the bedside table in the corner and turned on the electric kettle. I was a little surprised by the presence of electricity, because the rest of the city had been de-energized for a long time.

– No thanks, Pash, somehow it’s not up to tea parties now. Where do you get electricity from? Are the generators working?

– Well, as you wish, but for the last week we have been doing nothing but chasing teas. He sat down again at the front table. – And we have electricity from the power plant. Ours recently took control of it. I can’t say more, I don’t know how everything works there.

– Well, thanks for the information, I said, and Pavel looked at the fighters with weapons sitting in the far corner of the checkpoint and, nodding to them, waved his hand in my direction.

– Kostyan, let's go to Trofimych and grab sugar from Romych there, tell me, I asked. – Kostyan, when he got up from his chair, surprised me with his size. A hefty fat kid under two meters tall, throwing a short on a belt behind his back, headed towards the door, nodding me to follow him.

The shelter area looked very clean. People were scurrying around with carts stuffed with bricks, some kind of boards and plywood. People settled here for a long time, and work was in full swing. Almost everyone had a weapon, mostly pistols and rifles, but there were also large-caliber automatic weapons.

I walked about 200 meters deep into the shelter between long rows of warehouses and found myself in front of a three-story office building, which, apparently, used to house the administration. Outside, the building was given a very neat look by the siding with which it was sheathed, but inside the repair has not been done since Soviet times. The orange paint on the walls was cracked, the plaster had chipped in many places, and the ceiling was a dirty gray. There was a strong smell of welding, and at the very entrance there was a small wooden booth, the windows in which were so covered with dust that they almost completely lost their transparency.

There were several closed doors on the first floor. I approached the stairs leading to the second floor. Beneath it was a large workbench, next to which was a guy in contact glasses. He was enthusiastically soldering something, listening to music from a small tape recorder.

– Hello, Romaha! – Greeted him accompanying me a big man. Then he turned to me, pointing to the stairs to the second floor. – Climb up and immediately to the right. There’s such a brown door there … – Having lost interest in me, the big man went to Roman, who was sitting under the stairs, and I, as I was told, went up to the second floor, and, finding a brown door there, knocked on it.