Apocalypse «Beginning of the End»

It all started with disturbing news reports that I watched in the morning, waking up in my hotel room. Every day there were more and more reports, and the events described in them looked more and more like fantastic plots from a horror movie. News releases so excited and occupied me that I had to be late for work, inspecting the next emergency inclusion of live broadcast. Very soon, the events taking place became so large-scale that all channels stopped broadcasting anything but them.

Two weeks passed before the horrors of the news spread to the streets of Leninsko-Kuznetsky. I have not yet encountered them, but only heard about the first infected from people with whom I spoke at work. And then one day, none of my employees came to the shift, calling and finding various excuses for this. In the city, single shots and the roar of automatic bursts were heard. The sirens did not stop day or night.

As usual, I tried to call a taxi, but I could not get through to the dispatcher.

About a month later, cellular communication and the Internet disappeared, completely depriving me of information about the epidemic spreading in the world. However, the dynamics of past events and the way the connection was lost spoke very eloquently that nothing good was waiting for me, like other people.

The world as I knew it was dying. A terrible epidemic struck city after city, country after country with such swiftness that the hair stood on end.

According to the Internet, foci of infection were identified around the world in the first two weeks. The infected, maddened, rushed at people, trying to bite them and even eat them. After some time, the bitten ones also went crazy, and they themselves rushed at others, even if they were members of their family: an elderly mother or a defenseless baby huddled in a corner … It doesn’t matter … The infected turned into real animals, striving to plunge their dirty smelly teeth, thereby spreading a deadly infection.

YouTube was filled with gory videos of infected lunatics throwing themselves at healthy people and tearing them with their teeth. Unfortunately, the Internet was slow and the videos had to be watched in very poor quality, but this did not prevent us from realizing the scale of the disaster around the world. First, quarantine was introduced and borders were closed, and military checkpoints appeared at airports, railway stations and sea routes. Then they talked about mass desertions among the military. After some time, the government stopped commenting on anything at all. It became obvious that he was no more, and the government could not protect anyone.

People saw death through the windows, it was bursting at their doors. Fear, spiced with the smell of blood and death, was in the air, and everyone felt it. The cacophony of breaking glass, gunshots, screams, car alarms, the howls and groans of the infected turned into an endless rumble that made the blood run cold.

A little later, videos began to appear in which brave guys taught how best to kill the infected. It turned out that it was not so easy. The Infected were not susceptible to pain, and even gunshots did not immediately kill them. But a good blow to the head or spine killed on the spot. The people who told this also said that one should not be afraid to take the life of the infected, even if it is a relative or close person. They are already dead, and what is standing in front of you is a monster in the guise of your loved one. About a week later, there were reports that military depots were to be reopened, and civilians were given weapons (one barrel per hand) and a certain number of cartridges for it. Weapons were issued according to the passport and only to those who did not have a criminal record. Judging by the news, despite the general devastation and the fact that almost the entire army fled, there are still people who are true to their duty. Only thanks to them in the cities there were still some echoes of the former order.

Then I found out where the point of issuing weapons was in Leninsko-Kuznetsk, but I could not bring myself to go there, coming up with new excuses for myself every day. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was afraid … afraid, as never before in my life, to the point of trembling in my legs. Here on top of the mountain I was safe. The supplies of food and water should have been enough for a long time, and I really hoped that by the time they were running out, everything would settle down and return to the usual course for everyone.

After the connection was gone, in addition to my own skin, I was only worried about the fate of my sister and her daughter. Katya divorced her husband and moved, as she herself put it, “for a while” to live with me. It happened exactly a week before the first news about the epidemic. At that time, I, accustomed to a lonely life in a small apartment in the center of Novosibirsk, gladly agreed to a business trip to Leninsk-Kuznetsky, because my seven-year-old niece Vika was still a wild child, and after the “family reunion” it was impossible to rest in my house and dream. No, of course, I loved my sister and nephew very much, especially after the death of my mother they were the only relatives. They just appeared in my measured life at the wrong time and very impudently. I was glad to be able to leave them for a while. Now the thought of

While there was a connection, I talked to Katya on the phone almost every day and knew that my relatives were relatively safe. As soon as the riots began, Katya's ex-husband arrived and took them and Vika to his cottage outside the city.

Despite his addiction to alcohol and a strong temper, Oleg was an intelligent man and did a lot for the family. I knew this from the rare family gatherings at which I had the chance to talk to him. Later, Katya told that the military came to their cottage settlement, and, having occupied the territory, turned the settlement into a refugee camp. Since the settlement was surrounded by a high brick wall, an excellent fortified place emerged, guarded by armed men. Katya tearfully asked me to return as soon as possible, and I promised to do this as soon as the situation cleared up a little.

I spent my days sitting on the rocks and watching through binoculars what was going on in the city. No one was extinguishing the fires, the shots were less and less frequent, and the streets, although there were few of them, were staggering around with the infected, whom I recognized by their shackled jerky movements. After some time at night, I began to hear a howl. He was clearly neither human nor animal. Even the infected, hearing him, tried to hide, wandering around the empty entrances and basements.

One night, in the light of the raging fires, I even managed to see a gorilla! It was a gorilla, I definitely saw it! She deftly jumped from the roof of the house to the balcony and disappeared into the darkness of one of the apartments. At that moment I was sure that I saw her, but now I doubted. Worse, the power went out. Whereas before I cooked on an electric stove and kept open cans in the refrigerator, now I had to cook on a campfire.

The place where I took shelter had enough food and water to last a whole construction team for a month, working on a cell tower and building a large communication center. For me alone it would have been enough for three months, no less.

However, it was strange that electricity did not disappear everywhere: in some parts of the city it was still available, appearing from time to time, and in other places, like on my construction site, it completely disappeared.

The position of the chief communications engineer I held required me to go on business trips to various cities and accept objects for rent, the construction of which my company TeleSeti carried out on a subcontract basis for large cellular companies.

In this mining town, my task was to accept the next node from the builders, as well as control the installation of the BS on top of the cell tower. I thought that it was the installation of the BS that would be the most difficult for me on this trip, since more than anything in the world I was afraid of great heights. Now, against the backdrop of the horror that was happening around me, the fear of heights seemed pitiful and insignificant to me.

My construction camp consisted of only three blue-colored cabins with white windows, four stone walls covering the cabins from the wind from the west side, and a huge bright yellow five-axle aerial platform weighing sixty tons, if my memory serves me right.

Alone, the hours and days dragged on slowly, and it became easier to convince myself that this place was not worth leaving.

I thought a lot about what was happening, and longing drove me crazy. Sometimes I was amused by the memories, for example, about my mortgage, which is now unlikely to have to be paid. True, and a decent area in which I bought an apartment, perhaps, it is already difficult to call it calm and prosperous. According to the sister, when the connection was still there, now everything was teeming with the infected.

At the entrance to the city, I saw a gas station and, not reaching it about two hundred meters, out of habit, turning on the turn signal, turned to the side of the road.

The city looked dead and abandoned. I tried to catch the details of the picture that formed such a feeling, but in vain – it was just felt in my gut. The smell of burning, to which it seemed that he was already accustomed, struck with renewed vigor. You could feel it even with the windows closed. It is not surprising, because half of the city was shrouded in black smoke, because somewhere in its other part a large factory or warehouses had been burning for a long time, and there was no one to extinguish them.

The rain was ending, and I clearly saw four gloomy figures on the territory of the gas station. One of them was a woman in a long white dress. She stood with her head resting on the gas station. Three more were near the motorcycle lying on its side. I knew for sure that they were infected: they seemed to be sleeping standing up, and I didn’t want to wake them up at all. The head ached a little. The morning came out painfully saturated, fatigue made itself felt.

Anyway, if I go to the gas station, I have to deal with these four ghouls, and that was the last thing I wanted in the world. It was clear that sooner or later I would have to face the infected and have to kill them, but I so wanted to postpone this unpleasant moment for later. I started making up excuses for not going to the gas station and thinking about the best place to get gas. The arguments "against" were very logical, in my opinion. What if the gas station is closed? After all, the speakers are turned on from the control booth, in which the armored glass, the lattice on the window and the reliable door are clearly not made of cardboard. In addition, I had no idea how gas stations are generally arranged and work. My knowledge in this area was limited to inserting a gun into the tank hatch and paying for gasoline at the checkout. And the devil knows how many more infected there are,

After looking around and making sure that there was no threat, I settled in a chair more comfortably and began to think about what other safe ways there were to get hold of gasoline. It seemed the most obvious to drain it from other cars, but for this, at least, a hose was needed, which would not be a fact that would help, because modern cars, as far as I knew, had a mesh installed in the tank chute. Although I didn't know for sure. The next idea, much more viable, in my opinion, was the opening of garages in some garage cooperative. Theoretically, in garages, people could store gasoline even in barrels, and, by definition, there should not be many infected there. I already liked the idea! I remembered how I passed one garage cooperative on the western outskirts of the city.

Looking around, I saw a country road leading in the right direction. The road was empty, and only the lone Fred truck, which had driven into a ditch, with its doors wide open, was looking at me forlornly from the bushes, resembling a spaniel in its appearance. Starting the car, I directed it in the direction of the western outskirts of the city.

On the way, I met another infected. He trudged along the country road in the same direction as me. It was an ordinary village man, dressed in a vest, wide trousers and high rubber boots. “A kind of tractor driver,” I thought. The fact that he was "one of these" was clear from his gait, and the fact that the boot on his right leg was half gone, but this did not bother the peasant, and he continued to walk, dragging his leg. I pulled up to the left side of the road and stepped on the gas a little, hoping to quickly go around it. When the peasant was about twenty meters away, he heard me and turned around, leaning his head on his shoulder. Bloody saliva ran from his mouth. Without thinking twice, he stepped in my direction, mouth and eyes wide open. I braked sharply, and the zombie, not expecting this, fell right in front of the car to the ground. I gave gas and, moving it, drove on.

Before the garages remained with half a kilometer, when the car suddenly began to sneeze and twitch. “Gasoline is running out, we need to urgently hide the car,” I decided.

Around was a field with many small bushes and islands of trees. The nearest such island was about a hundred meters from the road, and I turned into it, persuading the car so that it would not stall. Sneezing and twitching, Kruzak impudently fell into the bushes, breaking them with a powerful "kenguryatnik", and, having honestly completed the task, unceremoniously stalled.

Jumping out into the wet grass, I examined my footprints leading from the road to the forest – they were practically invisible, and this pleased me. Stepping back a little and making sure that nothing could be seen from the road, he glanced at his watch. It seemed that half a day had already passed, such a busy morning. “Well, then, garages,” I thought, looking in their direction. You could see them from here.

Taking out the easel backpack from the autobox, I removed the tent from it, putting on a hiking bag in its place. After making sure that the bag and canister were tightly secured, I put it on my back – it was convenient. I jumped and ran a little around the car – the backpack fit well, clasping my shoulders and waist with soft straps. After rummaging under the trunk tray, I found a working flashlight and a powerful long-handled spray bottle. What you need! I tossed the flashlight into my bag, secured the found key to the metal shelf of my backpack next to the axe, and closed the trunk.

The sun came out and pleasantly warmed me, only now it became clear how wet I was. Taking off my wet sneakers, I tried to wring out my socks, but they were barely damp, so I put them back on my feet and, throwing my sneakers into the car, put on the rubber boots found in the trunk. They were right on time.

Having put on a khaki fishing panama hat, found there, I went to the garages, noticing along the way that the grass, crushed by the car, was slowly rising, and my traces of my stay were almost invisible.

A few minutes later, I briskly made my way to the garage cooperative, thinking along the way about how much gasoline I need to get to Novosibirsk and stay there for a while. It turned out that forty liters, or better sixty would be enough.

In the garages everything was as I expected. There was not a soul around, only some garage doors and doors wide open were embarrassing. Passing between the rows, I noticed a rather large white dog of indeterminate breed. When she saw me, she ran away like a bullet. Looks like she already had a chance to fuck a new experience with two-legged. Having walked around the entire garage cooperative, I made sure that I was alone in it. “Time to start looking,” I decided, and climbed onto the roof of one of the garage rows.

How to open a garage? – you ask. “Yes, it’s very simple!” In the dashing nineties, like everyone else who had nothing to eat, I did not sit idle and at the age of thirteen or fourteen I worked with a group of friends by opening garages. I did it simply: I climbed onto the roof, tore off the roofing material, tore off the boards that were under it, and calmly penetrated inside. I was mainly looking for pickles and jams that people kept in the inspection pits of garages, but I also found many other very interesting punks. Including cans of gasoline, which he then poured into the river and set on fire … wow, it was a sight! Some experience in this fishery came with pain. You need to think about how you will get out if the door can only be opened from the inside with a key, and that you can’t strike a match in a dark garage if it smells of gasoline … The last one made me think: since gasoline was my goal, then you can punch holes in the roofs with a balloon and sniff the smell. The idea seemed like a good one, so I did it.

Success was not long in coming. The aromas were different: now fuel oil, then rotten potatoes, then stale air, and finally, the barely perceptible smell of gasoline. The roofing material on this garage was laid in several layers, so it did not come off, but broke off in small pieces. Finally, I got to the boards and, prying them with the sharp side of the spray can, began to tear them off one by one. The huge nails with which the boards were nailed creaked disgustingly and very loudly when I tore them out. I didn’t figure out how to make this process quieter, so I decided to just do it quickly.

Finally, after sweating a lot and finishing my work, I was able to look inside the garage. The light came through cracks under the doors and a hole in the ceiling, so I found the source of the smell right away.

The garage was exemplary: a tool hanging on the walls, shelves with various junk – everything was laid out very neatly and in its place, betraying a perfectionist in its owner. Only a hefty red canister of forty liters stood out from the overall picture, standing in the middle of the garage closer to the back wall. The lock latch was clearly visible on the garage door – this indicated that the lock could be opened from the inside without a key. I took off the backpack and, unfastening the lower straps, carefully lowered it down. Then, squeezing through the hole, I hung on my hands for a while, trying to make out the place where I would have to land, and jumped down.

Sweating from breaking the roof under the hot sun, the garage greeted me with pleasant coolness and shade. There was no time to enjoy this feeling, but I could not refuse myself and sat down on the frame of the backpack, removing my wet and fairly grown hair over the past two months from my forehead.

“It must be great to have such a garage,” I thought, “you can pick yourself in the car.” Something, and I loved this since childhood. Unfortunately, I didn't have my own garage. I serviced the car at the service station and, each time taking it away after repair, I found some minor flaws. At least, it seemed to me that it was every time: something was under-tightened, then over-tightened, then the body was smeared with dirty gloves, and so on. And here he drove the car and his own head, and everything you need is always at hand.

With difficulty tearing my ass off the backpack, I picked up and poofed the canister: “It’s not thick, five liters, probably.”

Opening the lid, I sniffed the contents, and yes – it was gasoline … definitely not a solarium. I sniffed again. I wonder which one?

Once I happened to read that you can distinguish the eightieth from the ninety-second and higher by rubbing it on your fingers. The 80's should be less oily than the 90's, but there was nothing to compare it to, so I decided to think of other ways. Looking around, I found sixteenth-radius cast wheels with a Mazda badge, stacked in a corner and covered with a tarpaulin. What kind of gasoline is poured into cars on such a casting? If I understood at least something in this, then gasoline should be no lower than ninety-two. Looking around a little more, I found on one of the shelves a familiar beige box – these were cartridges for Makarov caliber 9x18. I was surprised to find that it was full and contained 16 rounds. I threw the ammo into my backpack. Finding nothing else he needed, he took a funnel from the wall and poured the gasoline he found into a canister, attached to my backpack. Then, having perched him on his back, he went to the exit.

I carefully examined the door and found the alarm. The loud ringing bell was located between two shelves bolted to the wall and hidden by a curtain. Apparently, it was autonomous or powered by a battery. If I pulled the latch, it would work. In any case, a powerful ax blow ended his existence.

In addition to the latch, there was a second lock, and it was opened only with a key. There was little chance of cracking it, so I turned my attention to the garage doors – things were better here. The gate was held by two hecks and tensioners located above and below. The hecks gave in easily, but things were worse with the tensioners. Each turn was difficult, and it took me a long five minutes to unscrew them. When the upper tensioner was removed and the lower tensioner had a couple of turns left, a shadow appeared in the gap under the garage door. Someone stood silently on the other side of the gate. I froze and listened, feeling my stomach tighten with fear. Seconds passed, but nothing happened. I tried to look under the door, but the hole was too narrow to see anything. Therefore, I did not think of anything better than to knock lightly on the door and see what happens. The shadow on the other side came to life and came close to the door. Now I heard someone sniffing convulsively, then exhaling with a wheeze and sniffing again. There was no doubt that there was an infected person there, and if they smell healthy people, then this one had little chance of smelling me – the garage was filled with a mixed smell of gasoline and auto chemicals.

I looked hopefully at the hole in the ceiling through which I entered here, but, alas, it was too high, and there was no way to get to it. The only way out of this garage was through the gate and the indifferent one that was waiting for me on the other side.

The gate clicked and wobbled as I pushed the last few turns of the tensioner. The intruder on the other side perked up. Clutching the ax tighter and taking a deep breath with a full chest, stepping back a couple of steps, I exhaled with a shudder and, with all my strength, kicked the gate. Plaster fell from the ceiling as the gates rumbled open, knocking whoever stood behind them to the ground. It was a teenager of about sixteen, dressed in a football uniform and boots. He was not at all embarrassed by what was happening, he both fell and stomped on me on all fours, shaking bloody saliva from his open dirty mouth, without even bothering to get to his feet. His face was deathly pale with blue streaks, multiple bruises and bites were visible all over his body, and his eyes were truly terrifying. These were the eyes of a dead man, greyish-yellow,