Apocalypse «Beginning of the End»

“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.

Chapter Two – "Belovo"

– Yes Yes! Come in! – a voice came from the other side of the door, and you, having easily opened it, entered the room. It was a rather spacious office with a very high ceiling and walls that were once pasted over with mosaic tiles, but now painted brown right on top of it. From the furniture in the office there was a wardrobe, a folding bed, several chairs and two desks littered with papers. Behind one of them sat a man who looked about forty-five years old. He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt that was obviously not the freshest, and black pants with large pockets on the sides. A bald head shone, but the lack of hair on the top of his head was more than compensated for by a thick beard framing his face. He looked up, gave me a quick look, then gestured to a chair on the other side of the table and continued to quickly write something down on paper.

“Well…” he said, putting his pen aside and clapping his dry palms, he began rubbing them against each other, studying me with his eyes. Then, as if recollecting himself, he rose and held out his hand to me in greeting.

“Konstantin Pavlovich Trofimov, retired major, I’m in charge here,” he introduced himself in a loud commanding voice. – You can, like everyone else, call Trofimych.

“Artyom,” I answered shortly, answering the greeting, slightly rising from my chair

– No one has come from the city for a long time, – Trofimych got up and went to the closet, which stood against the opposite wall. – Yes, and rescue teams are less and less likely to find someone. There in the center, they say, it is already so zazombjacheno that the car can get stuck. Where are you from? He took two mugs and a box of green tea from the cupboard.

– I'm not from the city. I came from the outskirts. Looking for gas and food.

– Pasha said you were heading to Novosibirsk. To family?

– My sister is there.

“Well, if she’s in Red, then she’s all right,” he stood by the cupboard, leaning on his elbows, waiting for the kettle to boil, but so far it only hissed noisily.

– "Red"? I asked.

“Red is a hideout like ours. There, as with us, their own resistance to the disaster was organized. The people and the army are united, as they say. Conscious people occupy and hold strategically important objects in cities, establish some kind of infrastructure and communications. Rescue expeditions are organized. We have something here, okay, a small town, and there are probably two dozen such shelters. Women and children live in the Red.

– And how much is it?

“There are three of us and this mine with bandits, damn it …” he suddenly got angry. “Zastava,” they call this place. Heard, probably, already … – the kettle behind him began to boil. “Tell me, Artyom, what is your profession?”

– Well, he worked as a signalman. They built a cell tower here.

– Served? Can you shoot? He put two mugs of tea on the table and pushed one of them towards me.

– Sergeant. BMP combat vehicle commander. I know how to shoot, discharger, practiced until now.

– Well, I see that you are a strong man. We really don’t have enough of them now,” he pointed to the tea in front of me with a nod of his head. – You drink tea, it is with sugar.

"Thank you," I said, but I didn't touch the tea. – Trofimych, I need food, gasoline and weapons. After Novosibirsk, I plan to go south with my family. You understand, the path is not close.

– That is, you can not persuade to stay with us?

“No,” I shook my head.

– We have food here, you won’t find gasoline in the city, everything was looted a long time ago, they even poured it from cars. We have some reserves, of course, but mostly we trade gasoline with the miners for food. I just can’t give it like that, I myself must understand, we have our own mouths here for two thousand pieces. Don't want to earn?

– Want.

– Well, since you are with us for a short time, then I will give you a difficult and dangerous job. You'll manage, I'll equip you on the road, as it should be. Moreover, we keep in touch with Red. I can inquire about your loved ones, if everything is fine there. Good?

“It depends on what needs to be done,” I shifted in my chair.

“Well, I won’t tell you anything now. Move to Belovo, do you know where?

– Certainly. – I knew, since it was in this area that the subsidiary office of the organization in which I worked was located.

– There are warehouses on the outskirts, you will see signs – move there, they will already be waiting for you there, you will find Victor, you will say that it is from me. If you help him, consider that you have helped me, and it will not rust after me. At the same time, let's see what kind of test you are, – he stood up, making it clear that the conversation was coming to an end, I followed his example. – If you have any questions, talk to Osipov, he is here, on the floor below in the workshop – his name is Roman. And also, if you don’t know, don’t go to the city at night, such creatures crawl out there to hunt, you won’t dream in a nightmare.

I said goodbye to Trofimych, shaking his hand warmly, went out into the cool corridor and went down to the first floor. The spacious hall on the first floor of the administrative building met me with coolness and slight twilight, since only one weak light bulb provided lighting, and there were no windows here as planned. It smelled of construction dust and welding. Under the stairs leading to the second floor, there was a large workbench, behind which sat Roman – a young guy in contact glasses, he soldered something, as always, listening to music from a small tape recorder.

Roman looked up and waved to me in greeting, then went back to his business. Apparently, he was a local jack of all trades, and in the case when something needed to be repaired, soldered or sharpened, everyone went to him. I approached Roman and, after greeting, asked if he had a minute to answer my questions? Roman was a talkative person, and therefore he gladly put aside his tools, moved closer to the workbench and, gesturing me to sit opposite him, prepared to listen and broadcast, for some reason taking a heavy file in his hands.

– And what is generally heard, what is happening? Only we have such a mess, or has everything gone to hell in other countries too? I asked

“As far as I know, zombies all over the world bite. Even when the Internet worked, did you look at the main page of Google?

“No,” I said.

– But in vain, there was a map, and on it all the places where infections were recorded were marked with red dots. So before the internet went down, the whole map was spotty, right down to the islands in the Pacific Ocean.

– Have you heard anything from the government now?

– And there is no government for a long time, bye-bye. Roman spread his arms out to the sides. “They all ran somewhere. At first it was announced that the situation was under control and that everyone was asked to stay at home. Then there was an order to law enforcement agencies to seize weapons from citizens, which, if you think about it, was the height of idiocy in the current situation. A few days later, the military entered the cities to restore order. And it seems like some kind of order began to appear, but the situation in the country, and in the world, continued to deteriorate. It was then that mass desertions among the military began. They left not just leaving their service, they left in whole groups, dragging equipment, weapons and all kinds of state property with them. He took a Makarov pistol from under the workbench and put it on the table. – Then there! Those who stayed and deserted from other parts here to their families, they began to set up military posts on the outskirts of the city and distribute weapons with cartridges to civilians. They gave out one barrel at a time in the hands of a passport, and if there were no previous convictions. They pierced right on the ground at the base. Someone was given Simonov rifles, someone was given PPSh, but then we generally transported these PMs by trucks. He pointed again to the pistol on the table. – Cartridges were given an average of a couple of hundred per snout. Some were given more, the situation is different for everyone. We began to collect the survivors. They drove right through the yards, some shouted out the window, called for help, some hung sheets with inscriptions … Of course, less often, but to this day they ride, they sometimes find someone else. They cleared key objects in the city, created a refugee camp. Recently, we have established a connection with several cities. In general, we survive somehow. I think if it weren't for mutants at night, so it would work just fine. Yes, and those, lead from machine guns were picked up, and for a long time they no longer come close to the camps. They are watching from afar … a terrible sight, I have seen it more than once in night vision. In short, at night we try not to stick out of shelters, at night the city is their territory.