Apocalypse «Beginning of the End». Азизбек Набиевич Карамзин
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?