Apocalypse «Beginning of the End»

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,

– Go away, boy, I'll hurt you! – swinging the ax, I tried to appear as serious as possible, but the teenager continued to shove forward, pushing me to the back wall.

– I'm talking for the last time! Get out! I shouted again, and my voice broke into a treacherous squeal.

– Well, that's it, kid, you asked for it yourself … – I said and, having described an arc, I stuck the ax into the kid's head with a swing. The blood spattered in small splashes in the face and on the clothes. Something jumped in my chest, and a lump rolled up in my throat. The boy's body went limp and sank to the ground, dragging the murder weapon lodged in his skull with it. Restraining the urge to vomit, I put my foot on the dead shoulder and, cracking the skull with a crunch, pulled the ax out of it. Time seemed to stop as I stood over the dead teenager and couldn't bring myself to look away from what I had done. A sound coming from the street snapped me out of my stupor. I walked out of the garage and discovered that it wasn't just this poor fellow who had come to the noise. On both sides of the garage span, about a dozen infected wandered. Some of them noticed me and were already walking towards me. Most of them were slow and clumsy others were a little more active, pushing the first ones away, moving towards their potential prey. A pregnant woman in a once-white skirt and a torn sweater stood out in particular. She, looking from under her brows, walked in my direction, clutching a cobblestone in her hand. Her movements looked more confident than the others, and she walked, trying not to overtake others, letting them go ahead, as if hiding behind their dead bodies.

Of the three passages, only one remained free, and without hesitation I ran into it. I soon realized why the infected didn't come out of this passage – there was a dead end with high two-story garages and a transformer box in the middle, around which a U-turn was made for cars. Looking back, I realized that there was no way back – the infected were inexorably approaching, filling the passage with themselves. My heart was pounding so hard that it was hard for me to hear my thoughts.

I didn’t even understand how I ended up on the roof of the transformer box, and in a minute a crowd of bloodthirsty citizens surrounded it from all sides. Making sure the infected couldn't climb, I lay down on the roof so that I couldn't be seen.

After lying for some time, looking at the sky and listening to the screams of the infected, I regained my breath and came to my senses a little.

Chapter One – Stronghold

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.