"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, dont 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 wont 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 cant save her, dont 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 girls pants. You dont care to wash things, dont 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, its not that its completely bad, but its 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.
If you are talking about a wound, I smiled, its not that its completely bad, but its 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. Its better not to go to the Zastava they dont 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.