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  I nodded in agreement. The situation seemed grim.

  "We've got to do something about it" - he said, taking another puff from his cigarette. "I've already talked to some able-bodied men - they agree to help me out. I'm thinking about organizing a militia to keep everything under control."

  "A militia?" - I raised my eyebrows.

  "Yes, you know, to keep everything in check. We need to bring order back within these walls. I think people need to feel safe these days, and we can give it to them. And if they feel safe, then they will act properly. Unrest is the product of fear, Yuri. In the nineties, when crime was rampant, everyone was afraid. Everyone was ready to be stabbed in the back, so they did it first. Look at where it brought the country - it almost collapsed. It's up to us men to have it all under strict control. We need to show people that they have nothing to fear."

  His words made sense: I remembered how vicious the people had gotten when they started fighting over that woman's food. If there was a group of individuals who'd be around to keep everything in control, to flex their muscles at an unruly crowd, then perhaps we'd really all benefit from it.

  And most importantly, it meant bringing life back under my control. I wouldn't be a passive observer anymore. I'd be doing something about the situation. Even if it was a pointless or silly endeavor - to play the police - it was something to keep me busy with.

  "So, what do you think?" - Maxim asked me. "Do you think it's a good idea? Would you join me?"

  I took a full breath to say: "yes." But I never exhaled.

  Instead, I froze, trying to not make any noise. I froze and held my breath so that the air rushing out of my nostrils wouldn't hinder my hearing so that I could strain my hearing to its fullest and confirm what I had just heard.

  The sound of branches snapping under someone's foot. The sound that came directly from beneath my balcony.

  Maxim froze as well. In the silence that ensued, we clearly heard the confirmation of our earlier suspicion: something was moving beneath us. Rustling the grass under its feet as it was heading towards the forest.

  I leaned over my balcony's rails to see it, and Maxim did the same. "There!" - Maxim screamed and pointed, although I didn't need any help to see a massive grey shadow enter the forest.

  My blood ran cold. It was standing there throughout our entire conversation, and neither I nor Maxim noticed it. We were merrily chatting as the beast below was biding its time, listening to our voices.

  "Holy! Have you seen it?" - Maxim loudly whispered. The disbelief in his voice was almost palpable, confirming my scariest suspicions about the beast's nature.

  "I- I didn't" - I stuttered, still shocked that the creature we'd been hiding from for the last few days, the one that had killed several people over the last couple of days, was mere meters away from me. "Hold on, I'll light it up."

  I searched my pockets for a phone, pulled it out, turned on the flashlight, and pointed it at the forest.

  At the very next moment, I shuddered and dropped it, catching it at the very last moment. I was not ready to see something like that.

  The phone's flashlight was not particularly powerful, so the cone of light quickly dissipated. And yet some of the photons had found their way between the branches deep into the forest to reflect from the beast's lone giant eye - the size of a small platter - and travel back to me.

  At that short moment, I was unwillingly participating in a staring contest with it. Something told me that I was the first man to do so and walk away to tell about it.

  There was no doubt about it now: the creature was not a bear, or a mountain lion - or anything I'd ever heard of. No land creature I knew of had an eye of such size. Despite common sense, despite how impossible it seemed, I had to admit an undeniable fact: the creature that haunted our town, the strange newcomer that fell onto our heads from seemingly nowhere, was not a mere animal, native to our world.

  It was one thing to suspect it, to build strange theories based on what I'd heard myself, and on the radio, and completely different to bear witness to the facts with my own eyes.

  "What's the commotion? Go to sleep already!" - I heard one of the neighbors speak. Our shouts must've woken them up, and one by one, the neighbors were waking up, turning on the lights, opening their windows, and coming out to their balconies to see what the commotion was about.

  "What's all this noise?"

  "Did the military arrive?"

  "Pasha, good night. Do you know what this is all about?"

  "I think someone saw something."

  "Look! There, under the branches!"

  As people were waking up and turning on their lights they started flooding the forest with it. Like tiny dim projectors, their windows illuminated the forest, casting long, dark shadows - yet also making the creature easier to spot. In a few seconds, the alarmed screams of the witnesses woke up the rest of the building and made those who were reluctant to wake up get out of their beds to see what was going on. In a few moments, half of the building was watching the creature.

  I saw someone on the first-floor turn on the lights and then turn them off a moment later. I doubted they could see much beyond the bushes - even from my height I could barely make out the details. But seeing something unknown outside your house's window, knowing that it could also spot you, was probably terrifying beyond reason.

  Seeing that it had attracted the unwanted attention, the creature turned around and ran deeper into the forest - into the shadows, away from the light.

  "Yuri… Have you ever seen such a creature?" - I heard Maxim ask me in bewilderment. His alarmed whisper barely registered with all the noise the neighbors were raising.

  "No" - I shook my head, gazing into the forest's depths. For the first time in my life, I saw it like my ancestors had seen it: a domain of darkness and unknown. A wooden ocean where the monsters out of the fairy tales dwelled. "I haven't."

  CHAPTER 8 – Militia

  That night, I barely managed to close my eyes for some sleep. For the first time since I was ten, I was afraid of the dark and was rather thankful that we still had electricity. I didn't risk turning on the lights, but the cheap night-light that reeked of plastic and could probably leave a chemical burn if kept in hands for too long was turned on for the first time since I'd bought it. The green light was not my favorite, and it didn't make me feel cozy, making the scenery more sinister instead, but it was better than nothing.

  Our town didn't have a power station, and all the electricity was provided from the outside, yet I knew that the military could shut it down at any moment. They should've known by now that we were still there - they just couldn't be in the dark about that. Somewhere at the power station far away the meters were still spinning, counting electricity for our bills and letting the world know that we were still there. Still burning energy. The mere fact that they hadn't turned it off meant that someone out there still gave a damn about us. And if they cared, it meant that they were planning to save us… eventually.

  But if they knew that the civilians were stuck in the town, if they knew what we were up against… what was taking them so long?

  I woke up in the morning from the noise of a helicopter. In all of my life in that town, I hadn't ever heard one.

  I knew that one of the military bases nearby had a long stretch of road, meant to accommodate the cargo planes as an improvised landing strip, but I had never heard of them using a helicopter. Which meant that the military had already started pulling in more personnel to our town from other parts of the country. And the flyby they were doing was no doubt an exploration of the territory.

  Perhaps even to see if there were any survivors left?

  I jumped out of bed and rushed to the balcony. I was hoping that the helicopter was flying on the side my windows were facing - that way, I could signal them that I was still there, that we were here.

  And if they spotted us and decided to land on our roof to pick up a few survivors - what then? Would I find it in me to push the
others aside, to rush toward the helicopter and ask them to pick me?

  The helicopter was slowly circling over the forest in the distance as if searching for something in the woods. Immediately I understood that its mission was not to find the civilians - it was something else.

  But still, it was someone who could get us out, and I'd gotten hopeful. The planes flying over the uninhabited islands do not aim to find anyone stranded there, yet they pick them up if they have such a chance.

  "We're here!" - someone above shouted. Looking there, I saw that other tenants were starting to come out to attract their attention. "Help!"

  More and more people were coming out to shout, to wave. To attract the pilot's attention by any means necessary. I could hear both hope and despair in their voices. Hope that they were going to be rescued… and despair that they wouldn't be noticed.

  I joined the rest of the people.

  The helicopter didn't change its course to fly closer to us, stopping to hover over one spot instead. I didn't know what was going on, but I wanted to think that the pilot was contacting the base, letting them know that he'd spotted the survivors and requesting the instructions.

  Whether it was the case or not, after a minute or two the helicopter gained speed and flew away.

  People were still begging for it to come back, but I turned around and entered my apartment. It was clear that they weren't going to rescue us - at least not that particular helicopter. I had to face the music: we were on our own. No one was going to come and rescue us.

  "Fly away," - I whispered. "We don't need you."

  The words felt alien, not my own. It wasn't common for me to think like that. Deep inside, I knew I wanted a group of happy, polite people to land on our roof and rescue us from that hell. Take that burden away from us and make our lives easy again. Make all the decisions for us.

  I went to bed and tried to get a few more hours of sleep. At least the sun was up, so I didn't have to fear the dark anymore.

  ***

  I woke up the second time when someone knocked on my door. I looked at the phone: it was 10 AM. Quickly putting on some clothes, I went to answer the door.

  "Good morning, Yura" - Maxim greeted me. His face was sunken: it was clear that he was not happy that the helicopter hadn't picked anyone up.

  "Hello, Maxim" - I greeted him, looking over his shoulder. Behind him stood three more men - all of them in their forties. All of them just as serious as Maxim.

  "Have you thought about joining the militia?" - Maxim asked me. I understood that the men behind him were people he'd already gathered.

  I felt a bit intimidated by them. All of them were grown men, with families and responsibilities, all of them had had their own share of salt in life. Them coming to my apartment felt like a group of high-schoolers coming to a kindergartener to ask him to join them for a party. I felt out of place among them.

  But at the same time, it told me that they were willing to accept anyone. That Maxim had put his trust in me and vouched for me. That my childish misconceptions about my worth were just that, and to them, I was another pair of capable hands. It felt good to have someone have trust in me.

  And besides, it was a way to get my life under control. It was much better than to wait for men in the sky to decide our fate. The old world had crumbled, and I needed to settle in the new one.

  "Yes" - I told him. "I want in."

  "That's the spirit," - Maxim nodded. One of the men behind him came closer, almost shoving Maxim to the side, and pointed his finger at me: "Just take this seriously, alright? This isn't going to be a game, and no one's going to wipe your ass. You have to be capable to handle things, alright?"

  "He's good, Pasha" - Maxim said with annoyance.

  "I need him to understand what he's signing up for," - the man named Pasha grunted. "He'll join now, and then what? When the push comes to shove, will he do what's necessary or is he going to cower behind our backs?”

  Maxim opened his mouth to tell Pasha something. I could see that it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “I can handle it,” – I said before Maxim said anything. “I have grit, and I understand that we’re locked in here. No helicopters are coming to rescue us. We have to handle it ourselves," - I looked the man in the eye. "So please back off."

  For a moment the man froze, letting what I'd said sink in. I didn't know how he was going to react, and I couldn't tell anything from his face, either. But then he leaned back and grunted: "Good. Just don't disappoint me."

  Seeing that the situation was resolved, Maxim took time to introduce us to each other. The man I'd argued with was Pasha - a former policeman who was now on a pension. Despite him being in his early fifties, his face was covered in wrinkles that stayed the same no matter what his expression was - as if someone carved them in the stone of his weathered face. He carried a pistol in a holster on his chest, and when he reached out for a handshake, I found out that he had a stone grip as well. It felt like underneath his skin and blistered palm he was packing a few bolts.

  The man next to him was much older, in his middle sixties - almost a full head shorter than me and not too strong from the looks of it. He looked serious, but when I reached out for a handshake, he beamed me quite a genuine smile. He introduced himself as Mikhail.

  The third one was Maxim's age. He did not smile or emote in any way, and he was wearing attire more fitting to a hunter or a fisherman than to a member of the militia - a camo jacket which was so loved by hunters in Russia, thick pants and rubber galoshes reaching all the way up to his knees. The footwear of someone who had spent their fair share in forest swamps. He either forgot to introduce himself or decided that it wasn't important. I decided to ignore it.

  "Is this it?" - I asked Maxim. "Is this the whole militia or did you want to ask someone else?"

  "You think we aren't enough?" - Pasha asked me, scowling.

  "I'm just asking," - I told him. "Is this it?"

  "Yes" - Maxim answered. He obviously wanted to squeeze in a word before Pasha started talking again. "You're the last one we've asked. The rest of the men, they… they didn't appreciate the idea."

  I didn't know what was more disheartening: the fact that they asked me the last or the fact that I was now in a band of misfits. Whether we believed it to be a good idea or not, the fact that the rest of the tenants didn't approve of it made it difficult to sign up for it. Perhaps if the others didn't agree, then it really was a stupid idea?

  No. I needed to take control of the situation, I reminded myself.

  "Then we don't need more," - I told Maxim.

  "I wish it were so" - Pasha grunted. "It's going to be tough to keep control of the situation if people don't want our help. Trust me, I know" - he assured me with an obnoxious know-it-all look. I sighed and pursed my lips but didn't answer. I didn't want to start another argument.

  "More will join if we do our job right" - Maxim said with confidence, though his body language did not carry the same message.

  "So, what are we doing?" - I asked Maxim.

  "We need to make sure that the building is secure and let everyone know that we're taking the charge here," - Maxim said, sighing. It seemed that he did not look forward to that part, and I could see why. Few people would appreciate a group of people walking around with guns. "I think we should start with the basement - there is a manhole cover leading to the sewers there. I wanted to see if it is accessible."

  Maxim looked at me from top to toe, and after a short consideration said: "And put on something…more appropriate. If we walk around wearing our house clothes, people won't take us seriously."

  Five minutes later we were on the first floor, trying to find the way into the basement past the door locked on a hanging padlock. After asking the tenants who had lived on the first floor, it turned out that only a janitor had the key.

  "Maybe we should abandon this idea?" - I suggested. "I don't think it's a good idea to break the door."

  "We need to be sure whether the
manhole is welded shut or not" - Maxim insisted. "It may be our only way out of here."

  "Or maybe you'd forgotten about the sewers and you want to have a door there broken so that you could finish the job at night," - I thought, making sure that my face didn't betray my thoughts.

  "The basement has small windows leading into it - what if something finds its way in?" - I argued again.

  "You've seen that thing yourself, Yuri - it simply won't fit in," - Maxim said. But after a bit of consideration, he agreed with me: "Perhaps we can be careful in how we remove the lock… If we do it carefully, we might be able to repair the damages to the door afterward."

  After five more minutes of looking for appropriate tools, Mikhail brought a crowbar from his apartment, and we pried off the lock. He tried to be careful, yet a piece of the door came off with it, the bolts tearing through old wood. It seemed we wouldn’t be able to hold the door locked again.

  "I'll nail it back" - the man promised, giving everyone present a guilty look.

  "What is going on there?" - a woman came out of one of the apartments on the first floor. Her tone reflected that she did not approve of our actions, and the volume of her voice was no doubt meant to attract other neighbors. I couldn't blame her. Her neighbor had been killed on the threshold of her home just a day before, so she had to be careful.

  And yet, I couldn't wince when the echo of her voice boomed in my ears. We were just a few meters away from her, after all.

  "Don't worry, babushka" - Pasha said, taking a step forward. He meant to calm her down, yet the woman took a step back when she saw an armed man approach her. "We're the militia. We're just investigating a few things."

  "A militia? Who appointed you?" - she asked him with distrust. It was clear as the day that she did not appreciate the initiative. "We somehow lived without a militia until now."