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  I had a faint hope that, if I let things run their course, they'd let me go. That if I kept my head low, or rushed for the ladder while they swarmed him, I'd be able to get out. But I knew that it was unlikely, and besides, the man had already protected me from the thug, even though he was obviously scared of them. It would be dishonest not to return the favor.

  They had asked me to join the militia because they knew they could count on me. Because I had value. Because I could be brave.

  "We're leaving" - I announced to everyone present and took a step toward the ladder while still looking at the crowd. Pasha threw me a confused glance, but I ignored it – I wasn’t interested in playing along with his bravado and try to prove something to those men. At that moment, I was the one thinking straight, and so it was on me to call the shots.

  "Why? Stay a bit longer" - the head thug said, standing closer to the wall. The rest of the men took it as a signal to advance and started coming closer. Covering maybe an inch per second, drawing closer to that moment when they’d be able to leap at us and pry the gun from Pavel’s hands before he had a chance to shoot.

  I had to act fast. I had to make it known that I wouldn’t stand for it. That I was armed, too.

  "Stand back!" - I shouted, raising the hatchet over my head. My voice didn't sound impressive or intimidating - it squeaked, betraying me at the most important moment. Luckily, the hatchet did its job for it - the crowd froze, looking at the blade made to cut the meat. A bullet could deal more damage, but it wasn't as brutal as a cut from an ax. There was something primal about the lacerated flesh – something that made it a more tangible, more real of a threat. Gunshot wounds were a relatively new concept, but living creatures had been associating cuts and slashes with predators, with being chased and devoured to sate someone's hunger for millions of years, so that fear had been deeply rooted in the human psyche ever since we'd inherited it from our ancestors. And those men knew it too well.

  "Your hand trembles, you little puppy" - the thug teased me, eyeing the blade in my hand, but nevertheless keeping his distance. "You sure you're not going to piss yourself?"

  "I'll piss myself from happiness when I carve your mug open with this" - I hissed at him, raising my hatchet higher. I knew what he was doing: he was trying to intimidate me, to make me doubt that I'd be able to defend myself against him. Perhaps that could've worked in some other situation, but I was too high on adrenaline to succumb to his words. I was so scared for my life, so desperate to get out alive that, ironically, that fear was giving me the courage to stand up to him.

  "Tough words for such a runt" - the man smiled, seemingly not intimidated by my reply. Still, he wasn't coming any closer. I took it as a sign to act and, still having my eyes locked with him, gave Pavel a slight nudge.

  "You go first" - I told him, keeping my eyes on the crowd in front of me.

  "Don't be stupid, go up, kid. I'll cover you" - Pasha told me, irritating me. Why was he so dense? Why did he decide to act all strong now, when I needed him to just get out of there?

  "Just go!" - I shouted at him in frustration. In truth, I wasn't staying behind just because I wanted to prove something to myself or to him. It wasn't the time for playing the hero. But I knew that Pavel had to go first because then he'd be able to cover me with his gun from above while I was climbing the ladder. If I went up first, I wouldn't be able to protect him - my hatchet could only reach so far. So, him going first was the surest way we'd both get out of there unharmed.

  Only I couldn't tell him that. Not with them within the earshot.

  Luckily, Pasha decided to listen to me - something in my voice had made it clear that I wasn't going to surrender my post. Perhaps it was the desperation, or maybe determination - I wasn't sure, but the man started climbing the ladder, awkwardly keeping his pistol pointing at the people in front of me. I saw them getting restless as Pasha was climbing higher and higher. Their prey was getting away.

  I raised my hatchet even higher, to show that I wouldn't hesitate to put it down on their heads if they made their move.

  Would I really do it? Possibly - I was so scared that I barely saw them as human beings - to me, they were not too different from the beasts that roamed the streets outside. Ugly, horrifying, inhuman - just with different origins. And unlike those monsters, they were already inside the building. They were much closer, and thus much more dangerous.

  "If any of you move I'm going to shoot!" - I heard Pasha's voice behind and above me. "You're all sitting ducks from here, so don't even think about it! Yura, start climbing."

  I took another step back, grabbed the ladder, and started ascending, still watching the crowd and having the hatchet ready to strike.

  "Yura, huh?" - one of the thugs purred. "Such a nice name. When we get our hands on you you're going to be Yulia[11], you get what I'm saying?"

  "Yeah, is that what they call you here?" - I snapped back at him: the adrenaline in my blood was still making me act boldly, and it was making great use of my sass that was usually reserved for my irritable but harmless neighbors.

  "Keep talking," - the man said menacingly. "Don't think that I won't come for you."

  "Look out the window and then get in the line," - I told him before climbing through the hatch. A moment later Pasha slammed it shut.

  Only when we stepped outside and saw the sky above us did I start to realize what had just happened. My legs were quaking from stress and shock, and my gut was twisting and churning around, making me feel like I was about to throw up. I had just been threatening five bandits - with a hatchet, no less. Just thinking that some thirty seconds before I was ready to split some heads open - to kill another human being - was making me nauseous. I'd heard before that people can resort to incredible violence when pressured, but until that moment I had no clue how much. Not to mention what they would do to me if they'd gotten their hands on me - no matter how violent and bloodthirsty I'd just been a few moments ago, I knew they could do much worse than that.

  But in a few seconds that feeling of dread had passed, washed away by a realization: I was alive! Such a strange, mundane fact to cherish – how often had I been grateful for that fact in the past? Had I ever even been in a situation where me being alive afterward wasn’t taken for granted? It was horrible that it was the new norm, but I chose not to think about that. I was too overwhelmed with joy to reflect on that.

  And not only was I alive - I had only myself to thank for it. Sure, Pasha was there, too, but it didn't take away from the fact that it was my accomplishment. I could never imagine myself being in such a situation - the old me would recoil in fear or try to talk it out with them. The old me had no claws and could only roll on his back, showing his belly and pitifully wiggling his tail. I had looked death in its ugly, black-toothed jaw and didn't blink. I proved my right to live in the oldest way on Earth - by taking the threat head-on and living on to tell the tale.

  Pasha next to me didn't share my enthusiasm - he was still in his dreading phase. The experience had left the man shaken, and whatever had happened back there did not leave him proud or excited to be alive in the same way it affected me. I knew it wasn't my place to question him - back there I was just as scared as he was. But then my newfound vigor and bravery soaked in the rest of the adrenaline still coursing through my body, and I decided to push my luck with him again: "What was that back then? You lost it."

  He glared at me with anger, but it wasn't the same look he'd given me during our last confrontation: now, it had a shade of guilt and shame mixed in. I kept staring at him, showing him that it wasn't a rhetorical question and I still expected an answer from him, and the man looked away. "Couldn't keep myself composed when I saw them" - he said, panting. "I don't… I can't tolerate such trash as them."

  I didn't say anything, but I could tell that it wasn't all of the truth. His reaction back there had been less of an outrage and more of a panic. What had happened back there had deeper roots, I knew it. A policeman, of all people, was supposed to
be used to talking to people like them… Unless his experience in the past had been far too traumatic.

  I wanted to say something else, but precisely at that moment the level of adrenaline in my blood went down from red to yellow zone, and my bravado deflated in a moment. "Who am I to judge him?" - I thought bitterly. "I wasn't a hero back then - I was scared witless. It's good that it ended well, but I lost it, too."

  "Listen, I'd appreciate if we kept what had happened there between us," - Pasha told me, still panting. "We'll tell them about the thugs, but not… the rest of it. Alright?"

  It almost sounded like he was begging me. And who was I to refuse? No one would benefit from knowing how we'd handled it.

  "Sure" - I told him. The man nodded in appreciation.

  "Did you know that they live there?" - I asked him.

  He threw me a gaze, full of contempt: "Hell no! Had I known that those rats built their nest under this roof I'd have my colleagues smoke them out the very next day. They had never shown themselves before. But then again, you can never tell where they will turn up," - he sighed. "They must've just shown up here a few days ago. Must've been passing through this town on their way from prison. Their ilk does that sometimes - they crash at the houses that their partners outside of prison keep for them, where they can catch their breath before going back to bothering people. I've seen plenty of it back in my days - they harass neighbors and it's very tough to smoke them out of there. Never thought they'd pick the house I lived in for such a place," - he rubbed his temples, showing how much displeasure and headache it was causing him. "If they've had such an arrangement made for them, they must be some big shots - I'm sure they have guns, too."

  "Swell" - was all I could answer. Just as we got stuck inside our home and the monsters started roaming the streets, we've gotten such neighbors.

  I looked at the forest again. There was no way to tell for sure - the human eye was not so precise. But I could swear that the line of death beyond which all trees were losing their leaves had crept a few inches closer since the last time I'd looked at it.

  CHAPTER 11 – Militia’s Finest

  We spent around twenty minutes on the roof - instead of going down to the third stairwell, we've decided that it would be better to wait for Maxim there. When he finally showed up, I could tell from the get-go that he wasn't very happy with what he'd found down there, which left me a bit alarmed. What if they'd stumbled across the same people as we did?

  "The people don't understand what 'militia' implies," - he complained. "They want us to go outside and raid nearby food stores - they say they're running out of food. How did your trip go?"

  "Not too well" - Pasha said before I had any chance to say anything. It seemed that he was back to his confident, arrogant persona. "We've got some bad news for you..."

  Pasha told him about whom we'd met there, and I watched as Maxim's face was sinking as he was listening. Pasha, of course, omitted the part where he freaked out and almost lost control, but as per our arrangement, I didn't say anything.

  "...They've said that they're going to kill any of us if we show up there again. I know that cowardly scum - they'll do just that, just to prove the point. And when they burn through their food like the parasites they are, they'll go after ours," - Pasha finished.

  "We best stay on high alert, then" - Maxim said what all of us were thinking.

  "Why, what did I miss?" - Alexei said, approaching us. Just from looking at him, one could think that the man was getting ready for a hunting trip or an expedition into the wilderness, and in fact, that wasn't too far from the truth. We didn't know what he was going to encounter in the sewers, so it was best to prepare for anything - which he did.

  He changed his shoes for knee-high rubber boots so that his feet wouldn't get wet, and although he was wearing the same camo jacket, I could see that he wore a thick wool sweater underneath, so that the cold concrete tunnels didn't freeze him to death.

  On his back, he had a large backpack, which judging by how it sagged down was full of different things the man deemed necessary for his trip into the unknown. Above his right shoulder stuck out a barrel of a hunting shotgun, and hanging from his hip was a large camping lantern – a bulky thing that must’ve been uncomfortable to walk around with, but which undoubtedly would provide the man with enough light down below and which wouldn’t be affected by the dampness there.

  His face adorned a simple breathing mask, like the ones the workers wore when painting indoors, and on his forehead, I saw another, smaller flashlight - no doubt meant to be used if the man needed both of his hands.

  One thing was clear: we've got the right man for the job. He was our representative, our brave stalker meant to traverse the unknown and map the route to safety for us.

  "Nothing, don't sweat it," - Maxim told him. "You've got other things to be concerned with."

  "I'm ready to go" - Alexei informed us as if it wasn't clear from his attire. "Let's go?"

  ***

  As he was descending through the manhole, he looked at us one last time. It was clear that even a man of his resolve was hesitating before going down there.

  "You better guard this manhole while I'm gone," - he told us, looking each of us in the eye. "I don't want to find it welded when I return. And remember: do not tell anyone yet, alright?"

  I looked at Maxim: perhaps I'd see his mask crack under the pressure of the moment? But he remained as stoic as before: "Not a word to anyone. We'll keep a lookout."

  "Good, good," - Alexei sighed. "Well, wish me luck."

  He crawled down into the sewers and we closed the manhole after him - in case someone came down there we wouldn't want them to pay attention to it.

  "You all go," - Pasha told us. "I'll stay here and watch over it."

  "Why? There's no need to freeze yourself" - Maxim said, instantly making my suspicions of him spike. Why would he be opposed to the idea of someone staying to guard it? If my suspicions were correct and he was indeed the welder, then wouldn't he want to seal the manhole as well? To cover the only exit left that he'd missed during his midnight rush to seal all the doors?

  "That bastard who has sealed us all in here might come here to finish the job," - Pasha grimly said, as if mirroring my thoughts. "I want to make sure that doesn't happen, especially now that we've got such unpleasant guests nearby."

  "You really shouldn't," - Maxim wouldn't give up. "No one knows about this manhole yet. It is possible that the welder himself doesn't know about it, either. You shouldn't torment yourself like that."

  "I'm staying" - was all that Pasha said. It was clear that the man wouldn't budge.

  Seeing that there was no swaying him, Maxim shook his shoulders: "Suit yourself. I'd hate for you to catch a cold right now, is all I'm saying. We need every man now."

  With that, he headed for the exit and the rest of us followed him.

  I knew that my hunch didn't have any solid proof - it was based on just a single coincidence. After all, Maxim did look like he was genuinely concerned about Pasha's health, and to use that against him felt dirty. Yet at the same time, I knew I had to do something, to somehow look into that possibility while there was still time.

  It took me a few moments to come up with a seemingly innocuous question, and much more - to gather the courage to ask it. We were already on the third floor when I finally decided: it's either now or never.

  "Say, Maxim, I've never asked you what you do for a job" - I tried to make it sound as casual as possible while the man was pulling his keys out of his pocket.

  "I'm a car mechanic. Have I never told you that?" - he wondered.

  "I don't think so" - I shook my shoulders, trying to show that I really didn't know. Truth be told, I remembered something like that from our midnight conversations, but I rarely listened to him, and I was sure he had never listened to me, either. Those were just the ranting sessions.

  "No, I'm pretty sure I've told you many times about my job while we were talking on the balcony. So…
why are you asking?" - Maxim suddenly switched on the offensive, his voice cold and inquisitive.

  "Busted!" - I thought, but on the outside, I tried to remain calm. I was just internalizing that. There was no way he'd figured out that I suspected him.

  "I was just wondering what is your line of work, and maybe if you had any tools to open the door" - I said as nonchalantly as possible, but at the last moment my voice betrayed me and the last few words came out as a squeak.

  "If I had those tools I'd have already used them" - Maxim said, looking over his shoulder at me and squinting his eyes. He suddenly turned around to face me and made a step closer to me. I involuntarily took a step back, my right hand carefully reaching behind my back - where my hatchet was.

  "Yura… Why do you ask me that now? You don't think I was the one who's welded the doors shut?"

  "Goddamn it" - I thought. This was bad.

  "What made you even think that? There are families here. People I’ve known my whole life. Do you think I'd really do something like that - put them in jeopardy?" - Maxim kept on questioning me. Seeing no other way out of it, I've decided to come clean with what I've known. Suddenly, when I was pressed against my very own door, I've found some bravery to tell him how it was. To confront him like he was confronting me.

  "I found cigarette butts near the welded door" - I confessed to him. "They were pretty recent - I think it was the welder who'd left them. The brand was "Soyuz-Appolo" - and you're the only one I know who smokes those" - I told him, looking for sudden changes in his facial expression. Was he going to admit it when presented with the proof of his involvement? Or was he going to make me shut up - the same way he'd done with that elderly lady on the first floor?

  Maxim was in disbelief.

  His eyes went wide when he heard what I'd said, and then he let out a long, lasting sigh of frustration, before turning around to go inside his apartment.

  "You're losing it, man," - he told me, not looking at me. "Confinement has made you paranoid. Go clear up your head."