Диана Ва-Шаль
Afterglow. The Justification of Chaos

Illustrator: Diana Va-Schal

Translator: Daria Zubkovskaia

From the Translator

The translation of this book has been one of the most challenging, captivating, and enjoyable adventures of my life. Conveying the energy and spirit of each character is no easy task, but I did my best to preserve the unique essence of each one exactly as envisioned by the author.

The Afterglow, its occurrences, and especially its characters, have repeatedly saved me during the most challenging moments of my life – when I had no strength, when everything was falling apart, Robert, Steph, Chris, Norman, Sarah always came to my rescue. And each of them, every time, reminded me of something very important.

Stephanie reminded me of how important it is to notice the beauty around us and to be able to rebuild ourselves. Over and over again, step by step. After all, so much depends on our attitude and determination.

Robert reminded me of the importance of staying calm and unwavering in any situation, because decisions made in haste and panic never lead to anything good. Moreover, your resilience can save someone's life.

Norman reminded me of the importance of a positive attitude: a bit of humor and a small drink from the flask can make even the worst day a little bit better. And Sara – of the importance of treating everyone with understanding and respect. After all, you can never truly know what someone has been through.

And the most important advice I receive every time I come across this book is from Chris: never despair. Even when the world is falling apart, even when you can't see a way out, even when it feels like there is no strength left – never despair. Because as soon as you start to despair and give up, you'll break forever.

I sincerely thank the magnificent author of this book for her boundless talent, for the vivid characters, and for the vibrant narrative style that makes you immerse yourself in every moment of the plot without hesitation. And most importantly, for creating a story that gave me a completely new and infinitely beloved world, to which I continue to return again and again.

My dear reader, I sincerely wish for you to fall as deeply in love with this story and to find something truly special in it – something that, if it doesn't save you in a difficult moment of life, will certainly make you smile, remind you of what matters most, or inspire you.

Let The Gorgon be your guiding star in the fight against the most difficult and seemingly invincible obstacles. May Stephanie's strength of spirit and Lewis's unwavering determination instill in you an unshakable belief in your abilities. And may the magical chemistry between them bring warmth to your soul and remind you that somewhere in this world, your person is always waiting for you.

With infinite gratitude and boundless love for each of you.

Once and until the end.

Afterglow: The Justification of Chaos

Dedicated to my guiding light and the brightest person.

Mom.

You will always live in my heart.

Part 1. Stephanie Shayer

1

An endless snow-covered field. A white sky. A hazy horizon line fading into a pale mist. All around, an infinite silver expanse without a single hint of color – no sound, no breath of wind, not even a sense of cold. My steps are silent, weightless; it takes me a moment to realize that I’m walking. From nowhere. To nowhere. The silence is so overwhelming that the flow of blood through my veins feels like a deafening roar, the beating of my heart like a mythical battering ram, threatening to shatter my chest. A vague sense of foreboding coils through my body, wrapping around and choking me, but I lift my eyes to the pearly, dusty-gray sky. Snow is falling in large flakes. Slowly. Silently. Spiraling down, settling on my hair, shoulders, arms.

My arms.

I lower my gaze to them. Instead of long gloves reaching to my elbows – bright crimson blood. Hot. Sticky. And only at this moment do I realize the snow-covered field is gone: a dark forest surrounds me, black trees tangled together like a cage. Above, the sharp sliver of a crescent moon. I’m standing knee-deep in a motionless river, but its waters are scarlet, concealing silent bodies, their right arms twisted behind their backs.

I try to get out, to climb free, but I only sink deeper into the mire pulling me down, further and further, and the dead begin to whisper to me. I can hear their voices and feel as though I know each one. I squeeze my eyes shut, sensing their cold, lifeless hands on my shoulders, dragging me with them. When I open my eyes again, I see a wasteland. Everything is burning. The earth burns. The sky burns. There is nothing to see but erupting darkness and the infernal blaze of hellfire. I am drenched in blood; it drips down my face, flows along my arms, and runs over the sword I grip with lifeless force. Everything around me is steeped in blood, pouring in rivers, blazing with scarlet flames.

The taste of ash on my lips. A hissing in my head. A black sun.

I fall to my knees, and then collapse into the snow.

The hot coffee burned my throat, and the warmth of the bitter drink spread through my body. I exhaled heavily, driving away the intrusive images of the night’s torment, and lifted my gaze to the sky, veiled with stormy gray-brown clouds. A chilly, pre-dawn gloom cloaked the world, and the gusty cold wind – so unusual for what I understood to be midsummer – offered little pleasure in being outside. In the Central Lands, summer is gentle and welcoming (though this year, the weather has been surprising with uncharacteristic fluctuations since spring); and in the Isthmus Region, where I was now, winds, it seemed, were a common thing.

I still couldn't fully realize that we had actually crossed the customs borders of the lands and passed through twenty-three checkpoints. My emotions urged me to look around, soak in the landscapes, and try to catch glimpses of the local culture. When else would I have a chance to escape the confines of restricted movement? But my rational mind stubbornly refused to view these new places through the lens of idle curiosity.

Firstly, the job wasn’t done yet. Secondly, while there was no doubt about the validity of the documents presented to customs officials and no questions were raised at any checkpoint, there was no guarantee that on the return trip the political investigators – the Reapers – wouldn’t take an interest in the name that had endorsed our papers. This wasn’t just playing with fire – it was an attempt to walk on a thread over the abyss.

The brewed coffee bean exuded a spicy aroma, and I suddenly thought that over the past few months, during which sleepless nights were consumed by black coffee and endless work, my body seemed to have absorbed too much of this bitter, smoky liquid, flowing through my veins instead of blood.

I tossed the empty paper cup into the trash, wanting to get back to the warm car as soon as possible, and, lifting the sleeve of my leather jacket, I glanced at my watch. Not even six yet.

Suddenly, in the distance above the houses, a flock of birds rose into the air, their sharp cries echoing through the surroundings. The silence of the early morning in the sparsely populated suburb only amplified their plaintive and anxious clamor, which resonated in a chorus of echoes among the houses and sent a gust of wind scattering leaves across the road.

A pang tugged at my heart, and for some reason, a spasm tightened my throat: it was as if all the doubts of the past days had collapsed onto my shoulders like an unbearable weight.

Such a long journey made, such a grave risk looming overhead like the tip of a sword; a misstep feels all too easy, unbearably dangerous. More dangerous than ever before.

Shivering slightly, I made my way toward the small white trailer.

“Let’s go,” I said to Andrew; he nodded, adjusted the collar of his bright orange shirt, and started the engine, “and take off those damn sunglasses! Where do you see any signs of the sun?”

“In the same place, where the meaning and practicality of this whole trip lie,” the man retorted, glancing at the rearview mirror, while I clicked my tongue and gave Andrew a condescending look. “You know, I won't stop repeating that this is a very risky undertaking. Fine, I won’t mention the documents for the customs officers that you dug up somewhere, thank the Mother Goddess, it all went smoothly. I won’t mention the seals on the papers and the signatures of, well, you know who… I won’t even say that after our last publications, we should really avoid showing our faces anywhere! We’ve always turned a blind eye to such trifles as keeping our lives safe, right?” he snorted, not hiding his sarcasm, “but do you really think we're going to find any meaningful or useful information here? In this ordinary, sparsely populated town in the Isthmus Region? The entire State is under a curfew, there’s a state of emergency in the East; and I’m not even talking about the completely closed roads, nor do I mention the widespread checks and extra social restrictions. And I won’t even bring up the tightening of control and surveillance, Steph! I won’t even utter a word about the completely closed Northern lands!” we were jolted slightly as the trailer hit the main road, “The place where we could actually get something useful from, they won’t let us through, not even if the very Heavens themselves decide to act as our protectors. And this is just one of the many border towns. Moreover, it's in the damn northern part of the Isthmus Region! Right next to the borders!”

“You’re the driver, right? So just drive the car,” I responded more harshly than I intended, but Andrew didn’t seem to notice the sharpness in my voice. I tried to exhale more calmly, as if that could silence the doubts and fears, and continued in a conciliatory tone. “Listen, I don’t want us to go all this way for nothing either. But I’m sure we’ll gather something useful here. It may be a small town, but it's one of the few open ones on the main connecting highways. Local newspapers are full of news about the chaos in hospitals and quarantined neighborhoods, and that's a good sign – the government’s censorship hasn’t tightened the noose yet. Besides, as you rightly pointed out, it’s one of many border towns to the North. I don’t think the eyes and ears of the political police here are sharp enough to notice any leaks of information.”

“The main thing is that the great mother-censorship lets it through,” Andrew said after a moment. “But the material you want to gather will be difficult to publish, even with our boss's connections. With all the connections, Steph. You’ll need one hell of a trump card up your sleeve. So far, almost all the information on this topic has been successfully cleaned up.”

“Let’s emphasize the word ‘almost’,” I smiled slyly. “Is Sam asleep?” Andrew nodded, and after giving him a pat on the shoulder, I headed inside the trailer.

The car swayed slightly.

Pulling off my jacket, I sank heavily onto the small couch. On the fold-out table in front of me were a battered notebook, headphones, Sam's badge-holder, with "Samwise Dort" written in round, handwritten letters, and a large folder filled with papers, notes, crude sketches, and newspaper clippings – "The Three's speech postponed again – monarchs preparing to make several important announcements?", "Power outages in the capital!", "Eastbound highways closed", "Main underground tunnel through the 'Halls' to the West is closed until autumn" – none of which I wanted to go through.

My head felt heavy, my eyes were closing. The sleepless nights of anxiety during the border crossings were catching up with me. But I knew, if I lay down on the bed now, I wouldn't be able to sleep. I was completely unaccustomed to sleeping in a moving car.

I shifted my gaze to the monotonous landscape sliding past the window: white two-story houses with dark roofs flashed in a repetitive rhythm, and rare arrow-shaped trees pierced the gloomy sky. We passed an expressive bridge with wrought-iron railings; the water in the river appeared dirty, graphite-brown, and its turbulent streams seemed out of place next to the neat, private homes.

In the background of my thoughts, the fleeting realization hit me that the river was rushing toward the Bloody Bay, and I almost regretted that we wouldn't see its fjords. I'd heard they were insanely beautiful.

But the very sight of the stormy waters amidst the trembling calm of the dormant town seemed, for a moment, eerie and terrifying. However, lately, my tendency toward suspicion, emotionality – sometimes crossing all boundaries – feelings of dread and awe, arising out of nothing, had become particularly sharp: they made me spin, twitch, and never gave me peace for a moment—something was approaching, and one didn’t need to be a seer to understand that. The only question was, in which area of our lives would it first strike.

I attributed my own moral exhaustion to general fatigue and the tense atmosphere. Although, without a doubt (and I couldn’t lie to myself), the reason ran much deeper – it was too obvious and too painful. There was no escaping or hiding from the past. You couldn’t drown it out with work, drown it out with risky decisions, or dull it; it always came back in sudden memories during moments of silence, nightmarish dreams, creeping tears, and the lump in my throat… Starting over was hard. Sometimes it seemed like it was only possible if I set fire to the previous chapters of my life, but to do that, I’d have to be either incredibly brave or desperately foolish – and so I sought healing elsewhere. Having completely lost myself, with an absolute emptiness within my ribs, I gave myself over to work. Completely. Without fear or doubt. Maybe that’s why, looking at the houses passing by the window, at the travel papers arranged before me, I didn’t question how I had the courage to do all of this.

I had gotten myself into an adventure, the details of which were frightening to even think about.

Sam was snoring loudly in his sleep, curled up on the small, worn-out couch; he had spent the entire night editing a video and then fixing the antenna – for some reason, it had been acting up with terrible interruptions lately – so it was no surprise that he fell asleep as soon as he sat down. I smiled, recalling how many years of friendship we shared with Dort – playing in the same courtyard as kids, going to school together, and then to college. I never thought life would turn out this way – I never imagined everything would spin, change, twist, and break apart like this – and that we would end up working side by side.

Over four years of working in publishing behind us. So fast, yet unbearably long; what we’ve achieved now is written in blood, tears, and the cold of political investigation cells… There was no easy start, and we didn't fall into rhythm right away – for a long time, our trio wasn’t recognized, so we weren’t involved in any of the shortcuts, gossip, or work for the regime. Courage is tasted in small doses. You don’t read people right away. You find allies only through mistakes. The constant drive to be at the center of events, to dig into topics that shouldn’t be dug into: this led us to the current editor-in-chief of Crimson Skies, a man who was partly reckless, impulsive, but very principled and brave, who managed to find a loophole in censorship and powerful patrons even in our State.

The closer to the center of the city, the more people there are, the taller the buildings, and the darker the sky.

It was an incredible risk to head to the Isthmus Region, but a trusted source assured us that there would be information on our topic of interest, and certain strings had been pulled to set up the meeting.

However, we were nearly a day late for the agreed meeting time: no matter how well-made the entry documents were or whose name was on the signature, movement between territorial units of the State had been, to put it mildly, highly restricted for many decades, and in the past month, customs officials had become downright feral. The tightening of already strict restrictions was, of course, due to the epidemic in the Northern lands, which could no longer be concealed by rumors, speculation, or the machinations of “oppositionists and amateurs.” An unknown disease was rapidly and mercilessly sweeping through the cities, and the impending nightmare, the “wrath of the Heavens,” was only whispered by the lazy.

Yes, Andrew didn’t have to mention the closed North. I was sure that in a couple of weeks, it would fall under the same strict ban as the civil war in the southwestern territories and the organization Ancerb, which had vanished about a year and a half ago. So, no matter how risky our trip was, we couldn’t afford to miss even the smallest chance to understand what was happening.

I sighed heavily, glancing furtively at the fresh newspaper next to Sam. The headlines were full of news about yet another official behind bars; about how the civil war (and any military actions) in the distant southwest had ended last year, and any contradiction to that was lies, sabotage, and attempts to undermine the authority of the ruling monarchs. However, such formulations were no longer surprising; government scribes churned out the same articles on repeat, desperately trying to convince the loyal subjects of the State of the Three of its legitimacy, the control over the situation in the closed North, where rumors spoke of an almost apocalyptic event, and in the southwest, where the peninsula and the stronghold of resistance, The Cold Calm, had been waging a civil war for thirteen years for their right to secede.

The official on the front page of the newspaper – Ivanko Horst – was one of the few who had started speaking out openly for the right of the Cold Calm to secede; he had also sought to shed light on events and the situation in the North. Now, after being removed from his position and stripped of his title as Marquess of the Northern Lands, he was behind bars on charges of treason, allegedly committed a decade ago.

The trailer suddenly braked sharply, and I lurched forward, barely managing to keep my balance and hold onto the folder of documents. Sam swayed, instinctively grabbing the couch as he woke up, eyes wide. The vehicle started moving again.

“What’s happening? Where are we, Steph?” Sam rasped, peering out the window, “oh, right… I fell asleep. I hope we’ll be done quickly today.”

“If there’s no material, we’ll get some sleep,” I replied, then nodded toward his bright green hoodie with the strange orange monster on it. “We’ll be there soon, change your top.”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, while I, turning back to the window, leaned against the back of the seat.

We passed a few boulevards and turned onto the bypass road where the hospital we needed was located.

The town of °22-1-20-21-14, located in the northern part of the Isthmus Region. Small, provincial. One would think, what could possibly happen in such a quiet place? But I had been assured that this was exactly where I needed to go. I just had to trust. What did I have to lose? Time? I didn’t think the political police of the Three and the main enforcers of the totalitarian regime – the Reapers – were currently pursuing minor defectors and journalists with particular diligence; there were enough problems without publications that fancied freedom of speech, buried under the weight of years, had returned.

One thing I knew for sure: I simply couldn’t miss the meeting with the chief physician of the local hospital, a doctor of medical sciences who had left the North just over a year ago.

When the hospital appeared outside the window, I noted with surprise that it was quite a large building, towering over the surrounding structures; the new addition to the medical facility stood out, making its size even more disproportionate for such a small town. Around it was an incredible number of cars; Sam stared out the window in confusion, looking at the crowded parking lot. Andrew didn’t find a spot to park right away.

The trailer’s engine rumbled hoarsely before falling silent.

“We've arrived!” Andrew turned to us. “You can get out.”

Birds hovered close to the ground, and the stifling heat outside seemed saturated with sweet, smoky smells, as if the wind had vanished altogether. The air carried the scent of an approaching storm.

Beyond the hospital building, where tall fences loomed, soldiers and a police convoy stood guard. A black helicopter flew overhead with a loud roar; the emblem of the Three had been covered by a design of coiling serpents, but I didn't get a chance to fully make out the symbol.

“Are you coming with us?” I asked Andrew, standing by the trailer door as I watched the helicopter pass by. “Or will you be waiting?”

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up in a bit,” Andrew said. “I want to stretch my legs and get a look around. We haven’t been this far before…”

I nodded in agreement, concealing the slight nervousness I felt. Sam, hurriedly grabbing the equipment bag and throwing on a more or less decent windbreaker over his favorite hoodie, darted out of the stifling trailer and slammed the door behind him. I shot a quick glance at Dort, then, taking a deep breath, looked around.

We needed material. And we would get it. Or create it.

I nudged Sam in the side and hurried toward the hospital doors, still surveying the scene behind the building. Everything looked unsettling and serious, which, in some way, was reassuring – it increased the chances of finding something valuable, a big story that could truly tarnish the godlike image of the Three. Perhaps confirmation of the epidemic in the North could not only open people’s eyes but spur them to action.

And, thank the heavens, there were no Reaper vehicles in sight.

Sam caught up with me on the stairs, muttering something under his breath as he opened the door for me and motioned me through.

The hospital smelled of various medications, and an almost tangible sense of sadness and despair hung in the air. I flinched, pausing for a moment and trying to steady the tremor in my body. My legs felt like stone, and my palms grew clammy; there are things that leave a mark on our lives forever – things you can learn to live with, but never truly erase. I forced myself to push away those intrusive thoughts and remind myself why we were here and what we hoped to accomplish. I stepped forward, casting a quick glance around the room: yes, it was just another hospital, like hundreds of others. Flustered medical staff in sterile uniforms hurried past, each with their own bag of tools, each lost in thoughts about patients, difficult cases, hopes, and fears. Patients either lay in beds or stood by the windows, gazing enviously at the people outside those cursed walls. Someone was always crying; someone was always celebrating and leaving the hospital, determined never to come back. In the corners were large white pots with tall plants, their green leaves meant to be calming. And all this silence, broken only by soft voices, moans, cries, and the hum of machines, was slowly starting to drive me mad…

Horizontal ultraviolet lamps, casting a bluish light, hung from the ceilings. Some were burned out, plunging sections of the long corridors into an unsettling, eerie half-darkness.

Sam continued to yawn, lazily holding his dark bag under his arm, completely indifferent to his surroundings; he was so tired that he either didn’t notice my fleeting pause or chose not to comment on it. But I was sure that if I offered him to sleep right there, on the cold hospital floor, Dort would agree without hesitation.

“All right,” I waved my hand at Sam, “Go take some footage. I need to hurry to the meeting – we’re already way behind schedule; we’ll have to push hard to make up for the day’s delay. I’m afraid it might come back to haunt us; it was too difficult to arrange this conversation…”

“Did you really find an informant here?” Sam squinted, and I theatrically rolled my eyes and spun around to move forward. “What’s there to film?” Came his voice from behind.

“As if you don’t know,” I smirked in response.

Dort either exhaled loudly or let out a groan of pure disappointment.

Neither Sam nor Andrew knew for certain who our unnamed assistant and influential patron was – certainly not the person whose name had signed off the passes for the customs officers – who had helped arrange the meeting with the doctor. Both of them understood perfectly that sometimes it was better not to ask unnecessary questions. The less you know, the less the Reapers could find out if it came to that.

“We’re going because it aligns with our worldview and our position,” Andrew said before we left, “The rest doesn’t matter. You know what you’re doing, and it’s not our place to doubt you.”

I asked the administrator where the chief physician’s office was – most of the corridors and passages were blocked, emergency crews were leading people out of the hospital, and security forces had cordoned off two wings – and when she heard my last name, the young woman at the counter said they were expecting me. She pointed me in the right direction and suggested I hurry, glancing nervously at the uniformed officers. I didn’t hesitate; I wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible and made my way to the chief physician’s office. Fortunately, his office had been temporarily moved to the first floor of this wing – was it some kind of divine blessing?

The medical staff was in a nervous, restless state. The faces of many showed the aimlessness of running back and forth down the corridor, as if trying to shake off their anxiety, to distract themselves, but instead they only pushed themselves deeper into the traps set by the tension gripping the hospital. The strain hung in the air like a dense shroud, pressing down on my chest. For a brief moment, a chill ran down my spine, and fear tensed my nerves, making them vulnerable to a cruel game. I felt my fingers grow cold, noticed myself glancing around and listening more intently – was that gunfire echoing somewhere in the distance? Were the screams real, or was it the acoustics of the space and the pounding of my heart playing tricks on my perception? But the overall confusion only urged me to keep moving forward.

The steadfast conviction that the rumors were not just tales and that the infection from the North had truly reached here, to °22-1-20-21-14, strengthened in my mind.

The gathering of security forces behind the hospital, the military vehicles in the city, the blocked roads and neighborhoods – there could be no doubt left. The fact that we had managed to get in was truly a miracle. It felt as if fate itself had intervened.

The corridor seemed endless. A series of closed doors, staircases, and passageways… When the right office finally came into view, I exhaled quietly, releasing the tension. I knocked. Without waiting for an answer, I opened the door and took a cautious step inside.

A man, around forty years old, was putting papers into a small safe beside his desk.

“May I?” I whispered as I gently closed the door behind me. The doctor turned around, adjusting his square glasses in their neat frame and quickly shutting the safe's door. “Dr. Givori, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Good morning,” He nodded, tossing the key onto the desk and settling into a tall leather chair. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Stephanie Shayer. An independent journalist, correspondent, and simply an interested party.” I gracefully took one of my most recent business cards from my pocket and stepped forward to hand it to him. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“I was given a different description of you…” He muttered to himself, studying the card closely and thinking intently about something in parallel. “But it doesn’t matter.” He carelessly flicked the card aside and nodded to the chair across from him. As I examined the office, my attention was caught by Givori’s hand: his palm was bandaged, the cloth already soaked with blood.

“Thank you,” I said, settling into the chair under the man’s intense gaze. I looked straight into his eyes.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Snippets of ordinary conversation drifted in from the street through the open window.

“Medical ethics prevent me from disclosing my patients' secrets,” Givori said curtly. “I trust you’re aware of that.”

“Oh, certainly,” I replied, letting the corner of my lips twitch up. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in specific individuals. I came to you for a different reason.”

“I remember,” The man let out a short, humorless laugh. “Unfortunately, I was informed this morning that all materials regarding the outbreak of the unknown disease must not be disclosed.” He cast a quick glance toward the corner of the office, where I noticed a small camera with a green light blinking, and then at the safe. That was enough to understand what was being kept locked away. “As you can imagine, this directive came from the local Inquisition department of the Reapers, and it was by no means a request. Disclosing any information would have serious consequences,” Givori paused for a moment. “I’m afraid to disappoint you, but aside from the existing, already-circulated theories and assumptions, you won’t learn anything new.” His voice took on an air of feigned disappointment, but in the expressive depths of his eyes, there was a profound weight to his words.

“So, the incidents did happen, and the patients’ madness isn’t just stories and ghost tales but a real outbreak of a disease brought from the North?”

Givori nodded almost imperceptibly.

“You’re not the first to try and find out what’s really going on.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll just have to be the first to find answers to all the questions,” I said with undisguised determination.

A chill ran down my back, while my neck and face burned with heat. All or nothing. Because taking this kind of reckless risk had two outcomes: on one hand, it could land me by evening in a cell facing a Reaper interrogator. On the other, the fact that the intelligence service was actively working to prevent any information leaks only confirmed its existence here.

We didn’t endure four grueling days on the road, braving barriers, restrictions, and traffic jams, for nothing.

Givori remained stubbornly silent, and I clicked my tongue:

“Do you really think I’d reveal the name of my informant?” He raised an eyebrow, casting a meaningful glance toward the camera in the corner. “Dr. Givori, the country is in panic, and it won’t be long before that panic escalates into uncontrollable chaos. Do we really want another scenario like the southwestern territories?” I said it more to the small, flashing camera in the corner than to the doctor. “Or another situation with aggressive opposition groups? People are terrified. Rumors of an epidemic are spreading everywhere. Loyal citizens need at least some concrete answers, not scraps of gossip that only grow into more horror stories and fabrications. If you know something, it’s a chance to help others. Besides,” I added, “You won’t deny that your patients are in a state teetering on the edge of death and are attacking others, trying…” I paused briefly, taking a deep breath and exhaling almost silently, “…to bite them.”

His response didn’t come immediately. The ticking of the clock seemed louder, and I flinched again, now certain I could hear gunshots in the distance.

"I won’t," the man nodded. "And I can tell you one thing: this is clearly not a psychiatric disorder, as many believe," he continued, his voice feigning boredom. Quickly, I pulled a battered leather notebook and pen from the inner pocket of my jacket, ready to jot down every word as he spoke. "First of all, mental illnesses cannot be transmitted from person to person. Second, it’s impossible for so many people to develop the same mental disorder practically at the same time. And third," he continued, "as you rightly pointed out, the carriers are in a state that teeters on the edge of death. And I’ll tell you," Givori’s face twisted with an expression of terror and panic as he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead, "the term ‘on the edge’ is an extreme understatement. Can the equipment really lie to us?"

His face contorted further, reflecting his horror. His voice became hoarse, breaking as he spoke. His fear seeped into me; I could feel it building inside, scratching and twisting.

“A sudden outbreak. One day, everything’s calm, and the next, we have an entire ward full. By the third, police and military are cordoning off entire neighborhoods and districts. Rumor has it special units have arrived in the city. They’re saying… very special units.” He spread his hands, a helpless gesture. “And we, we can’t even take proper samples from the infected… They’re extremely aggressive,” Givori muttered, rubbing his bandaged hand. ”And bloodthirsty. A significant portion of the medical staff has contracted the infection. Five died on the spot from patient attacks. We managed to isolate the infected wing, and now the best specialists and military forces are working there…”

The silence lingered, and the background noise grew more distinct, forcing me to turn toward the door.

“Well… That sounds like a headline story,” I replied with effort, looking at Givori intently and seriously. “If you could call me when anything unfolds, I would be immensely grateful. Of course, any information shared would be within the bounds of your medical oaths,” I added, raising my hands with open palms.

“I’d really tell you more, but I’m concerned for my safety and that of my family,” the man admitted suddenly, his voice surprisingly candid. “Besides, this borders so much on pure madness that your headline might be dismissed as sensationalist.”

At that very moment, the door to the office burst open, and in the doorway stood a nurse whose coat was noticeably soaked… in blood. She was breathing heavily, her wide, panicked eyes staring past us.

“Dr. Givori!” She cried. “The patients from the third wing are trying to break down the doors! It’s almost impossible to hold them back!”

“What?!” The man exclaimed, leaping to his feet. He shot me a glance and gestured firmly toward the door without saying a word, while my gaze momentarily caught on the keys lying on his desk. “Leave my office!” Givori barked, and I sprang from my chair, nearly knocking it over as I slipped past the nurse. “Where…? Never mind! Let the office stay open! What are the security forces reporting? Will the Reapers step in to manage the situation? Has there been any directive from the mayor’s office?…”

The voices dissolved into the noise. My heart pounded in my throat, making it hard to breathe; I was deeply worried about Sam. The corridor filled with a cacophony of screams, groans, and an ominous humming sound, which made my head spin slightly from anxiety. I hurried toward the exit, and the closer I got, the clearer the shouting, pounding, and incomprehensible growling – accompanied by harsh swearing – became. The flickering lights continued to pulse erratically, and fear slithered up my neck, tightening like a noose.

But when I stepped out of the corridor, the scene before me made me stagger. Police officers, holding shields in front of them, were forcing patients back through doors while the latter struggled to break free. The patients clawed at the officers, emitting inhuman howls.

And blood was everywhere. The stench was acrid, suffocating, sickening. It reeked of decay, fetid dampness, and the sickly-sweet rot of death.

At that moment, I couldn’t process much, but the image seared itself into my memory with striking clarity: disfigured faces and bodies, bite wounds unlike anything the rumors described – not just bites, but chunks of flesh and muscle torn away, a grotesque spectacle of gore.

Everything around me felt distorted and sinister, as if I had stumbled into a nightmarish dream.

I should scream, run away as fast as I could, or at least turn away… But all I did was stand there, frozen in a state of shock, staring, feeling the nausea rise in my throat. The ground beneath me seemed to tilt, frantic screams ringing in my ears. And everything inside me clenched. Acid filled my mouth…

“Please evacuate the building!” A police officer came up behind me, almost knocking me over. He shook me by the shoulders. “Leave the building! Now! It’s not safe here!”

I don’t remember if I mumbled something in response or ran straight for the doors. All I know is that the suffocating heat outside made it impossible to take a full breath, as if all the oxygen had been drained from my lungs. I barely managed to hold back the urge to vomit and probably would have collapsed right there, rolling down the stairs, if Dort hadn’t caught me.

“Sam!” I grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, unable to say anything else. Suddenly, a violent chill overtook me. I was shaking. A heavy weight sat in my stomach. And… fear. Paralyzing. Sticky and cold. With the smell of blood and decay. It clouded my vision, shrouding the world in a dark haze.

“Let’s go,” he nodded, and steadying me by the arm, helped me make it back to the trailer.

Not once did I look back at the hospital. I couldn’t hear anything over the noise ringing in my ears. The police reinforcements seemed to have helped calm the chaos inside the hospital, at least a little, but the turmoil that had ignited within me erased every thought about the things I’d cared about for months and years.

Shock.

It was stuffy outside. Unbearably stuffy, and there was not enough air. The heat rose from the asphalt, and it seemed like everything around me was shimmering in this yet-to-erupt hell.

I had no idea what the future held. I didn’t even realize that the day we arrived at °22-1-20-21-14 would forever change my life.

2

Andrew and Sam were settled on folding chairs by the trailer, while I, wrapped in a blanket, sat on the step at the entrance to our motorhome. My gaze was fixed on the horizon, where enormous chimneys spewed dense, grayish-brown smoke in a continuous stream. The trembling still hadn’t stopped; my ribs felt tight, haunted by gruesome images and the lingering echoes of screams and noise in my head.

Yes, I wanted a sensation. I had dreamed of the rumors being true. We all did, knowing how pivotal information like this could be in shaking the power of the Three.

But when I saw the truth with my own eyes, I was terrified. No, not terrified – I was horrified. The thought of being pursued by the Reapers or thrown into the damp confines of their dungeons seemed almost childlike by comparison.

The men were intently reviewing the footage Sam had captured, occasionally exclaiming or exchanging comments. As for me… I couldn’t move. I hadn’t expected it to be like this. What I saw in the hospital was genuinely horrifying, forcing me to see everything happening in the State over the past few months in a stark new light. Tightened customs controls on the roads, disrupted broadcasts, power outages, the constant shuffling of political positions, and the general atmosphere of tension – all now painted a far more sinister picture. The voices of opposition had grown louder, but the government’s political police had seemingly become less aggressive in suppressing them. Now, in hindsight, it all made sense. My imagination wove living nightmares from the pieces.

Still, those dreadful phantoms felt distant and unreachable, while the madness in the hospital seemed more like the feverish delirium of a bad dream. If it weren’t for the sheer number of people in uniform, the flashing emergency lights, and the occasional blaring of sirens, I might have convinced myself that, after a sleepless night, I had simply drifted into an unconscious state and imagined it all.

I cast a cautious glance toward the hospital. A tall, fair-haired officer was shouting through a megaphone, urging everyone to maintain their distance. Shots rang out sporadically, and I flinched, dreading what might be happening inside the building. Although Andrew and Sam were eager to return (or sneak) inside, I had no desire to go back until the chaos subsided and the situation became clearer.

Besides, for the first time, I didn’t feel like risking another confrontation with law enforcement. First, I was too shaken and frightened for calm negotiations. Second, our reputation – already tarnished by breaking into private offices, stirring up controversy in heated debates, and exposing the dirty dealings of influential figures – was teetering on the edge. We had only just managed to smooth over the fallout from a report made over a year ago about the collapse of a dam on the Voluntas River, which had been sabotaged by the Terracotta organization. One misstep now, one careless move or word, could spell a death sentence.

It wouldn’t take much for government forces to dig deeper into our records or listen more closely to our questions…

Just half an hour earlier, courage and recklessness had clouded my judgment. Now, fear and the brush with death had sobered me.

I glanced at Sam and Andrew. The latter smoked a cigarette, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, practically sucking the smoke out of it. Dort, meanwhile, was ruffling his hair and staring intently at the video on his laptop screen, practically unblinking.

We had never hesitated to push past plastic shields to get to the heart of the action, and I had often dragged the guys into questionable adventures. But now, I was absolutely unwilling to start yet another clash with the authorities, because this time, given certain factors, the outcome wouldn’t favor us. I couldn’t risk Sam’s and Andrew’s lives.

Because, apart from the factors I knew and was involved in, there were others. For instance, why had my file disappeared from the Reapers’ database? The memory took me back to the cold night of our journey here, to °22-1-20-21-14. Midnight. A checkpoint. A stack of verified documents and a half-asleep customs officer. A Reaper standing nearby was reviewing our papers. I was ready to recite my rehearsed lines – my record was checkered enough to attract the political police’s attention, but my time with «Crimson Skies» had taught me how to deflect and play roles convincingly. But then, unexpectedly, my file was nowhere to be found in the database. Should I have been relieved? Or terrified? Any attempt to analyze the incident was chased away by the morning’s horrifying images.

To hell with it. First, let's deal with the hospital, gather the materials, and then we'll act according to the situation… But at this moment, risking my safety by trying to get back into the medical facility was utterly reckless. So much so that even I wasn't daring enough to do it.

A queasy ache spread through my stomach. Coffee, my lone companion for days now, remained the only tenant in my stomach. On the edge of consciousness, I knew I needed to force myself to eat something… But the clash between thoughts of food and the memory of mangled bodies made me nauseous.

Suddenly, a phone rang. Sam and Andrew both turned their heads simultaneously, while I flinched, exhaling loudly as Andrew darted into the trailer to rummage through the clutter for the phone. The annoying automated ringtone continued to chirp cheerily as he searched. Sam and I exchanged glances, and he gave me a tight smile, slightly lifting the video camera.

In his eyes, there was fear, and his face was unnaturally pale. But Sam didn't betray himself – still the same 'immortal operator,' never letting go of the camera. I knew he would capture everything on video, even as the threat loomed over us like an avalanche.

When the endlessly ringing phone was finally found, I flinched again, this time at Andrew’s sudden, loud voice. He wasted no time boasting about the promising footage to his wife. Momentarily forgetting himself, he excitedly described what Sam had filmed and the sheer number of police and military personnel surrounding the hospital. I motioned for him to watch his words – our call could easily be monitored – and shivered slightly as I muttered a quiet curse. Andrew’s skepticism had vanished, and he didn’t seem remotely disturbed by what he had seen.

Relief and anxiety were battling within me, and it was still unclear which one would prevail.

Andrew then began talking about his daughter, which meant the call would drag on. For all his gruffness and reticence, dear Andy was a devoted father and exemplary family man who never missed a chance to ask me if I’d found someone special. Honestly, I always admired his ability to balance family, work, and hobbies, especially considering how different and disconnected those aspects of his life were.

I pulled off the warm blanket and tossed it somewhere deeper into the trailer.

“Andrew,” I called out to the man, and he turned around. “I'm going to the store.”

He gave a short nod, and I grabbed a small bag hanging on a hook near the trailer entrance, heading off with determination. Sam gave me a concerned glance, but without saying a word, he began disentangling himself from his cocoon of equipment. A few minutes later, Dort caught up with me and trailed alongside.

I had to admit: despite everything – my state, the nightmare, and the horror – I understood perfectly well that the material we had would cause a sensation. If Givori provided additional, extended information, it would trigger a massive wave, erasing any lingering doubts that the rule of the Three had run its course. That the monarchs had deliberately concealed an epidemic in the North. That their words could no longer be trusted. That people had become expendable tools in their hands…

I kept walking forward, lost in thought, paying no attention to the unfamiliar city around me. Instead of greedily taking in the sights, I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I completely forgot we were no longer in the Central Lands but had arrived in the Isthmus Region. Still, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the unusual layout of the winding streets, the distinctive, more refined and angular architecture, and the abundance of carmine and purplish-black stones in the buildings.

The echo carried the wailing siren from different parts of the city. Road workers in uniforms were patching a pothole in the asphalt; their work truck hummed, and its orange beacon light flickered intermittently. My feet ached terribly from my heels, my head throbbed, and the clamor and commotion didn’t let up for a moment. The loud voices blended into a singular cacophony, ringing in my ears. It was then that I realized just how out of sorts I was. I had lost track of time and barely noticed or comprehended what was happening around me.

Abruptly, I stopped and looked around. I had no idea how long it had been since we left the trailer – twenty minutes, maybe thirty? A loud chime from a tall red-brick building's clock tower marked the hour. Ten o’clock. In front of us lay a bustling intersection. On a small square in front of what appeared to be an administrative building stood a proud pedestal displaying three identical, faceless figures. The only thing that distinguished these shadows were their characteristic attributes: the crown of two rings on the head of the Ruler, the sword in the hands of the Commander-in-Chief, and the Book held above the head of the Heavenly Ambassador.

“Unity is the key to immortality” – the central paradigm of the rule of the Three.

And anyone who dared to criticize this paradigm, who questioned the Three or their divine right to power, would vanish – becoming just another sudden victim. If you stood against the monarchs, you’d disappear, erased by the Reapers.

“Are you okay?” Sam spoke for the first time during this entire walk. I felt his attentive gaze on me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sculptural representation of the immutable monarchs. Which of our Three are they? The Eleventh? “You don’t look great, to be honest.”

“Thanks for your honesty,” I replied with a smirk, turning toward a modest but long building with walls made of darkened glass.

A cyclist whizzed past, nearly knocking Sam and me over. Dort, swearing loudly, flipped the guy the bird, to which I just sighed heavily and shook my head.

“They’ve lost their damn minds!” Sam growled, adjusting his hoodie. “Let’s go!”

The building, consisting of a basement and a first floor, was larger inside than it appeared from the outside. Scattered throughout were various shops, from pharmacies to souvenir stores. The basement housed a hypermarket and a luxurious bookstore (at least, the sign reading “Best in the City” set certain expectations). Air conditioners hummed at every turn, and I greedily inhaled the cool air. The shopkeepers, not quite fully awake, yawned lazily behind the counters, enjoying the sparse number of customers and visitors.

What had happened in the hospital was fading away, beginning to seem like a fabrication or a feverish delirium, and although I still clearly remembered every second, every sound, everything was gradually sinking into a smoky haze of memory, becoming less and less real. The mundane rhythm of life here, outside the hospital walls, dulled the anxiety, allowing certain details to slip away, but…

But for a moment, it was as if I was thrown into a dead loop of old and new memories. My heart painfully slammed against my ribs, fluttering wildly, and it took a considerable effort to push back the creeping panic and suppress the pain. I shuddered slightly, shaking my hair. Unconsciously, I squeezed my left wrist. Sam glanced at me, concerned, but without saying anything, he headed toward the staircase leading to the basement. I followed him.

“Come on, get a grip, Steph,” Dort said quietly over his shoulder. “I agree, it wasn’t a pleasant sight… But still, it’s for the better, right? We found some great material. We can turn it into gold. Isn’t this what we wanted?”

“Yeah, I guess so…” I muttered hesitantly, frowning. My gut was screaming at me, but I couldn’t figure out what exactly it was trying to warn me about. Glancing at the grocery store, I felt a lump rising in my throat. “You go ahead and grab some snacks. I think I’ll check out the bookstore instead.”

“What do you want?”

“Just some sparkling water. Maybe some cookies. I’m not really hungry.”

Sam nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets, and, turning around, disappeared behind the counters. A plump cashier in her forties gave me a disapproving look; I raised an eyebrow and gave a slight tilt of my head, and the woman, catching the unspoken "directional cue," turned to the cigarette rack.

On the other side of the hypermarket, behind the panoramic windows, neat rows of bookshelves came into view.

My thoughts kept jumping from one thing to another: sleepless nights ending in strong coffee at gas stations, midnight packing sessions, this long journey, the bumpy ride in the trailer, the broken equipment. Mazes of houses, the yellow sliver of the moon in the sky. Clouds, the chilly morning, the hospital. Givori’s bandaged hand, the patients, the police.

Without realizing it, I found myself among the bookshelves. I quickly glanced around, then wandered between the racks, glancing at the new spines.

I felt nauseous. I must have been too on edge, and even now, I couldn’t stop overthinking. Deep down, fear had buried itself in my chest, straining my nerves. It had been a long time since I’d felt this out-of-control panic.

“Are you feeling unwell?” The woman at the checkout asked anxiously.

“No, I’m fine,” I replied with a short nod. For some reason, everyone seemed overly concerned about my health today. Did I really look that awful? “Thanks.”

I smiled tautly and quickly disappeared into the labyrinth of shelves, escaping her watchful gaze. I spent the next ten minutes wandering aimlessly and browsing through books. Pulling one volume after another from the shelves, I read the blurbs, flipped through the pages, and skimmed the first lines that caught my eye… Yet I was certain I didn’t retain any of it; I was simply trying to drown out the endless cycle of overlapping thoughts.

In my mind, I was already drafting the article, visualizing the layout of the online publication’s page, and working out which phrases should be highlighted in bold. Despite this detached state, I still managed to select about seven books for purchase – simple paperbacks that were easy to carry due to their compact size and light weight. Among them were a couple I had already read.

It was hard to predict how long we would be staying in °22-1-20-21-14. Much depended on how talkative Givori would be, the general state of the city, and the activities of the Reapers. With that in mind, I figured it was wise to prepare something to occupy myself with beyond work.

I chuckled to myself, feeling a dull ache of melancholy spreading through my body. If I had the chance, I’d definitely explore the city – walk around, try the local cuisine, visit some landmarks… After all, it was rare for loyal citizens of the State to leave their assigned territories, where everyone was essentially "tied" from birth.

I cast a fleeting glance toward the local guidebooks. A shelf of those could just as well be labeled "cruel irony" everywhere.

Without thinking, I picked up a couple of pens and pencils.

Sam was probably right. We had come here for a sensational story, striking visuals, and information – and we got plenty of them. The trip wasn’t in vain, and that alone was worth so much. If I were religious, I might have offered heartfelt thanks to the Heavens.

I hadn’t heard Sam approach, so when his voice suddenly sounded by my ear – "Steph, I’m here" – I nearly dropped the books.

“You scared me,” I exhaled tightly, shaking my head. “Just give me a minute, and we’ll go.”

“You can't be left alone in a bookstore,” the guy winked.

And why would he have a reason to be down? Sam was holding a bag of food; we had the material we came for, plenty of work ahead, and no chance of getting back into the hospital today. Givori wasn’t likely to agree to an evening coffee chat, either. This day was shaping up to be a well-deserved break after a grueling trip and a morning filled with unpleasant moments.

Besides, nothing was stopping us from talking to the locals in °22-1-20-21-14. Who knows, we might even manage to speak with some military personnel – maybe luck would favor us there, too.

For a moment, I froze, replaying the journey here in my mind. The documents we’d prepared were impeccable; we’d passed all the customs checkpoints with ease. But…

How had my file disappeared from the investigation database? Why hadn’t the Reaper found me in their system? Where had my name gone? The memory of that night at the checkpoint resurfaced, chilling me to the bone.

“Steph?”

“Ah? Yeah… You’re right,“ I replied with a forced smile. Slowly, we began walking toward the checkout, glancing around.

Upstairs, the noise was growing louder: the sirens, which my ears had gradually gotten used to, blared more frequently; I thought I could hear echoes of gunfire reverberating through the streets – or perhaps it was just the confusion caused by the sound of cash registers and arcade games on the upper floor.

The small queue at the checkout barely moved; the cashier, half-asleep, scanned purchases without any sense of urgency. We waited with melancholic patience; Sam even had time to dash off to the philosophy section. Meanwhile, outside the bookstore, a commotion began. Voices grew louder.

I felt my insides tighten and freeze, my senses sharpening as if on high alert.

The customer in front of us left the store, studying their purchase intently. Sam paid first and stepped aside, flipping through a book, while I kept glancing out the glass panels. The confusion outside was thickening. People were hastily leaving the grocery store and heading toward the stairs.

There were no siren sounds. There was no smoke. Visually, nothing seemed to have changed – yet panic had clearly gripped the crowd.

“Miss, your purchases!” The cashier's insistent voice snapped me back. I nodded distractedly, quickly stuffing the books into my bag. I exchanged a worried glance with Sam, but he merely shrugged.

“Let’s get out of here and head back to the trailer,” I said firmly, grabbing Dort by the arm just above the elbow and practically dragging him toward the doors.

A second. Two. Just as Sam and I were nearly out of the bookstore, a piercing scream shattered the air – a scream filled with icy terror and desperate pain. For a moment, déjà vu yanked me back to the hospital, flooding my senses with the stench of antiseptics and spoiled blood.

I tightened my grip on Dort’s hoodie, holding him in place, and then I saw it…

It wasn’t violence in the usual sense. It was something far more sinister. Time seemed to slow, and every detail of the horrific scene seared into my vision.

There were two of them – just regular people, not patients from the third ward – disfigured, frenzied, rabid. They had attacked someone – a man or woman, it was impossible to tell now – and pinned them to the floor. Screams, inhuman shrieks. Words choked in a throat filling with blood. A dark pool spread across the marble under the body.

Everything blurred. Paralysis set in. Noise, chaos, panic erupted. People rushed toward the exits, trampling over one another, knocking others down, and crushing them underfoot. Screams, crashes, wailing. A horrible guttural growl echoed through the air. Then I realized there weren’t just two of them. My gaze caught more attacks in the crowd – new ones, and more still. The entire scene lasted mere seconds, though it felt like an eternity. A shop assistant nearby darted toward the door to shut it.

“No!” I shouted, trying to step back, but Sam stood frozen in place, pale as a sheet.

“Get inside or get out!” The girl screamed.

“Sam!” I shouted, shaking Dort hard. We bolted back.

What would have happened if we hadn’t gone back? If we’d hesitated for another moment? If we’d let panic drive us toward the staircase, into the city? What then?

The girl’s trembling hands managed to shut the doors. The sounds outside grew muffled… I stood there, staring blankly through the glass, watching as a group of people toppled a young man to the ground. They crowded around him, preventing any chance of escape. He flailed his arms, struggling to push them off, to get up. But they held him in a tight circle. Within seconds, his arm stiffened with convulsions.

The next moment, a man in shredded clothing slammed into the glass. My heart plummeted as I staggered backward. He turned awkwardly, his hands and face pressed against the glass. His lifeless, yellow-tinged eyes locked onto mine. Devoid of lips and cheeks, his jaw dropped to his neck, exposing his larynx.

A loud scream filled my ears, and I didn't immediately realize it was my scream. Everything went black in front of me, and I felt myself falling.

***

A dim sky, heat rising from the ground. Stifling. A flock of birds on the horizon. Screams. Rivers of blood, filled with snakes. Falling snow, spiraling down. A black sun, with an eye opening at its center. Columns. A forest. Damp earth underfoot. Graves. Givori. His bandaged arm. The bookstore.

And then a half-sigh, half-scream escaped my unconsciousness.

I jolted awake, gasping for air. My throat was dry, my chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice – breathing was unbearably hard, painful. My head throbbed, and my heart pounded violently against my ribs. Fear coursed through me, raw and unrelenting, brought on mercifully by nothing more than a dream.

A dream?

Sam, leaning over me and placing a finger to his lips. His frightened, red eyes. He was speaking a lot, quietly, and I couldn’t make out his words. Inside, everything felt cold, frozen, icy, but I could clearly feel that I was sweating terribly.

“Steph?” Sam whispered anxiously. “Are you okay? Oh heavens, you scared me so much!”

I sat up abruptly, and the room swam before my eyes. We were still in the bookstore.

“How long…” My voice faltered as I gripped my head. “How long was I out?”

“No more than a minute, Steph.”

“Felt like a hundred lifetimes…”

“We need to stay here,” Dort said, his words slow and deliberate as he studied my face. He tried to sound as calm as possible, but the deafening chaos outside chilled my blood. “Wait until it quiets down. Katherine called for help. They’ll come for us.” I nodded without fully absorbing his words. The hellish cacophony outside drowned out everything else. “We need to hide now,” Dort continued, his voice low and steady. “Stay very, very quiet. No sound at all, okay?” I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and buried my face. Sam sat next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders and holding me close. “We’re safe here for now. Everything will make sense later,” he reassured me softly. “We just need to wait, stay quiet, and not draw attention…”

I don’t know how long I stayed like that. The bookstore grew quieter; the noise was coming mostly from above, from the streets. A strange, drowsy sensation pulled me downward. My body begged me to sleep, to shut out the sounds and the thoughts. But on the edge of consciousness, I still reacted to the screams, recognized the gunfire, and heard the wailing of sirens. Explosions rocked the street above us. The bookshelves trembled, the floor shook, and I trembled too, helplessly engulfed by the vibrations.

I kept drifting into sleep, overwhelmed by exhaustion and strain. A semi-conscious state. My head drooped, my body felt unresponsive, heavy as lead… Everything around me blurred into an ethereal haze.

When I opened my eyes again, the world was shrouded in a dark greenish-blue twilight. Across from me, by a bookshelf, sat the girl who worked in the bookstore and had locked the doors. She rocked side to side, hugging her shoulders. Her mascara had run, her face was swollen, and her neat bun had unraveled into a disheveled mess. Katherine? Feeling my gaze, she lifted her eyes to meet mine.

“How much time has passed?” I whispered.

“Over five hours,” she replied softly.

I heard Sam exhale heavily and turned to look at him.

“What’s happening?”

For a moment, he was silent, carefully choosing his words.

“I… I don’t know how to describe it,” he said hoarsely. “It’s like hell itself broke loose.” His voice was rough. “We can’t let them see us. I tried to approach the exit to get a look outside. Those things noticed me – they started moving toward the doors, piling on them. I retreated to a blind spot, and luckily, something outside distracted them. I could hear the sirens from the street, then a repeated announcement over the loudspeakers.” Sam swallowed hard, his wide, glassy eyes staring at me, almost unblinking. “Don’t you remember? Didn’t you hear it?”

I shook my head.

“They were urging people not to panic, not to go outside, and to avoid contact with the infected. The infection broke loose in the city. They escaped the hospital…” Sam licked his dry lips. “About two hours ago, everything in the center suddenly went silent. But I didn’t risk going out again. There’s still noise from the street, but it feels farther away now, not directly above us. Then, about forty minutes later, there was a massive explosion, and after that… we lost all communication.”

“They’re outside,” Katherine said suddenly, her voice trembling. “The infected. They’re searching for something. We decided to wait here for help and not do anything rash for now…”

“You need water,” Sam said gently, coming over and touching my shoulder.

I shook my head, even though I was thirsty. My mind was a whirlwind of chaos, my thoughts tangled and confused. Every attempt to orient myself or analyze the situation felt futile. I was utterly terrified, and the fear was blinding, paralyzing – a viscous, relentless dread that wouldn’t let go.

Dort didn’t say a word. He simply hugged me, pulling me close. I hadn’t even noticed the tears streaming down my face. My thoughts turned to Andrew – he was still out there, near the hospital – and I worried for his life, for mine and Sam’s. The walls and ceiling seemed to press down on us, suffocating, yet beyond this confined space lay even greater uncertainty and danger.

What if we couldn’t get out? What if this was a trap? Or what if we ended up sealed in here forever?

Ironically, almost mockingly, a shelf of religious books stood directly across from us. In the center was a crimson Book of Scriptures, its cover adorned with intricate golden lettering that read: “We Are Under the Protection of the Mother Goddess.”

“Steph,” Dort whispered softly, stroking my hair, “Calm down… It’s going to be okay, do you hear me?

I nodded, clutching at his sweatshirt, silently repeating a single word – impossible – trying to comprehend why no help was coming, why people had turned savage, becoming bloodthirsty monsters, and why we were trapped in this surreal parody of horrific legends from the past. I tried to understand what would happen next – or if anything would happen at all.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The most important thing was to stop the panic. Panic was the enemy, the dagger in your back, the most dangerous thing in moments of chaos. It was a miracle we’d stayed in the bookstore, avoiding being trampled in the confusion of the crowd.

Everything felt like a fog… Like a lousy production, a bad show.

I didn’t know what was happening outside the shopping center. I didn’t want to know and couldn’t even bring myself to think about trying to break out – though I told myself that sooner or later, I’d have to take that risk – because the world had frozen, shrunk, and I too was paralyzed, bound by fear. Could this night ever end? Could the darkness ever pass? Or were we doomed to stay in this cage of the suffocating store, forever losing the chance to step outside? It felt as though we were trapped in an endless cycle of a small hell, woven from primal fear, confusion, and long, blue shadows stretching their claws toward our hearts. As if we were doomed to remain forever among the bookshelves, under the watchful gaze of the figurine of the Mother with outstretched arms.

The lamps, emitting a dim light, hummed and flickered incessantly. In those moments when the bookstore was swallowed by darkness, it felt like they were about to emerge from behind the shelves, and it would be the end for us. I had no idea what they actually were. I just feared them. I feared the unknown and the danger that I couldn’t explain or comprehend. Each time, my heart would freeze, and I would gasp for air, pressing tighter against Dort. Katherine took off her shoes and paced back and forth near us, apparently trying to calm herself; Sam breathed heavily and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

I was horrified by the grim realization that we were trapped in a cage. And even more so by the fact that we had no idea what was happening upstairs. What if it was just as bad outside as it was here? What if it was worse?

The isolated North now seemed truly different. As did the attempts to hide the spreading epidemic. So, the contagion was already here? How soon would it reach the Central Lands? How soon would it be in the capital, engulfing Mukro? Would it reach The Cold Calm? How soon would it consume the entire State? From the Ice Sea to the Great Ocean? And why was nothing truly being done to stop it?

The shop lacked a ceiling, so when I looked up, my gaze caught on the pipes and wires. The lamps reminded me of those in a hospital, which only drove me deeper into a mad, agonizing fear. The absolute silence, broken only by the constant hum of the lamps, induced unbearable anxiety.

This couldn’t be happening for real. This couldn’t exist in reality.

Katherine suddenly stopped, listening intently. I tensed up and froze, barely breathing, but there were no sounds; I looked at the girl in confusion, but she just tried to smile. She took off her jacket and sat down on the floor next to me.

“Do you mind?” She asked, resting her head on my shoulder. “It’s getting chilly, don’t you think?”

“No, it hasn’t gotten colder,” I cautiously felt her forehead. “You have a fever.”

“It’s okay,” the girl smiled again, “Before the connection was lost, I managed to call my husband. He’s coming back from his business trip tomorrow and will take me out of here. Around eight in the morning. And everything will be fine.”

I looked at her with sympathy or condescension; did she really believe that everything would be fine? Or was it that I couldn’t believe those words? Katherine’s words, “everything will be fine,” didn’t comfort me. No, they sounded somehow doomed and eerie, as if they were harbingers of things turning out completely differently.

But I had to convince myself that it was just fear of the unknown that was fueling unbearable anxiety. I needed to calm down… And the only way to pull myself together was the simple act of self-suggestion, convincing myself that tomorrow everything would be better.

Because everything will be fine, right? Tomorrow Katherine will be taken away, tomorrow help will arrive. Tomorrow everything will go back to normal. Tomorrow we’ll get out of here. Tomorrow we’ll remember today with a smile, because tomorrow everything will be fine…

Heavens, give us the strength to survive this day and this night.

***

The feeling of emptiness and apathy. A state where emotionally you still can’t believe what has happened, while the mind coldly and cynically comprehends and weighs the outcome. As if neither alive nor dead, a piece of meat equipped with a brain that has lost the ability to think… In such moments, more than anything, you want to either lose yourself or scream, to howl, releasing what you can’t say out loud.

But we couldn’t scream. We couldn’t call for help, couldn’t help ourselves. I lost track of the time we spent in silence, sitting on the floor, glancing around nervously and afraid to breathe. Trying to escape by ourselves seemed impossible and insane, and passive waiting for the promised help, the mercy of the Heavens, or any resolution to this nightmare was the only option.

Resigned acceptance of our fate burned from within. The fear of unknown danger gave way to a monstrous anticipation of the end. The lights continued to flicker, and the lamps seemed to buzz louder.

The shelf with religious literature across from us. The Mother with outstretched arms.

Silence began to drive us all mad, and I spoke first in a halting whisper. About unrelated things. Anything to say something. Sam picked up the conversation. Katherine followed. We talked about books, about work, but not a word about what had happened, to avoid driving each other into even greater panic.

The girl soon dozed off.

The silence gave way to fear: what if salvation never comes? What if we have trapped ourselves in an even worse snare? What if we buried ourselves with our own hands? Closed the lid of the coffin with our own strength?

I jerked my head, pinched my wrist. Inside, everything tightened, and a chill wrapped around me.

Sam was fiddling with his dead phone – the battery had died – but that gadget was pointless anyway. The connection was gone. My legs had gone numb; I carefully stood up. Dort, flinching, looked at me in confusion.

“Where are you going?” he asked, but I didn’t answer, lost in my own thoughts. Sam’s handsome face had acquired a pained, tortured look, his golden hair seemed duller, and his favorite warm, bright hoodie with the little monster on it mocked all this madness.

The past was erased. The future had vanished. Political games, journalistic adventures, civic protests, ambitious plans – everything crumbled to dust in my hands, ash in my teeth. In the moment when death was breathing down my neck, even the State’s hell seemed like heaven, a place I wished to return to.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, took off my shoes, and tiptoed to the edge of the shelf, peering out from behind it.

The glass was smeared with dirty red streaks. In the grocery store – shadows of a few moving figures. Were they human? Their movements were slow, broken. There were no bodies of those attacked, those torn apart. Only blood. Its streaks. Shreds of flesh. Pieces of clothing.

I flinched. Where are they? Where are they?! It can’t be possible to get up and leave after that, can it? Could they have been eaten completely? With bones?! And, heavens forbid, eaten?! The rescuers hadn’t come, the medics hadn’t shown up; had the bodies been taken somewhere? But where? By whom?

I staggered, horrified by my own thoughts. Eaten. Impossible! … Bullshit, it's all bullshit – just gossip, fabrications, rumors woven from clouded minds and slander, schemes by customs barons and audacious mayors… This was a performance, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? So people would look for salvation in the government?

A wave of nausea hit me again, and I quickly turned away. Closed my eyes, holding my head. The ground seemed to slip away beneath my feet. I took a step back, stumbled.

Would salvation come? When would we be rescued? Would they rescue us? What if everything turns out differently?

I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the strength of my heartbeat.

Sam watched every move I made, his face a mask of feigned calm, as if trying to reassure me, but it only made me shiver. Instead of thinking of others or saying words, my mind was consumed by a torrent of thoughts in search of an exit, an explanation; trying to connect the past and present, trying to distinguish a future in the thickening darkness. Everything had blurred. All that existed now was the store. Silence. And primal fear, fueled by the unknown.

What if we had come a day earlier? What if our conversation with Givori had gone as originally planned? Would everything have been different? Would I have understood what was happening, even a little?

On the wall was an evacuation plan for a fire. I knew that sitting here was not an option. But it seemed there was no other way. Neither Sam nor Katherine could say anything useful to me, only confusing me further and fueling panic.

My stomach growled loudly. I turned around in fear…

“Are you hungry?” Sam asked with an expressionless face, though he was tense.

I shook my head, even though the only thing that had been in my stomach since the morning was a cup of second-rate coffee. At the mere mention of food, a sour taste filled my mouth, and my stomach turned. In front of me was the image beyond the glass. But the weakness in my body was undeniable. On the edge of consciousness, I knew I had to force myself to swallow something.

“Sam,” I said with some pleading in my voice, approaching him and sitting down beside him. “Sam, we will be saved, right? Did you hear Katherine’s conversation? Did you hear that help is coming?”

He cast a glance at me and clenched his teeth so tightly that the muscles in his face tensed; he remained silent for a few seconds. Then he let out a heavy breath and tried to force a semblance of a smile onto his face.

“Of course!” Sam nodded. “They’ll rescue us! I heard it myself. I heard it, Steph.”

“What exactly did they say?”

“Stephanie,” the guy shook his head. “Everything will be okay. Soon everything will become clear, and we’ll go back to living like we did before,” but before I could respond, Dort interrupted, more to himself, “But… live like before? How? With memories like these? I can’t imagine ever being able to sleep peacefully again. Or perceiving the world like I did before,” he faltered and looked at me, long and seriously. Katherine shifted and froze again; she was tossing and turning in her sleep, coughing, and moaning. Sam and I exchanged worried glances.

“Yes,” I said hoarsely and dully, as if it wasn’t my own voice. “What happened will change everything.”

My stomach growled unpleasantly, and we barely managed to eat a couple of crackers. Then, to distract myself, I grabbed the first book I could find from the shelf and began to read, stopping every minute to listen to the silence; however, I had grown accustomed to the hum of the lamps and the endless flickering of the lights. After a while, Sam started reading too, to kill the dragging minutes.

I scanned the sentences with my eyes, not understanding what was written. I looked at the letters but couldn’t read the words. My head hurt. A feeling of anxiety buzzed in my chest. Unnoticed by myself, I tapped my foot on the floor, tense. Time stretched on, and my emotions gradually dulled.

I spent the night in a state similar to oblivion. I remember how Katherine woke up a few times, how she had hysterics, and Sam and I tried to calm her down; how the light went out completely, and fear surged again. How I was afraid to open my eyes when those monsters started pounding on the door of the bookstore; how I sat, hugging my knees and trying not to cry. How distant sirens wailed above us. How the echoes of explosions resonated. How I wanted to run from this place. How Sam first slept while I kept watch, thinking I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. How Dort then took over my watch, and I lay on the floor, curled up, staring at one spot.

And I became that spot. A tiny grain of sand among billions of stars in the endless, cold sky.

And I didn’t know how long it had been before the anxious and painful sleep overcame me. I don’t remember when exhaustion overtook me so completely that it swallowed me into oblivion. I dreamed that I was running somewhere, and someone was chasing me, but I couldn’t see his face. I ran, not feeling the ground beneath my feet, stumbling, falling, getting back up. A mountain loomed in front of me, but I didn’t have the strength to reach it – I kept running and running, unable to move forward. I dreamed of the dead attacking the living… In the dream, I was sure those creatures were the dead. I dreamed of blood. Lots of blood. My hands were covered in someone else's blood. And I cried in my sleep. I cried uncontrollably, gasping, choking on my own tears. I pleaded for help, screamed into the sky, and got no answer. And I felt the pain tearing me apart from the inside… And I dreamed of snow. I lay on the ground, looking up at the gray sky, and large snowflakes fell on me. It was so cold that I couldn’t feel my body. But I felt something cold and slippery constricting my throat, like snakes. The snow fell. And the terrible fear…

I woke up suddenly, breathing heavily and quickly turning from my back to my side. My heart was pounding wildly. There was a dull thud at the door. Darkness. A monotonous echo. Helplessness.

“Sam?” I whispered, shivering uncontrollably and looking around. “Sam?!”

The guy appeared from behind the shelf, armed with a long mop. His hair was disheveled, his reddened eyes were inflamed.

“Shh,” he hissed. “They’re there. Four of them. And…” Sam swallowed the rest of the sentence. He couldn’t finish. There's no escaping reality.

I wanted to scream to drown out the external sounds, but I only nodded to Sam, sinking back down to the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

The realization of my own helplessness in the face of the circumstances was suffocating. There was a way out. The only way. And it led up, through the doors.

But outside, behind the glass, the infected were waiting for us. Were they even alive? It was impossible to survive with such wounds. Could it be that monsters from ancient legends and forgotten tales had emerged into our world? Could those terrifying creatures spoken of in the ominous prophecies of religious texts become reality? Ghosts from nightmares. Phantoms from the worn myths of distant icy lands. What else could those dreadful entities be? Madmen? Cannibals? Was it all just a harbinger of the impending end, as the Goddess Mother sang about in the scriptures?

All we could do was wait. And we didn’t even know what or who we were waiting for. Inaction clouded our minds, painting horrific images of the imminent future that awaited us. If it even existed for us. Who knew what was happening above right now?

We had come for materials, but had ended up in a trap. Why hadn’t the news from the past few weeks stopped us? Why hadn’t the widespread city closures scared us? Why had we taken it so lightly and let the seriousness pass us by? Why had we so easily pushed aside the memory of those patients in the hospital who bit, tore, and growled? Why had the people on the street become just like those patients?..

And most importantly.

Why hadn’t the Three disclosed the information about the Northern Plague? Why hadn’t they shed light on what was happening in the North and taken preemptive action?

Sam continued to stand a little way off, peering through the gaps between the bookshelves at the door. Holding the mop. Wearing a T-shirt with a caricatured monster. The absurdity and horror of the situation were overwhelming. Could anything be so funny when blood freezes in your veins?

What was happening had engulfed us completely, like a sudden wave knocking an unsuspecting person off their feet and throwing them onto the hot sand. It was hard to gather our thoughts and think everything through logically, but that was exactly what we needed to do. But could we?..

We were too scared. Too lost.

***

Snow was falling. Large flakes drifted down. Another dream, where there was only an endless white field and a gray sky… but the ground was soaked with blood.

I don’t know when I dozed off. I just fell into unconsciousness for a couple of hours – vague, blurred dreams woven from eerie visions and equally frightening memories – and when I opened my eyes again, hoping to see my room or, at the very least, the ceiling of the trailer, a groan of disappointment escaped my chest. For the first few seconds, I lay there, curled up in a ball, unable to summon the strength to get up. I heard Katherine speaking quietly to Sam.

Alienation. As if my body didn’t belong to me, as if the hours of captivity were not mine, not experienced by me, not lived through by me.

“What time is it?” I finally managed to say.

Katherine flinched, and Sam turned to look at me with concern.

“Almost eight,” the girl replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear; I nodded briefly as I sat up and glanced at Sam. “And… they’re gone.”

For a brief moment, I felt an overwhelming lightness, relief, and Katherine's naive words seemed to lift a weight off my shoulders. It was the fraction of a moment when I allowed myself to believe that the infected had left and that we could leave the store and finally escape this terrible place – deciding to do so was frightening, but waiting for an illusory help was even scarier – to step outside and finally find out what had really happened. Then I could forget this entire day, wipe the nightmare from my mind forever!

But such a bright and perfect fantasy suddenly frightened me. Even disoriented me. And a vague doubt gripped my lungs with panic. No one was washing the blood-stained floors. No one was going to work. No one was trying to save us. My back was already damp with sweat, and it took extraordinary effort to breathe in and out, trying to push away the confusion and think coldly.

I desperately wanted to hope that everything would soon return to normal. It had to return. I still believed that. And faith was the only thing we had left.

“Steph?” I flinched and looked at Sam. He must have called me more than once.

“We have to leave here. Now. While we have the chance,” I stated firmly.

“Leave?” Sam looked bewildered, and his voice was full of undeniable worry.

“What if they… are still out there?” Katherine clutched at the large wooden buttons of her jacket. “Help is supposed to come for us. Maybe we should wait?” She added with hope, but I shook my head stubbornly.

The exit seemed non-existent, the existence of the world outside the bookstore unnatural; but staying here and waiting for the outcome meant only a temporary lull before the inevitable end. I had no plan, I didn't understand what was happening, I didn’t know what to do. I knew nothing, and the only conviction that was growing stronger was the dulled realization that I needed to save myself.

A quick, terrible end was better than endless horror. But I didn’t know then…

“We need to go,” I repeated insistently. “Think, what if help never comes?” My voice was soft, emotionless; I glanced sideways at Sam, whose face showed doubt and strange notes of bitterness and disappointment. “How long will we stay here? How much time do we have before it's no longer safe? We can't be sure who they are or what they’re capable of. Who will guarantee that we’re protected from the threat?” A short pause. “We are without information, without knowledge; only one thing is certain… I won't stay underground.”

“And who will guarantee that we’ll be safe above? And what will we do when we get out?” Katherine, taking a shaky breath, did not back down.

“Sam,” I ignored her question, looking into Dort’s face, “don’t forget, Andrew is still out there. He wouldn’t have left without us, I’m sure of it. We need to go back. We have to go back. While there’s still a chance to escape.”

Dort continued to stand silently, staring at me, but then hesitantly nodded, glancing briefly at Katherine.

It all felt like some kind of nonsense, a dream, hallucinations.

“Alright,” I pushed my hair back, “fine, let’s try.”

Sam reached out a hand, helping me to my feet, and handed me a bottle of water; then, without saying a word, he walked behind the shelf to check the situation outside the glass. Katherine immediately got up, holding her bag and handing me my backpack. She was swollen from crying and barely stood, looking as though she could only take a few steps before collapsing unconscious.

“Let’s go,” I whispered, taking her arm, “we’ll catch up to Sam.”

He was already waiting for us, clutching that ridiculous mop and watching the darkness of the hall outside the glass with suspicion. We paused at the door for a few moments. The dreadful darkness seemed to crawl across the floor, intermittently illuminated by flashes of light. Thick darkness. Tar-like. I looked ahead and didn’t want to cross the threshold of the bookstore. Yet, I didn’t break my desperate gaze at Sam, catching his reflection and mentally commanding myself to be brave.

Katherine took out the keys and approached the door…

“Let’s go!” I said hoarsely as soon as the girl threw it open; a sharp, nauseating stench of decay hit my nose, and a sour taste filled my mouth. I covered the lower half of my face with my hand, trying to fight the urge to vomit. Hastily, but cautiously, we made our way to the stairs, glancing around and nervously looking over our shoulders. The floor was dark with traces of blood, scraps of clothing, chunks of meat… Somewhere in the depths of the darkened grocery store, a shadow flickered. “Sam!” I whispered quickly, tugging at the back of his hoodie, “Sam!” He turned, holding the mop in front of him. “Faster! To the stairs!”

Katherine grabbed my hand, and we sprinted together. My heart pounded in my throat, and my ears filled with a whistling, droning sound. Sam followed us. The landings passed in what seemed like a few steps, although my legs felt like jelly. At the very top, I stopped abruptly, holding Katherine and Dort back, and peeked over the railing into the hall – it was empty. Only blood, shattered glass, an overturned coffee vending machine… and a lifeless, torn body in the corner.

It felt like I had been struck. I gasped for air, unable to tear my gaze away. My chest tightened, and a chill wrapped around my spine. Sam tried to pull me, but I still stood frozen.

Fear. Fear. Fear. It poisoned, bound, chained.

“Stephanie, we need to go, – Dort pulled me forward; now he was cautiously and carefully leading us to the exit. Katherine still gripped my hand tightly, trying to stay as close as possible, and we looked around nervously, feeling neither the floor beneath us nor the strength in our legs. I could clearly hear some noises.

What’s happening, Heaven? What’s happening?! There was no feeling of life, only the breath of death slipping out of every corner.

“Let’s go!” Sam opened the door to the street. “Faster, ahead, faster!”

We burst out into the street. First, the blinding light – just for a second, only because we had been in the dark for so long – then the breeze carrying the smoky scent of burning and blood. After that, a silent scream ripped from my chest and my vision cleared. Sam froze, looking around in shock. Katherine covered her mouth with her hand… And I, taking an uneven step forward, swayed.

Overturned, smoking cars, houses scorched with soot. Nearby, a crashed helicopter with a twisted body, flames flickering on its tail. Silence. Deep, dead silence. People’s bodies. Torn apart, heads shattered. In the distance, a lone car sped by, wheels screeching, knocking everything in its path.

The strong, cold wind burned my face, ruffling my hair in an instant. The sky was dark and heavy with clouds, and no light worked. Around us was destruction, chaos, mayhem. It felt as if we had been cast into a completely different world. We had lived in one world; just yesterday, we had lived in that world, and today, we had been transported into an even more terrifying, twisted reality. I couldn’t think, let alone breathe properly… And even after seeing all the bodies below, after witnessing a person being torn apart before my eyes. I couldn’t believe this was real. Especially when I saw even more bodies outside.

Katherine, collapsing to the ground, whimpered softly to avoid crying out loud. I wanted to scream, but I remained silent. I wanted to wake up, forget, go home. But this was not a dream.

“Carlos!” Katherine suddenly cried out, and I almost screamed in surprise. I quickly turned around, seeing the girl throw herself around the neck of a young man who had a huge backpack slung over his shoulders. Katherine was sobbing uncontrollably, unable to calm down, while the stranger held her close, running his hands through her hair and urgently whispering in her ear. Then he looked at Sam and me and nodded.

“Thank you,” the young man rasped tiredly, “for being with her…”

“What happened?” Sam asked, almost interrupting.

“No idea, really,” Carlos replied anxiously. “At first, they told everyone to stay home, barricade ourselves, and wait for further instructions. They spoke about the danger of crossing paths with those creatures… Many didn’t follow the instructions, and by the afternoon, mass panic had started. Reports began coming in about a city-wide evacuation, and then the city was hit by airstrikes,” the man shook his head. “I can’t explain or describe it. Everything became a blur… But the city is a trap. We need to leave. There are no customs checkpoints. There’s nothing left here. My advice to you – take a car and leave as quickly as possible; staying here is pure madness. We’d take you with us, but all the spots are filled.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said, swallowing hard and nodding. “We have people waiting for us too.”

Katherine turned to us without saying a word. In her eyes was a silent farewell. She wiped her eyes and reached into her pocket, and in the next moment, she threw me the keys to the store.

“If you ever need to come back,” Katherine sniffled, and I thought that I never wanted to set foot in that place again. “Goodbye! Good luck!”

Carlos, still holding Katherine close, led her across the street.

Suddenly, a shiver of thunder rolled through the air; it felt as if the sky above us shook. I flinched and grabbed Sam’s hoodie, and we unsteadily moved away. He supported me, whispering something, while I could barely move my feet. Step by step, each one more painful than the last.

Dark. Chilly. Quiet. Everything around was anthracite-gray, smoking, lifeless. The world seemed to absorb the soft sounds of our footsteps, echoing in the emptiness. And the bodies. Blood and bodies.

In all my life, I had never seen anything like this.

After what felt like an agonizingly long few minutes, Sam suddenly froze. His eyes widened, he squeezed my hand so hard it hurt, and he muttered frantically:

“Steph, look!”

3

I turned around in fear, expecting to see something that could kill us, tear us apart, but instead, I saw a glimmer of a better outcome, a hope – faint, ephemeral, but hope that allowed me to believe that we could escape this hell. Hope that we would live.

A group of soldiers was heading our way; there were about eight of them, and one person was being carried in their arms.

“Hey!” I suddenly shouted, jumping up and waving my arms. The certainty that the soldiers would help us quickly clouded my mind – who better to know about all this shit than them?!

“Be quiet!” Sam snapped. “They already saw us! Don’t draw any more attention!”

“Sam, it's a miracle, Sam!” I whispered wildly, reaching out with cold fingers to grab his hoodie. “They’re going to get us out! We’ll go home…”

Dort gave me a doubtful look, making an effort to feign resignation. I didn’t notice the despair that flashed across his face; I probably didn’t want to… I just wanted the confusion and fear to clear from my mind. I wished to leave the city, shake off the stench, stop seeing the triumph of chaos and death. Let the nightmare end and fade away – whether not in a day or a month, but someday, erased from my memory.

That fleeting glimmer of hope helped me find my strength. The exhaustion passed, and for a moment, I felt as if I could move mountains, as long as someone explained what was happening.

But hope is deceptive.

Forgetting fear and danger, I pulled Sam forward, walking as fast as I could. My legs, feeling as heavy as lead, could barely carry me. But I didn’t care; I needed to reach the soldiers, to get answers to at least some of my questions.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked nervously and loudly before we had even caught up to the soldiers, and the street echoed his question, carried by a gust of wind; I snapped to awareness and glanced worriedly at Dort. He had never liked people in uniform, despised anything related to weapons and violence. How desperate must he be to be the first to start a conversation…

The man leading the group raised a finger to his lips in warning and spoke only when we were no more than a meter apart.

“Nothing good,” he said, giving us a scrutinizing look. He looked to be around forty to forty-five; short, greasy black hair, touched with gray in places, dark, thick eyebrows, and narrow lips. He held a rifle against his chest. “I assume you spent the night in isolation?” And, without waiting for an answer, he continued. “The Northern Plague has spread through the remaining areas and swept the city overnight. There will be no evacuation. Government forces will not come. A safe place should be sought outside the neighborhood on your own.

But all I could think of was one phrase ringing in my head: "swept the city." I swayed. Swept the city? Everything had been fine yesterday. It had only been one night. Swept the city. Yesterday everything had been relatively normal!

“Are you injured?” asked one of the soldiers who stood a little apart. Sam shook his head.

“No, but it looks like you have injured people,” he began cautiously, “and we know of a more or less safe place; we spent the night in a bookstore…” He added urgently, “We need help and…”

“Lead the way. We’ll discuss everything there,” the man who had started speaking with us interrupted Sam. “But no foolishness.”

Sam nodded unevenly and pulled me back, still eyeing the soldiers impassively. The group was made up of men and two girls, one of whom, injured, was being carried. Her jacket was tied around her waist, and her shirt was soaked with blood – her shoulder was bleeding heavily, but she was alive: she moaned and occasionally twitched, gasping raggedly for air.

The man leading the group fell into step with me and Dort, and his gaze was as watchful and inquisitive as mine. He was a little taller than Sam; he exuded a sense of firmness and confidence on some physical level. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that several weapons were pointed in our direction.

Soldiers like soldiers. Black uniforms, heavy high boots, backpacks, tactical vests, pouches, jackets, knee and elbow pads. On their belts – knives, spare weapons; some had holsters on their chests or legs. A few wore helmets.

“How did you survive these past twenty-four hours?” A man walking next to us asked hoarsely, examining us with a keen gaze. “A bookstore, huh? It's not exactly a place that associates with an impenetrable stronghold.”

“We haven't been outside since yesterday,” I replied more sharply than I intended. “Yesterday, around noon, we locked ourselves in the bookstore with an employee. The basement level. No windows. We can't be seen, and we can't see out. We only decided to venture out today. We were waiting for help, but it never came. We had to rely on ourselves. Honestly, we don't fully understand what's going on… if we understand anything at all.”

“Thank Mother,” he muttered bitterly. “If you had been outside in the evening or at night, you probably wouldn't have survived,” the soldier said, shaking his head thoughtfully as I tried to keep myself from panicking.

“Robert,” one of the group, a tall man with light hair and dark eyes, approached the man walking next to us and whispered something to him.

“Do everything you can,” said the man, whose name was Robert. I gathered that he was the group leader. The second soldier shook his head sadly.

“Too much blood,” he said curtly. Robert grunted and looked at us.

“Is there a pharmacy nearby?”

“Yes,” Sam nodded. “Right by the entrance. The first pavilion on the left.”

“Take Stan and get what you need,” Robert instructed his subordinate. “We'll be in the basement. And, Michael,” the commander held the man for a moment, “do everything you can under the circumstances.”

“Understood,” the man nodded, then turned back to the group. “Taren!”

Two soldiers moved ahead.

Robert continued to ask Sam and me short, monosyllabic questions, mostly regarding whether we had encountered the infected, what we had seen and heard, and where we had been when we faced the consequences of the infection's spread. When I responded that we were journalists here to gather material, the soldier suddenly smirked, studying our faces intently and with interest.

“Where did you come from?”

“Northeast of the Old Frontiers,” Sam said immediately, almost reflexively, and I quickly elbowed him hard in the ribs. Dort winced, either from pain or realization, and looked away. But it was already said. There was no taking it back.

“Frontiers?” Robert asked again, now looking directly into my eyes. “And how did you make it to the north of the Isthmus Region?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” I tried to respond firmly, although my heart did a somersault and dropped to my heels.

“No, quite straightforward. I'm curious how the customs officials granted you permission to cross the checkpoints and how the reapers let you through. The directives of the last days weren't favorable.”

“Apparently, due to the importance of our investigation, we were allowed to proceed,” I said evasively, holding the soldier's gaze, then turned away, silently praying to the heavens that Robert wouldn’t ask more questions. I wasn’t ready to come up with a lie. The man seemed to understand. He asked the question but not the expected one, and it was even somewhat surprising:

“Military correspondents?”

“No,” I answered quietly and weakly after a brief pause. “Civilian journalists.”

We moved quickly. The sensation was like a coma, an intoxicated daze. The situation itself felt no more real than a staged performance: the soldiers followed strangers into the unknown, while we blindly hoped they could help us. My mind was in chaos. I felt like nothing more than a puppet, with blind faith and a panicked horror. What had I hoped for? What was I afraid of? The uncertainty was grinding me down and exhausting me.

A shattered helicopter. A police car. The blacked-out windows of a store. Doors. Down the stairs. The bookstore. Soldiers moving, communicating with silent gestures. Flickering dots of their sights. The grave silence broken by the hum of flashing lights.

And I kept wondering why there hadn’t been any centralized or large-scale action from "above." If the entire North had descended into this waking nightmare, this chaos; if this plague – an infection, a virus, or madness – was spreading so rapidly and taking everything around it, why wasn’t anyone trying to stop it? Why silence the press? Why sacrifice the health and lives of people?

What kind of disaster was it if surviving a night in the city was considered an impossibly difficult feat?

Again, the eerie grocery store. Again, blood on the floor. Again, the bookstore.

Five days had passed since we left for °22-1-20-21-14. Five days ago, everything was so different. I couldn’t have imagined that I’d end up in such a predicament; that just two days earlier, sunlight had gently filtered through the colorful blinds into the trailer’s cabin as we drove past another checkpoint, celebrating our luck. I remember the euphoria we felt as we set out, the insane happiness of the initial departure – ahead lay a long road, but I was happy about it, thrilled that we had work ahead, looking forward to seeing new lands, and that I’d get a chance, even if briefly, to glimpse the mountain ranges.

I had a feeling this wouldn’t just be an investigation but something much more significant and important. No, it wasn’t just a feeling, I knew for certain – those in power knew the extent of the disaster and had hidden it from their loyal subjects. We were meant to bring light to this dark game, even if it meant we would have to ignite ourselves. They had trusted us. They had trusted me. And the bearer of the surname whose signature had authorized our travel documents had made us another tiny link in an enormous, significant chain.

But did any of it have meaning now?

A couple of days ago, I was contemplating how I would conduct the investigation, talk to doctors and patients; I analyzed the best way to present the material so that the reapers wouldn’t come for our souls right away… Andrew was singing along loudly with the radio, in a cheerful mood. Sam was constantly joking, brushing off work – it was more important for him to look out the window, noticing every change in the landscape, in the architecture, especially as we passed the border of the Frontiers area and a section of the Central Lands, entering the territory of the Isthmus Region, where tall pines reached up to the skies and juniper thickets intertwined with the roads.

Just a few days ago, the trailer was swiftly carrying us from home into the unknown. What were we warming in our hearts? Excitement? Yes, that was overflowing! We wanted to show who we were, what we were capable of. We wanted to bring back material that no one could obtain, material that no one dared to voice or publish. Did we think it was dangerous? Yes, absolutely. But in a different sense. And the fear was muted by the knowledge of the responsibility placed on us, of what was expected from our trip.

And then everything turned into a feverish delirium.

I barely remember the minutes of that night and morning when the world turned upside down. When I tried to return to those moments, I couldn’t summon specific images into my memory – everything blended into a stream of sensations, feelings, chaotic emotions – and maybe that was for the best. My brain blurred out the tiniest details so I wouldn’t go mad from constantly returning to those horrifying scenes – at least this time, it played on my side, for there was already too much stored in my mind, begging to be forgotten, even if I had to break my hands to forget it.

I clearly remember that I closed the door to the bookstore when the last two soldiers returned from the pharmacy. I looked again at the dark hall through the glass and shuddered. Terrifyingly quiet and empty. I went to Sam, who was sitting at a distance, hiding among the shelves; I sank down on the floor next to him while the soldiers tried to save the dying girl.

About ten minutes later, it was over. The girl had died. Robert spoke something over her body, closed her eyes. He cut a strand of her hair for some reason. Took the dog tag off her neck. The rest dispersed in silence, trying not to show how deeply affected they were. The second girl in the group, a short blonde with a pixie cut, embraced the man with a mop of dark curls on his head. And Sam and I… As terrifying as it was to admit, the girl’s death stirred no emotions in me. Inside, there was only emptiness. Detachment. A comatose state. I had seen too many deaths and blood in these past twenty-four hours.

Then Robert came over to us. He squatted on his toes in front of us, clasping his hands together and exhaling heavily.

“Well, I have a little time to talk,” the man said tiredly, looking directly at my face, while my gaze froze on the patch that appeared under his unbuttoned jacket. Silver snakes were woven into the fabric on his T-shirt in the area of his chest… My eyes widened, and I opened my mouth, gasping. “My name is Robert Sbort, and I’m the leader of the group…”

“The Gorgon,” I whispered, raising my eyes to Robert. “You’re the Gorgons, aren’t you?”

***

The lamps buzzed ominously above our heads. I listened intently, trying to catch any sound. My vision was blurred. It felt like if someone spoke half a tone louder now, I would scream out of fear and horror. The girl's body lay on the cash register table. Her hand hung over the edge of the counter. Blood dripped from her fingers onto the floor.

This can’t be happening to me. This isn’t real.

I looked at Robert, who was explaining how his group had ended up in this city, but my gaze kept drifting to the small embroidered head of a Gorgon on his T-shirt.

You might not have cared about politics, the military, or listened to the news and read the newspaper summaries, but you couldn’t not know about The Gorgon.

"The Gorgon." A symbol group. A ghostly, almost mythically legendary group, whose predecessor three hundred and six years ago helped the First Three rise to power. A small, elite organization, directly subordinate to the Three and only the Commander-in-Chief. The names of the participants were always kept in the background; they didn’t exist as individuals – there was only "The Gorgon" and the Gorgons. They devoted their lives to military service, to this group, giving up their past and future. The most difficult operations, the hottest battle zones – the name "Gorgon" was always there. And no one knew whether there was more truth or rumor surrounding these fighters, whose professionalism and faith in their ideology were spoken of almost with reverence.

“…this plague started spreading rapidly in the northern part of the region a couple of weeks ago. The authorities tried to convince everyone that everything was under control. Maybe it was at first, but you can't seal off entire cities and borders, “Robert paused for a moment.” I was working with my team in the "Cold Calm" area; now fighting has flared up again there.”

“Fighting? In the southwest?” I asked, incredulous. “But they said all military operations there had ended. After all the peaceful and pacifist demonstrations?”

“People never get enough blood,” Sam scoffed suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the floor. I shot him a warning glance, which, of course, he didn't see. Robert, however, reacted with extreme calm to Dort's barb.

“I’m not the one who ends the fighting, and neither are my people. Just as we’re not the ones who start it.”

“How did you get here?” I asked immediately, not allowing Sam to start a debate.

“This Tuesday, we were urgently called back. We were supposed to land five hundred kilometers north of here, but the landing site was declared lost. And not just that. The red zone,” the man coughed. “In the end, we were dropped off at the central area airport and transferred into our own vehicles, with the expectation that we would leave the cordoned-off zone by land. But… The final directive from "command" brought us here. The Monarchs had to admit that attempting to reclaim lost territories was unfeasible. We were ordered to ensure that everything here remained under control; the town is small, but it’s one of the main junctions for the roads. Like every town in the Isthmus Region, really…” Robert scoffed, looking down at the floor with some disappointment. “But the Three miscalculated. Nothing here was under control anymore.”

“How bad?” the question slipped out before I could think. But it seemed like Sbort was waiting for the question.

“We arrived when the police were already cordoning off the eastern residential neighborhoods. They were trying to evacuate as many healthy people as possible. Rumors spread through the city that the infected couldn’t be killed; the law enforcement refused to respond to calls or enter other people's homes. The Reapers were hastily abandoning their service quarters,” Robert paused briefly. He spoke with calm and focus, as if recounting a boring lecture, as though nothing extraordinary had happened; as if just minutes ago, one of his team members hadn’t died. I almost lost myself in it. The man's composure and calm were so intoxicating and contagious that, for a moment, all the nightmares of the past few hours flew out of my mind. “I’ll skip the details of the bureaucratic nightmare and the insanity of some untouchable officials, who issue reckless decrees and give orders devoid of any reason,” he smiled grimly with the corner of his mouth. "The Gorgon was sent to the home of the local mayor, whose daughter had contracted the plague. They confined her to the second floor, hoping to cover up the whole situation: they didn’t want to send their daughter to the hospital and tarnish the family’s white name. And when they realized they’d made a foolish mistake, it was too late. We were ordered to take the mayor and his wife out of the house and transport them to a safe location. Honestly, I didn’t expect things to be so bad and dangerously serious. I left some of the Gorgon team to assist the police, and took the others to carry out the order,” another brief pause. “When we arrived, we found the house in such a bloody state it looked like a slaughterhouse had been set up there. Out of the seven residents, four were torn apart and their bodies literally chewed up. And two were…” the soldier hesitated, tilting his head to the side, “I’d say alive, but that contradicts what we saw. The injuries weren’t fatal: one had a minor bite on the neck, the other had chewed hands. But alive, those… creatures were definitely not. First of all, you can tell a living person from a dead one; the basic smell is unmistakable. Secondly, when you empty an entire magazine into someone…” the man sighed heavily, not finishing the sentence.

Time seemed to stop.

I replayed what I had just heard over and over in my head, but it felt more like the ramblings of a madman than anything resembling the truth. Glancing at Sam, I shook my head as if to push away the dark thought or sticky memory. Dort looked completely lost. He stared at a spot somewhere beneath the soldier’s feet, nervously fidgeting his fingers.

“And… what happened next? Were you able to deal with those two?” I asked cautiously, hesitantly lifting my eyes to Robert.

“We were able to. Cracked open their skulls,” Robert said dryly. Sam’s head shot up, and a look of disgust and horror played across his face. “With the mayor, besides me, three other men arrived. Three fighters who would have walked through all the circles of hell unscathed. And one of them was grabbed by the creature – it jumped and tore a chunk of flesh from his collarbone. Again: a minor wound. Our Gorgon’s medic patched him up, but the guy started to deteriorate; we took him to the hospital, where an entire wing was already filled to capacity with the bitten. Another department had been completely taken over by the utterly deranged. My man lost consciousness as soon as he crossed the threshold of the medical room. He passed out from the most harmless wound he had received. I left him at the hospital. And on Wednesday morning, I got a call to say that he had burned up overnight from a high fever. But when they were moving him to the morgue, he woke up. Only, like many, many others, he woke up wild. Woke up after being declared dead.”

A second. Two.

“You’re saying,” I whispered, feeling my fingers turn cold and a chill run down my spine, “that he… came back to life?”

Robert did not answer right away.

“It’s hard to find another name for it,” he said cautiously. “I wouldn’t have believed such a statement myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Believe me, it’s hard to explain how a person, riddled with bullets, continues to move. And when they’re clearly dead, suddenly they get up and start attacking. But last night made me doubt many things I thought were impossible.”

“But not to this extent?!” Sam's voice trembled, half nervous laugh, half question. “The dead coming back to life? Those are images from the archaic beliefs of the Departed Gods, fairy tales and myths. It’s impossible. The dead don’t come back to life. It’s unnatural. It… There’s no logical explanation for this.”

“We have just as many questions as you do,” the soldier replied briefly. “Right now, I’m only sure of a few things. First, the past night was really difficult to survive. These creatures, whatever they were, attacked indiscriminately, ruthlessly tearing apart and killing; and there were only a limited number of ways to neutralize them. Universal panic and confusion, the frenzied actions of the special services created chaos and multiplied the casualties,” Robert exhaled loudly. “Thank the Heavens and the Mother Goddess for salvation. Second, we need to leave °22-1-20-21-14 as soon as possible. It’s better to think about our next steps and look for answers in a safer place. Now, if you'll excuse me,” Sbort, who had stood up, pulled out his radio and was about to step aside when I immediately jumped to my feet, raising my hand.

“One last question, please!” the Gorgon’s soldier nodded permissively. “Robert, can you take us with you? At least help us get to the hospital? Our trailer is there, and…” I choked on my own words. My breath caught, and my chest burned with anxiety. “We won’t be in your debt. Sam is a great tech specialist; he knows how to program, adjust things; he fixes everything he can…”

“Yes,” Sam chimed in. “On your way, when you were talking to…” Dort hesitated, nodding towards the Gorgon with dark, curly hair; it was only then that I noticed the man’s right eyebrow was deeply split, a scar running perpendicularly across it.

“Norman,” Robert supplied.

“Yes, him,” Sam nodded, a bit off-topic, “you said your radios were malfunctioning, and the receiver was buzzing and cutting out… I think I could do something about that.”

The commander of The Gorgons thought for a moment.

“We need to get to the northeast edge of the city, where we left our cars and belongings,” finally came the dry response.

“There’s a bypass route that goes right past the hospital.”

“Robert, I beg you,” I echoed Sam, my voice quivering. “We’re willing to accept any help and any decision you make. Trying to do anything for ourselves right now is beyond possible. Besides… You need to return with some kind of information, don’t you? I can share everything I have, maybe something will interest you,” Robert scratched his dusty, unkempt cheek. For a few more seconds, he looked thoughtfully into my eyes.

“Well… Fine. Let it be so,” I nearly cried from relief, my heart doing a flip and sinking; meanwhile, Robert continued. “I ask that you refer to me in a less formal manner. We’re not in the Directorate, nor do we fill out protocols, and comfortable communication is important. And also,” he glanced at me. “We’ll be traveling on foot. Most of the city… Is no longer suitable for vehicles. On foot, we’ll be much faster and more maneuverable; but jeans and high heels are absolutely not made for this. Change your clothes. Amanda has no use for her gear anymore; she would be glad if it served a noble purpose,” and before I could process what Robert had said and protest, he nodded to the second girl in their squad, “Sara, help her. Norman, you stay here. Everyone else – in the hall; John found a communication point near the stairs,” after these words, the man finally brought the radio to his face and hurried out of the book section.

The order was carried out quickly. Sam, not wanting to watch the grim scene, followed the departing Gorgons. Norman, the soldier with the split eyebrow, moved away to give me space to change, standing by the entrance with his rifle. I, meanwhile, hugged myself with trembling hands, watching in quiet horror as Sara pulled pants off the corpse. My legs were shaking, and cold sweat formed on my skin. The worst part was that I needed to put those clothes on. Luckily, I still had my top – a tank top and leather jacket – but it was little comfort; I felt as if I were in a terrible nightmare where reality and fiction had blended into a dark picture.

“Maybe,” I said with a strained voice, my words breaking, “is there any way we could avoid this…?”

“If Robert said so, then it’s necessary,” the girl replied; looking at me, she added softly, “just don’t think about it. Try to distract yourself.”

I responded briefly and nonsensically: nodded aimlessly and, tilting my head a few times, looked out the window. Could this really be happening? Is this really happening to me?

But it was happening. Moments later, Sara handed me a pair of plain, faded gray-green uniform pants. I looked at her pleadingly, uncomfortably thinking that she had a very pretty appearance – expressive, almond-shaped gray eyes and plump, pink-peach lips – and a perceptive, empathetic gaze. Then, helplessly and cautiously, I took the pants from her hands and was horrified to realize they were still warm. Shuddering and almost dropping them, I clenched my teeth, suppressing the urge to scream.

A mix of disgust, fear, and despair.

“Get dressed,” Sara’s voice, quiet and filled with sympathy, slipped into my ears. “There’s no other way. I’ll take off the boots now.”

I nodded almost imperceptibly. Thank the heavens that I wasn’t forced to strip the clothes off the corpse myself.

Shaking, I unbuttoned my jeans, kicked off my shoes, pushing them carelessly away from me. My legs quivered. Weakness washed over me, making me stagger and nearly fall, only managing to catch myself against the wall. It felt like I was choking; swallowing was unbelievably difficult and painful. When I started pulling off my jeans, my cold fingers refused to obey.

A persistent voice in my head kept telling me not to do it. To stay in my own clothes, to put on my shoes, and to grab a cup of strong coffee from my favorite café, bursting into the sunny, warm autumn day, wrapped in multicolored leaves and untainted by reality. The voice soothed me, whispered that none of this was real, that I just needed to close my eyes – and then I would wake up in my own bed, the scent of fresh chocolate cake filling my home. I’d open my eyes, and all the difficult years past would be just a dream, and today would be nothing more than the end of a nightmare before waking. I would stand up, hug the person who meant more to me than my own life, and sigh, choked but happy; because I hadn’t lost that person, and it was only a bad dream… The voice was so convincing, and the image so vivid, that I slid down the wall, tears choking me.

I desperately wanted to run away. To hide, to shut myself off. My mind replayed every detail of what was happening, torturing me…

No, today I wouldn’t give up. I had promised that I would never give up. And if that means putting on the clothes of a corpse to go with the Gorgons, then I will do it.

Whining and wiping my tears away, I finally tossed my jeans aside. For a split second, I froze, staring at the pants. Breathe in. Breathe out. I started putting them on, trying to think of something else.

The fabric was still warm from the body of its previous owner. A shiver of disgust and horror slithered down my spine. Her body hadn’t even had time to cool down yet.

The buttons were hard to fasten; I was sure the uniform was new. Unable to hold back, I covered my mouth with the back of my hand and bit down on my skin to stifle a scream.

At that moment, Sara approached.

“It’s almost over,” she said as gently as she could, placing a pair of high boots with heavy soles in front of me.” So… You work as a journalist, right?” The girl asked, crouching down. ”And your name is…?” The soldier was trying to distract me, to break through the oncoming hysteria with casual conversation. I swallowed, sitting down on the floor and pulling the boots closer

“Yes, I’m a journalist…” I replied haltingly, trying to put on the boots quickly to shorten the torment, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t manage to tie the laces. In frustration, I let the laces fall, embracing myself at the shoulders. “Stephanie,” I breathed out the name. “My name is Stephanie Shayer.”

The girl nodded heavily and, unexpectedly, knelt down, leaning forward and deftly tightening the laces on my now boots. Stunned, I couldn’t force out a single word.

“Steph, kitten, – can I call you “Steph?” She said, looking into my eyes, and my lips quivered into a weak semblance of a smile when she clarified the form of my name but not the way she would address me.” I know, this is pure horror, but we need to get out of here as soon as we can.”

I shook my head.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Sara winked and immediately stood up, offering me her hand. I grabbed her hand as if trying to keep from falling into an abyss. “My name’s Sara Karani, if you’d like to know. But let’s just go with first names, agreed?”

When we stepped out from behind the bookshelf, Norman shoved a backpack into my hands before heading to join the others.

“Here. She won't need this anymore. You’ll carry the gear.”

The backpack was packed to the brim and barely closed. I had no desire or curiosity to look inside. Maybe next time. Or better yet, I never want to look in it at all.

Somewhere inside, there was still a flicker of hope that the madness would soon be over. It felt as if I were outside my own body, watching the world through someone else's eyes. I tried to convince myself that it was all a lie, but…

The lamps hummed quietly. The stale, stuffy air – air conditioning wasn’t working – and the acrid stench of decay and damp made me feel nauseous. The lights flickered constantly, growing dimmer and going out for longer periods.

Sara helped shove my small personal bag into the Gorgon's backpack. Because when everything calms down and goes back to normal, and I finally go home, I will need my documents, phone, and everything else that was in my bag.

I tried not to look at the body of the deceased. I hurried out of the book section as quickly as I could, not turning in that direction.

“How are you?” Sam asked cautiously as he approached. I shook my head, pressing my lips together and lowering my chin to my chest, as if to say, "Not now." He nodded understandingly. “We’ll be leaving here soon. While you were…” he hesitated, “getting changed, Robert was trying to contact the rest of his people; it turns out he’s waiting for someone else.”

“And?” My thoughts were heavy and sluggish; I was processing Sam's words slowly.

“I think they’ll be here soon.”

I tilted my head back and blinked rapidly. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would break through my ribcage and burst out. I needed to pull myself together. Calm down. It would all end, everything would return to normal; this was temporary – and the weakness was temporary too, caused by total shock.

“I hope there’s a reasonable explanation for all this.”

“If only,” Dort said evasively. Something creaked, and Sam and I flinched, turning around in unison. Luckily, it was just the radio: Robert was trying to get a signal.

The soldiers had already returned from their patrol. Two, four, seven. I looked at their exhausted faces, feeling their pain and fatigue, and a cold shiver ran through me from the inside; I suddenly imagined what they must have seen that night – because if they had suffered so many losses, if they were scared, then our time underground was truly a gift.

The radio crackled again; Sbort muttered angrily to himself – no one was responding on the other end. The person they were trying to reach seemed to sense the commander’s displeasure. In a moment, through the static and noise, we heard a voice:

“What the fuck, damn it?!” A loud shout, almost a growl, was interrupted by a series of gunshots; followed by a stream of profanity. I, stunned, exchanged a frantic glance with Sam. The radio hissed and whistled. “You’re damn well timed, Sbort! Why call every minute?!”

“Where the hell are you?!” Robert hissed. “You should have been here a long time ago!”

“Well, sorry,” came the sarcastic reply, “I’m not able to arrive exactly on time for your little celebration!” Another gunshot. “I’m trying to fight off these bastards, not wandering the streets for fun!” The man on the other end exhaled hoarsely through the noise. “I’m almost there. I’ll be there soon.”

Robert was about to break into a tirade when he suddenly froze.

“I’ll be there”? Are you alone?” He blurted out urgently. The commander exchanged glances with the Gorgons; one of the soldiers, Stan, if I’m not mistaken, moved forward, his face contorted in a mask of panic.

“I’m alone,” came the short response. The man said something else, but no one could make it out: the connection cuts swallowed his voice.

“Chris?” Robert asked anxiously. No response. “Christopher?!”

The empty hall echoed with a rustling repetition, and then the room sank into an unsettling silence. Almost tangible. The soldiers froze in place. Robert continued to hold the radio close to his face. For a moment, his expression darkened and fell before he straightened with a determined movement and looked around at everyone with focused eyes.

“We're going up and out. Now. We'll pick up Chris on the way,” Sbort added before Norman, who had stepped forward, could speak. Robert's voice was quiet and firm. The commander glanced at Stan – the dark-haired man with cold blue eyes and a scar above his upper lip – who had lowered his chin to his chest, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Taren, I…”

Robert didn't have time to finish. From the first floor, we clearly heard the sound of rasping breaths and shuffling footsteps; slow, as if someone were dragging their feet. Everyone froze, listening. I didn’t even realize I had clamped my fingers into Sam’s hand, digging my nails into his skin.

No, there was no doubt those were footsteps; but not just one person's. And that horrible, chilling, raspy breathing… Sam’s face went ashen.

“R.. Rob.. ert?” Dort stammered. I felt my knees shaking. My whole body was trembling.

The commander of The Gorgons kept his eyes fixed on the stairs, while I, as if chained, couldn’t move to turn around.

Robert waved his hand a couple of times. Moments later, Sam and I were separated. Stan, holding a pistol, took Sam by the arm; Norman pulled me toward him. Sbort was the first to begin climbing up, and we all followed one after the other. The soldiers moved in unison, almost silently, while the entire room was filled with the sound of shuffling, groans, and other disgusting noises.

Step by step. Higher and higher. I could already see the growing shadows on the floor. I started to hyperventilate, everything blurred in front of my eyes, and I wanted to run back, but Norman held me tightly, dragging me along. The landing ahead was clear, we only needed to reach it and cross the hallway to the door…

And then, the last step. I turned around to take one last look down the corridor.

A scream pierced my ears. I didn’t realize at first that I was the one shouting. Coming out of the doors and pavilions, they filled the corridor.

4

Ancient Northern legends spoke of the Queen of the Gloom, the personification of death; of how she would come into the world on Judgment Day and shroud it with her sister, the Mistress of the Ice Marshes, with ice floes and cold. This was why it was believed that death's breath was frosty, and why the sense of her presence made one shiver.

And in that moment, I felt death's breath touch my neck, sliding down my spine. In that moment, I felt the presence of death beside me. In that moment, nightmares came to life.

The infected were undeniably dead. With such wounds, life was impossible. But the infected kept coming.

I screamed. I wailed, unable to be silent. Norman immediately pressed me to him, covering my mouth with his hand, and I felt how I was shuddering from within, how everything inside me was tightening; I was trembling, shaking as if in a painful fit. Darkness clouded my vision.

The horribly tormented bodies—torn, gnawed at, and reeking—moved toward us from all directions, gasping, delirious, their glassy, yellowing eyes staring.

“Run! We need to get out of here!” Robert's sharp voice snapped me out of my daze; Norman was already pulling me toward the exit… And we ran. “Faster! To the street, everyone!”

Those creatures had always been so close.

A second wind came. All exhaustion vanished in an instant; the instinct for self-preservation was stronger. The only thought spinning in my mind was: "Get out of here! Run! Save yourself!" I ran, not feeling the floor beneath my feet and not knowing if I was really running forward or standing still.

In one second, my entire life flashed before my eyes…

One of the creatures jumped – whether my inflamed brain perceived it that way or it truly happened – and nearly grabbed me. I swallowed a cry, feeling myself pulled backward. Later, recalling it, I could say with certainty: Norman saved my life in that moment. Norman, holding me tightly, saved my life. If he hadn't reacted, I would have died.

I could have died then, on the first day…

We burst outside. The cold air struck my face.

“Doors! Shut those damn doors!” Robert's deep voice echoed dully in my consciousness, striking my ears with a metallic resonance. “John, Steven, hurry!”

I didn't want to stop. Run! Run away from the building! But Norman kept holding me firmly by the elbow, and when I tried to break free again, he pulled me toward him.

Stan and Michael were pushing against the doors, preventing them from opening under the pressure from the other side, while two other Gorgons tied the door handles together with paracord. Sarah reloaded her weapon lightning-fast, while Sam, stepping back slightly, fell to the ground, covering his face with his hands and pulling his knees to his chest.

I stood bent over, trying to catch my breath. Gasping for air, I glanced around in fear, unable to understand: why weren't we running away? There wasn't enough air in my lungs.

They were close. They had been right there all this time.

Robert once again unsuccessfully tried to establish contact over the radio. No one responded. Only static and noise. I shifted my gaze down the avenue and saw more figures in the distance – their jerky, unnatural movements, their angular gait, as though they had lost control of their own bodies – silently, I opened my mouth, turned to Norman, trying to say, to show… He nodded briefly, then waved his hand towards the commander…

“Sbort, we need to leave now!” Stan said, breathing heavily as he adjusted the straps of his vest. Behind him, the infected slammed against the doors, leaving marks on the glass that were either bloody or purulent. “We can’t delay! We can't afford to be stupid!”

“You’re overstepping,” Robert shifted his gaze to Taren, who immediately paled and took half a step back.

Dark, coal-gray clouds had covered the sky. They swirled, clustering together. The city was shrouded in an impenetrable blanket. Blood. Smoke. Ashes. Emptiness. People were nowhere to be seen. I looked at a figure in the distance, moving slowly toward us, hearing the creaking and wheezing behind the doors, and the thought flashed instantly that things would never be the same. That the world we knew was gone.

“I should have told him to head straight to the cars,” Sarah said quietly to Norman, “and we would have met up there. You know he would have made it.”

“No, we can’t split up again. And not in this condition…” The Gorgon didn't finish. The echo of a couple of consecutive gunshots spread through the area. Shots fired nearby; the soldiers stood rigid, scanning their surroundings. At that moment, the first cracks appeared in the door.

“Robert,” I gasped in a voice that wasn't mine, watching as the spiderweb cracks spread across the glass.

A second. Two.

Another gunshot rang out very close, and I instinctively turned around. A soldier burst out of the alley, jumping over a body that had fallen at his feet. He seemed to be covered in blood.

“Sbort, over here! Hurry, before these things catch me!”

“Chris!” Sarah cried out joyfully, rushing forward. The next second, the rest of the Gorgons charged forward, and Dort and I followed them.

It felt as if just turning around would mean being grabbed. Breathing was painful – my chest felt as though it were being squeezed by iron clamps.

A blood-covered man lunged forward, pulling others with him. Robert shouted something. My peripheral vision captured an image that would stay with me forever – a mutilated body lying at the corner of a house: blood soaked the blue dress of the girl, her torn flesh covered with a film of whitish pus.

There was no need to ask questions. We just needed to run, to keep running… My heart pounded, and the panic from everything happening around us didn't let up for a second. It felt as if nature itself were aiding in this madness, lowering leaden clouds, pressing the thin bushes and grass down to the ground. The cold wind swept through the streetlights, buildings, and lonely trees beyond the road, picking up debris and scattering it from place to place.

A light, cold rain began to fall.

At some point, I realized that no one understood what was happening. Everyone was just running somewhere, running from someone. Past houses, across streets and alleyways. And I kept seeing the infected. They were multiplying.

How fortunate that I was wearing combat boots!

My breath caught. We ran through a narrow gap between two buildings. The air reeked of dampness and feces. We quickly emerged into an alley, turning around the corner of a house… I flinched and took a step back. The soldiers stopped abruptly, raising their weapons without hesitation. Dozens of people blocked the path. Infected people. I clutched Sam's arm.

“We need to go,” Robert said with a trembling voice, trying to remain calm, “quietly turn around…”

The infected noticed us. They heard us, sensed us. Their glazed eyes fixed on us. The triumph of nightmare. The triumph of death. Gurgling sounds, as if water or blood were in their lungs, erupted from somewhere deep within the creatures. They began to move toward us, some slowly, others too quickly.

Dead. Impossible. This couldn't be real.

"Let's go! Let's go!" Robert shouted quickly, and we tried to rush back… But they were here too. On the other side of the street, another dozen of these creatures. I realized with horror that we were surrounded… A wild panic surged inside me. I wanted to scream, grabbing my hair with both hands… "Up! Everyone to the stairs! Now!"

I looked around. On the building, in that foul passage, there was a fire escape leading up to a window on the third floor. Sam immediately pushed me toward it. Everyone rushed there, trying to avoid the infected. The stench was no longer noticeable. The first of the soldiers climbed up skillfully, one after another.

Growling and moaning came from all sides. They were getting closer and closer, and we were trapped…

“Shayer!” Robert barked; I nearly jumped out of my skin. The commander pushed me toward the stairs, "Come on! Move! Move!"

The wheezing and guttural sounds echoed through the alley.

I came to my senses as I was already climbing up, clutching the cold metal rungs. Step. Another step. I couldn’t feel anything beneath me. Sam climbed behind me. Then Michael. When I was near the top, I saw Robert being the last to climb the ladder, kicking away an approaching infected person.

Those seconds will remain in my memory forever, as some of the most terrifying – that feeling of overwhelming fear, cold and all-consuming, will stay with me.

Everything ceased to exist; the world around seemed like it had never been there… Only disbelief. Only the desire to climb higher as quickly as possible. Only the fear of being grabbed and pulled down.

I was even surprised when the ladder suddenly ended, and I was pulled up onto a sort of small balcony made of rusty metal bars and grates, covered with loose wooden planks. Horrified, I shrank away from the edge of the partition, pressing against the cold concrete wall. I breathed deeply; my head and ears felt hot and heavy. I could hear the creatures clinging to the rungs of the ladder, scratching it, shaking it like… What if they climb up now? Where would we run then?

But no one was climbing after us. The Gorgons stood at the edge of the partition, watching what was happening below, and Sam peeked out from behind them. I cautiously took a step toward Dort, touching his shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the soldiers approach the window, knock on it, and shine a flashlight inside. The infected continued to move around below.

The sound of breaking glass echoed, and I flinched and turned around. The Gorgons also turned.

A bloodied man – Christopher, as I understood – smashed the glass with his elbow and shook his hand.

“I think it’s better to wait there,” he said, glancing around at everyone. For a moment, his eyes settled on Sam, then on me. The man raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, that would be better,” Robert nodded, “check out the apartment. We’ll take a break. It’s been two days without sleep. We need rest. We can’t get through outside anyway – it’s cold,” the commander added, glancing down once more.

We began to climb inside in the order given by Sbort.

I approached the window, leaned on the frame, and carefully made my way inside the stuffy and dark apartment, trying not to cut myself on the shards of glass. It was damp. Chilly. A thick layer of dust covered all the surfaces; no one had been here for a long time. A lonely lightbulb hung from a wire from the whitewashed ceiling. The gray wallpaper rippled, and in the corners, it had peeled off and hung down.

"Clear," Michael's voice came. "Clear," Norman echoed him. I climbed onto the bed in the corner of the room, hugged my knees, trying to calm the shaking and stay out of the way. The tension in the air grew, palpable on a physical level. Something was brewing, evident in the looks and the sharp movements of everyone present.

Christopher returned from the other room, throwing three Gorgon backpacks onto the floor. The other soldiers turned to look at him as he cast a look toward Robert from beneath his brows; Chris’s arms were literally covered in blood up to his elbows. His entire face, neck, and clothing were caked in dried and cracked blood and dirt. His eyes were swollen and red. He breathed heavily, licked his upper lip as if to say something, but then Stan, throwing a backpack with force, turned directly toward Chris.

“You went back for the others, didn't you?” Stan spat through clenched teeth. “And Charles went with you. So why did you come back alone?” The muscles in his face twitched with tension. Christopher met his hard gaze but remained silent. “You couldn't get them out, could you?” Taren’s voice broke into a rasp; Chris's silence was driving him mad. “Where’s my brother? Where's Charles?! What happened?! Answer me, Lewis, this damn second!”

I glanced anxiously at the Gorgons, at Robert, expecting someone to step in any moment. But everyone remained still. Sbort tiredly covered the upper half of his face, pressing his fingers to his eyes.

“Pretty much what happened, I suppose, with Amanda,” Christopher finally retorted bitterly. “That was her uniform, right?” He nodded in my direction, and my breath caught with anxiety as the image of the girl’s lifeless body reappeared in my mind, her limp arm dripping with thick, crimson blood… Her clothes were still warm. “Fantastic, our plan to get out of the city quickly! So, sacrificing our own people is acceptable, but saving civilians is our sacred duty!” The words were no longer directed at Stan. Christopher, whose neck veins were bulging, turned to Robert. “So you gave me the order to return and leave the others behind. Not to take the wounded. Not to save the surrounded. You told us to leave,” Chris almost growled, enunciating each word. “You sacrificed us, your own people,” he punched his chest with force, “but goddamn it, you brought civilians with you?!

It seemed to me that even the Gorgons were looking at Christopher with some apprehension. But not Sbort. He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head back slightly. Robert remained silent, looking tired and slightly concerned.

“You don't think that they,” Chris nodded in Sam's and my direction, “will be able to fend for themselves? Or that they can hold off the horde of monsters outside? No? Then who, in your opinion, will protect them?” The man gritted his teeth. There was a feeling that he was holding himself back with all his strength to avoid exploding. “Or do you want us to protect them? Risk our lives? How many more Gorgons do you need to lose here?” Chris spat the last phrase through clenched teeth, shaking with anger. For a few seconds, an uneasy silence settled, and then…

“And how many do you need, Lewis?” Stan asked quietly. “What happened? Why is it that no one but you returned?”

“You’re saying I left them behind?!” Christopher erupted, leaping to his feet like a hurricane; if anyone or anything had been in his way, he would have smashed through it without a second thought. The soldier caught up with Stan in just a few steps and loomed over him.

“You. Brought. Three. Backpacks,” Taren growled into his face. “Your own. And two more. That means you could take them. That means their owners weren’t surrounded, weren’t cut off from you. So why did you come back without them?”

“Because they were dead,” Chris rasped coldly through clenched teeth. “Your brother became just like the creatures outside. He attacked Isaac. And tore him apart.”

“You’re lying!” Stan suddenly snapped and grabbed Chris by his vest. “You left them and ran!”

For a couple of seconds, Christopher remained calm. Then, suddenly and forcefully, he struck Taren in the solar plexus, hitting him in the ribs, and in one quick movement twisted his comrade’s arms behind his back and pushed him away. Michael managed to catch Stan, who was flying toward the wall, and gripped him tightly to keep him still. I froze, watching the scene unfold and the soldiers’ reactions closely.

With a wild look, Lewis scanned the room; a smirk twisted his lips. He straightened up, spreading his arms out to the sides. Bloody arms.

“Does anyone else still think I ran away? Hm?” And Christopher laughed. It was so bitter and harsh that I physically felt pain in my chest. Pulling the corner of his lips into a sneer, Chris looked at Stan. “You weren't there. None of you were there,” the man shifted his gaze to Robert. “And you’re still silent. Do you also think I chose to save my own skin? Or are you thinking about how to punish me for breaking your orders? And I will break them again. I won't lift a finger for these,” he waved a hand in my direction, “if they’re torn apart next to me. If they attack them, whether they’re alive or dead, I won’t fire a single shot. If they beg for help – I’ll walk right by.” The words rang and whistled in my head, and the last words of the soldier echoed like a sharp clang. I looked around for protection, but the tired Gorgons stood, glancing between Christopher and Robert. “And you,” Lewis suddenly spun around to face Stan, pointing at him, “are a worthless bastard, Taren. And I’d be glad if it had been you instead of Charles. Since you didn’t die on the first try, know your place. Do you hear me? Know. Your. Place. If you come at me again, I’ll rip your spine out.”

“Chris,” Robert's voice was calm but firm. I shifted my frightened gaze from Chris to Stan, but he… remained silent. Lewis straightened up, turning his face toward the commander. “Check if the shower works. Wash up. And go to bed. No one will bother you until we leave,” Sbort said quietly and emotionlessly.

Lewis took half a step back, frowning:

“What?”

“Go rest, Chris,” the commander repeated in a restrained tone, looking almost fatherly into the Gorgon's face. “I need you alert and clear-headed.”

Lewis gave a final look to everyone in the room. He shook his head, slowly turned, and headed toward the doorway, where a dark wooden dresser stood. He paused for a moment. Then, with a wild, animal rage, he shoved the dresser to the floor; I gasped loudly, someone cursed, and the room was filled with the terrifying crash. And Christopher quickly disappeared into the darkness of the next room.

Robert showed absolutely no reaction.

The wind was howling outside, and the rain was intensifying. Sbort ordered everyone to rest. He assigned the watch duties and refused to answer questions or comment on anything. When Sam tried to protest, insisting that we needed to hurry to get to the Gorgon’s cars and then our trailer as soon as possible, Robert cut him off sharply: "My people will not take a single step until they've slept for at least a couple of hours. They've been on their feet for two days. They're exhausted both physically and mentally. But if you're in such a hurry to leave, no one is stopping you and the doors aren't locked." Sam probably expected me to back him up, but I nodded in agreement to Sbort, took off my boots, and placed them on the floor next to my bag. I knew well that we were now dependent on the Gorgons, and we had to accept the decisions of their commander. Besides, I felt like I wouldn’t make it anywhere; I simply didn’t have the strength.

The Gorgons went about their business in silence: some stayed in the same room, cleaning and reloading their weapons, while others moved to the next room. Robert, pulling out a map, studied it intently, making quick notes. One of the soldiers, if I wasn’t mistaken, his name was John, was trying to set up a mobile communication unit and connect with the nearest military bases or the capital. "Mukro, do you read me? This is The Gorgon, I repeat, this is The Gorgon, location °22-1-20-21-14, Isthmus Region. Urgent report of a critical situation. We need air support, do you copy?" – "Crap… H… hard to… hear… us… Pr…m…"

Steven was rummaging through the cupboard and drawers, searching for anything useful.

I tried to observe and analyze, focusing my thoughts only on that to distract myself and calm down. It was chilly. I tried not to think about being side by side with the privileged government military group; the danger of being near them was nothing compared to the apocalypse unfolding on the streets.

Sarah appeared in the doorway. She looked at me, then at Robert (who gave a short nod), and then quickly, on tiptoe, crossed the room in my direction.

“Why are you lying here? The window is broken, there’s a draft. And it’s pouring rain,” she said, but before I could answer, she continued. “In the next room, there’s a giant king-size bed. We’ve already made it up, come on. It’ll be warmer and more comfortable. There’s even a free chair there,” she said, turning to Sam. He reluctantly got up and shuffled toward the second room.

“Thanks, Sarah, but I think I’ll stay here, because…”

“Go to the other room, Stephanie,” Robert interrupted me without taking his eyes off the map and simultaneously adjusting the frequency switch on the receiver. “It’s getting too cold in here.”

***

A dark room with one small window boarded up with wooden slats. The confined space made my head spin, and my breath caught. Through the narrow gaps between the beams, cold, pale light streamed in – the thickening darkness of the street seemed bright compared to the gloom of the room. A bed, smelling of dust, took up most of the space. A non-functional television on the wall. A worn-out armchair in the corner. Sam, curled up in a ball and covered with some blanket.

I lay on the right edge of the bed; colorful spots danced in front of my eyes, and I tried to breathe more evenly to fight the tightness in my chest. Sarah was breathing quietly beside me. Behind her, Norman had already fallen asleep, instantly cut off. Another spot – on the left edge – remained unoccupied for now.

I wanted desperately to sleep; fatigue coursed through every part of my body. But on some unconscious level, I scolded myself: Steph, how can you want to sleep when there’s so much chaos around? How can you fall asleep peacefully when you don’t know if Andrew is safe, if he’s waiting for you, or even if you are safe right now? I couldn’t allow myself to rest. I felt guilty for wanting sleep when there was chaos and madness all around. Although I understood that it was the emotional rollercoaster, the fear, the horror, and the confusion – those were the reasons for my exhausted and shattered state.

Sarah was right: this room was warmer – the wind didn’t blow so freely here, and raindrops didn’t come in – plus, we were all lying close to each other, warming ourselves with our bodies. And I did feel a bit safer; it was, of course, an imagined, illusory safety – but a body drifting into sleep didn’t pay attention to the details.

The door opened and a man walked in. For a moment, he was illuminated by the dim light from the next room. At first, I didn’t recognize him. The outline of his face was defined by a strip of beard running from his chin to his lower lip. Dark hair of medium length, shorter on the sides. On the left side of his neck, dark tattoo lines extended to his shoulder and, apparently, across his back and chest. Snake-like lines covered his entire right forearm and part of his upper arm. On the back of his left forearm, an all-seeing eye within a triangle, riddled with lines and inscriptions. All these tattoos became visible when the man washed the blood and dirt off himself. There had been so much blood and dirt that it had obscured the designs on his body. Christopher Lewis. The man who said he wouldn’t move if someone attacked me or Sam.

The Gorgon's footsteps were almost silent; he lowered himself onto the spot he had left on the bed and exhaled quietly, covering his face with his forearm. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, instinctively seeking refuge. The man did not move. He lay on his back, one leg bent at the knee, breathing deeply. At first, I kept my eyes open. I watched Christopher closely, scanned the corners of the room, and listened for sounds. Without even noticing, I began to breathe in sync with Lewis. And then, without realizing it, I drifted off to sleep.

I could not remember what I dreamt. In fact, it would have frightened me to recall it, as those dreams were bleak and painful. I understood what days those images came from; I relived the past over and over, drowning in memories that tormented my heart. And then I faced the bloody present. I cried out in my sleep, screamed, pleaded for help – and jumped from a height in the hope of breaking apart, but I just kept falling, falling into the abyss, unable to find help or save myself.

…And I woke up, gasping and feeling that my face was wet with tears. I lay on my back, my hand pressed against my cold forehead. Disorientation. Depersonalization. I often woke up in that position after nightmares. For the first few seconds, I remained still, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out where I was and what was happening. My heart thudded loudly in my chest. I carefully turned my head to the left and saw the girl peacefully sleeping, having pulled the blanket off me.

Sara Karani. The Gorgons. The infected from the streets of the Isthmus Region.

I struggled to sit up on the bed. All around me, there was the sound of quiet breathing and light snoring. Four more people were sleeping on the floor.

I was shaking a little. I was thirsty. The sense of time had disappeared. With effort, I stood up, put on my shoes, and made my way to the door, carefully stepping around the sleeping ones. The aching, burning sensation in my chest wouldn’t go away.

The second room was cool. Gray light filtered through the broken window; rain lashed against the wall. The weather made it difficult to even estimate the time. Everything was plunged into a blue half-light. It was very quiet, except for the sound of the downpour. I slowly shuffled to the broken window. The glass creaked under my feet. Carefully, I stepped outside, only now realizing why such a balcony had been made on a regular window, especially one that opened to such a dreadful alley. And why I needed to go out into the rain now. The slats under my feet quivered. I closed my eyes, tilted my face up to the rain, and realized I was still crying. I remembered the step I took from the height in my dream. It made me desperately want to go closer to the partition, but I stood still.

I felt myself sinking into the quicksand, which was pulling me deeper and deeper to the bottom.

“Stephanie?” A cautious voice called from behind me, and I still flinched before turning around. Robert stood by the window. He slowly reached out his hand, as if afraid to make any sudden movements, and looked directly into my eyes. “Come back, okay? There’s no need for you to get wet. Come on, take my hand.”

I nodded, hesitating for a moment, and took his warm, rough hand to pull myself back inside. He immediately drew me further in, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around me, covering my head. The Gorgon held me tightly by the shoulders.

“I didn’t see you,” I said quietly. My voice sounded hoarse. Robert remained silent, clearly searching for the right words. “I thought you were sleeping too.”

“Someone always has to be on watch, and my guys need rest and sleep,” he sighed. “Sit down,” he nodded at the bed and sat down beside me. “Honestly, you scared me a little. You came out crying, pale; when I called your name, you didn’t answer. Why did you go out the window at all?”

“I don’t know,” I answered simply and honestly. “Was I screaming in my sleep?” he shook his head. “Okay…”

My body felt limp.

“Dreams are just dreams, Stephanie. There’s no need to be afraid of them,” Robert said quietly, and I couldn’t suppress a bitter smile as I looked down at my hands. “Did you… dream about the happenings of these days?” He asked delicately, cautiously.

“Only towards the end, just a little.”

“Any memories?” Robert had a keen sense and understanding; I reluctantly nodded. “Did the events connected to those memories end well?” I shook my head negatively. Robert fell silent, exhaling loudly. He patted my back like a child and I looked up at him, meeting the attentive gaze of his gray eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered without sound; the Gorgon commander just nodded.

“For what? Let me tell you this: our past – the pain of what has happened, our memories, torment, and regrets – either makes us stronger or kills us. And there’s a very thin line between them, Stephanie, on which you cannot balance,” he leaned slightly towards me. “Don’t let yourself fall on the wrong side.”

I wanted to burst into tears. But I swallowed them and nodded. Then, I tried to put a calm expression on my face. For a split second, I believed it.

“What time is it? And… when will we be leaving?”

Robert glanced at his large wristwatch. It was around one in the afternoon. He explained that about an hour ago, a large group of people from the neighboring building had tried to break through to the cars and had attracted the attention of the infected. Shouts and gunfire had echoed throughout the area; I was surprised that I hadn’t heard anything, even when the Gorgons had exploded out of the neighboring room and then returned to sleep. Regarding the second question, Sbort thought it would be foolish to go outside anytime soon. The loud noise attracted the infected, and there could be even more of them; it was better to wait a bit and then go quickly and quietly to the Gorgon vehicle parking lot. Robert wasn’t willing to take that risk yet. Plus, the rain had only intensified, now reminding him, as he said, of the Western downpours.

Then the door cracked open. Half-asleep, Christopher looked at us, nodded to Robert, and disappeared again.

“He was worried you hadn’t come back yet,” Sbort smiled condescendingly.

“Does he really think I could be a danger?” The commander laughed quietly, scratching his stubble, and I hurried to explain. “Otherwise, I don’t see why someone who reacted so aggressively to our presence would be concerned about us.”

“Chris had a reason to react that way,” Robert frowned regretfully. “You shouldn’t hold it against him.”

“Should I be worried about him? He looks like a two-meter serious threat.”

“You’re exaggerating, Stephanie,” Sbort barely managed to hold back a smile. "Two meters of serious threat? He’s only one eighty-seven,” and I wanted to laugh, but the realization that Robert didn’t deny my concerns made me uneasy. “I can’t deny the obvious, can I? Chris is truly one of… the most effective people in my group,” Robert said evasively. “May Mother spare you from seeing him in true anger, but he isn’t the type to hurt someone on a whim, and I’m certain you have nothing to fear from him,” he paused for a moment. “Besides, let’s be honest. Lewis is emotional, undoubtedly, but he isn’t more aggressive toward you than Sam is toward us.”

Insightful.

“Sam has his reasons for reacting that way,” I said after a moment. “He’s always been a very peaceful and kind guy, negative toward violence in any form,” I hesitated for a second longer, wondering whether to explain Dort's reaction to Robert; he continued to wait patiently and attentively for me to speak. “When his younger brother wanted to pursue a military career, Sam tried to make him reconsider, begged our parents to influence the younger son’s decision. I don’t condone Sam’s actions, but I can’t blame him either,” I took a deeper breath. “Their parents supported the younger one and were immensely proud of him. He got a college degree, went to serve in the navy. And a year later, his body was brought back to our hometown in a black casket, “Robert exhaled sharply through his nose. “Their parents were inconsolable, Sam cried his heart out… He hasn’t spoken to them since, Robert, he blames them for his brother’s death. Sam has been even more opposed to the army and military matters ever since. And he was already negative about it before,” I paused, thinking over what I’d just said and recalling Sam holding a pacifist flag at one of the demonstrations. “To me, he made a terrible mistake cutting off communication with his family. And blaming the soldiers for what happened…” I left the sentence unfinished, shaking my head. “Life is damn unfair. Sometimes, the ones who deserve happiness, health, and a long life the most, suffer the most and die young,” my voice cracked, and my eyes filled with tears. I quickly looked down at my hands, which felt foreign to me. For a brief moment, I no longer felt like myself; for an instant, I stopped perceiving the world around me.

It felt as if all my life energy had drained away in an instant.

“Go, get some sleep,” Robert’s voice pulled me out of my daze. I looked at the man as if for the first time. His tired gray eyes, a deep crease on his forehead, thick, slightly wavy hair. On the right side of his neck, a thin white scar stretched from the base to his shoulder.

In the State, everything had always been built on symbols. Progressively repressive authoritarianism was founded on symbols. The maniacally narcissistic monarchy arose through symbolism and ideology.

And The Gorgon, despite its very practical work, was also a symbol. Its fighters were given the image of harsh and unyielding soldiers; strong, resilient, and unshakable warriors, fighters whom even death could not conquer. An image that was frightening even. But I never felt unsafe around them. And from Robert Sbort, there was such an aura of inner strength and confidence that you couldn’t help but absorb his calm.

I nodded, rising from the bed. Outside, a long, drawn-out rumble of thunder echoed, and moments later, a cold gust of wind burst through the window. The entire house whistled. Through the ventilation shaft came the shrill cry of nature, and the apartment grew darker than before: the outlines of objects merged together. The clouds outside, black and ominous, thickened the already gray sky. Another gust of wind struck the remaining glass, whistling through it. From outside came guttural coughs and eerie moans. Almost immediately, the next clap of thunder roared directly above us.

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