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?