«Maybe we can get hold of a local map somewhere?» Sanya smirked.

«Should we stop in Ozyory?» Vasya clarified.

«To refuel. We'll play it by ear. Need to take a look. If we see something's wrong, we'll drive straight through. I need to check one more address there, but we won't take unnecessary risks.»

We reached Ozyory without incident. The road, though broken in places, held up. Potholes, cracks, of course, were present, but there were no traffic jams. In one place, just before the turn-off, we had to push aside a Chinese hatchback blocking the way. Empty, sunk into the ground, as if abandoned in a hurry. Everything was quiet and seemed absolutely empty. Until we reached the entrance to Ozyory.

As soon as the first houses appeared, about a hundred meters from us, a motorcyclist shot out from behind a shabby kiosk standing by the road. In an instant, he was racing towards the center, gunning it to the limit.

«Went to warn someone,» Vasya muttered. «We'll probably be met now. Maybe we should go around somehow?»

I hesitated. My eyes darted between the road, the shoulders, and the gray sky over the rooftops. Then I finally decided:

«Turn the car around. Park over there by the kiosk. If they start shooting, they won't hit us right away. And we'll be able to get away.»

Nastya silently nodded and turned the wheel, pulling off the road. The car softly crunched over the gravel and stopped almost right against the concrete wall of the kiosk.

«Nastya, Vasya—into that house,» I pointed to a two-story building on our side of the road, about twenty meters away. «Position yourselves so you can cover us. But if shooting starts, head straight for the car, and we leave in the opposite direction. We'll wait here for about thirty minutes. Then we leave.»

Didn't have to tell them twice.

Five minutes later, we were in position. Sanya and I by the car. Nastya and Vasya on the second floor, with windows overlooking the road. Two barrels stared out from behind the tattered curtains, and I knew they'd cover us.

The first ten minutes, we just stood in silence. Listening. There was almost nothing to see: the street ahead was empty, the air still, as if the city was holding its breath. Occasionally, a gate creaked in the distance, a shutter banged somewhere, but it all sounded like the sounds of a deserted city, not a threat.

Sanya crouched by the hood, fiddling with his rifle. His fingers moved automatically, checking the bolt, adjusting the sling. I stood leaning against the cab, watching the road. My eyes stung from the strain—the gray sky, the blinding dusty light, the glare off the glass.

Fifteen minutes. Nothing.

Twenty. A lone raven appeared on the horizon, landed on a roof. No cars. No people. No motorcade we'd been expecting.

After another five minutes, Sanya relaxed. Leaned back against the wheel and stretched.

«Maybe he just took off because of us?» he muttered.

«Maybe,» I replied. But I didn't believe it.

Half an hour. A shadow flickered in the house—Nastya moved to the other window. Vasya stayed in his original spot. From there, he had a good view of the turn, and if anyone moved from that side, they'd know first.

The city was still silent.

No shots, no voices, no engine sounds. Only the wind carried the smell of dampness and dust.

I looked at Sanya, then signaled to the window opposite. Nastya nodded.

«That's it,» I said, «let's go.»

Even though it was quiet and there were no signs of life, I still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching. From the dark eye sockets of broken windows, from the alleyways. Too quiet.

There was no point in just standing here any longer, and I had no desire to drive forward and risk the squad.

Footsteps sounded from the house—Nastya and Vasya were moving from their positions. Sanya stayed by the car to cover us to the last.

I turned and started towards the driver's door of the jeep when a voice came from a dark alleyway:

«Just going to leave like that? Without a word? Without tea?»

The voice caught me off guard. It sounded calm, but with a weary smirk. Sanya immediately aimed at the opening, and Nastya and Vasya retook their positions at the windows.

«I'm coming out now. Slowly. Don't be nervous,» the same voice continued. «Just no sudden moves, good people. We're coming out.»

A man appeared first. Military uniform, rifle combat-ready on his chest, load-bearing vest—all familiar.

But behind him came… a mutant.

«Don't shoot!» I yelled, almost losing my voice.

Everyone's reaction was instantaneous. Instinct screamed: mutant means danger. But I'd already seen something like this in recon while «flying» over Kolomna. Some mutants… they negotiate. Live with people.

«Come out calmly. Don't worry. We won't shoot,» I said, addressing the mutant directly.

He was taller than all of us. A massive body, altered, but not hideous. He wore camouflage stretched over his broad shoulders. In his hands—a familiar machine gun, the same kind we'd left in Kolomna.

«Who might you be, good people?» the man asked, approaching. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with strong, calloused hands, and straw-colored hair. Around fifty years old, probably.

«Just passing through. Heading to Moscow. Decided to stop in, refuel, get a feel for the situation,» I replied, trying to keep my voice calm. Even though the mutant nearby sent a slight shiver under my ribs.

«Are you with anyone, or on your own?» As he said this, the man glanced at our jeep, coming almost right up to it. His rifle hung on his chest, and he was already pulling out cigarettes.

«On our own. But if it makes it easier for you, consider us military.» I looked him straight in the eye.

He glanced at Sanya, as if assessing.

«Army, huh… Might not even exist anymore, but better the army than the rabble roaming around these days.»

He paused for a moment, lighting his cigarette.

«My name's Arkhip. We live here. And we won't let anyone mess with the town,» he nodded and made a circular gesture above his head.

Somewhere behind the houses, an engine immediately started. Three more people emerged from the alleyway, holding their weapons casually, without threat. A UAZ followed, and the familiar motorcycle. The same one that had left the kiosk. The guy, the motorcyclist, parked with a skid, clearly showing off for us.

The mutant, without looking at us, climbed into the back seat of the UAZ, barely fitting. Arkhip, tossing his rifle into the vehicle, turned back to me:

«What's your decision? Staying or moving on?»

«We'll spend the night with you, if you'll have us.»

«Then follow me,» he said curtly and slammed the UAZ door shut.

«Seriously? They've got a mutant on a leash… How did I manage not to shoot him?» Sanya patted his rifle, as if calming both it and himself.

«You think it's safe?» Vasya asked.

«I think so,» Nastya answered for me. «If they wanted to kill us, they'd have done it before the conversation. But it's too early to relax. We leave in the morning.»

They put us up in a house by the road, about two hundred meters from their base. That it was a base was beyond doubt: barbed wire, fences, machine gun nests. All correct, no need to let strangers into the main house, especially temporary passers-by like us.

«Alright, make yourselves at home, get some rest. Put the car in the yard—no need to show it off. It's a good house, you'll find somewhere to settle. It's quiet here. Gangs pass through sometimes, but they're just passing through. All the locals are on good terms with us,» Arkhip told this casually, already standing by the car.

«Kostya,» I introduced myself, extending my hand.

«Nice to meet you. Rare to meet decent people these days,» he shook my hand firmly, like a man.

«Arkhip, you mentioned fuel…» I reminded him. «And also. I need to meet someone. Here's the address.» I showed him the photo and coordinates on the tablet. He snapped a photo with his smartphone.

«I'll let my people know. We'll check it out. As for fuel—come to those gates in an hour,» he nodded towards the base.

The house was cozy, clean, clearly renovated before the epidemic. Smooth ceilings, walls without cracks, smelled of wood and old furniture. Not rot, as was often the case.

«There's water in the bathroom, guys!..» Nastya burst out of the shower room with a happy face, as if she'd won a million. «And there's hot water too. Do what you want, but I'm first in the shower!»

She disappeared behind the door, then flickered outside—dashed to the car for her backpack—and disappeared into the house again.

«Well, looks like we're moving in,» I said, looking around. «Anyway, guys, you two are in that room. I'm in the living room. Nastya—here.» I opened the bedroom door opposite and, turning around, added: «And… be careful. Leave everything the way we found it.»

Having spread a cloth on the table in the living room, I started cleaning the ORSIS. Then I took out the bow and began mounting the accessories: sight, stabilizers, attachments. Sanya and Vaska immediately sat down next to me, looking on with interest, not interrupting. This was new to them.

When I was finishing attaching the tips to the arrows, there was a knock at the door.

«I just popped in, neighborly,» Arkhip entered with another man. The man carried a deep basket. «For getting acquainted, Konstantin?» Arkhip produced a sweaty bottle without a label.

«There's a seventy-liter water heater there,» said the accompanying man, nodding towards the shower room. «Wait an hour, and there'll be hot water again. And also, over there in the corner, there's a live electrical outlet.»

He extended his hand to me:

«My name is Vasily Stepanovich. I'm in charge of everything here.»

«Kostya,» I replied, shaking his hand.

«Let your guys set the table,» Arkhip continued, «and you and I will have a quiet word, if you don't mind.» He glanced briefly at the laid-out rifle and bow, and in that glance was everything: respect, caution, and interest.

We went outside. Evening was falling. It was calm, even strangely calm—just to walk without weapons, talk, while they prepared snacks in the house. Warm, quiet, smelling of wood smoke.

On a bench by the wall, lounging relaxed, sat the mutant, the same one. Silently. Just present. Arkhip nodded to him, after which the mutant stood up and slowly walked towards the gate.

«Kostya, you seem like a normal guy. And your team seems like good people. I'll tell you straight: no matter what you answer now, you'll get fuel. You're our guests until morning. But after that… we'll see.»

Silence hung for a couple of minutes. The men lit up, and they looked hesitant: they were preparing for a conversation and figuring out how to start.

«Rumors reached us about shooting in Kolomna. I'll ask you straight: did you take out Kashtan?» Arkhip didn't exactly shock me with his question: his glance, when we met at the kiosk, had lingered on our captured jeep. I'd noticed.

«For what purpose are you asking?» I replied calmly, not looking away.

«Kashtan killed my brother. And did a lot of other things,» he said directly, simply, without threat, without pity. Just as it was.

«He wanted to bring us under his thumb,» Vasily Stepanovich interjected. «Arkhip Semyonych told him where to go back then. And then… then things started. When we saw your car, we immediately recognized it as his lackeys' ride. We were going to waste all of you. But then Semyonych talked it over with Fedka,» he nodded towards the gate where the mutant still stood silently, «and we watched you for a while. Saw your boys, your girl. Figured…» he spoke hurriedly, as if afraid of being interrupted and the truth slipping away.

I shifted my gaze back to Arkhip:

«You won't get a direct answer from me. But what happened to Kashtan… It was inevitable. That's how it had to be.»

Arkhip was silent. Just extended his hand to me.

«We're getting you new transport. This one's too conspicuous,» he nodded with clear distaste at the jeep. «Well, shall we go, as they say, sit down for a drink to get acquainted?»

Arkhip and the supply manager and I sat until it was completely dark outside. In the house, everything had long since quieted down: the guys had gone to sleep, Nastya was also nodding off, sitting by the wall, and quietly disappeared into her room. Arkhip and I had gotten into a conversation, but at some point he nodded and got up too.

«See you in the morning, get some rest, Kostya,» was all he said in parting.

I went back into the house. The soft light of candles gently filled the living room, shadows dancing on the walls. The air was warm, smelling of wood and something homely.

«Never did get to take a shower,» flashed through my mind.

And immediately I plunged into the darkness of sleep.

Chapter 4. Ozyory. The Sniper

Explosions and gunfire woke me just as dawn was beginning to break outside. It was still dark, but the sky was already lightening. That hour when silence is especially fragile.

They were shooting from the opposite side. It wasn't just banging at cans—a real firefight. Grenade blasts, the sound of heavy weapons, automatic fire. All serious.

I pulled on my boots, fastened my belt, and within moments was standing on the porch in full gear.

Vasya flew out onto the porch: barefoot, in just his pants, rifle in hand, hair disheveled.

«Are we leaving, Commander?» he asked, looking around.

«Where to?» I shot him a glance. «These people invited you, fed you, gave you drink… And you'd abandon them? Get everything together. Pack up. Combat ready. Wait for me. If I'm not back, fall back to the warehouse, hold up there. Got it?»

Vasya was about to object, but at that moment a car tore into the yard. A guy jumped out, out of breath, with a radio in his hand. He handed it to me.

«Arkhip, this is the Guest. Over.»

«Kostya, help us out. Help us fight them off. We need a sniper, without one we're screwed.»

«Wait. On my way. Over.»

«Vasya! The rifle, ammo, grenades. Move it!»

The guy disappeared into the house, and together with the messenger we loaded my backpack into the car's trunk. Half a minute later, Vasya ran out again—fully equipped, just as barefoot.

«We'll hold the fort, Commander!» he shouted, handing me the rifle.

The car roared and tore off.

While the car raced towards the main base, I quickly geared up: checked magazines, stuffed grenades into pouches, adjusted my vest. Everything had to be at hand.

By the time we pulled up to the building where Arkhip was waiting for me, accompanied by Fedka the mutant, I was fully ready.

«We don't have any long-range stuff,» Arkhip said immediately. «Kostya, help us out. Take out at least the ones with the heavy guns. They're laying down fire so we can't lift our heads.»

I didn't ask any unnecessary questions. Instead, I quickly looked around, and my gaze fell on a five-story building standing at the edge of the fenced-off zone.

«Anyone living in that building?» I asked, nodding towards it.

«A few families, but we've already sent everyone to shelter,» Arkhip replied.

«Excellent.»

I turned to the messenger:

«Fighter, follow me. If I tell you to jump, you jump. If I tell you to freeze, you freeze. Got it?»

He nodded confidently. In his eyes—determination and a readiness to go through hell.

«Take this case. And this backpack. Let's go. Don't forget the radio.»

We ran towards the building. The battle was already raging: roar, people running, screams, explosions.

The stairwells were protected from direct hits, but heavy clouds of dust still hung in the air. Explosions sounded muffled here. The apartment doors on the fifth floor were wide open.

«Wait here for me,» I said, leaving the messenger on the landing. Took the rifle and backpack from him, handing him my rifle and vest in return.

«Give me the radio, brother.»

He hastily pulled it out and handed it to me.

«Maybe I should go with you?..» he began.

«Wait. Only if I call. And watch that no one comes up from behind,» I cut him off.

I entered the apartment and immediately closed the door behind me. Semi-darkness. Dust hung in a pillar in the hallway. A mortar round had hit the living room—the attackers clearly had mortars. I muttered quietly:

«Mortars… So it's serious.»

The next moment, several more explosions shook the building. And they also had a heavy machine gun: the dull thuds spoke for themselves.

Without approaching the window, I carefully surveyed the battlefield. From the river side, a unit was approaching the base. They worked professionally: precisely eliminating pockets of resistance, looking for weak points in the defense, then planning to break through. With such support—mortars and heavy guns—they'd be hard to stop.

I raised my binoculars and froze. My heart first stopped, then started pounding wildly. Above a jeep with a heavy machine gun fluttered a white banner. On it—a circle divided in half, with a symbol inside.

The symbol of Abu Faiz.

Well, we meet…

I was already raising the ORSIS.

Flashback. River area near Ozyory

The squad had been scouring the area for a week, looking for something really worthwhile. Abu Faiz had given the order: prepare goods for trade. Weapons, drugs, slaves—everything went into circulation. The order was clear: winter is coming, and everything they got now would keep them warm during the cold. So they were trying hard to distinguish themselves.

Grishka the Red—Abu Faiz's favorite. He literally bent over backwards just to please. He didn't spare his men, took on the most dangerous missions. Recently, he'd tried to take control of a small military unit. Soldiers with families had holed up there, and it seemed like easy pickings. But he got his teeth kicked in, retreated, and was about to return to Vysokovsk empty-handed when luck suddenly struck.

A guy, covered in bruises and abrasions, fleeing from Kolomna, was like a gift from fate. Said he was Kashtan's deputy, the leader of the Ryazan gang, and had barely escaped pursuit. He said the gang controlled the area, but there was one place left—Ozyory. No one went there, and the loot should be fabulous. Viktor—that was his name—swore the settlement only had small arms and nothing else.

Grishka got excited. Sent out scouts—everything was confirmed. A settlement, lots of women, children, almost no guards. Confident in his strength, Grishka decided to approach along the river, from the side where defenses were minimal. He set up mortars—four 75mm guns—and a couple of heavy machine guns. After softening up the walls and houses, he began the assault.

Viktor became Grishka's favorite: for such an intel, the senior was ready to carry him in his arms, included him in one of the squads, and promised him a command if he proved himself.

The assault began at dawn. The mortars started talking, panic began in the settlement. The defenders tried to fight back, but weakly. Behind the Ural trucks, equipped with push bumpers, four groups lined up. All they had to do was cover about three hundred meters, under the cover of mortars and heavy guns. The chances of anyone being able to pop up and fire accurately were minimal. This tactic had been tested more than once. Everything was going according to plan, until suddenly one of the mortars fell silent. Then the second. The machine guns also stopped.