– I don’t have a clue. We could not leave the barracks. First of all, we were locked up there. Secondly, we ourselves were so scared to come out, that we covered the windows with blankets and would tear up any German.

– German?

– An officer. An officer – German, a goose – a cub, a youngster.

– We didn’t have the same words.

– You served?

– Well… yes.

– Local type of slang.

– Did you see that Corporal in person?

– Yes.

– Will you tell us?

– No. Bad memories.

– Terrifying?

– Well… no, just bad. Not for this sun. That cloud gone. And the beer is tasty. Some other time.

– Well… then Petrovich.

– And what is wrong with Petrovich?

– How did you get to know him, for real.

– As a matter of fact, he took me for the first mission. I was a “Yazov contractor”. And he was one of the best scouts, this Senior Ensign. And I happened to join his group.

– And did it go?

– Few of us survived. (Mockingly.) In fact.

– It just got stuck in my head. Talked yesterday with one muscovite over the phone.

– But you are yourself a muscovite.

– I am a troubler.

– In life, it seems you are a troubler. But the one who haven't been in the Zone. You are a magacitl³⁴1, this is who you are.

– Blinchuk also hasn’t been to the Zone.

– Blinchuk is a fisherman.

– I was prohibited by the Father.

– But what a liar you are, a fantast! The Father and Yana were dead a year before you! Or two…

Already habitual moment of my triumph. I am doing it not for the first time, and it always works brilliantly. Thank you, the Father. It is difficult to amuse a tracker. But I can. I am getting out moleskin from my bag, from moleskin – a grey envelope with typographic contour for stamp, in which letters S and A inscribed very ingeniously in five strokes. From envelope I am taking out the letter of the Father, addressed to me. Passing it over to Fenimore. The letter is short, he swallows it in a seconds. Shockingly he is cursing in the form I cannot translate in acceptable lexicon. Who, which, whom. To correct. He’s returning me the paper, stares at me, giving me back the can.

– Wow.

– Here it is, for real. Am I a magacitl?

– Okay, okay. The beer is yours, all what is left. Take it.

– Thanks. Zhenya-Turanchoks passed me this letter. Am I a liar?

– That’s already over. Over. You killed me and decided not to revive, left me as it is. And the Father. What a monster he was! The only survivor, what do you want… I was acquainted with him even before the Zone. He used to work in the hospital at the Ten, as a senior TB laboratory assistant… or a chief assistant … a Head of the laboratory, this is it! I stayed at the hospital for a long time in autumn of eighty-six, I broke my arm meanwhile there. And it was difficult not to notice him. Two meters tall, looking as a hybrid of Goga and Magoga. And since I'm a drawer, a calligraphist, so they asked me to make him some kind of a poster for the laboratory. And he happened to be a great guy. Alcohol, food, music. Call mama. And then we met already in the Zone. He recognized me straight away, rushed to me and hugged, almost dropping his Yana. She looked about ten then.

– But what happened to him in the Lightning, why he was in such a way in fact, and such a daughter? .. Was he telling you? How he survived? Where people disappeared? Or at least how they’ve gone?

– You know, yes, he told me … But I don’t know if I can tell this to you. You yourself know that he got you from the grave. And now I will return home – and there is some sort of telegram from him. “You are fucking over, barber’s cat”, for example, “die in agony…” In general terms: at the night of the Lighting they were covered in the maternity hospital by one of the “red rings”, that were burning that region of Kapustin. I don’t know details about his wife. But all were dead there, apart from him and his daughter. But was she his daughter actually?…

– So, they all just died? “Missing” is an official version.

Fenimore is keeping silent for quite a while. I already feel that the interview will soon be over. His face even got one-sided by a nervous tic. There was something deep, very deep.He had tried the Father’s story on himself long time ago, some of their wounds coincided, and now, I unintentionally opened the biggest one. What do I really know about Vadim Sverzhin, apart from the fact that he is a super tracker, mega-looter and a centenar?

– You are right. Caught me. They are missing. Now, I'm telling you the story. You already know about the “rings”… The fire on the “hoop” of the “ring” is from phosphorus, and inside, in the “eye”, all is getting burned into the ash, and time is not working properly. As I understood, he stayed with a newborn baby girl in that ash of the “eye” for a year, or more… What they ate, what they drank there? May be for them it counted to hundred years by the time the “ring” burnt out. He made up a cloak there for himself, and a stretcher for a girl. Created for himself some sort of a world, some myths… You know when I first ran into him in the Zone, we talked a little, and then suddenly he opened his cloak in a way a mute person is offering to you porno, and said: “Look, lining is clear asbestos!” And exactly, his cloak was covered by plates of asbestos from inside… He said it so proudly, as if he was glorifying his track to the Moon…

(The ones missing were confirmed as dead less than a year ago. No dead bodies yet were found anywhere in the Zone, town, the steppe, or the river. Fenimore – just like the rest of old trackers – also escaped a direct answer. In principle, they all are eager to talk about the missing ones when questioned about domestic animals, but you have to ask it cleverly: how is that possible that no one, none from the list of survived at the Lightning night didn’t remember about their home pets, animals; neither adults, nor children. And then they were tearing their hair: how could I forget my cat. Or didn’t try to save the cow, which was in the backyard. But I stopped asking this question after a lady, who was ten at the time of the Lightning night, and who hit my eye with a coffee cup remembering that she forgot her favorite hedgehog in her flat. What is more, later she told me that she saw a hedgehog when her mother was grabbing the documents from the sideboard. The hedgehog was sitting in his box near the entrance door, in the hall, and there was no panic yet, her dad was a Colonel, and her mother said: don’t forget your Klyopa, here is a basket. Girl took the basket, but not the hedgehog. And this happened to everyone. A famous aunt Alisa Rybakova, the owner of “Chipka”, is still mourning her goats. She even went into the Zone, into impassable private sector next to her house in order to see how they were. Nothing. Both people and animals went missing without a trace.

So that I didn’t start catching Fenimore as well.)

– And did he prophesy anything to you?

– No.

(And I can see that here Fenimore is not lying. And the Father was not trying to give him any predictions, and Fenimore himself was not asking for anything like that. Yes, I very abruptly lost initiative, letter didn’t work out even ten percent of time from usual one hundred and fifty and I, in dismay, was trying to change the subject.)

– You joined the “important ones”… in what time?

– In a year?..What am I saying? Less, of course. I spent a summer off from the army. Met autumn and New Year on the marge of the Staggering Forest… And this is it, already in February I put in a “notice of resignation” to Blinchuk. And he put his stamp.

– And why was Blinchuk signing these applications for “Yazov people”, do you know?

– I know it perfectly well, but this is not my secret. Here is a hint: talk to Petrovich, as you are in good relations with him. For real. By the way, they were introduced to each other by the Father! I remember that day very well.

(Pause. He looks at me, considering something. Smiling.)

– I will tell you. Autumn of nineteen-ninety. That time I wasn't in the “Pipes” myself, but I was close. And there was a story… Accidentally there happened to be a local guide in Blinchuk’s guard, from that area… hmm… Seryozha Nabis.

– Nabis?! Precisely Nabis?

– Well yes.

(He is smiling.)

– Nabis is a nickname, I already don't remember his surname. Such a dark-haired guy, curly, handsome up to the point of taking and killing him, casting a gypsum statue from him, and painting him instead of Socrates in the art shops. He was local, it seems.

(…)

CHAPTER 2

As all knowlegeable people Nabis went to the “Two Pipes” bar more than once, he knew when they were going there, – and was following the road, fully relying on Kharon. The “neutral” was safe in a sense of gitiks and attacks, may be only “shopototams” could reach a human here, as they have reached the Colonel today. And also everybody was always having a back thought, scared that the Zone border may move here and following Murphy’s law you may be caught. Just like under an icicle from the roof. Right now “shishiga” was moving slowly along the driveway of apartment block number 9. And number 9 (Volgogradskaya st.) itself was already in the Zone, and its corners were all covered with mushrooms, looking like the oil bubbles and statue’s eyes at the same time, watching you, wherever you go. And in the flat number 17 of this house (on the third floor of the middle entrance) in the middle of a totally ordinary room, Misha Bulygin, tracker-the Sergeant, had drowned to death. Drowned as he was the first who entered that living room. As soon as the “neutral” slightly moves, here you are – in the town Zone. And then almost certainly straight away – it is over. There were a huge number of different shit of unknown kind, from identified by “risks” still “heavy” and “light” places to very aggressive, totally unpredictable animals and insects, in Kapustin. The city was passable, of course, and very rich with loots, but the most of the trackers who where known by Nabis still preferred to hunt for loots and mark with poles the tracks, ordered by the army and scientists, only in the steppe. The city was swallowing the trackers very greedily, and also the following fact was recorded there: the power and intensiveness of local anomaly in the steppe was going down gradually, gravitational intensives degraded, shrunk and even became passable through, killing climate anomalies were slowing down, and you could meet fewer and fewer of vacuum pockets. But in Kapustin, at the airfield and at the premises of the army divisions, where civilization and technology concentratedly were continuing to crap the planet, all was staying the same as on the next day after the Lightning… And village Kapustino, nearby to which general Voznjuk and academic Korolyov built the rocket city Kapustin (officially – Leninsk, to confuse adversaries as there was one more Leninsk not far away, but totally civil) was deadly impassable, hardly a fews were saved from there, and no one knew what is happening there in the labyrinths of the private households… The only part the Zone didn’t touch was a small part of the village after the Astrakhan road, called the “Dogs’ village” since the beginning of times. Twenty thousand people lived in the town. There were almost six thousands in the village. Almost fifteen thousands from the city survived. From the village – less than a hundred.

“Shishiga” turned left from the courtyards, onto the actual Volgogradskaya, town’s external north street. On this road, you may drive half a kilometer almost until the turn towards the stadium. The car was buzzing softly, you could hear how the steering wheel is spinning, speeds are getting switched, how Kharon is knocking with the back of his hand on the cabin ceiling expressing some specific driver’s feelings. Accompanied ones were silent, trying not to look to the sides, not turning their heads. With his peripheral, the main tracker's viewing, Nabis saw that the vomiting Ensign aimed his attention towards him not only once or even twice, probably imagining elements of targets on a silhouette of a new, freshly and sharply smelling enemy. This vomiting guy seems not a bad fighter, but a total fool. A fisherman.

Near Prostokvashino (unfinished block number 36) Kharon slowed down and knocked on the cabin’s roof. Nabis coughed. Worth getting a cape. But these don’t have capes…

– Comrade Colonel, comrades officers and warrant officers, – he said in a guide’s voice. – The thirty-sixth quarter. Ahead is the steppe. A corner of a housing estate. Here the “neutral” expands, both climate and time is changing in it. Now we will enter into a very big air mirror. Objective, it is a barrier, not a hocus-pocus. – They were watching him with the same face expressions. But no, even with the same faces. Nabis looked down. – On the other side there is other time and rain, – he continued. – Keep calm. In the end, there where we are going will be a place to get dry. But this is not the most important thing. – Nabis was trying to find the words. – Further down the road we may meet aaa.. illegal guests of the Zone. Practically, all of them are local citizens. We are going by invitation, comrade Colonel, I am asking to keep your patience. Otherwise we may end up in a battle. Everyone we can meet here is armed and is very high-strung. And they all shoot well.

– Talks roundly, yes? – said Shultsev with perfectly tuned hysterics. – Who do you work for, contractor, who pays you? Where will you turn your gun? He is having a hocus-pocus here…

– Shultsev, set aside, – Blinchuk announced without raising his voice. No, he is definitely, not an armchair Colonel. Not a checking type, but a doing one. – So, the air mirror, rain and illegals accordingly… Well, let it be. Guide, and we are definitely going to meet some illegals?

– We may meet, – answered Nabis. – I warn you just in case. And, comrade Colonel. We don’t say here a “guide”. Either a “guiding” or a “heading”. – He shook his palm in front of himself, looking for explanation. – Well that’s a local specialization.

– Sorry? – re-asked Korostyloyv.

– Specialization. Did I say it wrong?

Korostylyov delayed for a moment, looking up.

– “Specifics”, in short.

– Anyway, a “guide” sounds offensive, – said Nabis implacably. – Politeness values in the Zone. With all respect. But everyone should remember about this.

Blinchuk cursed. Laughed.

– So informative today, right up to gut-wrenching. If “heading” then ”heading”.

Glyzin snorted.

– For all the times I’ve been here, I’ve never heard anything like this… But well. Particularly local, – Blinchuk singled out “local”, – illegals? May we meet them?

Seems that these military trackers were not informed that their superior is going to ride on the “neutral”… But Nabis didn’t want to risk. Guiding will be demanded. And he said vastly:

– There may be contract soldiers. And even professional soldiers. In their free time.

– Korostylyov, did you hear this? – said Blinchuk with a laugh.

– Yes sir, – the Major replied. – Corresponds to our information.

– So, okay, group, listen to my command, – said Blinchuk. – I am ordering in advance to set aside any actions to stop illegal slash poaching visits of the Zone.

His group almost in one voice responded with “yes”, and not Nabis, but Blinchuk himself whacked his fist into the cabin. Kharon loudly pulled the lever, “shishiga” drove into a huge mirror standing here, into the rain sector of the “neutral’s” Dog’s curve.

The accompanied ones at the same time and in identical manner responded together “yes”, no worse than ten seconds ago, and cursed. Rain turned into the wall straight away, behind the clouds the sun from noon jumped off to three o’clock afternoon. Nabis once again held back his desire to take out a cellophane raincoat from his backpack and throw it over himself. “I’d feel bad. Somehow it wouldn’t be a Russian way of behavior.” And to offer to the fisherman-Colonel to cover up together – he also would rather not. Fuck it. Though… Perhaps, he would share it with the Major.

– Where does all this water go? – asked Blinchuk, spitting, in human voice.

– Into the storm drain, – replied Nabis and managed to point with his finger, and Blinchuk managed to notice the storm drain grill, which was greedily swallowing clear flows. The street asphalt was the purest. Even the mud was the purest, washed through hundred waters, sparkling as new. “Shishiga” crossed over the curb, slid on left starboard, getting out to the wasteland, and started passionately, snuggling, buzzing to overcome the mounds and ditches of the wasteland on the site of an old hospital. Clinging by wheels over broken bricks in wet ground, over leftovers of former asphalt roads and pavements. Everyone went quiet, clinging to armrests.

– And where to from the storm drain? – Blinchuk asked, when it stopped throwing them around.

– And this question is for scientists.

– Huh! – Blinchuk said and went silent.

– No question. It evaporates on the dry side, – Ensign Glyzin said suddenly.

The car shook on rails. The group grabbed their wet slick armrests again. Kharon was forcing it through Astrakhan piece of Privolzhskiy railroad, lost for the world. Ahead, a carelessly sketched out by a skillful hand in three moves with a wide brush and a white ink on a wet dark-grey paper, was a gigantic four-story building belonging to town boiler management. Above it two pipes flaunted in rainy mist. At the empty parking in front of the facade of the management Kharon turned around, aimed carefully and neatly passed in between piles of concrete slabs, which were not on purpose but surely blocking the entrance to the courtyard of the management “bypassing the checkpoint”. The accompanied ones even stood up on the carcass watching how many centimeters are left from the board till the plate, armchairs banged by short burst. And straight away they’ve met the first illegal. It was a woman. A simple Russian woman.