‘What? Did it collapse?’ asked someone.

‘From one grenade… The whole metro holds on by a hair…’

‘Well, they won’t try to get in here any more. Until they get rid of the blockage…’

‘That should tie them up. Let’s go, there’s no time, we don’t know when they’ll come to their senses,’ the approaching Melnik ordered.

They halted only an hour later. During this time, the tunnel split in two directions, and the stalker, who was walking ahead, chose which way to go. Huge, cast-iron loops were seen in one place. Most likely at some time they had strong shutters hanging from them. Next to them was scattered the debris of a pressurized gate. Except for that, nothing of interest was found: the tunnel was completely empty, pitch-black and lifeless.

They walked slowly. The old man stumbled at every step, and several times he fell to the ground. Dron walked unwillingly and mumbled to himself about a prohibition and damnation, until they stuffed a gag into his mouth. When the stalker finally allowed them to stop and he had dispatched sentries with night vision instruments fifty metres on both sides, the exhausted priest collapsed to the floor. The savage continued pleading inarticulately through the gag, until the escorts brought him closer to the old man and he dropped to his knees in front of him and stroked the old man’s head with his bound hands. The young Oleg rushed to the stretcher on which his father lay and began to cry. Anton’s paralysis had passed, but he was unconscious, just as after the first needle had struck him. The stalker, meanwhile, beckoned Artyom to his side. Artyom was no longer able to contain his curiosity.

‘How did you find us? I was already thinking, you know, they were going to eat us,’ he admitted to Melnik.

‘You think it was difficult? You left the handcar right under the hatch. The lookouts noticed it when Anton didn’t show up for tea. They just didn’t try to poke around in there themselves. They placed a guard and reported it to the chief. You actually didn’t wait for me even for a little while. Then I left for Smolenskaya again, to the base, for corroboration. We assembled at the alarm, but we needed time. While we got equipped, I began to remember what’s what at Mayakovskaya. It was a similar situation: there was a crumbling side tunnel there as well where Tretyak and I had separated. We had been looking for the entrance to D-6 on the map. We were about fifty metres apart. He, most likely, had got closer to it. I’d been gone for only three minutes. I shouted to him, but he didn’t respond. I ran to him. He was lying there all blue, swollen, his lips cracked by this crap. I grabbed him by the legs and dragged him to the station. While I was dragging him, I recalled Semyonych and his story about the poisoned watchman. I shined my light at Tretyak and there was a needle in his leg. Then everything began to fall into place. I sent the messenger to you as soon as possible so that you would remain at the station, arrange your affairs, and return. But I was unsuccessful.’

‘Are they really at Mayakivskaya, too?’ Artyom was surprised. ‘But just how did they get there from Park Pobedy?’

‘This is how they get there.’ The stalker removed his heavy helmet and placed it onto the floor. ‘You will, of course, forgive me, but we didn’t just come for you, but for intelligence as well. I think there must be one more exit to Metro-2 from here. These cannibals of yours also made it through to Mayakovskaya. There, by the way, it’s the same story as here: children disappear from the station at night. And only the devil knows where they get to, and we see neither hide nor hair of them.’

‘That is… you want to say…’ The thought itself had seemed so unbelievable to Artyom that he didn’t dare utter it aloud. ‘In your opinion, is the entrance to Metro-2 somewhere around here?’ Was the gate to D-6, that mysterious metro phantom, really located in the immediate vicinity? Rumours, stories, legends and theories of Metro-2 that he had heard throughout his life swirled in Artyom’s head.

‘Let me tell you something else,’ the stalker winked at him. ‘I think we’re already in it. It has just been impossible to verify it.’

Requesting a flashlight from one of the fighters, Artyom began to study the tunnel’s walls. He caught the surprised looks of the others, knowing that must look really stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. And he only partly understood what had he expected to see on reaching Metro-2. Golden rails? People living as they once had, not knowing about the horrors of present-day existence, in fairy-tale abundance? Gods? He passed from one lookout to the other, but, as he didn’t find anything, turned towards Melnik. He was speaking with the fighter who was guarding the savages.

‘What about the hostages? Finish them off?’ the escort asked casually.

‘First we’ll have a little talk,’ the stalker answered. Bending down, he pulled the gag from the old man’s mouth. Then he did the same with the second prisoner.

‘Teacher! Teacher! Dron is coming with you. I am coming with you, Teacher!’ the savage immediately began to lament, swaying from side to side above the groaning priest. ‘Dron is violating the prohibition of the holy passages, Dron is ready to die at the hand of the enemies of the Great Worm, but Dron is coming with you, to the end!’

‘What else is there? What’s this about a worm? What about the holy passages?’ Melnik asked.

The old man was silent.

Looking at the escorts in fright, Dron hurriedly said, ‘The holy passages of the Great Worm are forbidden for good people. The Great Worm may appear there. Man can see. It is forbidden to look! Only the priests can. Dron is afraid, but is coming. Dron is coming with the teacher.’

‘What worm?’ The stalker wrinkled his nose.

‘The Great Worm… The creator of life,’ explained Dron. ‘The holy passages are further. One cannot go every day. There are forbidden days. Today is a forbidden day. If you see the Great Worm, you will turn to ashes. If you hear him, you will be cursed, you will die quickly. Everyone knows. The elders say so.’

‘What? Are all the morons like this there?’ The stalker looked at Artyom.

‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘talk to the priest.’

‘Your Eminence,’ Melnik addressed the priest tongue in cheek.

‘You will excuse me, I am just an old soldier… How best to express it… I don’t know haughty language. But here there is one place in your possession that we are searching for. Supposedly accessible… Things are kept there… Flaming arrows? Grapes of wrath?’ He gazed into the old man’s face, hoping that he would respond to one of his metaphors, but the priest stubbornly remained silent, sullenly staring at him from beneath his brows. ‘The hot tears of the gods?’ The stalker was continuing, to the surprised looks of Artyom and the others, to try get answers. ‘Zeus’ lightning bolts?’

‘Stop playing the fool,’ the old man finally interrupted him with contempt. ‘There is nothing transcendental to trample with your dirty soldier boots.’

‘Missiles,’ Melnik at once became business-like. ‘The missile unit just outside Moscow. An exit from the tunnel by Mayakovskaya. You must remember what I’m talking about. We have to get there right away, and it would be better for you to help.’

‘Missiles…’ the old man repeated slowly, as if testing the flavour the word.

‘Missiles… You, probably, are about fifty years old, right? You still remember. They named the SS-18 “Satan” in the West. It was the only insight of a blind-from-birth human civilization.’

‘Are you really so great?! You have destroyed the whole world. Are you really so great?’

‘Listen, Your Eminence, we don’t have time for this.’ Melnik cut him off. ‘I am giving you five minutes.’ His fingers cracked as he stretched out his hands.

The old man made a face. It was as if neither the combat dress of the stalker and his fighters, nor the poorly concealed threat in Melnik’s voice had the slightest impact on him.