‘Well, let’s assume that you’re healthy. That still means nothing!’

‘Why does it mean nothing?’ The thin man was taken aback and immediately drooped.

‘That’s right. You might have not got sick yourself. You might be immune. But you can still carry the infection. You had contact with that Rizhii guy? Were you in the same force? Did you talk with him, share the same water? Did you shake his hand? You shook his hand, don’t lie brother.’

‘So what, what if I shook his hand? I didn’t get sick…’ The man replied at a loss of what to say. He was frozen powerless, and persecuted by the gaze of the crowd.

‘So. It isn’t impossible that you’re infectious, brother. So, I’m sorry but we can’t risk it. It’s a prophylactic brother, you see?’ The bearded man undid the buttons of his waistcoat, baring a brown leather holster. There were encouraging outbursts and more sounds of snapping gun-locks among the crowd at the fire.

‘Guys! But I’m healthy! I didn’t get sick! Look, see!’ The thin man again raised his arms but now everyone just winced disdainfully and with evident aversion.

The thickset man took his pistol from its holster and pointed it at the guy who it seemed couldn’t understand what was going on and he was muttering that he was healthy, squeezing his quilted coat to his chest: it was chilly and he had already started to get cold.

Then Artyom couldn’t stand it. Pulling at his gun-lock, he stepped toward the crowd, not exactly knowing what he was about to do. There was a lump in the pit of his stomach and one stuck in his throat too so he wouldn’t be able to utter a word. But something in this person, in his empty and desperate eyes, in the senseless, mechanical mutterings, had hooked into Artyom and had pushed him to take a step forward. It wasn’t clear what he was going to do next but there was a hand on his shoulder and God what a heavy hand it was!

‘Stop,’ Khan ordered him quietly, and Artyom was as frozen as a corpse, feeling that his brittle determination had been shattered against the granite of someone else’s will. ‘You can’t help him. You will either be killed or you will bring fury on yourself. Your mission will not be completed in either case and you should remember that.’

At that moment the thin man suddenly twitched, yelled, clinging to his quilted jacket and with a wave he jumped onto the path and dashed into the black trough of the southern tunnel with superhuman speed, squealing, as wild as an animal. The bearded man jerked and was after him, trying to take aim at his back but then stopped and waved a hand. This was already going too far, and all of them stood on the platform knew it. It wasn’t clear if the chased man remembered what he was running into, perhaps he was hoping for a miracle, or maybe fear had wiped everything out of his head.

After several minutes, there was a howl which tore painfully into the dull silence of the terrible tunnel and the echoes of his footsteps went suddenly silent, as if someone had turned off the sound. Even the echo died immediately, and silence reigned again. This was so strange, so unusual to human hearing and reason, that the imagination tried to fill the gaps and it seemed to them that they could hear a far-off cry. But everyone understood that it was an illusion.

‘Jackals always know when one of their pack is sick, my friend.’ said Khan and Artyom almost fell backwards as he noticed the predatory fire in Khan’s eyes. ‘The sick one is a burden to the pack and a threat to its health. So the pack kills the sick one. They tear him to pieces. To pieces,’ he repeated, as though he was relishing what he’d said.

‘But these aren’t jackals,’ Artyom finally found the courage to object to Khan, who he was suddenly believing to be the reincarnation of Genghis Khan. ‘These are people!’

‘And what would you have them do?’ Khan parried. ‘Degradation. Our medicine is at the level of jackals. And there’s as much humanity in us too. So…’

Artyom knew how to object to this too but arguing with his only protector at this wild station was not appropriate. But Khan who had been expecting an objection evidently decided that Artyom had given up and he turned the conversation to a different subject.

‘So now, while the subject of infectious diseases and the methods to fight them will dominate our friends’ discussions, we need to forge some iron. Otherwise they might decide not to move ahead for weeks. Even though weeks around here can fly past unnoticed.’

The people at the fire were excitedly discussing what had happened. They were all tense and upset, the spectral shadow of the terrible danger had covered them, and now they were trying to decide what to do next, but their thoughts, like those of lab mice in a labyrinth, were going in circles as they helplessly poked into blind alleys, senselessly rushing back and forth, unable to find the exit.

‘Our friends are very close to panic,’ Khan commented smugly, smiling and looking gaily at Artyom. ‘Furthermore, they suspect that they just lynched an innocent man and this act does not stimulate rational thinking. Now we are dealing not with a collective but with a pack. A perfect mental state for the manipulation of their psyches! The conditions couldn’t be better.’

Artyom felt uneasy again seeing the triumphant look on Khan’s face. He tried to smile in response – after all Khan wanted to help him – but the smile came out pitifully and unconvincing.

‘The main thing now is authority. Strength. The pack respects strength, and not logical argument,’ Khan added, nodding. ‘Stand and watch. You’ll be able to go on your way in less than a day’s time.’ And with these words, he took several long strides and wedged himself into the crowd.

‘We can’t stay here!’ His voice thundered and the conversation in the crowd went silent.

People listened to him carefully… Khan was using his powerful almost hypnotic gift of persuasion. With his first words, there was an acute feeling of danger hanging above each person, and Artyom doubted that anyone would choose to remain at the station after this.

‘He infected the air here! If we breathe this much longer then it’s over. Bacilli are everywhere here, and we will definitely get hooked by it if we stay here any longer. We’ll die like rats and we’ll rot right in the middle of this hall on the floor. No one will choose to come and help us – there isn’t a hope! We can only count on ourselves. We need to get out of this demonic station, which is seething with microbes, as soon as we can. If we leave now all together then it won’t be hard to get through the tunnel. But we have to do it quickly!’

People made noises of agreement. The majority of them couldn’t, like Artyom, protest against the colossal force of Khan’s persuasion. In following Khan’s words, Artyom obediently worried about all the circumstances and feelings that were proposed in them: the feelings of threat, the fear, the panic, the weak hope which was growing as Khan continued talking about his suggestions for escape.

‘How many of you are there?’

Immediately several people started counting the gathered group. There were eight men, not counting Artyom and Khan.

‘That’s means there’s nothing to wait for! We’re already ten people so we can get through!’ Khan stated and, not allowing the people to come to their senses, he continued, ‘Gather your things, we need to leave within the hour! Quick, let’s get back to the fire, you also need to get your belongings,’ Khan whispered to Artyom, tugging him towards their little camp. ‘The most important thing is that they don’t realize what’s going on. If we delay, they will start to question whether it is worth it for them to leave and go to Chistye Prudy. Some of them were headed in the opposite direction, and others just live here, and they have nowhere else to go. It seems that I’ll have to take you to Kitai Gorod, otherwise, I’m afraid that they’ll lose direction or they’ll just forget where they’re going and why.’