Soon these hellhounds would overtake him and take their toll, he thought with despair. He recalled the deformed but powerful bodies of the monsters lying in pools of blood at the entrance where his burst of machine-gun fire had toppled them. Artyom had no time to examine them, but even one look was enough to engrave them on his memory for a long time: glossy brown hair, huge round heads, and mouths studded with dozens of small sharp teeth that, it seemed, grew in several rows. Going over in his mind all the animals known to him, Artyom was unable to recall one that would have been able to produce such beasts even after the effects of radiation.
Fortunately, there were no trees growing at Sadovoye Koltso. It was simply one more broad street, extending right and left from the intersection as far as the eye could see. Before breaking into a run again, Artyom let off a short burst at the beasts without looking. They were already less than fifty metres from him and again had broken up into a semi-circle so that some were moving almost level with him.
At Sadovoye he had to look for the road among several huge craters five to six metres deep, and make a detour in one place in order to skirt a deep crevice that split the road surface in two. The structures standing close by looked strange: rather than being burnt, they appeared more to have been melted. It created the impression that something peculiar had happened here, that this region had endured much more than Kalininskiy Prospekt. And something like several hundred metres in the distance arose a building of inconceivable size. It looked like a medieval castle, and was a majestic and sombre background to this troubled landscape, untouched by time or fire. Artyom glanced up for a split second, and he let go a sigh of relief: a scary winged shadow soared over the castle and that could become his salvation. He only had to attract its attention so that it busied itself with his pursuers. Lifting the machine gun in one hand and aiming the barrel at the flying monster, he squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
He had run out of ammunition.
It was difficult to drag the reserve machine gun hanging on his back forward while running. Diving into one of the nearest alleys, Artyom leaned against the wall and changed weapons. Now he didn’t have to let the beasts come close while he emptied the magazine in the second machine gun.
The first of them already had appeared from around the corner and sat on its hindquarters with the customary movement, extending itself to all its huge height. It had grown bolder and had approached so close that now Artyom was able to see its eyes for the first time: small, concealed beneath massive brows, burning with an evil green fire similar to the gleam of that mysterious flame in the park.
There was no laser sight on Daniel’s Kalashnikov, but one normally couldn’t miss from such a distance. He framed the figure of the beast standing stock in his sight. Artyom squeezed the machine gun more tightly to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
Moving slowly to the centre, the bolt stopped. What had happened? Could he really have confused the machine guns in his haste? Absolutely not, for his weapon had a laser sight… Artyom tried to wrench the bolt. It was stuck.
A whirlwind of thoughts swirled in his head. Daniel, the librarians… That was why his comrade had not resisted when that grey monster attacked him in the labyrinth of books! His machine gun simply had not worked. He, most likely, had pulled the bolt just as spasmodically while the librarian dragged him into the depths of the corridors…
There was silence as two more beasts appeared, like spectres. They were studying Artyom intently. He was looking in despair at Daniel’s machine gun. It seemed that they were drawing their own conclusions. The closest of the creatures, most likely the leader, jumped and now was only five metres from Artyom.
At this moment a gigantic shadow swept over their heads. The beasts pressed themselves to the ground and lifted their heads. Taking advantage of their confusion, Artyom dashed to one of the arches, no longer hoping to come out of this mess alive, but just trying instinctively to postpone the moment of his death. He had not the slightest chance against them in the alleys, but the way back, to Sadovoye Koltso, already had been cut off.
He ended up in the middle of an empty square, bounded along the edges by the walls of houses, in which arches and passages could be seen. That same gloomy castle that had impressed him at Sadovoye Koltso rose into the sky behind the building he was facing. Finally tearing his gaze away from it, Artyom saw writing on the building opposite: ‘The Moscow V.I. Lenin Underground Railroad’ and a bit lower, ‘Smolenskaya Station.’ The high oak doors were ajar.
It was hard to say how he managed to evade them. He felt a premonition of danger and the sensation of a light air current, was aware of a predator dashing towards its prey. The beast landed only a half metre from him. Easing sideways, he broke into a run and dashed with all his might towards the entrance to the metro. His home was there, his world, there beneath the ground he again would become master of the situation.
The Smolenskaya vestibule looked exactly as Artyom had expected: dark, grey, empty. It at once became clear that the people at this station often came to the surface: the ticket booths and office facilities were open and ransacked and everything of use had been moved underground many years ago. Neither the turnstiles nor the booths for the staff remained – their concrete foundations a mere reflection of what once had been. The arch of the tunnel was visible, and several escalators reached down to incredible depths. The flashlight’s beam was lost somewhere in the middle of the descent and Artyom was unable to ascertain that there really was an entrance there. But it was impossible to stay where he was: the beasts had already penetrated into the vestibule. He knew because he heard the creaking of the door. In a few seconds they would reach the escalators, and that tiny head start he still had would disappear.
Awkwardly stepping along the shaking grooved steps, Artyom began his descent. He tried to hop across several steps, but his foot slipped on the damp covering and he crashed downward, striking the back of his head on a corner. He managed to stop only when he had hit about ten steps with his helmet and the small of his back. Searching the section of the way behind him with his light, Artyom discovered exactly what he was looking for and was afraid to find: the stationary dark figures. As was their custom, before they attacked, they stood stock still, studying the situation or conferring inaudibly. Artyom turned round and again tried to jump over two steps. This time it turned out better for him, and, sliding his right hand along the rubber of the handrail, while grasping his flashlight in his left, he ran for about another twenty seconds before he fell again.
He heard heavy stomping from behind. The creatures were determined. Artyom hoped with his whole being that the old stairs woefully creaking beneath his lighter weight would just collapse, not sustaining the weight of his pursuers. But the clatter approaching from the shadows was evidence that the escalator was handling the load well. A brick wall with a large door in the middle appeared in the beam of his flashlight. Only about twenty metres remained to it, no more. Rising to his feet with difficulty, Artyom covered the final stretch in fifteen seconds. It seemed like an eternity.
The door was made of steel plates and echoed resonantly, like a bell, at the blows of his fists. Artyom pounded at it with all his might. The approaching shadows, which he saw dimly in the semi-darkness, were spurring him on. Only after several seconds did he understand, a sudden chill overcoming him, what a terrible mistake he had just made: instead of knocking at the door with the prearranged code, he had only alarmed the guards. Now it was most probable that there was no way it would be unlocked under any circumstances. It didn’t matter who was trying to enter. And the fact that the sun was rising already made it even less likely that the door would be opened.