Just how did the prearranged signal sound? Three quick, three slow, three quick? Absolutely not, that’s an SOS. It was exactly three at the beginning and three at the end, but he was no longer able to recall quick or slow. And if he were to begin to experiment now, he could forget about any hope of getting inside. Better the SOS… At least then the guards would understand that a man was on the other side of the door.
Having banged on the steel once more, Artyom pulled the submachine gun from his shoulder and, with hands shaking, replaced the clip in it. Then he pressed the light to the weapon’s barrel and nervously outlined the upward stretching arches with it. Long shadows from the surviving lamps covered each other in the wandering beam of his light, and it was impossible to guarantee that a dark silhouette didn’t lurk in one of them…
As before, it remained completely quiet on the other side of the iron door. Lord, it’s really not Smolenskaya, Artyom thought. Maybe this entrance was blocked up decades ago and no one has used it since then? He had got here completely by accident, not following the instructions of the stalker at all. And he may have been wrong!
The stairs creaked very near to him, about fifteen metres away. Not able to bear it, Artyom let loose a burst of machine-gun fire in the direction from which the sound had been heard. The echo pained Artyom’s ears.
But nothing like the howl of a wounded beast was heard. The shots were wasted. Not having the courage to look away, Artyom pressed his back against the door and again began to pound with his fist on the iron: three quick, three slow, three quick. He thought he heard a heavy metallic grinding sound from the door. But just at that moment the figure of a predator flew from the shadows with a startling speed.
Artyom held the submachine gun suspended in his right hand, and pressed the trigger almost by accident when he instinctively recoiled backwards. The bullets swept the body of the creature in the air, and instead of seizing Artyom by the throat, it collapsed on the last steps of the escalator, having flown not two metres. But only a moment later it raised itself and, ignoring the blood gushing from its wound, moved forward.
Then, staggering, it leapt again and pressed Artyom to the cold steel of the door. It was no longer able to attack: the last bullets had struck its head, and the beast was dead already by the end of its lunge. But the inertia of its body would have been enough to crack Artyom’s skull, had he not been wearing a helmet.
The door opened, and a bright, white light burst out. A frightened roar was heard from the escalators: judging by the sound, there were no fewer than five of these beasts there now. Someone’s strong hands grasped him by the collar and pulled him inside and the metal clanged once more. They shut the door and bolted it.
‘Are you injured?’ someone’s voice next to him asked.
‘Damned if he knows,’ another answered. ‘Did you see who he brought with him? We barely scared them away the last time, and even then only by using gas.’
‘Leave him. He’s with me. Artyom! Hey, Artyom! Come to your senses!’ someone familiar called, and Artyom opened his eyes with difficulty.
Three men were leaning over him. Two of them, most likely the gate guards, were dressed in dark grey jackets and knitted caps and both wore bullet-proof vests. With a sigh of relief, Artyom recognized Melnik as the third.
‘So is this him or what?’ one of the guards asked with some disappointment.
‘Then take him, only don’t forget about the quarantine and the decontamination.’
‘Any more lectures?’ the stalker grinned. ‘Stand up, Artyom. It’s been a long time,’ he said, extending his hand to him.
Artyom tried to stand up, but his legs refused to work. He swayed and began to feel sick, and he was groggy.
‘We have to get him to the infirmary. You help me, and you close the pressure doors,’ Melnik commanded.
While the doctor examined him, Artyom studied the white tiles of the operating room. It was sparkling clean, there was the sharp smell of bleach in the air, and several fluorescent lamps were fastened just beneath the ceiling. There were also a few operating tables there, and a box with instruments ready for use hung next to each one.
The condition of the little hospital here was impressive, but why peaceful Smolenskaya needed it was unclear to Artyom.
‘No fractures, only bruises. Several scratches. We have disinfected them,’ the doctor said, wiping his hands with a clean towel.
‘Can you leave us for a bit?’ Melnik asked the doctor. ‘I would like to discuss something in private.’
Nodding knowingly, the medic left.
The stalker, having sat down on the edge of the couch on which Artyom was lying, demanded the details of what had happened.
By his estimate, Artyom was supposed to show up at Smolenskaya two hours earlier, and Melnik had already started planning to go up to the surface to try to find him. He listened to the end to the story about the pursuit, but with no special interest, and he called the flying monsters by a dictionary word, ‘pterodactyl,’ but only the story about how Artyom had concealed himself at the front door really impressed him. Learning that while he was sitting snugly in his apartment someone was creeping along the staircase, the stalker frowned.
‘Are you certain that you didn’t step in the slime on the stairs?’ He shook his head. ‘God forbid you bring that crap into the station. I’ve been telling you not to go near the houses! Consider yourself really lucky that it didn’t decide to drop in on you when you were making your visit…’
Melnik stood up, went to the entrance where Artyom’s boots had been left and meticulously examined the soles of each of them. Not having found anything suspicious, he put them back.
‘As I’ve also said, the road to Polis is prohibited to you for the time being. I have not been able to tell the Brahmins the truth; therefore, they think that you both disappeared during the trip to the Library, and I was sent out to search for you. So what happened there to your partner?’
Artyom told him the whole story once more from beginning to end, this time honestly explaining just exactly how Daniel had died. The stalker winced.
‘It’s better you keep this to yourself. To be honest, I liked the first version a lot more. The second will cause too many questions from the Brahmins. Their man was killed by you, you didn’t find the books, so the reward remained yours. And, by the way,’ he added, looking sullenly at Artyom, ‘what was in that envelope?’
Raising himself on his elbow, Artyom took from his pocket a bag covered with dried blood, looked at Melnik attentively and opened it.
CHAPTER 15. The Map
There was a sheet of paper, taken from a school notebook and folded four times, and a leaf of thick drafting paper with rough pencilled drawings of the tunnels. This was exactly what Artyom had expected to see inside the envelope – a map and the keys to it. While he was running toward Smolenskaya across Kalininskiy Prospect, he hadn’t had time to think about what may have been inside the bag that Daniel had passed to him. The miraculous resolution of a seemingly insoluble problem, something capable of taking from the VDNKh and the whole of the metro an incomprehensible and inexorable threat.
A reddish-brown spot had spread in the middle of the sheet of explanations. The paper, glued fast with the Brahmin’s blood, would have to be dampened a bit to reveal its message and great care would have to be taken not to damage the finely written instructions on it.
‘Part Number… tunnel… D6… intact installations… up to 400,000 square metres… a water fountain… not in good working order… unforeseen…’ The words sprang at Artyom. Trying to jump from the horizontal lines, they merged into one whole, and their sense remained absolutely incomprehensible to him. Having despaired of shaping them into something sensible, he handed the message to Melnik. The latter took the sheet into his hand with care and fastened his covetous eyes onto the letters. For some time he didn’t say anything, and then Artyom saw how his eyebrows crept upwards with suspicion.