Having reached the cottage and just about to enter it, I suddenly heard a strange shuffling sound somewhere on the second, or even on the third floor. It was hard to understand exactly. Of course, there were no doors or furniture in the house, solid bare walls created such acoustics that every rustle was heard. Sitting down, I leaned against the wall and listened, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. The sounds were no longer repeated, and I even began to doubt that I actually heard something – deathly silence. It seemed that there was not even wind and birds. And as soon as I was about to move, there was a quiet female voice, turning into a groan: “Bitch! Cut… Wow bastard…”. It looked like the woman was in great pain, and I couldn't think of anything smarter than just asking out loud:
– Hey! Need help?
The answer was complete silence. I waited, but nothing happened.
“Your friend, whom I nailed, just doesn’t need any more help,” a woman’s voice finally came from somewhere above. – If you want to die next to him, get up. There was an air of confidence in her voice. She even broke her voice a little to sound more serious.
– I don’t know who you are talking about … My name is Artem. Are you okay? – I tried to sound as harmless as possible in intonation. “I can leave if you want, I don’t want trouble.” – I added and started to rise in order to really leave this place, but after a long pause, the woman upstairs answered again:
– My name is Ira … – she said, and then asked an unexpected question. – What were you doing before the epidemic?
– Signalman. Built cell towers.
“Infection, it would be better if you were a doctor,” she muttered quietly.
My anxiety intensified. All this was somehow strange, but I decided to keep the conversation going a little more and asked:
– Are you local?
– From "Oplot"
– What's this?
“And where did this one come from?” This is one of the survivors' camps, not far from here, in the industrial zone…
“If you’re hurt, I can go there and bring…”
– No, stop! she interrupted me, a little frightened. “Stay here…” the voice trailed off as the words progressed.
"So is there anything I can do to help?" I asked for the second time.
“Yes… I don’t know. Go up to the third floor, it's hard for me to speak. And put your hands up so I can see them.
I hesitated, but my conscience did not allow me to leave a person in trouble, so I began to slowly climb up. A couple of times I stopped and looked around, wondering if I was being smart. The times are now when life is worth little, and it needs to be protected more than ever. I got up and stood at the doorway, behind which Irina was supposed to be. I did not go in right away, but at first I quickly looked into the room and immediately removed my head. At a cursory glance, the room seemed empty except for an old stepladder to the left, and a stack of boxes of tiles in the middle of the room, behind which Irina hid, looking at the passage through the front sight of a rifle.
"Put your weapons away, I'm not armed!" – I leaned against the wall at the doorway and tried to take such a position that, in case of emergency, I could quickly escape.
“Come in, don’t piss…” There was pain and irritation in her voice.
– Well, just don't shoot, for God's sake, – I entered the room, raising my hands, and saw Irina lying on the floor, leaning on a pile of tiles. The boxes, tiles and the floor around the girl were stained with blood, and she herself had a deathly-pale face, which wrinkled a little, intensely looking forward through the front sight of the Dragunov rifle with half-closed eyes, in which consciousness was barely kept. Her imposing overall image caught the eye: dark green pants, powerful army boots, easy unloading over a black turtleneck and a brand new black Dragunov rifle. Despite the fact that the whole girl was stained with construction dust and blood, her appearance inspired respect.
