– You're a signalman, aren't you?
– I go to the shooting club … I went. There we were taught how to help with bullets and knives.
– So I'm lucky?
I did not have time to answer. Two armed and well-equipped fighters in black balaclavas quietly entered the room. Two AKM muzzles stared at my face. I looked towards the SVD standing against the wall, but one of the guys shook his head, making it clear what not to do.
Anyone who has ever been directed with a military weapon knows this nasty feeling of fear, covering from head to toe, trying to relax the muscles in the lower abdomen …
– Calm down, guys! – I raised my hands up and heroically covered Irina with myself, but she pushed me aside.
– Guys, put it down … he helped me, – she began to get to her feet and one of the guys, putting the weapon behind her back, picked her up. – I need to see a doctor … stitches.
– What about this? – The second fighter pointed at me with his head.
Irina stopped the fighter, who was already carrying her to the exit.
– Thank you, Artyom… go to the industrial zone, go to Oplot, you will see the sign. It’s better not to go to the Zastava – they don’t like strangers. Orientation in general.
After these words, the big man carried the girl out of the room, and the second fighter, picking up the SVD and Irina's backpack, approached me and extended a hefty paw in a fingerless leather glove.
– Thanks bro! His voice was no less impressive than his appearance. I responded to his handshake, after which he, winking at me, quickly followed his comrades.
I was left standing alone in the middle of the room, a little discouraged by the swiftness of what was happening. My attention was again attracted by the corpse of a bum. Overcoming disgust, I decided to search it and not in vain: in one of the pockets there were several cartridges, and in my clamped hand I found a token on a torn chain. The name on the token indicated that it belonged to Irina Nikolaevna Borkova. Judging by the date on the token, Irina was twenty-nine years old, and she had the first blood type. Most likely, in a fight with a girl, a bum tore the token from her neck, and it remained in his hand. Maybe you should return it to its owner? Let's see… Putting the finds in my pocket, I carefully brushed off the white dust and left the building.