After waiting patiently half an hour for a bus, I give up and call a taxi. Much good it does me. Number not in service. And not just one number, I tried three different cab firms. To hell with them. They say walkings good for your health.
If were talking about physical health, thats probably true. But during that walk home my mental health deteriorated significantly. The city was gripped by some kind of commotion. People where hurrying here and there, almost running. Theres something disturbing about a high-end SUV crammed to the gills with all sorts of household junk, and I saw several cars like that. Before my eyes, cars were hurriedly being loaded up with anything at hand. Thank god nobody was carrying pot plants or washing machines, else one might have thought a war had suddenly started, and everyone was rushing to evacuate the city. A stupid idea, where are you going to run to? Theres nowhere missiles cant reach.
Anyway, heres my house. Its a modern building, but not too tall. Just six floors. They say it was some kind of cutting-edge project. There must be some reason I pay Tarbank all that money every month! The lift was working, so I got to the third floor no problem. I opened my front door, flopped onto the couch, and barked I want a film! My home electronics responded appropriately I am a coder, after all. Something clicked in the system, and the TV came on. So, whats been going on? My home systems smart, high-end. Itll give me the latest news straight away. And it did.
For a while I sat in a stupor, grinning dumbly for some reason. Although there was really absolutely nothing to smile about. My brain stubbornly refused to put two and two together. It just didnt want to soberly process what I had seen.
It turns out that all that time we were sitting in the office performing the inventory, terrible things were happening in the city. For some reason, all the different law enforcement agencies were up in arms, coming down hard on the management of different companies and plants. We, by which I mean our holding, were far from being an exception, by the way. A huge number of the top managers of various firms unexpectedly went on the run thankfully for them the current border is no Iron Curtain. Then hot on their heels everyone else started running, like they were all suffering from some colossal communal hangover.
It was one thing for the bosses. Theres always something to grab them for. Modern business well, you know what its like. Not always easily differentiated from certain crimes. Tax evasion in particular. That theres a real mess. No wonder everyone jokes that its safer to kill someone than not pay your taxes. After all, murder actually has to be proved, while the taxman can just go ahead and freeze your accounts without any evidence whatsoever go and prove youre innocent! So yes, I understand the bosses. Whod want to swap their cosy bed for a bunk in a Pre-trial Detention Center? Thats what they call the county jail these days, isnt it? Or is that somewhere else?
But the rest of them where were they off to? If youre an accountant, fair enough. Youll be first to do time after the managers. But if youre the average engineer or programmer, then what the hell are you running for? The police will mess around for a week or two, make a great show of locking someone up. Whats the problem? Theyre not going to put everyone away, are they?
It seems not everyone shared my optimism. The same news report informed me that it had all ended up in sporadic shootouts. It came as a nasty shock. I had no idea that losing your shit was such an infectious condition. That was when the ordinary folk started running. Gunshots outside your window tend to ruin a good nights sleep. They left in all sorts of ways in their own cars on the highway, on ships out of the port, and there were even some special evacuation buses.
And so it had gone on up to the present day. The authorities, as always, were making announcements to calm the people. But from what was going on outside, it didnt seem like anyone was listening.
Basically, it was all some kind of bad joke. The café had closed down. Or opened up, depending how you looked at it. Remembering the guys, we saw hanging round there, I doubt very much they had anything to do with the staff. Theyd mentioned on the television that that sort had started looting cafés and shops in these troubled times. Sounds about right
Hang about What do I have in the way of food? An inspection of cupboards and the fridge brought little joy. A few instant soups, various grains (about three kilos altogether), a few tins, and couple of bottles of whiskey. That was the lot. I would normally get my meals delivered, and what I kept was only for snacks. A few attempts to order dinner ended up much as expected nobody was taking calls. Somethings very wrong with the network. Grabbing a big bag, I head for the shop.
Well, arent I the clever one? The first shop I came to greeted me with locked doors and heavily shuttered windows. Never mind, theres more than one shop. Ah, hell the second ones also closed. As I approach the third, I hear some kind of noise and shouting. I turn the corner.
Ba-bam! Here we go then! I drop to the ground (as they always tell you to on TV) and take a look around whats going on here?
Nothing good, thats for sure. Out of the smashed shop window, two tough-looking guys in camouflage are dragging somebodys cold dead body. Clearly, its a corpse, just look at the blood dripping on the tarmac. And those guys are definitely law enforcement. Look at the assault rifles, the identical camouflage, and the walkie-talkies. Time to move, Id say.
Stand where you are!
Now, theres an interesting question. If youre trying to crawl away, how best to respond to that kind of order? Just in case, I decide to freeze on the spot and refrain from asking. Who knows if they share my sophisticated sense of humour?
I hear their footsteps approaching. They kick me in the side, but not hard.
Get up and keep your hands where I can see them.
I show them my open palms (and whod have thought, theyre barely shaking), trying to move calmly.
Whats in the bag?
Its empty. I was going shopping. For food.
They tug the bag from my shoulder and turn it inside out.
Show us some ID.
Ive only got my work pass with me.
Lets see it.
I pull the pass in its plastic cover out of my pocket.
So Karasev, Denis Viktorovich?
Thats me.
The photo looks like you. Where do you live?
Larch Alley, 5. Flat 15. On the third floor.
My interrogator turns to his comrades, who have now finished searching the corpse and are slowly moving towards us.
Hey, Commander! This guys a local. Lives near here. He came out to do some shopping, would you believe?
Are you shitting me or what?
They surround me, go through my bag again, and pat down my pockets.
Absolutely empty! Where do these morons come from?
Why, whats happened? I ask carefully.
How did you get to be so naive?
We had a work crisis Didnt leave our desks for nearly a week. We even slept there.
One of the new arrivals, judging by the attitude of the others towards him the commander himself, laughs.
All hells broken loose!
Is it war?
Not yet, it isnt. But that doesnt mean it wont be. Nearly all the civilian populations gone already. Today they closed all the exit routes.
But What should I do? They have to get us out of here!