Afterglow. The Justification of Chaos - стр. 16
Without thinking, I picked up a couple of pens and pencils.
Sam was probably right. We had come here for a sensational story, striking visuals, and information – and we got plenty of them. The trip wasn’t in vain, and that alone was worth so much. If I were religious, I might have offered heartfelt thanks to the Heavens.
I hadn’t heard Sam approach, so when his voice suddenly sounded by my ear – "Steph, I’m here" – I nearly dropped the books.
“You scared me,” I exhaled tightly, shaking my head. “Just give me a minute, and we’ll go.”
“You can't be left alone in a bookstore,” the guy winked.
And why would he have a reason to be down? Sam was holding a bag of food; we had the material we came for, plenty of work ahead, and no chance of getting back into the hospital today. Givori wasn’t likely to agree to an evening coffee chat, either. This day was shaping up to be a well-deserved break after a grueling trip and a morning filled with unpleasant moments.
Besides, nothing was stopping us from talking to the locals in °22-1-20-21-14. Who knows, we might even manage to speak with some military personnel – maybe luck would favor us there, too.
For a moment, I froze, replaying the journey here in my mind. The documents we’d prepared were impeccable; we’d passed all the customs checkpoints with ease. But…
How had my file disappeared from the investigation database? Why hadn’t the Reaper found me in their system? Where had my name gone? The memory of that night at the checkpoint resurfaced, chilling me to the bone.
“Steph?”
“Ah? Yeah… You’re right,“ I replied with a forced smile. Slowly, we began walking toward the checkout, glancing around.
Upstairs, the noise was growing louder: the sirens, which my ears had gradually gotten used to, blared more frequently; I thought I could hear echoes of gunfire reverberating through the streets – or perhaps it was just the confusion caused by the sound of cash registers and arcade games on the upper floor.
The small queue at the checkout barely moved; the cashier, half-asleep, scanned purchases without any sense of urgency. We waited with melancholic patience; Sam even had time to dash off to the philosophy section. Meanwhile, outside the bookstore, a commotion began. Voices grew louder.
I felt my insides tighten and freeze, my senses sharpening as if on high alert.
The customer in front of us left the store, studying their purchase intently. Sam paid first and stepped aside, flipping through a book, while I kept glancing out the glass panels. The confusion outside was thickening. People were hastily leaving the grocery store and heading toward the stairs.
There were no siren sounds. There was no smoke. Visually, nothing seemed to have changed – yet panic had clearly gripped the crowd.
“Miss, your purchases!” The cashier's insistent voice snapped me back. I nodded distractedly, quickly stuffing the books into my bag. I exchanged a worried glance with Sam, but he merely shrugged.
“Let’s get out of here and head back to the trailer,” I said firmly, grabbing Dort by the arm just above the elbow and practically dragging him toward the doors.
A second. Two. Just as Sam and I were nearly out of the bookstore, a piercing scream shattered the air – a scream filled with icy terror and desperate pain. For a moment, déjà vu yanked me back to the hospital, flooding my senses with the stench of antiseptics and spoiled blood.