Afterglow. The Justification of Chaos - стр. 7
Sam continued to yawn, lazily holding his dark bag under his arm, completely indifferent to his surroundings; he was so tired that he either didn’t notice my fleeting pause or chose not to comment on it. But I was sure that if I offered him to sleep right there, on the cold hospital floor, Dort would agree without hesitation.
“All right,” I waved my hand at Sam, “Go take some footage. I need to hurry to the meeting – we’re already way behind schedule; we’ll have to push hard to make up for the day’s delay. I’m afraid it might come back to haunt us; it was too difficult to arrange this conversation…”
“Did you really find an informant here?” Sam squinted, and I theatrically rolled my eyes and spun around to move forward. “What’s there to film?” Came his voice from behind.
“As if you don’t know,” I smirked in response.
Dort either exhaled loudly or let out a groan of pure disappointment.
Neither Sam nor Andrew knew for certain who our unnamed assistant and influential patron was – certainly not the person whose name had signed off the passes for the customs officers – who had helped arrange the meeting with the doctor. Both of them understood perfectly that sometimes it was better not to ask unnecessary questions. The less you know, the less the Reapers could find out if it came to that.
“We’re going because it aligns with our worldview and our position,” Andrew said before we left, “The rest doesn’t matter. You know what you’re doing, and it’s not our place to doubt you.”
I asked the administrator where the chief physician’s office was – most of the corridors and passages were blocked, emergency crews were leading people out of the hospital, and security forces had cordoned off two wings – and when she heard my last name, the young woman at the counter said they were expecting me. She pointed me in the right direction and suggested I hurry, glancing nervously at the uniformed officers. I didn’t hesitate; I wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible and made my way to the chief physician’s office. Fortunately, his office had been temporarily moved to the first floor of this wing – was it some kind of divine blessing?
The medical staff was in a nervous, restless state. The faces of many showed the aimlessness of running back and forth down the corridor, as if trying to shake off their anxiety, to distract themselves, but instead they only pushed themselves deeper into the traps set by the tension gripping the hospital. The strain hung in the air like a dense shroud, pressing down on my chest. For a brief moment, a chill ran down my spine, and fear tensed my nerves, making them vulnerable to a cruel game. I felt my fingers grow cold, noticed myself glancing around and listening more intently – was that gunfire echoing somewhere in the distance? Were the screams real, or was it the acoustics of the space and the pounding of my heart playing tricks on my perception? But the overall confusion only urged me to keep moving forward.
The steadfast conviction that the rumors were not just tales and that the infection from the North had truly reached here, to °22-1-20-21-14, strengthened in my mind.
The gathering of security forces behind the hospital, the military vehicles in the city, the blocked roads and neighborhoods – there could be no doubt left.