Creature of unknown kind - стр. 42
Seems that these military trackers were not informed that their superior is going to ride on the “neutral”… But Nabis didn’t want to risk. Guiding will be demanded. And he said vastly:
– There may be contract soldiers. And even professional soldiers. In their free time.
– Korostylyov, did you hear this? – said Blinchuk with a laugh.
– Yes sir, – the Major replied. – Corresponds to our information.
– So, okay, group, listen to my command, – said Blinchuk. – I am ordering in advance to set aside any actions to stop illegal slash poaching visits of the Zone.
His group almost in one voice responded with “yes”, and not Nabis, but Blinchuk himself whacked his fist into the cabin. Kharon loudly pulled the lever, “shishiga” drove into a huge mirror standing here, into the rain sector of the “neutral’s” Dog’s curve.
The accompanied ones at the same time and in identical manner responded together “yes”, no worse than ten seconds ago, and cursed. Rain turned into the wall straight away, behind the clouds the sun from noon jumped off to three o’clock afternoon. Nabis once again held back his desire to take out a cellophane raincoat from his backpack and throw it over himself. “I’d feel bad. Somehow it wouldn’t be a Russian way of behavior.” And to offer to the fisherman-Colonel to cover up together – he also would rather not. Fuck it. Though… Perhaps, he would share it with the Major.
– Where does all this water go? – asked Blinchuk, spitting, in human voice.
– Into the storm drain, – replied Nabis and managed to point with his finger, and Blinchuk managed to notice the storm drain grill, which was greedily swallowing clear flows. The street asphalt was the purest. Even the mud was the purest, washed through hundred waters, sparkling as new. “Shishiga” crossed over the curb, slid on left starboard, getting out to the wasteland, and started passionately, snuggling, buzzing to overcome the mounds and ditches of the wasteland on the site of an old hospital. Clinging by wheels over broken bricks in wet ground, over leftovers of former asphalt roads and pavements. Everyone went quiet, clinging to armrests.
– And where to from the storm drain? – Blinchuk asked, when it stopped throwing them around.
– And this question is for scientists.
– Huh! – Blinchuk said and went silent.
– No question. It evaporates on the dry side, – Ensign Glyzin said suddenly.
The car shook on rails. The group grabbed their wet slick armrests again. Kharon was forcing it through Astrakhan piece of Privolzhskiy railroad, lost for the world. Ahead, a carelessly sketched out by a skillful hand in three moves with a wide brush and a white ink on a wet dark-grey paper, was a gigantic four-story building belonging to town boiler management. Above it two pipes flaunted in rainy mist. At the empty parking in front of the facade of the management Kharon turned around, aimed carefully and neatly passed in between piles of concrete slabs, which were not on purpose but surely blocking the entrance to the courtyard of the management “bypassing the checkpoint”. The accompanied ones even stood up on the carcass watching how many centimeters are left from the board till the plate, armchairs banged by short burst. And straight away they’ve met the first illegal. It was a woman. A simple Russian woman.