Creature of unknown kind - стр. 43

Woman was returning from the a farther mission. To Nabis it was clear as a classic vodka. Nabis knew this woman. In the “Bezhensk” camp everyone knew everyone, but in the Zone everyone knew everyone for certain. The woman’s name was aunt Alise, her nickname was Fisherwoman, and her surname was Rybakova. On earth she was a Senior Cashier in a village council, her daughters and husband died in the Lightning, and only a young son-in-law survived, who had cancer from before the Trouble times. Americans told her, that there is a hope to cure him in Germany free of charge. There they say, such patients survive, and live long lives. So aunt Alise was collecting and treasuring cash for an abribe. But not for German doctors, it was for those who could allow to her son-in-law away from the quarantine. Yesterday its cost was fifteen thousand dollars from poachers above the river Stoypka. For two large “rainbows”, which aunt Alise was carrying now on the beam in two bags Petrovich pays one hundred fifty each, and at the external border of the Pre-Zone, at Tsarevsky checkpoint, for example, – it could be paid up until two hundred on a good day. Profit! Aunt Alise was wearing a hazmat suit, her head was tied in a pirate way with a nylon kerchief, rented AK47 was heavily bending aunt Alise down towards the earth surface, hanging on her chest in a wrong way. Noticing the car, she calmly and indifferently gave the way, waited till the mechanism passes, and moved again, continuing her journey, which began no less than yesterday morning. She will return to the camp by the evening, will pass the machine gun to a skinner (most probably to the extra-term Sergeant-Major Palkin), will take back the deposit from him, which he always wants to keep, will reach the tent, feed her son-in-law, clean up after him, and then, without undressing, will fall on the bed, into the dream that is stronger than death. And the day after tomorrow, she will walk for thirty kilometers to sell the loots… Everyone on the carcass, turning their heads, watched her go. Kharon slid to the warehouses, aunt Alise disappeared from view behind the corner of the town hall, and then suddenly major Korostylyov sat straight and began cursing through his teeth, hissing and spitting, and no one stopped him, until Kharon parked near the warehouse hangar overpass and switched off the engine. And even then, no one stopped Korostylyov, he calmed down himself.

– Arrived! – Andreich Kharon prononsed from the cabin his first word for today.

Blinchuk was staring at Nabis unkindly.

– Arrived, – Nabis confirmed. – It’s here, in the hangar.

– What’s there?

– Some sort of hotel with a bar. It's called “Two pipes”.

– Poachers?

Nabis signed.

– “Smugglers”.

– Why so? – Blinchuk asked.

– In America it's “smugglers”, comrade Colonel, – Korostylyov said. – mean contrabandists. Slang.

– Fuck this, – Blinchuk said. – Trackers, smugglers.. Troublers, damn them all!.. Good, and who are the “magacitls”?

– These are for example, you and me, comrade Colonel, – Korostylyov said.

Blinchuk cursed.

– Say, Nabis, do our American friends after all are also illegally treasuring in their free times? – Korostylyov asked. – Why not to say now? We are already here. We ourselves can notice it unexpectedly.