jerks the barrel insistently, as if to say, “Don’t fuck about.” They tear off my bag and turn it inside out. The bottle of water falls to the ground and is kicked suspiciously by the one who’s searching me.
“Is that it? Show us your pockets!”
But there’s nothing of value there either – this pair aren’t interested in a few spanners.
“Are you taking the fucking piss? Show us your cash!”
“But, I don’t have any.”
Crack! The butt of the rifle slams under my ribs with full force.
Ah… That hurts!
“What the hell? What have I done?”
“Where do you live, arsehole?”
“Larch Alley, 5. Flat 15”
The two men exchange glances.
“Where’s that?”
“Miles away. What’s a shithead like this going to have, anyway? You, get up!”
They kick me forcefully and make me pick my bag up off the tarmac, then direct me with a poke between the shoulders.
We haven’t gone far before my nostrils catch the smell of smoke. We turn a corner, and in front of us appears a long fence topped with barbed wire. We walk along the fence, turn again, and come to some gates. They’re closed. There’s a fire burning next to them, round which sit several men. They’re all armed, mostly with hunting rifles.
“Greetings, Mityay! Who have you got there?”
“Just some freak. Put him with all the others.”
There’s a mid-size building of corrugated iron to the left of the gates. After removing my bag and taking the padlock off the shack door, they shove me inside. I take a few steps and drop weakly to the floor. Christ, what in the hell’s going on?
“Were you captured, too?”
I turn towards the voice. A middle-aged man in glasses with a cracked lens is sitting on the floor. A respectable citizen, by the look of him.
“Yes. They took everything and hit me with a rifle. What’s going on here?”
“This, my friend, is the former depot of the Tarkov Municipal Housing Authority. And those men, if you can call them that, sitting outside are simple bandits. Or, at least, that’s what they’re becoming.”
“But they’ve got guns.”
“Not all of them, at least for now, but they’re getting armed quickly. They rob apartments, and take anything of value. That’s where they find rifles.”
“What do they need me for?”
From my new acquaintance’s explanation, I understand the following. He and his unwilling roommates have been there for three days already. When the troubles started, Pavel (that’s his name) was expecting an organized evacuation, as he was convinced that it was the duty of the powers that be to do everything they could to ensure the safety of the city’s residents. An error, as all the bureaucrats had fled at the first opportunity, leaving the city to the mercy of fate. After that, he was not sure what had happened as, on his way to buy bread, he had been captured by Mityay’s henchmen and incarcerated in this shed. Since then, twice a day, the prisoners were sent off to clear out buildings – those in the neighbourhood for now. Pavel had suffered a misfortune that morning. The beam they used to break down doors had fallen on his foot. He had returned to the shed with great difficulty, and was now incapacitated.
“So, what happens next? Do they feed us, at least?”
“Yesterday they gave us a little tinned fish. There’s water over there.” He indicated the direction with his head. “There’s a tap in the toilet. I imagine they’ve captured you to replace me. I’m of no further use to them if I can’t walk! I hope that they’ll release me…”
Well, it’s alright for some! He’ll get to go free, but what about me? Will I have to slave away for some… Pavel, seeing my frustration, shook his head. In his view, our situation wasn’t so bad, after all. Sooner or later, the bandits would have looted all the flats they needed, and then what would be the use of their captives, who had to be fed after all?
“You too will be released soon enough, I have no doubt. After a week or so… And the authorities will have to come back here sooner or later. They can’t just abandon the city. Then those men outside will have to justify their actions, and having prisoners will only cause them greater difficulties.”
Can’t say I share his optimism, but there is at least a grain of logic in what he says. Anyway, what was he saying about water?
Having taken a good drink and splashed my face, I took a look around the improvised barracks. I found nothing of any use in the room we were in, and the doors to other rooms were not just locked but boarded over. After wandering around my jail for a while, I drop down onto a mattress left next to the wall. Time for a snooze, perhaps?
I was kicked awake. What the fuck? When did this become the in thing?
“What do you want?”
“What the hell are you doing in my place?”
A skinny, long-haired guy is giving me the evil eye.
“What’s so special about this mattress? There’s plenty more around.”
“Yeah, but this one’s mine.”
All the other inhabitants of the barracks are looking on with interest, it turns out. Granted, there’s not much else for entertainment. I’d take a swing at the guy, but I doubt that beam fell on Pavel’s foot by accident. He said, or at least hinted, as much. So, for now no fighting.
“This lump of crap’s all yours.”
I stand up and turn to go. The long-haired guy aims a swinging kick at me. He aims at me, but I manage to twist out of the way, so his foot goes full force into the wall of the shed. The iron gives a booming echo, and almost immediately a commanding voice is raised outside the door.
“Hey, what the fuck’s going on in there? Keep it down or I’ll be in to sort you out properly!”
It would appear the owner of the voice is a man of his word. Even the long-haired shit-stirrer pipes down instantly, muttering under his breath as he crawls away.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” says Pavel reproachfully. “We shouldn’t fight amongst ourselves.”
“But I didn’t touch him. That was all his own work.”
“That’s Grisha, our foreman. You should try to get along with him.”
“Naturally. Otherwise I get a beam on my foot?”
This offended Pavel, and he turned his back on me. But it looked very much like I was right.
It was remarkable that I got any sleep at all, and what I did get was fairly shaky. I woke up with a start a couple of times, and I’m pretty sure that at least once it was with good reason – somebody drew away from me in the darkness, without making a sound. Half asleep,
