1.2

May 20th.

- Hear me? - Luna's ringing voice in my earpiece does a great job of dispelling the drowsiness and boredom from which there is no escape on a long road trip. I smile:

- I can hear you perfectly, which I'm glad of. How's it going in sunny Ilesia?

- Sunny? - she snorts. - That yellow star left us last week. Now it's wet and boring.

- Imagine what it's like to drive through puddles, - I'm just driving the car down the impossibly waterlogged road, afraid to imagine what it looks like. - It feels like I'm on a submarine.

- You'd have a very different view in a submarine, - Luna objected immediately. - With Nemo and Davy Jones and all that.

- All right, a surfaced submarine.

- Floating upside down?

We're laughing together. Luna's yawning, sighing heavily:

- Right now there's a huge pile of reports in front of me, and I'm afraid this mountain is going to fall and crush me. And you ditched me. Traitor.

- What happened to "Swim, my brave captain, and I'll take care of this myself"? - I tease her.

The road is getting worse, and for the tenth time I regret that I decided to take a shortcut, turning off the highway. Trees line up so closely on both sides of the road that branches whip against the windshield; the fog turns any objects ahead into ghostly silhouettes.

- When did I ever say that?

- When I poked my nose into your office to say goodbye... oh, yeah, you were just making nice with Michele, so you might not have noticed me. I apologize.

- I wasn't making nice with anyone! - "angry" Luna. - Why does any conversation automatically turn into something close to flirting for you?

- Because you were actively flirting? - I hypothesize, seriously considering whether to turn back. After all, an extra hour of travel might well be a counterbalance to the dubiously pleasant possibility of getting into trouble on a deserted road in the backcountry.

Luna snorts indignantly, but doesn't have time to say anything.

- I'm always happy to chat with you, Lou, but right now I'm going to have to divert myself. - I stop the car, realizing that the fog is getting thicker and thicker: you can't look more than a few feet away. This is not good. - The weather conditions are not good.

- Is it something serious?

- I don't think so. But I think I'm going to run out of time.

- Bad habit, - she says. - Okay. Okay. Stay in touch, and come back soon.

- Miss me?

- Yeah, you wish. I'll leave you your half of the accounts.

- You're even crueler than your brother.

- I'll be sure to tell him what you think of his methods, - Luna promises with a chuckle. - Behave yourself, and don't talk to strangers.

- It's a deal. I'll be in touch.

Just before the chief sends me away on a business trip, our group gathers to spend the fall evening watching a newly released horror movie. If someone asked me now, I would say with certainty that the place in which I found myself, not inferior to the atmospheric town from the movie: fog, eerie silence, branches underfoot - everything as it should be. All the conditions to feel yourself in the skin of a lonely traveler who got lost in the forest and became the first victim of a maniac or a witch.

One should walk a couple of meters along the road lost in the middle of the forest, as in the best traditions of the genre in the bushes on the right side of the branch crunches, and a second later an inaudible sound is heard. What do the heroes of the movie do in this case? That's right: they meet the danger face to face and with the right gun in their hand.

Reality does not disappoint. I would even say profoundly that it is from this point on that things go downhill, leading to the inevitable.

The next moment, as I turn toward the suspicious bushes, a man falls out of them and falls at my feet. I noticed blood on his face and hands, and immediately leaned toward him, trying to feel for a pulse. Rare and faint, but there is one. Now carefully turn the guest over, try to determine what happened to him, call for help ...

- Luna! Luna, answer me!

Silence, occasionally interrupted by the crackle of static. Damn it! What's wrong with the connection?

- Luna, I need help!

First aid for internal bleeding is not something I'm good at. All attempts to keep the poor guy alive while I try to call an ambulance are limited to wiping up blood, applying hanky tourniquets, and trying in vain to figure out what happened to him. We can bet on a fall from a great height: there's no shortage of fractures. But where did he fall from? And what the hell's wrong with the connection?!

It's too late. Even if I get a response and help, it's over for this poor guy, I know that. And as he lets out one last ragged breath, it's with a heavy heart that I lower him to the ground.

The injuries raise more and more questions. Who could have mutilated a man so brutally, stabbing him repeatedly with a knife or something similar? There's no sign of him, and it's strange that he somehow made it to the road... Wait. Where did he come from?

The map tells me that half a kilometer further down the road is Skartum, a city in a valley (hence the fog) with a large scientific complex. Twenty thousand population, about half are scientists and researchers. But if something were to happen in the city, the government would immediately take control of the situation, right? No one would abandon a place with such a concentration of high technology - or whatever it is in Scarthum - to its fate.

Anyway, I don't seem to have a choice. I can't get in by car, so I'm gonna have to walk. With a gun at the ready, of course.

I wonder what the gentlemen scientists are up to in their Black Mesa.

Flashlight, almost new paper map (yes, navigator is a good thing, but in this situation it is of little use), several spare magazines for his trusty Glock, neatly placed in the pouches, warm jacket - and Officer Favalli is ready to go on a date with the unknown. On the slick mud and branches breaking with a terrible crack, through his teeth cursing the sky crying for the second week and the cold wind blowing in his face with mocking gusts. But in general, quite cheerful and ready for anything.

Although, as Chief Ramirez says, it's impossible to be ready for everything.

The forest ends abruptly. The road leads to a bridge over a wide river that overlooks the entire valley, and the gloomy forebodings nestled somewhere in the solar plexus only gain strength.

Something has definitely happened in Scarthum-something very bad, something that has plunged the city into darkness... but the numerous fires are doing an excellent job of illuminating it. Smoke billows into the sky, fires blazing here and there. And nowhere, as far as I can see from my elevated position, is there any movement. It's as if everything has died out.

The attempt to contact Luna fails again. Same with the local emergency services. I'm not surprised by anything anymore, though. I just check my weapons and start walking down into the city, wondering if I should start by studying the map so I don't wander the streets like an unquiet ghost.

The first cars are found on the bridge - abandoned wherever they are, with their doors open wide. And not a living soul. The feeling of unreality does not want to go away. Though I realize how stupid it is, considering that I can touch the material proof of the catastrophe with my hand.

I wish I knew what happened, and what to expect from this city.

- A lone wolf, huh? - I mutter in a low voice and snicker. - Okay.

As we move deeper into the city, the picture doesn't change: hastily abandoned cars, open houses and stores, flashing streetlights, garbage in free flight-and not a soul, not a sound; even the insects are gone. It's like Silent Hill.

I pick up the newspaper wrapped around my leg, unfold it, and shine the flashlight on it. But the hope of getting some clue in this way is not justified: the usual news, celebrity gossip, economics and politics. Although by the law of suddenly extinct cities there should be an ominous headline in huge letters: "The Living Dead Are Coming!", or something along those lines.

The newspaper flies away; in its place comes a map, which I barely catch in time-a naughty wind nearly takes away my trusty old guidebook. It's not too far to the police station, so I decide to visit my colleagues first, and then I'll see what happens.

The silence begins to grate on my nerves, and all attempts to listen are blown away by the wind. It's annoying beyond belief. The inner voice snidely advises to play AC\DC at full volume: "I'm on a highway to hell! I'm on a highway"... No, better "TNT" - more self-assured coolness. "Back in Black", again...

Still, I guess it doesn't get the dope out of your head completely. I'll have to check it out when I'm old.

I walk the first couple of blocks pretty fast: not many cars, not much trash. But when I round the corner, the picture changes. Now the street is blocked by a real barricade, made of whatever I can get my hands on, but with enough quality to keep someone with claws as long as my arm out of the way. That's judging by the length and depth of the furrow left in the car door.

This circumstance instantly raises the level of perceived threat by several tangible points, making you become more attentive and avoid lingering on lighted areas. I don't want to meet the owner of that manicure...

Yeah. I think I'm a little crazy for believing in the existence of an unknown monster capable of leaving such marks. Have you seen too many movies?

On the other hand, there it is, a tall and sturdy barricade, I can touch it, and it's definitely not a hallucination. There's someone people were defending themselves from, someone they were running from, right?

All we have to do is figure out who and where.

Ha, easy peasy...

Further on I go slower. I had to abandon my original plan to walk straight ahead and look for a way around. It takes longer, and it's probably more dangerous, but I don't want to storm the barricade: I'm not a ninja, and if I ever fall off a pile of metal, I'm sure I'll attract unwanted attention.

Not to say that after a suspicious find I begin to see monsters in every shadow, but I don't put down the Glock for a second, reminding myself of a brave superagent on a top-secret mission. I could use a partner, but I can only dream about that now. The connection is completely dead, and I can bet my apartment that the case is in this strange town.

It seems that in Silent Hill the radio was doing things that were more frightening than any monster, so it's still a question of whether having a connection to headquarters would have helped me, or vice versa.

Newspapers, cellophane bags, plastic wrappers from instant noodles, and half-rotten organic waste rustled under my feet. One gets the impression that people haven't been here for days - and you don't hear or see any animals either. At least a stray cat must have fluttered underfoot, or a crow cawed ominously, no?

I turn the corner, casting a quick glance at the sign of the Chinese restaurant across the street... and catching a brief glimpse of a shadow in the reflection.

There's someone lurking in the café. But who?

That's the answer I'm heading for. Slowly at first, then speeding up for fear of missing the first possible clue. I burst into the cafe, swinging open the door, and immediately notice the shadow behind the pillar and rush to follow, but stop abruptly at the door to the kitchen.

I don't want to burst into the unknown with a cheerful "Here comes dinner!", especially in the dark. Waiting is also risky: what if the clawed barricade lovers decide to drop by the cafe, to feed on a frivolous police officer?

Having chosen a compromise option, I go back to the exit and stand where I can see both the street and the cafe's small hall. I don't want to miss a lead, nor do I want to let an unknown enemy get close.

I listen to my own sensations, and hum softly, realizing that to some extent what's going on meets my childhood needs: to become a superhero, who got into the mess and scattered all the enemies alone. Oh, those childish desires... and the unwillingness to grow up.

Patience pays off after a few minutes. The door to the kitchen opens slowly and silently, and a man sneaks out into the hall. At least he stands upright, breathes frequently, and looks around apprehensively - until he notices the gun pointed at him. Then he tries to run back into the kitchen, but I catch up with him, though I still avoid close contact:

- Freeze! - I knock him off his feet and put the muzzle of the gun between the shoulder blades of a man shaking like a leaf. - Who the hell are you?

- Don't shoot! - he begs, kneeling and raising his hands. - Please...I'm human, I'm not infected.

- Infected? - I take a step back, letting him stand. - What are you talking about?

He rises to his feet, turning to me. A frightened, swarthy man, in blue overalls and a cap, about thirty years old. Fear in his gaze is mixed with hope for rescue, wariness with a desire to believe.

- You're not from around here, - he concludes confidently. - But... how did you get here?

- Why, have they tightened the border patrols here? - I lower my gun, but I don't relax. The man makes a strange sound - as if he wants to laugh, but in time remembers that there is little fun.

- We've been trying to call everyone we can think of, but it's no use. There's no connection. And those who decided to get out of the city... we found them dead in the streets. Then we stopped trying.

- I didn't see a single dead body.

- Because those things leave nothing behind, - he whispers with a mixture of disgust, hatred, and fear, glancing at the window. - Look, let's get out of here, huh? They always come back, and it's better to be behind a solid door when they do.

- Who's coming back? - I'm in no hurry to accept the invitation to go into the kitchen. I don't know if they're running a cannibal club and I've ended up at headquarters. Yeah, it's a little paranoid, but it's better to be safe.

The man doesn't hide his fear anymore, not taking his eyes off the windows. I have to admit, I'm a little uneasy, too, so I'm trying to get into a position where I have room to maneuver.

- What's your name?

- Jim Keats at your service, - the man paces toward the kitchen, looking at me a little unhappy and tired, the way parents look at a rambunctious child. - How did you get here?

- Fog, - I said laconically. - Adrian Favalli, Ilesia police.

- Police? - He looks a little more awake. - Well, maybe.

- Why don't you tell me what's going on here? - I interrupt. Jim shrinks back, as if trying to blend into the wall, and nods:

- I don't know much - after all, I'm only a mechanic, and I don't get involved in all this scientific stuff, but I'll try to explain it as I understand it.

- Scientists? - I mutter. Jim shrugs:

- I think so, - he says authoritatively. - Who else could have done such a thing?

- What's the matter?

Jim is silent, and then he speaks in a whisper that shakes with either fear or indignation:

- They were building a portal to a parallel world. Well, they did... you can see where it led.

A base on Mars, cacodemons and... Adrian, I think you're getting carried away again. Come back to reality.

But I was brought back to reality by a scraping sound under the window, which made Jim jump half a meter and scurry into the kitchen, leaving me alone.

Well, there's your field, Soldier of Doom. BFG-9000 in your teeth, and onward with a cosmic march of victory.