Chapter - 19

Roman jumped up from his chair and listened. There could be no mistake, he heard the sounds of shots from the street. On the playground, in front of the entrance to the rehabilitation center, shots were fired. Outside the window, the noise of the crowd was immediately heard, in which one could distinguish the screams of children and the screams of women.

The man rushed to the window to figure out what was going on, pulled down the curtain and almost immediately jumped aside, landing on the floor. The so-called Molotov cocktail, a molotov cocktail, exploded against the wall, literally a meter from the window opening. The bare brick broke out and only by a miracle the flame did not spread inside the building.

Roman, scared to death, sat on the floor for a while, looked around and did not understand what to do next.

The only thing that came to the man's mind was to get to his feet and run, run headlong, until there was an opportunity not to catch a bullet and fry on the fire of an incendiary mixture.

Roman jumped to his feet. The voices of the center's staff could be heard from behind the door. People were seriously scared and didn't seem to understand what was going on. So the shots fired in the street, the arson, not their handiwork?

It turns out that it is.

Roman gathered his thoughts and rushed to the door. It was necessary to find Vasily Viktorovich or the person who could explain what was happening and protect him. Roma himself did not have any weapons and proper self-defense skills.

The man opened the door and was about to jump out into the corridor, when he froze in surprise and backed away. Right by the door lay the bloody corpse of one of the soldiers responsible for the protection of the rehabilitation center.

A man in uniform had his throat cut. Someone stole a fighter's machine gun. Roman carefully stepped over the corpse, afraid to step into a puddle of blood. Was there sabotage in the center?

Or was it a carefully prepared and thought-out diversion?

Someone from the outside could not get into the center, bypassing security… Before he could finish his thought, Roma saw another corpse. This time it was a man in a white coat.

The picture was repeated – a skillfully cut throat and a pool of blood, in which a man died a quick death. There was no time to guess. Shots and screams were heard from the street. A window shattered behind the man's back. The second time the thrower was more accurate. A molotov cocktail broke on one of the office desks, engulfing it in flames. The fire spread to the curtains, the carpet burst into flames.

- Roma, calm down ... - he tried to do autosuggestion, took a deep breath ten times. In vain. My heart was still pounding in my chest.

Not knowing what to do next, Roman moved down the corridor, cringing at each new shot that came from the street. He came across a fire shield and, looking around, broke the glass. The glass shattered into pieces. In the hands of the man was a massive red axe. Roman tried to pick it up, but unexpectedly for himself, he cursed with gusto. The axe was too heavy. With such a weapon, he was only exposed to the blow, rather than finding protection. The man examined the fire shield. There was nothing else to take… The thought flashed through his mind to take a fire extinguisher, return to the room where the fire broke out and try to eliminate the hearth, but he immediately threw it aside. The people who were shooting outside could be inside at any moment. And the man who dealt with two employees of the center, inspired fears. Nevertheless, Roman, for his own comfort, broke off a leg from a nearby chair and grabbed it tighter in his hand.

After all, he was, but with a chair leg he felt much more confident in the face of danger than with bare hands.

The shirt was soaked and stuck unpleasantly to the body. Roman's face was covered with perspiration and he kept brushing away the trickles of sweat that tried to get into his eyes from his forehead. The corridor turned sharply to the right. Roma froze at the U-turn and, breathing fast, looked out from around the corner. No one.

"I told you, I told you that you were playing the wrong games," he slapped his forehead as hard as he could.

There's just a little bit left. Get to the stairs, go down to the first floor and he will be on the street. Roman, who had shelved his plan of action in his head, hesitated. What about the fact that there is shooting from the street? Hope that he will be bypassed by those people who staged a massacre in the center? Or maybe sit here? Hide from prying eyes and wait for the situation to stabilize? It won't work. Roman could smell the distinct smell of burning. The second floor of the building was on fire. Soon the flames could cover the entire center.

It wasn't.

Roman threw up the leg of his chair and moved towards the stairwell at the end of the corridor. After all, he will be able to explain to these people that he did nothing, that he is not guilty of anything and has nothing to do with this center at all. Presumptuous, but I had to rely on luck. Stealthily, as if in his socks, Roman went to the stairs and looked down. He had no time to take a look at the first-floor square that opened up to his gaze, when he jumped aside as if scalded. There were two men in military uniforms standing below, who were armed and talking to each other about something. Roman pressed himself against the wall, wrapped both hands around the leg of the chair and closed his eyes.

Who were these people? Were they on his side? Or they were ready to put a bullet without hesitation. From these thoughts, the man became ill. He frantically tried to remember if there was another exit in the building and if it was possible to leave the room from the emergency entrance. In vain. He had been in the center for only the second day and knew absolutely nothing. Anyway, going down the stairs to the first floor in a place where two armed men were standing looked like complete madness.

Roman probably would have remained standing in indecision if he hadn't heard the click of the shutter being pulled from behind.

- Drop this stick, raise your hands and slowly turn to face me, - a voice was heard.