The sun was in full swing, and the streets of the city center were clearly visible. Garbage not removed for months, which was taken away by stray dogs, cats and crows, filled the roads and sidewalks. Colliding wrecked cars were abandoned at almost every intersection.

People in a panic left these places, leaving the city infected, which at that time were not so many, and I even met other survivors. True, everyone who could now be met looked too belligerent, so it was not always desirable to make contact. Most often they exchanged greeting gestures and dispersed.

Sheets were hung from the windows, with calls for help written on them or radio frequencies to communicate with rescuers. Blood stains on the walls and sidewalks and the unbearable smell of burnt plastic created a depressing atmosphere. You usually experience something similar when you are in a cemetery.

It was easy to move around without being noticed during the daytime. True, I understood that luck cannot be eternal. Sooner or later you can run into trouble.

Soon I reached the central intersection of roads, from here it was possible to get into the industrial zone, where the survivors' shelters were located. In a neighborhood abandoned by people, next to which there was an old garment factory. The road led from here to the exit from the city, where I organized a shelter for my car. On the left, the road went down to the private sector, there was little of interest to me there. Among other things, it was possible to look around here, because in the houses abandoned by people leaving in a panic, for sure, one could get hold of something useful.

Under the scorching afternoon sun, along a broken dirt road, I reached a fork in the industrial zone. There were no infected here at all, and it was possible to move around safely. Finally getting out onto the asphalt and shaking off the dirt that had stuck to his shoes, he looked around. In front of the house stood a stand made of boards with signs. The inscription on it, executed with obvious errors, said that if I went to the left, I would come to the Oplot shelter. If I go to the right, it will lead me to the Zastava hideout. Walking to the territory of the warehouses, which were located directly, was highly discouraged. There, according to the words on the stand, there was a corral for the lost infected, who were herded there during the cleansing of the territory. Among other things, it was said that gasoline can be purchased in Zastava. And in the Oplot to rest and eat, however, the Oplot was closed for the night,

Behind the booth one could see warehouses fenced off by a high strong fence. There, a real army of the infected walked around the territory. To think of approaching them, you need to be absolutely reckless, because this is, consider, certain death. To the left was a high fence, behind which the Oplot was located. On the right hand in the distance one could see a wall sheathed with rusty tin and a large blind gate, near which stood two men with weapons. It was a survivor's camp called Zastava.

The first thing that caught my eye on the way to the gates of the Oplot was several dozen corpses scattered along the roadsides. Traces of blood on the pavement and white-painted curbs indicated that the corpses were dragged there from the road, freeing the roadway. Some traces of blood were fresh, and in their clots one could see hair, pieces of bones and brains. In order not to smell, I covered my face with my sleeve and tried not to look at my feet.