– Yes Yes! Come in! – a voice came from the other side of the door, and you, having easily opened it, entered the room. It was a rather spacious office with a very high ceiling and walls that were once pasted over with mosaic tiles, but now painted brown right on top of it. From the furniture in the office there was a wardrobe, a folding bed, several chairs and two desks littered with papers. Behind one of them sat a man who looked about forty-five years old. He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt that was obviously not the freshest, and black pants with large pockets on the sides. A bald head shone, but the lack of hair on the top of his head was more than compensated for by a thick beard framing his face. He looked up, gave me a quick look, then gestured to a chair on the other side of the table and continued to quickly write something down on paper.

“Well…” he said, putting his pen aside and clapping his dry palms, he began rubbing them against each other, studying me with his eyes. Then, as if recollecting himself, he rose and held out his hand to me in greeting.

“Konstantin Pavlovich Trofimov, retired major, I’m in charge here,” he introduced himself in a loud commanding voice. – You can, like everyone else, call Trofimych.

“Artyom,” I answered shortly, answering the greeting, slightly rising from my chair

– No one has come from the city for a long time, – Trofimych got up and went to the closet, which stood against the opposite wall. – Yes, and rescue teams are less and less likely to find someone. There in the center, they say, it is already so zazombjacheno that the car can get stuck. Where are you from? He took two mugs and a box of green tea from the cupboard.

– I'm not from the city. I came from the outskirts. Looking for gas and food.

– Pasha said you were heading to Novosibirsk. To family?

– My sister is there.

“Well, if she’s in Red, then she’s all right,” he stood by the cupboard, leaning on his elbows, waiting for the kettle to boil, but so far it only hissed noisily.

– "Red"? I asked.

“Red is a hideout like ours. There, as with us, their own resistance to the disaster was organized. The people and the army are united, as they say. Conscious people occupy and hold strategically important objects in cities, establish some kind of infrastructure and communications. Rescue expeditions are organized. We have something here, okay, a small town, and there are probably two dozen such shelters. Women and children live in the Red.

– And how much is it?

“There are three of us and this mine with bandits, damn it …” he suddenly got angry. “Zastava,” they call this place. Heard, probably, already … – the kettle behind him began to boil. “Tell me, Artyom, what is your profession?”

– Well, he worked as a signalman. They built a cell tower here.

– Served? Can you shoot? He put two mugs of tea on the table and pushed one of them towards me.

– Sergeant. BMP combat vehicle commander. I know how to shoot, discharger, practiced until now.

– Well, I see that you are a strong man. We really don’t have enough of them now,” he pointed to the tea in front of me with a nod of his head. – You drink tea, it is with sugar.

"Thank you," I said, but I didn't touch the tea. – Trofimych, I need food, gasoline and weapons. After Novosibirsk, I plan to go south with my family. You understand, the path is not close.

– That is, you can not persuade to stay with us?

“No,” I shook my head.

– We have food here, you won’t find gasoline in the city, everything was looted a long time ago, they even poured it from cars. We have some reserves, of course, but mostly we trade gasoline with the miners for food. I just can’t give it like that, I myself must understand, we have our own mouths here for two thousand pieces. Don't want to earn?