Chapter Three: Novokuznetskaya
A cacophony of howling surrounded them; every man huddled into a circle, facing outwards, weapons at the ready. They stepped slowly, inching their way towards the station and to safety. One Watchman crawled closer, not ready to attack yet but hungrily sniffing at the air and snarling as if it was taunting them, testing them. Grigori's hands were shaking and Artyom watched his finger slip down onto the trigger. Artyom tried to grab his hand but it was too late, Grigori pulled the trigger back and the curious Watchman rolled backwards into a ditch. Now they were in for trouble, and it seemed as if every last remaining beast rushed forward at that moment and their firing circle did not hold up for long.
Artyom felt the force of a large body jumping on top of him, and he was shocked to find himself looking up at the endless grey sky. He reached for the knife in his boot, drawing it out and stabbing at the being's underbelly in one swift motion. It shrieked loudly, his visor was splattered with its off-color blood. The weight was lifted and he rolled onto his side, searching on the slippery ground for his rifle. He could see a few pairs of boots nearby, scrambling to defend their own positions.
His automatic lay just a few feet to his right and he crawled on his side towards it but trying to get traction on the ice with his feet proved useless. He arched his back up and pulled himself to his knees, lunging forward and taking his rifle up like a child in his arms. He quickly checked the switch and his magazine, everything was in order and he still had about half his rounds left. Searching for a target was not hard, but they were all moving too fast, the battlefield was covered in blood and grey fur, and peppered with the four remaining Rangers. Artyom hoped Ulman was one of them, and hoped the one that was missing was not Grigori.
A new brand of howl tore across the open sky, signaling a flying demon entering into the action. Artyom gritted his teeth and cursed quietly, hoping that crouching next to the bushes would camouflage him. He could hear two of the men yelling short commands at each other, and then heard the Ranger with the shotgun fire three times. He swiped his jacket sleeve across his mask to clear his vision, but could not see from his location what was going on now. More shots were heard nearby, two more shotgun blasts, and another burst of automatic fire. He could hear one man yelling, almost as if he were trying to scare the beasts off with a war cry. Next, he could clearly hear a new command.
"If you're still alive… run!" He wasn't sure who had called out; the tone of the voice was lost in its volume.
Further explanation was not needed as the heavy Ranger came barreling towards him, his main weapon was either lost or he had ditched it when he ran out of ammunition. He grabbed Artyom by the collar of his jacket and dragged him from the frozen field and down into a rocky ravine to the left of the path. Forcing his own feet to catch up with the other man's speed, he was quickly released and continued to follow after the Ranger, only looking back once and then worrying that none of the other men seemed to be following them. He would ask questions only after they had stopped, for now he just wanted to believe that they would catch up, or had found another way through the vicious hoard.
Hearing distant howling, he guessed that they had lost the trail of the mutants, and yet they kept running. This man seemed to know quite well where they were headed, because there seemed to be several different paths through the old streets and he turned down each one precisely. Even when one path was blocked by a crumbled building or pile of rusted car bodies, he knew just how to get around to the other side without climbing over. After a few more turns the man slowed his pace down to a brisk walk, coughing every few steps. It was only after Artyom stepped up beside the man that he noticed the large crack in the visor of his gas mask.
"Look kid, I might not make it back, so I have to," more coughing, "I have to tell you where to go from here."
Artyom shook his head nervously, trying to find words to reassure the man that he would be okay. He had filters to spare, but not another mask. His mind raced, wondering where the other Rangers were and what had happened to them where he couldn't see.
"Wh-what about the others?" He squeaked, motioning in the direction they had come from.
"They were… pinned down across from me, but they were very close to the gate." The man stopped walking and doubled over in a fit of coughing. "Don't go back there, there's another way. Listen. Keep heading down this road for three blocks, then turn left. There will be the entrance to Novokuznetskaya there."
"That's not too far, we can make it together!" Artyom pleaded, recognizing the man's difficulty and feeling the actuality that he would not be accompanying him back to the Metro.
"It's a free station, but make yourself known so they know you're not a mutant." The Ranger held an arm out, looking for stability as he sat down.
It was then that Artyom was sure that he would be going alone; tears began to well in his eyes, although he didn't know the man at all. He thought he should offer him something, some kind of comfort or parting words, a thank you even for dragging him out of the fight.
"Radio back to Polis when you arrive." The man was now wheezing between breaths. "Take this."
For a moment Artyom was expecting a mysterious cartridge message capsule, but instead the man gave him his pistol, a worn Tokarev with a reflexive sight.
"What is your name?" Artyom couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Senya, well, Semyon Antonovich. I don't have any family anymore, so don't you pity me." Senya closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was falling asleep, then growled intensely. "Now go!"
Artyom nodded, stepping back reluctantly. Senya waved his hand at him, urging him to leave and save himself. He turned his back and took a few steps, but then looked over his shoulder again.
"Novo-", he sputtered, "kuznet-skaya!" Senya's body relaxed.
Artyom ran, avoiding the cracks in the pavement beneath his boots; watching carefully that his path was clear by the eerie light of the moon. There were no clouds now, and the night was black and lifeless. Three blocks, three side-streets away he turned left as he was instructed and another block down was a sign for the Metro. Its crooked red M almost infuriated Artyom, although it was his home. He had come to resent it after all he had experienced there, but the surface was becoming an equal pain in his side. It seemed there was no end to death and violence no matter where he went.
Frustrated and poignant tears streamed down his face now as he ran down the steps of the escalator and pounded on the heavy iron door that separated him from the bowels of the city. A red light came on, flashing, and he heard the motor start up. The heavy barricade moved aside and he nearly fell over as he stumbled inside, holding his head in his hands, trying to get a hold of himself before he had to explain the situation.
"Woah there friend, what's going on out there? Must have been some shit!" Spoke a smooth masculine voice. Artyom could only guess it was a guard on duty, although the man wore plain and baggy clothes. Two other men stood nearby, machine guns at the ready, but they weren't pointing at Artyom.
"We were attacked. Watchmen. Oktyabrskaya." Artyom choked.
"Oktyabrskaya, you ran all the way here from there?" One of the other men spoke, relaxing his grip on his weapon and instructing the other man to go and close the door.
"I-I need to send a message. Radio." Artyom stammered, out of breath, trying to regain balance over his emotions and his lungs.
"Sure, sure, man. Just calm down and we'll get what you need." The strange new face patted him on the shoulder, nudging him to have a seat in a small booth by the door that had slammed shut again.
A good twenty minutes passed as Artyom regained his composure and explained, in short, what had happened to their squad on the surface. His new friend, calling himself Valya, listened intently as if he'd never had such an adventure before, even though the story ended in tragedy.
"So I need to send them a message, tell them I am okay and what happened; that I will make it back to them soon." Artyom took a deep breath in after expelling that long sentence from his lungs.
"Yeah, sure." Valya clapped a hand to Artyom's shoulder. "I'll let Sasha know and he'll pass it on okay? But you should get some rest, yeah? You're welcome to stay here of course." He stood up and offered Artyom a hand.
He was lead to a small guest room that was set up in one of the service passageways underneath the main platform. Inside the room there was nothing but a sagging cot and an oil lamp. It looked plenty cozy to Artyom, who fell into it immediately, letting his rucksack fall onto the floor beside him. Valya reassured him that all would be taken care of and to get some rest, and that he'd be welcome to share a meal with him when he awoke. With no strength left to refuse or to question, Artyom was asleep in minutes without another care in the world about what would happen next.
What seemed to him like two days later, Artyom was just beginning to show consciousness. He checked his watch, quarter to ten in the morning. He felt rested, having been too exhausted from the previous day's activities to have had the capacity for any dreams and so he was relieved. He felt his stomach rumble, and then immediately began to feel guilty. He thought of Senya, resting peacefully against the shell of an old car. Would anyone go back for him? He wondered about Valya, if his radio message had been sent, and also if he was still welcome to breakfast.
Lifting the rag that served as the door to the little room, he took a long stretch and then looked to both sides of the hallway in search of his acquaintance. Finding no sign of anyone except for a few children playing, he wondered where to go. It seemed a similar setup to his home in Exhibition, with the residential rooms built beneath the platforms in the service areas. He seemed to remember coming into the station from the right, and passing nothing last night of much significance, he deduced that the offices and common areas had to be on the left in the main vestibule. Pondering for a moment if his rucksack could be left behind while he tried to track down Valya, he quickly decided against it and slung it over his shoulder. He knew he couldn't stay, especially if the message had gone through - he had to follow it. He had to get back to D6, at least to see if Ulman had made it back, too. Heading down the hallway to the left and up the narrow concrete stairs, he reached a man-made enclosure which forced him to turn right into the main vestibule. Here there was a communal fire with several people gathered here and there talking in groups. He didn't need to search their faces for long.
"Artyom! Over here." Called the now-familiar voice of Valya, and he headed towards the sound. "Come have some sausage and egg. I want you to meet my friends."
Friends? Artyom thought it was a nice notion, but knowing all too well his penchant for getting into trouble he hesitated. They were very close to bandit territory and the front lines between the different clans of the criminals shifted every day. Ultimately his stomach drove him on.
"Before you ask, I did indeed send your message to Polis." Valya winked but then lowered his brows. "No response, though."
"Hello Artyom, it's nice to meet you! I'm Nikolai Ryzhov, and this is my twin brother Dmitri Ryzhov." Spoke a fresh faced young man with shaggy brown hair and long stubble. He gestured to another young man sitting across from him with similar features, but with no beard and dark hair shaved extremely short.
"Yeah it's some good luck, huh? My friends are visiting from Avtozavodskaya, and they offered to escort you back to the Ring and get you heading home!" Valya beamed and looked back at his friends.
"Well, actually it's more like we need you to escort us." Nikolai Ryzhov put up a hand to interrupt. He looked up at Artyom with an apologetic expression before continuing. "You see we're traders, we've picked up some goods from Venice to take back with us, but there's a problem."
Artyom sat down slowly, quizzically watching this Nikolai Ryzhov as he attempted to gesticulate along with his story. He didn't really mind what the story was about or what they needed help with, as long as the plate Valya was filling was for him.
"Well we've usually done a bit better business by this point, so now we have too much, but we have to get these supplies back to our station." Nikolai looked over at his brother for some support but only got an annoyed grunt in reply. "Anyways, I'm worried that just the two of us can't get the whole haul through the Hansa checkpoint without questions - but if we had another guy with us that would be a caravan and they wouldn't mind then."
Artyom nodded intently as Valya handed him the plate, it seemed a simple errand to him, and every forkful of fluffy egg he ate convinced him more.
"Avtozavodskaya is only two stops past the Circle, where Valya told us you're going to, it'd be quick if you could help us back to there and then head right back the way you came. We'll pay you of course."
Not particularly interested in pay, Artyom thought for a moment of turning down the offer, but something made his heart skip and he just couldn't refuse. He didn't know anything about Avtozavod Station, or its inhabitants and the prospect of going somewhere new intrigued him, especially since he had a new passport with a Hansa visa. After all, they were going in the same direction; it wouldn't be that long a detour.
"Alright, when do we leave?" He asked hesitantly.
"Whenever you're ready, my friend!" Nikolai seemed overjoyed. "Is there anything you need before we go? You don't have to take your pay in cartridges either. As I said, we're traders, so is there anything?"
Artyom thought the question was odd, and pondered it for a moment. He had never been in a situation where he could name his own price for hire, he wasn't sure if he truly knew the worth of such services. First, he wondered if their goods were all legitimate – were they perhaps trying to rid themselves of stolen items on a random passerby to avoid suspicion? He decided that they looked like rather healthy and put together people and didn't seem like any of the typical bandits or criminals. Next, he wondered what assortment of things they might have on hand, or what he might want. Truthfully he couldn't think of anything, the only things he ever really wanted were what seemed necessary to sustain life; food, light, a place to sleep. Then, it came to him.
"Books?" Nikolai seemed astounded by the question. "Well yeah, of course we have some, but we haven't traded with them in a while, not many people are interested anymore. I'll tell you what - when we get back to Avtozavodskaya, you can have whatever you like!"
Although feeling extremely skeptical, something told Artyom that this was a good thing. He did still have his automatic weapon and the pistol that Senya gave him. At the very least, he could defend himself and get back to Hansa if things went badly. He was determined to trust himself more and step fully into the boots that made him a part of the Order. He wanted to earn his new position.
After finishing his plateful of breakfast, he shook hands with Valya and promised to visit if he passed in his direction again. Nikolai nudged Dmitri to get up and he did so begrudgingly. Artyom wasn't quite sure what the story behind these two brothers was, but it both intrigued and uninterested him. It was Dmitri's strange personality that got him wondering the most. Nikolai had said that they were twins but they seemed like such totally different people who wouldn't even hold a drunken conversation together.
He watched them gather their effects and gauged their actions as he followed them to where they had been staying in a similar room to his. Dmitri was mostly silent, and would grunt and gesture before resorting to short sentences. He seemed constantly irritated and pessimistic; perhaps he was holding some kind of grudge? Nikolai on the other hand was usually smiling, saying hello to people, and trying to start and continue conversations even when the other person wasn't interested.
"Alright, can you manage your bag and this, too?" Nikolai pulled a large rucksack out of the room and dragged it over to Artyom.
"I'll have to." Artyom said flatly, choosing to pull the straps of his smaller pack through the straps of the larger so that they were linked together. Then he heaved the set onto his shoulders. It wasn't as heavy as he'd expected – just bulky and cumbersome.
"Any other business before we head out?" Nikolai asked with a smile, and also looked over at Dmitri to confirm.
"I'm ready." Artyom replied, patting the breast pocket of his vest to check for his passport.
Dmitri remained silent, hauling his own pack onto his back, and then took the lead into the southern tunnel.