"Wow, he's just crazy!" comments Agnia, grinning as she leans over my shoulder with her snake-like neck and peers at the screen. "But the guy is cool... Is that our dad?"
"I guess you could say that..." I reply reluctantly, handing the girl her smartphone. "Here you go!"
She purposefully taps the screen with her finger.
"I'll subscribe to them... Just in case they release something interesting again. This is cool. Science, discoveries, all sorts of stuff..."
We're sitting in a spacious room inside some former children's facility—seems like a hospital or boarding school. It's hard to tell from the outside anymore. The entire facade of the three-story building is riddled with bullet holes. Inside, almost everything has been removed or broken. There's a corridor layout, with rooms—or maybe small chambers—on either side, likely designed for three or four people each, judging by the metal bed frames. There are few belongings left. Apparently, the staff and residents were organizedly evacuated after all. Abandoned toys lie scattered around. The identical lockers are decorated with various amusing stickers. And the walls around us are painted with fairy-tale characters. I glance around with a strange, inexplicable feeling of melancholy. What was this place? A cafeteria? A hall for assemblies? More likely, some kind of playroom.
The enemy likes to set up in places like these. Why evacuate civilians when you can use them as living shields? Later, you can always portray yourself as the city's valiant defenders. Show footage of a bloody stuffed bear. Shed a tear on camera. Create an emoji-filled mourning campaign on social media. That's the rotten practice of all those endless "fortresses" we've had to take.
It's good that we exist for such occasions—the ones who, according to our producer, "enter loudly and leave spectacularly." But without firing a single shot. And no one knows what we can do against them. Nor did they know...
Reluctantly, I scan the area where soldiers of the junta once set up their positions half an hour ago. Ragged pieces of bodies. Remains of uniforms on dry, yellowed bones. Intact armor and helmets that couldn't protect anyone. Scattered weapons that no longer had anyone to fire at.
I'm sitting on a sturdy-looking children's chair, seemingly made back in the mid-1980s. Agnia has curled up next to me, leaning her back against a bookshelf filled with children's books. A fragment of rhizome stretches toward the corpse sprawled against the opposite wall, pulsing faintly like a thin stream. Agnia is still eating, though she's already engrossed in her smartphone.
"You weren't told not to sit at the table with your phone?"
"Nah... Besides, it's work-related," the girl replies without turning her head.
"Yeah, right... You're busy replying to your followers in the comments. Better tell me when your informant will contact us."
"I'm texting him now! Well, her... Actually, she's my subscriber," Agnia answers, making a triumphant, scornful face.
"Do you think she can be trusted?"
"I don't know... If there's an ambush, we'll just eat everyone—including her. Why would she deceive us?"
My companion shrugs indifferently, then adds with characteristic spontaneity: "If there's a trap, we'll just eat everyone—including her. Why would she deceive us?"
I nod silently. Suddenly, I notice something strange. I reach out, gently push aside her hair, and touch her neck with my fingers. Agnia flinches slightly, closes her eyes, lowers her arms holding the phone, and purrs:
"Mmm... Finally, you noticed me?"
My attention is indeed fully focused on her right now. Scales on her neck have begun to stand on end and dry out. Some have already fallen off, exposing dry, wrinkled skin resembling crusts. Human skin between them has become noticeably red and inflamed. In places, tiny blisters swell up, forming dark bubbles.
"It looks like you've got some kind of ringworm..."
"What?! No way!" Agnia pulls away my hand and looks at me with undisguised irritation.
"Look for yourself..."
The girl begins carefully examining her neck, while I watch her. About a year ago, in a similar situation, I would have picked up a shard of mirror from the floor. Now, it's easier for me to grow an extra eye on my arm. Of course, Agnia used her smartphone. Treating technology as an obvious tool, literally as an extension of oneself, is another human trait she'll have to shed.
"Damn... This is weird! What is it?"
"I have no idea."
"Do you think it's some kind of infection?"
"We're capable of digesting any pathogen. That's how we're built..."
"And you've never been sick before?"
"Not since I became like this. But you got it precisely in the spot where the sniper hit you... Too bad you can't look at the bullet anymore..." I mumble aloud, while the girl starts examining herself through the phone's camera again.
"Why not? Here it is!"
Suddenly, Agnia pulls out a couple of metallic fragments from her pocket and holds them up on her palm.
"Why did you carry them around all this time?"
"I pushed them out of myself, as usual... And they must have gotten stuck in my jacket folds. I found them later and put them in my pocket—like a souvenir."
"I see..." I reply, already absorbed in studying the metal shards, turning them over in my fingers.
The bullet is clearly not ordinary. It has disintegrated as if it were filled with something. At the tip, there's a lead weight to improve ballistics. Inside, there's a thin cavity—just like in Israeli CS 7.62 cartridges containing tear gas. What was poured inside? Better not try it or sniff it.
I pick up a first-aid kit discarded on the floor by the "dills." I find a plastic bag from a bandage, pour the metal fragments into it, hide it in my pocket, and decide not to worry Agnia yet. I simply hand her iodine as a distraction. She doesn't need it anyway...
"Here! Sterilize it just in case. I think it'll pass soon."
She nods. She seems calmer now. So do I.
Sleep... How is it? One of the human habits inherent to the body. To fall asleep and forget about the chain of heartaches and thousands of hardships... Isn't that the goal? To sleep... And dream.