... in which the inexplicable becomes even more so for L?nya, Tolya and Valya, while Boris Sergeyevich plays with plasticine and sets quests
Lyonya, Tolyan, and Valya, leaning over the table and frozen in place, stared intently at a liter-sized glass jar. Inside it, strangely enough to some, moved a plasticine figure. Small, about ten centimeters tall, without any decorations or intricate details, but carefully molded from a single piece of purple plasticine, the figure stubbornly slid along the glass bottom with its feet and bumped its head against the wall.
"Wow!" Valentina was the first to recover.
"Yeah..." Leonid said thoughtfully.
"No, well... what else can it be?" Tolyan suddenly began skeptically. "There's tons of crap like this on YouTube. They glue small magnets inside, and another stronger one moves under the table—it's just jerking around."
The guy immediately crawled under the table to check his hypothesis, but finding no confirmation, he quickly proposed a new one:
"Well, maybe there are wires inside and a tiny motor powered by a battery."
"I assure you, my dears, there's neither a motor nor magnets," Boris Sergeevich shook his bald head. "You can even verify this yourself by kneading it in your hands. It's just ordinary plasticine."
The professor unscrewed the jar's lid, carefully extracted the figure with two fingers, and handed it to the boys. The little figure twisted in his hand, clearly wanting to break free.
"Don't want it?"
Valentina timidly recoiled from the wriggling lump. Leonid looked questioningly at Tolyan. After hesitating, Tolyan took the plasticine figure from Boris Sergeevich's hands.
"How did you even get it?"
"A child made it when visiting. It had been lying in my desk drawer until it came to life."
"A granddaughter?" Valentina cautiously asked, suddenly remembering the little girl she'd seen outside.
"No, a grandson."
The plasticine figure continued resolutely moving in Tolyan's fingers, trying to escape.
"Indeed..." the young man said thoughtfully. "It's alive." Then he abruptly squeezed the figure tightly in his palm. For some reason, Valentina flinched at this movement, but Tolyan had already rolled the plasticine into a ball and flattened it into a pancake.
"There are no motors," Leonid stated, watching his friend's actions with interest.
"But notice what happened," Boris Sergeevich continued. "You deformed it, thereby imparting quite a lot of energy. You introduced, so to speak, chaos into the system. And it, figuratively speaking, died."
Tolyan threw the flattened plasticine onto the table; it showed no signs of life anymore. Everyone present stared at it in silent contemplation. Valentina was the first to break the silence.
"Do you think something similar happens with people?"
"Probably," the scientist shrugged. "After all, human bodies are much better adapted for movement than plasticine."
"This explains what's happening," Leonid said, "but it doesn't explain how or why it happens. And then... they move purposefully, organizedly... Why do they attack living beings?"
"Well, young man," the professor drawled, scratching his beard. "You're asking too much of me. I warned you right away that I don't have all the answers."
On the old, bulky clock hanging above the door, the hands pointed to half past ten, but it was barely dark outside. Only a yellow haze creeping over the neighborhood had thickened and seemed to fill the air with a dim glow. Snow started falling again.
"Electroluminescence," Boris Sergeevich said thoughtfully, carefully watching the groups of swaying figures outside.
"Have they left?" Valentina asked quietly.
"They're gradually dispersing," the scientist replied, glancing at his watch. "I think you should stay until morning."
"Good idea! Personally, I'm dying to sleep," Tolyan agreed, yawning and chuckling.
The professor pulled down the curtain, sat back down at the table, and surveyed the boys with his shrewd, piercing gaze beneath his gray eyebrows.
"So, what's your plan, my young friends?"
"We'll walk to the gas station, fill up the car, and then... we'll see," Leonid answered.
"That's not a good idea," the old man frowned.
"There's no more than a kilometer to the turnoff along the road, and then about 600 meters."
"You need to go through the forest," Boris Sergeevich said confidently.
Tolyan, who had already begun dozing off right on the table, leaning on his arms, suddenly jerked awake.
— You're kidding, grandpa! Have you seen how many of them there are?!
— You're not observant, young man... And we old folks often look out the window out of boredom...,— the professor gave Anatoly a stern look.— A clearing with power lines runs through the forest. And I noticed that our undead friends aren't using this route. Although it would be easier than forcing their way through. The area is without power; apparently, they've cut the wires at the transformer boxes, but the distribution substation is still working, and obviously, the high-voltage line is live. And probably, that's what's deterring them. Going along it will shorten your path and lead you straight to the gas station.
— Sounds good,— Leonid nodded.
— Hooray for science,— Tolyan snorted skeptically, glancing at his friends.
— And one more thing... If my assumptions are correct, that crazy old man might be useful to you in other ways as well,— Boris Sergeevich narrowed his eyes slyly again and switched to a whisper.— Since you're such brave musketeers, I should give you a musket...
After pausing dramatically and making sure he had intrigued everyone present sufficiently, the professor continued.
— When I was younger, I once heard an anecdote from older colleagues. They said that our research institute was developing something called "Item 47." Not secret rockets, mind you. Just a regular cartridge, caliber 7.62. Ordinary externally, but inside, instead of gunpowder, there was a special multilayer piezoelectric core. One that generates fifty kilovolts of potential on the bullet when fired. Almost like your stun gun, Valentina, only powerful and remote-controlled,— the professor looked meaningfully at the girl.— Apparently, the Soviet authorities feared various unforeseen uprisings like the one in Novocherkassk. Those involved in the development even jokingly nicknamed it the "NKVD cartridge," because they knew who it was intended for. They thought such ammunition might come in handy for dispersing crowds. But it never made it into production...
— And what happened next?— asked Valya, interested.
— Nothing,— the professor waved his hand sadly.— It didn't go into series production. High cost, complicated manufacturing process. Besides, to maintain standard cartridge dimensions, they had to reduce its power. As a result, low muzzle velocity, short range, and poor accuracy. But enough samples were made...— Boris Sergeevich's eyes lit up again.— And if my theory is correct, they could be very effective against these... zombies.
— And do they exist? These cartridges,— Tolyan asked skeptically.
— Of course they do...— Boris Sergeevich narrowed his eyes slyly again.— Once, they sent me, a young specialist, down to the basement to check inventory. And in the darkness, I accidentally wandered into the wrong place. That's where I saw them, and moreover, I touched them. With these very hands. There was a whole box. And also an experimental Nagant revolver for firing practice.
The old man folded his chubby hands over his stomach and sat up slightly, sitting proudly on the stool as if on a pedestal, enjoying the effect he was creating.
— And where are they now?— Tolyan asked again, still skeptical.
— You're insulting me, young man,— the professor grumbled.— We were honest Soviet people back then, unlike your generation... We understood decency. What we used to bring home from work. Well, resistors, TV tubes, simple light bulbs again. But this was military secrets. Top-secret items! And why did we need these cartridges anyway? They're still there. They lie as they always did.
— Where "there"?— Leonid asked practically.
— Mmm-hmm,— Boris Sergeevich spread his beard into a wide, satisfied smile.— I see you're interested. But I think it would be fair if I asked you for a favor in return.
— Oh, here we go!— Tolyan protested, but Leonid stopped him by taking him by the shoulder.
— What do you want?
— A small thing... When you reach the road via the clearing, there will be your gas station ahead. And a little further back, a small gray building—the Institute of Particle Physics. Take some notes with my conclusions there, and I'll tell you an interesting story about those cartridges. It's practically on your way. And I'll even give you a bottle to collect gasoline,— the professor looked at the exchanging glances of the kids.— Come on! Agree. Consider it a quest from your "Fallout."
— What if nobody's there?— Leonid asked.
— At the institute? They'll definitely be there. Our kind of scientist often stays late at work. And those who don't stay late know that the building is old and has a bomb shelter. When they realized something was happening, they certainly came and took advantage of it.
— And why do you need this?
— Well, you know... I need to share it with my colleagues. With the scientific community, so to speak. In case they're thinking along the same lines,— the old man said sincerely.— All these zombie apocalypses, you know, aren't eternal. When it all ends, they'll start explaining things, building their theories. And then, who knows, the question of priority in discoveries will arise. And that means prizes, grants, money in general...
Leonid looked sadly at the gray-haired professor:
— And you think about this all the time?
— I have to, young man. We don't have much money,— Boris Sergeevich sighed, glanced at his watch, and got up from the stool.— Well, you can chat here if you want, but an old man like me needs to go to bed. I can give you a couple of pillows, but unfortunately, I'm not equipped with blankets or anything else. Domestic science is poorly funded...
The guys silently watched the bulky, round figure leave the kitchen, even in the dim light shining with its bald head.