Денис Седов – One step into Tomorrow: Reflection (страница 1)
Денис Седов
One step into Tomorrow: Reflection
Synopsis
Kostya is the only guest in the world of «Tomorrow.» For everyone else, this ruined land is home, no matter how cruel it has become. To complete his mission and preserve even a single chance to return home, Kostya must go through what no one can be prepared for: brutal battles, betrayal, mutants, bandits, military schemers, and his own doubts.
Every step forward is a trial. Every person he meets is an unknown. Every day is a new struggle where he cannot stop as long as there is even one chance to return to where he is so desperately waited for… And the further he goes, the clearer it becomes: in this world, nothing is given freely, and the price of every decision made is sometimes too high.
Chapter 1. Vysokovsk. Preparing for Battle
«Valentin Ivanovich… Wake up…»
Sergey carefully shook the professor by the shoulder when movement began outside the dusty window. Diffuse dawn light, mixed with the blue smoke from the night fire, seeped through the cracks in the old gates. The streets were still empty, but dull footsteps and sharp shouts already echoed across the factory grounds.
A month had passed since they were brought here, to Vysokovsk—a small town southwest of Klin. Once, it had been a quiet, almost forgotten place with pre-revolutionary architecture and the red brick walls of an old textile factory. After restoration, it was planned to become a cultural center, but everything turned out differently. When the catastrophe struck, the building was quickly taken over by militants.
The prisoners were thrown into one of the concrete boxes—a former factory garage. It stank of oil, old fabric, and dampness. There was a narrow, high window and gaps under the ceiling, and in the evenings, the only light came from a kerosene lamp lit for the night outside the small window. Metal shelves, once cluttered with tools, now served as beds. The walls were adorned with rusty hooks, remnants of Soviet-era posters, and the shadows of patrols passing by the gates.
When the catastrophe began, the factory quickly fell under the control of this passing gang. They operated in an organized manner, splitting into teams and combing the surrounding area. They searched for anything that could be useful in the new world: provisions, weapons, medicine… women.
At first, the militants wanted to get rid of the professor. Dealing with an elderly, sick man was pointless for them. But Sergey persuaded them to spare him. He promised to take care of him, work for two, and follow any orders. It worked. They let him live. For a while.
The professor took a long time to recover. His body was emaciated, his mind wandered. But with each day, he grew stronger, clearer. And for a month now, they had shared this concrete shelter. A kind of cell, but without bars: instead, an old padlock was welded onto the door, and there was a constant guard always lurking nearby.
The gang numbered about a hundred people. Despite the shortage of weapons, their discipline was almost military. It was said their leader was a former mercenary. He had subjugated everyone willing to listen and unquestioningly follow his orders. The rest either disappeared or became goods, slaves.
They even had a flag—a white cloth with a circle divided in half. Inside were some scribbles, resembling both a knife blade and a butcher's hook.
«Yesterday, Vlad, the guard, said they're taking us to Klin in the morning,» Sergey whispered, turning to the professor.
At that moment, someone pounded on the gate.
«Time to pay for your 'hospitality,'» a heavy, dumb voice growled from behind the door. One of the guards—a tall brute with a face like a pig—laughed, pleased with himself.
The professor opened his eyes and slowly sat up on the bunk:
«That's it, Sergey… I'm awake,» his voice was hoarse, but determination rang in it.
Sergey approached the narrow window and looked out. A group of no less than twenty people had already gathered near the old warehouse. Nearby stood a bus, battered, covered in rust. Behind it, a long gazelle van with bars instead of windows.
«I don't like any of this…» he said quietly. «Where are they taking us this time?»
The professor said nothing. He just sat up, leaned against the wall, and looked at Sergey. In his gaze was fatigue and a strange, deep concentration.
Sergey had spent the last month productively. First of all, he had a goal. And that was half the battle. He was no longer wandering in emptiness—now he had a route, a purpose, a bearing. He had to get the professor to Kolomna. Only there could he make contact, report that the mission had failed: the journey across the ocean had become impossible. At least, under these conditions.
Sergey harbored no illusions: they were being kept here for a reason. And the further it went, the more clearly an alarming pattern emerged. Too much attention was being paid to their fates. Before—abandoned, almost forgotten; now—under constant surveillance. And this attention alarmed him more than anything.
Especially after one incident.
Two weeks ago, a black Mercedes had driven onto the factory grounds to the roar of a diesel engine. A man got out. Heavily made up, wearing gloves even in the heat, with eyes that never blinked. He didn't introduce himself, just gestured for the leader and discussed something with him at length, taking him aside. Then Sergey and the professor were brought out. They were pushed out of the garage and placed in the morning light. The man silently examined them both, for a long time, intently, especially the professor. After that, he nodded and left.
Everything had changed since then.
They started feeding them better. Not just scraps, but real food: canned goods, bread, not to mention stew. There was more water. They even lit the lamp earlier. But this was precisely what troubled Sergey most. He didn't believe in gifts from executioners. And such changes almost always meant one thing: they were being prepared for something. Perhaps for a move. Perhaps for sale.
«I really don't like this…» he repeated for the third time that morning.
This time, the whisper came out too loud, and the professor, turning his head, opened his eyes.
«I heard,» he rasped. «And I agree.»
He sat up slowly, calmly, trying not to make noise. Though it hardly mattered to anyone. A cell without bars, without microphones. But with ears behind the door.
Sergey clenched his fingers into a fist.
«We need to get out before they take us to the place,» Sergey said, barely audible, just moving his lips, leaning towards the professor.
«Of course, Seryozha. Whatever you say. I'm ready, I'll do everything you taught me,» the professor replied with unexpected calm. And, as if to confirm his words, he straightened his tattered shirt, trying to look at least somewhat dignified.
Sergey silently nodded. Slowly lowered himself into a crouch by the far wall. The soles of his boots scraped against the concrete. He moved aside the dusty crossbar of the bed with his palm and felt the familiar edge—a dislodged brick, carefully put back in place. At the bottom of the wall, almost at floor level, was his hiding place.
Sometime before, he had pulled an old piece of rebar from the wall—rusty, jagged, but sharp enough. Grinding it into something resembling an awl had been an infernal task, but Sergey managed it. He sharpened it at night on the concrete corners, and now he had at least something. Some kind of weapon.
He placed the fragment inside his boot—slowly, carefully. No one had ever taken his shoes: too rare a size, forty-seven. None of the bandits coveted his boots. The professor, on the other hand, wore ordinary, tattered house slippers on his feet.
«Good luck…» the professor hoarsely whispered as a clang sounded behind the door.
Serge stood up. Slowly. Took a deep breath.
«,» he repeated aloud. And at that same moment, the bolts scraped. The screech of metal against metal. Then a kick to the door with a boot. And the gates swung open.
In the doorway stood Vlad—tall, square-jawed, with bloodshot eyes. In his hands—a rubber baton. Behind him, two more. One with a rifle, the other with ropes.
«Outside, wise guys,» Vlad grinned. «Time to hit the road.»
Sergey took the first step.
Chapter 2. A Warehouse in Kolomna
We drove out of Kolomna towards Zaraysk.
«We'll make a small detour, check something out along the way,» I told the guys.
Nastya, after the cognac she'd had, relaxed and fell asleep almost immediately. The guys, on the other hand, were full of energy and eager for details about our excursion. But they quickly realized they wouldn't get much out of me, so they focused on the road, occasionally breaking the silence with comments and discussions about which way to go.
Finally, the suburbs were behind us, and the car rolled briskly along the highway in complete silence.
About thirty kilometers later, I handed the tablet with my double's marked location to Vasya, who was sitting in the passenger seat acting as navigator. About ten minutes later, we were already pushing our way through thickets of weeds and burdocks. The warehouse was overgrown with grass, neglected, as if forgotten by the whole world.