And now the white fog of uncertainty covered their godforsaken line that went on to Hanza, to humanity. If the colonel had ordered all the people to fight, no one would refuse. At the Sevastopolskaya the war for the destruction of mankind, which had lasted for two centuries, had never stopped for a minute. If you live long enough in the face of death, fear makes place for fatalism, talismans, believes and instincts.
But who knew what waited for them between the Nachimovski prospect and the Serpuchovskaya? Who knew if they could break through this mysterious obstacle or if there was still something behind it that was worth fighting for?
Istomin thought about his last trip to the Serpuchovskaya: Markets, homeless on benches and those who still had something sleeping behind curtains. This station didn’t produce anything; they didn’t have any animal farms or greenhouses. The residents of the Serpuchovskaya were thieves but they were smart. They lived from speculation, sold expired goods that they had bought from late caravans for almost nothing. They also offered the inhabitants of the Ring line services that could have brought them in front of the courts at Hanza. This station was a parasite, a fungus, a growing tumor inside the powerful Hanza.
It was the last union of rich trade stations, appropriately named after the German model, a stronghold for civilization in the Metro. Everything else sank into barbarism and poverty. There was a real army in Hanza, electrical light and even in the poorest parts a piece of bread for everyone that had earned the much sought after stamp of citizenship.
Even on the black market those cost a fortune, and if the border patrol caught somebody with a fake passport it would have cost you your head.
Hanza owed its wealth and power to its extraordinary place: The Ring line united all other lines of the star shaped complex together and opened up the possibility to switch from one line to any other line.
Traveling merchants that brought Tea from the VDNKh, trolleys that brought ammunition from the weapons forges of Baumskaya – they all unloaded their cargo at the nearest toll station of Hanza and returned back home. It was always easier for them to sell their goods at the safe Hanza than to embark on a hunt for higher profits throughout the whole Metro, which often proved fatal.
It sometimes happened that Hanza affiliated neighboring stations, but mostly those were left to their own fate – a tolerated grey area, in which the leaders of Hanza didn’t want to get involved in. Of course those “Radial Stations” where filled with Hanza’s spies, and to be exact – the stations had been bought a long time ago by the businessmen of Hanza. But they remained, formally, independent. So was it was with the Serpuchovskaya.
In one of the tunnels between this station and the Tulskaya a train had broken down on that day a long time ago. Istomin had marked the place with a Catholic Cross, because the wagon that stood in the midst of the tunnel and was inhabited by members of a Christian sect. They had transformed this lifeless part of the tunnel into an oasis in a black desert.
Istomin had nothing against the sect. Their missionaries lingered in the neighboring stations, trying to save fallen souls, but these shepherds never came to the Sevastopolskaya nor did they hinder passing travelers with their missionary talk. The clean and empty tunnel between Tulskaya and Serpuchovskaya were preferred by the caravans.
Once again Istomin looked along the line. The Tulskaya? Their residents lived from what the bypassing convoys of the Sevastopolskaya and the smart merchants from Serpuchovskaya left behind.
They repaired every possible technical piece of scrap metal and others searched for day jobs. For days they sat there and waited for one of the foremen offering slave labor. They were poor as well, but at least they didn’t have the greasy crook look in their eyes like the people from the Serpuchovskaya. And in this station there was order, outside dangers welded people together.
The next station was the Nagatinskaya. On Istomins plan it was marked with a short line, meaning that is was uninhabited. But that was only half the truth. Nobody remained there very long. Only shady figures resided there, living like animals. Absolute darkness reigned there and small groups hid from strangers. Only scarcely the dim shine of a campfire lit through the pillars and illuminated the dark figures that held a secret meeting. Only unknowing and brave individuals stayed overnight because not all of the inhabitants of this station were humans. In the whispering darkness of the Nagatinskaya you could sometimes see the grotesque silhouettes of creatures scouring in the dark. And sometimes the shrill scream of a homeless person filled the remaining residents with fear until the victim got dragged into a cave and eaten.
Nobody dared to go further than Nagatinskay, so the area between this station the strongholds from the Sevastopolskaya was an empty wasteland. It wasn’t entirely empty though – and the scouts from Sevastopolskaya tried not to meet the creatures lurking there.
But now something new has emerged out of the tunnels. Something unknown. Something that swallowed everybody that tried to pass through this supposedly explored route. How should Istomin know if his station, even if every able resident picked up a weapon, would form an army big enough to deal with this unseen danger? He stood up burdened, walked to the map and marked the area between the Serpuchovskaya and the Nachimovskaya prospect with a pen. Right next to it he placed a big question mark. He wanted to place it next to the word “prospect” but somehow it landed next to the Sevastopolskaya.
At first glance you could believe that the Sevastopolskaya was uninhabited. No trace of army tents in the train station that served them as homes at most stations. But instead they had barricades of sandbags, which looked like big ant hills in the weak lights of the lamps. Those barricades were never manned and the quadratic pillars were covered with a thick layer of dust. Everything was built so that a stranger that passed through would think this station was abandoned.
But as soon as the unwanted guest just thought about staying here, he risked staying here forever.
Then machine-gun teams and the snipers, which stayed at the neighboring Kavochskaya, manned their posts in seconds and instead of the dim lamps, powerful quicksilver search lights on the ceiling were activated, burning the eyes of all invaders, humans or monster. Neither were used to the strong light.
The train station was the last carefully planned line of defense of the Sevastopolskaya. Their homes were located in the belly of this deceptive station – under the station. Under the enormous granite plate, invisible from foreign eyes, there was another floor not much smaller than the station above, but divided into smaller cells. There were the lit, dry and warm apartments, the steady humming air filters and water purifier, hydroponic greenhouses… it seemed that the residents of this station felt only safe and comfortable when they retreated further into the ground.
Homer knew that the crucial battle didn’t await him in the tunnel, but at his home. While he walked through the narrow hallway, past the half open doors of the former service rooms which were now where the residents of the Sevastopolskaya lived, his steps slowed down more and more. He thought of his tactics and revisited his answers as time ran out.
“What am I supposed to do? Orders are orders. You know how the situation yourself. They didn’t even ask me.Don’t blow it out of proportion – that is ridiculous! No I didn’t volunteer. Refuse? Out of the question. That would be desertion, understand?”
He mumbled on and on, sometimes outraged and determined, sometimes gentle and pleading.