JohnnyMontana

*** WARNING In the text may be seen the many mistakes (even here) because of my birth in a troubled country of Russia. Please, show me on the mistake and fixing it in a personal message or in the topic. Thank! *** Episode 1. Hundred seventy three million steps. Putting all his might to the usual closing doors, Dean short but lightning steps headed toward the elevator. Surprisingly, hallway was clean and the air is still fresh smell of paint white color, imposed on the wall. Dean pressed a treasured shabby elevator call button and nervously lit a cigarette. On the far side a door opened and from there came out Jay, the head of the third floor of this City-House (long nine-floor building, split into three floors high and has a style in the city - it's the only place where you can find a friend and bed to sleep): - "Torpedou"! Where you going, baby? You're clearly know what's dangerous. And what I said - pff, just do not take in a head and all, okay? "Torpedo"? Knocking a furious eyes at Jay, Dean slowly stepped into the elevator and and thrust the first floor. The lift doors closed. At the bottom are happening terrible chaos. Complete mess among streets: crowds of hungry people are protesting in front of the military headquarters, the fire is lit in the market and, as such, the police chase mongers, in the far corner military shoot off dead, without giving them clustered around the house. Many sounds. Kind of street symphony, full of human voice and the melody of the constant noise of everyday things. Dean liked to go out in the middle of the balcony floor to stand and watch the storming of the city life. Today was clearly not this day and the elevator slid down to the bottom. Dissolving into the crowd, Dean came to his apartment, he took a large backpack, filled with food and medicine, and left to the door. Near a giant metal door, separating the Town-house and the outside world, was a gearbox, that has things for all who come and leaving people. Saluting, military woman asked Dean go to the office for inspection. - Hello. Sit down, please. - at the table was a thin man with a bandage on his left eye. - Your first and last name, age, address. All the record here and here, and then ... - I know the rules, thank you. - given a backpack to check, Dean sat filling paper. - So, Mr. Hill, for what crime you are sent to the other side? - What? And, no-no, I'm on their own. - with a grain of anger said Dean. - C, I do not understand you, fugitives. Would not you like to live in this beautiful city? - pointing his hand to the side of the streets, with a surprised face of said inspectior. - Is this dangerous or scary? I think not. I have a wife and daughter, we here about a year. Alive, as you see. Dean has finished writing on a piece, put a pen and began to wear a backpack. Inspector still keep talking and finally offered assistance to Dean: - That's just .. understand, that it is unimaginable for my brain - willfully refuse sweet life. You know what's out there? These hungry monsters will not let you get bored, try to understand. Soon you will be tired and you run out of supplies, then you die. You know how much I've seen these? Rather, their remains and identity documents. I think, that died more than now roam the earth. - Yeah, man, I is all very interesting, straight for the soul takes, but can we move our eternal conversation for another day? Darkness will cut the eye in three or four hours. If I do not hurry, we can see ahead of time, but I just do not have enough bodies to respond to you, you would not want that? - a rhetorical question, the door out. - Wait. You even do not have a gun. How are you going to reach at least two minutes in the other hell? - leaning to the lower box, with a grin on his face said inspector. - I.. I .. I do not know. I'll find something. Hatcher, for example, or a hammer. - bustled, Dean said. - You will not prevent this. - on the table dropped Colt 1911. - Only I have two magazines to him - to the last raids in camp no one bullet will find. - Thank you ... Em? - Chris. My name is Chris. - Yea .. Chris. - "Torpedo" nodded his head, took the gun and went to the door. - Dean! Good luck! The fourth consecutive day, Dean gets canned from his bag. The fourth consecutive day, he lives among the dead. The damn consecutive day, he strives into the distance, hoping to find a quiet place. At least for a night. - Bar "Thousand Devils", I'll be damned! - Dean sees a building, erected on a hill near the ocean. This two-storey cottage-type house. It sheltering a high fence of iron cage, and the front of the main door was a passage, on either side of are steel wall were. It seems that travelers could unobstructed run into the bar. But Dean is not hurry. * And now immediately turn on "BB King & Eric Clapton - 3 O'Clock Blues" on your headphones * - Hey! Is there anybody here? - called Dean. But in response only magnanimous jazz, evokes the space. Drawing their gun, "Torpedo" came up to the bar and looked inside. On the right came a roar of a charged shotgun, Dean spun around and pointed the gun at the gray-haired man in black jeans and no top. - Think, man, everything would happen quickly, if I wanted to shoot you. - stranger said. - It's not a fucking movie, where this time is extended conversations. I see in your hand Colt. I have what you need. Take away your balls and we can talk - he pointed glance on a shivering gun. Frightened Dean slowly put away Colt and sat at the bar. - My name is Matt, i'm the owner of this bar. - smiling, Matt held out his hand for dating. - Dean Hill. - he said, extending his hand in response. - Dunhill? Oh well! - here "Torpedo" gained such a marvelous face, as if in him recognized the star of world scale. - That there is my favorite cigarettes! Dean goes off, and the barman reached for the bottle Kong, took out two glasses and spilled whiskey in them. - Make yourself at home, Dunhill. This bar - the only living place over hundreds of miles around. Here I give ONLY drink and ammunition. Oh yeah, by the way, I have a clip to your boy. While you can drink a glass of the house. - Matt winked and went into the next room. The bar was pure and cleaned. Main hall has a small sizein width and height is somewhere one and a half floors. On the walls hung hundreds of small pictures, on the ceiling of plastic model airplanes and rockets. Three round tables were in the walls and in the middle of the room was a large rectangular, art created by pool table. ean inspected space and listening to music, when someone banging on the front door. Hands beat at intervals of four to five seconds, punches were powerful. Dean carefully approached the door and is already close to it began to hear heavy breathing and moans of the dead. - Who is there Dunhill? - from the far end of the hall there was a shout Matt. - Looks like a dead! - Wait, not to depart from the door! Get ready to open! - Matt wiped his hands, put the clip of 1911 on the table and took a shotgun. Walking up to door, he listened carefully and took a step back. - In general, Dunhill, as soon as you hear hit, count three seconds in your head and open the door to another world, right? - Okay, I'll try. - Do not try, a piece of shit, you do! Blow. Another. Third. Here Dean grabbed the handle and opened the door at the appointed time - dead flew into a bar with a beating left hand in front, Matt drove his shot in the arm and pushed with his foot a tramp, that he flew out. - Weeehaaa! - Matt furious face could scare even the dead. - Just like in the good old days! He began to condense a skull of dead with butt of shotgun, grunting like a pig in the whole district. Many travelers come to this bar, half of them - patheticblockheads, does not distinguish between heaven and earth. Matt accumulate rage over such impenetrable ghouls, but he still has a part of humanity - he can't kill a living human, until that does not provide a clear threat to the life of Matt. Barman had poured all the rage on the dead. Once you see it, immediately you understand why Matt is so quiet. - Help me to pull body out. - placing weapon on the ground and lit a cigarette, said Matt. It was a biker. Or punk. Leather jacket, ripped jeans, chains stuck out from everywhere, as if it were a mechanical fucking machine. Make an accurate conclusion was very difficult, until do not gather a puzzle from the remnants of his head. No wonder why exactly he was exactly at the bar. When a virus enters the blood, it begins to slowly steal up to the brain. After reaching the spinal cord, victim loses consciousness and is as long as the virus does not capture half of the head. The memory is still functioning, but very weakly. Dead can pull painfully familiar places, but in every living man he sees only flesh - be it a relative or a stranger. - To me somehow came scientist - all so smart, in a white coat and glasses. - closing the door, said Matt. - That, he says he spends research over dead's in his, God forbid, stinking laboratory. - he stood at the bar and drank a glass of whiskey. - He says, that he understood why these things eat us. For them we are cushy. In corpses completely absent blood circulation, they are cold as an iceberg in the ocean, and placing on the tooth piece of our fingers - are heated and have fun .. Well, what kind of nonsense, tell me? Ha-ha-ha! - I think, it's all instinct. - Dean said. - We all eat from childhood so it's just an integral part of survival. As silly as it sounds, but the dead also survive on your own. - Here is a more convincing! If it told me a scientist, I would have believed him. - Matt took a cage for Colt. - You need it? - Yes. - said Dean. - What is return? Food there, cigarettes? - There are medications, m? - Dean opened his backpack and put on the table bandages, pills and cans of drugs. - What kind of wheels? - with a surprised look said Matt. - Usual painkillers. - Hmm ... Okay, I'll take every painkillers and medicines, and you'll get your gun magazine. - Agreed. - Dean threw all the stuff in a backpack and after a pause said: - Matt, can you lodge me for the night? - No. - he replied, by washing glasses. - I told you, that I provide ammunition and booze, not any soft beds. - After all you have just a giant house, I'm sure there are pla .. - Wow- wow! Not climb into my pants to suck dick. - Matt interrupted. - Find another place, boy. This fortress is just for me. - Got it. - Dean said, and started to leave. - I know that in the east of us is truly a heavenly place. - Matt held the guest. - There's a whole city of survivors, they have a whores, and a casino. I have been in this place, but do not want to go back there. - Why? - turning, Dean asked. - This is personal, Dunhill. Do you have a compass? - No. - Here, is a gift. For corpse and for sharing. - Thank you. From here go to the East, right? - Yes, about one hundred seventy-three miles. You recognize this place by always burning lamps. - A hundred fucking seventy three miles? - One, seven, three. Got it? I'm told you all, you can get out. But remember, once you're in town, you do not see or know me. - Matt sent a shotgun at Dean. - W-well .. - Dean went to the door. - Ha ha! Farewell, Dunhill! If you want a drink, you know where to get it! *** So "Torpedo" Hill went in search of Oasis in the desert. It will be a complicated and long way, but the result should justify the effort. Through the urban jungle, between the dead grass.