Kitabı oku: «Angel Of The Seventh Day»

ANGEL OF THE SEVENTH DAY

By Saša Robnik

Translated by Azeezah Salamah Abdul Awal

Prologue

The immaculately landscaped lawn stretches into infinity and a purple sky drape over the landscape like a shroud, suggesting that this place is beyond our world.

Two groups approach each other. At a proper distance, as prescribed by the order, they halt.

The first group is led by a man of medium height. He wears shorts and a white shirt with blue patterns. On his feet he wears sandals and, on his head, a straw hat. His eyes are hidden behind dark, round rimmed glasses. He nibbles slowly and with relish on peanuts he takes from a bag. His companions are dressed in white togas and sandals. Their eyes are light blue and piercing. One has short blond hair, the other is dark-haired and it falls over his shoulders.

The leader lowers his glasses to the tip of his nose and stares with mild brown eyes at the newcomers. He waits to be greeted.

The man across from him is wearing a bright red- men's suit, a black shirt, and a tie, the same color as the suit. His shoes are black, varnished, and his hair is straightened and glossy. His companion is the complete opposite of his theoretical appearance. The two monsters with the short stature, thick legs and bumpy bodies bear no resemblance to humans. Yet, the bewildered eyes on the grotesque heads show signs of sanity.

Both groups watch each other; the men in togas ridiculous and the two freaks insidious and hateful.

The uncomfortable silence is broken by the red suit:

"You got a little thick, didn't you?"

The man in the straw hat smiles and replies:

"Yeah, I know. And you, I see, have lost weight. I'm guessing, out of spite? By the way, that suit looks like it's hanging on a hanger."

"You don't get fashion, you gave up on the world a long time ago," he replies.

"So you want to get your paws on him?"

The freaks begin to roar; their leader calms them with a wave of his hand and suggests:

"Let's play!"

The man's brown eyes gleam curiously and mockingly. Sarcastically he answers:

"Golf, or do you have something else in mind?"

"Golf. In the process, I'm going to make you a proposition that you'll find hard to refuse. It will be very exciting, believe me!"

"That's the way it's supposed to be!" comes the answer.

Suddenly and out of nowhere, a bag of golf clubs appears on the shoulder of one of the freaks. The suit chooses one and measures the weight in his hand while the other freak stabs the tee into the ground and places the ball on it.

"Please, my former master, let the first blow be yours!" he offers condescendingly.

"Oh, thank you," replies the man in the same mocking tone, puts his peanuts in his pocket and continues:

"Still, you lost the game last time, now you have to start!"

Grins spread across the faces of the companions in togas, causing undisguised anger in the red guy. The two freaks start to roar.

He soothes her again with a wave of his hand and grits his teeth:

"Thy will be done!"

The duo in white grin harder, reminding the red guy of the awesomeness of his defeat in the last match.

He swings the bat furiously and sends the ball unmistakably through the air.

"New technology?" asks the man with the colorful shirt seemingly harmlessly.

Excitedly they follow the ball, which flies about three hundred meters and falls into the green zone not far from the flag. Their eyes are not mortal eyes and they see far more.

He bends down, sticks his tee in the ground, places the ball and receives the bat, which his black, long-haired companion adds.

"Just a chopstick?" he hears the mockery.

"One is enough, my stumbling son. You forgot modesty!"

"Modesty was not what you had in mind when you made your creation!"

Both freaks giggle horribly. Their master's remark is funny only to them.

The man pays no attention to them and gracefully swings the club. They follow the ball with their gaze as it rushes into the purple sky and realize that it is flying straight into the hole.

A sudden gust of wind changes the trajectory and the ball lands far from the flag.

"This gust of wind is a surprise. Here was no wind from the beginning." Calmly concludes the man, throws away the bat, which mysteriously disappears, and grabs the peanuts.

"There's a first time for everything, but why surrender?"

Nibbling, he replies:

"You, my son, did not ask for a meeting to play golf, but to make a suggestion."

"All business is done in the game of golf!"

"My son, are you offering me a deal?" he puts special emphasis on the word "deal".

"Forgive me, I do not know what I am doing. It's supposed to be a suggestion", answers the guy with difficulty, suppressing anger.

The man takes off his glasses, wipes them on his shirt and puts them back on his nose. His every move is precise and calm. The well-dressed guy knows he's testing his patience on purpose, so he reins in his grumpy side.

"Let's hear it. What are you gonna do now?" finally, the man speaks.

"You've been neglecting creation. I don't understand why, but I think you'll like the experiment I have in mind!" he replies, as his eyes sparkle with excitement.

"Your provocative attempt is futile, you know I never neglect my children."

"But they neglected you!"

He smiles and replies:

"I gave them the will and the freedom of choice. My mercy, as you know, is boundless!"

The freaks are laughing loudly now and their cawing is terrible. Their leader can't calm them down this time.

The two in white form up in front of the freaks with inconceivable speed; in a flash they rip their heads from their shoulders and throw them onto the grass in disgust. Two grotesque corpses fall to the grass like fallen logs and the eyes on the severed heads blink in surprise and agony.

"What is that supposed to mean?" The guy doesn't hold back the anger that's been unconstrained.

"As I said, I gave them the will and freedom of choice and they chose to calm your monsters. Now go on, I'm listening."

The eyes of the gentleman in red glow orange. He hasn't seen this much humiliation from the other party in a long time. The man's companions are nonchalant, their eyes gleaming with scorn and swirling his anger even more. He knows they are more powerful than he. Insidiousness and deception are his weapons, so he restrains himself. His eyes become human as he obediently walks on:

"Let the will and freedom you have given them decide who your creation will ultimately belong to. You can always create new ones, and I am surprised that you have not done so before."

"I listen, to convince myself."

"The competition becomes meaningless, our subjects are indecisive, they have faith and they don't."

"Ours?" the man in white tilts his head to reveal the view over the glasses.

"All right, yours. So, let's give them a challenge that will end the competition forever!"

" If you believe in your creation, your flock, love and grace, then agree and prove my efforts futile!"

The man in white doesn't answer that, instead he starts laughing so loud that his laughter echoes through the green expanse. Finally he calms down, takes off his glasses, wipes the tears from his eyes and answers:

"I'll do it. Let's explain the details!"

Suddenly a large office table and two armchairs appear as if they had grown out of the ground. On the table are a pitcher of water, two glasses and a globe of the earth. Both sit down to begin negotiations. The challenger takes out a file from the inside pocket of his red jacket and places it in front of his competitor:

"I chose these as a control pattern. I hope you agree, please check them out."

The man in white carelessly opens the documents and takes a look at the contents.

"You chose infidels?" Clever, but I agree. Let's use these people as a pattern!"

His companions stare in amazement, their masters' approval incomprehensible. Convinced that the master would crush the guy on the spot for shamelessly interfering with creation, they remain surprised and astonished.

The gentlemen negotiate and arrange the trifles. Time does not pass in this place, but the words exchanged would write all the books in the world. The companions listen incredulously and attentively.

Finally, they end the agreement and stand up at the same time. The guy does not hide his joy and offers his hand. The man in white presses a peanut bag into his offered hand, winks at him and leaves without saying goodbye, while the companions hurry after him.

After the right distance dares the companion with the black long hair:

"My lord, why did you agree to this?"

The green area dissolves and disappears into the nothingness from which it was created. Only the voices remain, resounding among the stars of the universe:

"Are you questioning my decision, Michael?"

"No, my lord."

"And you, Gabriel?"

"Far from it!"

"Still, are you surprised by my decision?"

"We are stunned "they say at the same time."

"Have you forgotten that I love all my children and try to fulfill their wishes and prayers?"

"We are not forgetful, my God!"

"Of course not, boss!"

"But you have forgotten that the apostate is also my child!"

The two archangels are ashamed.

"Descend to the earth, observe, and do whatever it takes!"

"Yes, Father!" The angels answer submissively and set out to fulfill his will.

* * *

Milan angrily throws the screwdriver onto the workbench, swears and lights a cigarette. For half the day he agonizes over the starter motor, which he can't put together. He can't use the brushes his employer gave him, as much as he sands them, and it wouldn't be the first time he's brought him the wrong parts. He sits down in a rickety armchair, bleached by the sun, and looks out at the junkyard. He has no choice but to take apart several starters and look for the right brushes.

"What's the matter, master, isn't it working?" Shouts one of the masons who are finishing a wall around the junkyard.

He shakes his head violently and greedily inhales the smoke, as if the tobacco will drive the anger from his consciousness.

"Come over and have a beer with us, don't worry about it!"

He thinks about it for a moment, gets up, and heads to the workers gathered around the beer crate to take a break.

The sun is low and it's late noon; he hasn't looked at his watch for a long time. The boys in their dungarees greet him and press the bottle into his hand. They exchange common phrases to dispel the unease. For fifteen days they've been building this meaningless wall around the junkyard, the gas station, and the restaurant next to the highway. During all this time, apart from greetings, he hasn't exchanged a word with the boys.

"Milan, right?" asks the bricklayer in his late thirties.

"That's my name!" he replies and raises the bottle to toast.

He takes a big gulp and the others follow his example. New cigarettes are lit to add zest to the narrative.

"What's with the wall? All around is a bare area, except for that cornfield over there?" interjects one of the workers.

"Boss Cvetković imagined that someone would steal parts from these mountains of rubble at night." Milan answers and continues:

"But if he wants to throw his money away, let him, I don't care."

"Not for us, actually. We got a good deal. How many junk cars do you have here?"

He knows what's coming next. Everyone needs a little something, some car part, for nothing even vinegar tastes sweet as honey. He learned this trait from humans a long time ago.

"About five hundred, I guess."

"And how do you manage to find a certain part?" the head mason asks him and drinks the rest of the beer.

"I have a computer in the trailer, it records everything."

The casual conversation continues, the request he knows will follow is only a matter of time.

The second beer is almost finished; the moment has come:

"Look mate, I need the last bumper for the Lada Niva, some idiot rammed me at the traffic lights the other day and money is always tight, you know how it is."

In the faces of the other workers he sees similar pleas beneath the false equanimity. He had long since learned to read faces. But in this group he sees no greed; he sees only a little lie in the man. They have not made a good bargain, it is impossible with the old miser Cvetković. A few small things go unnoticed. He didn't seem to notice the much bigger things he sold for his own pocket. Working on Saturdays and occasionally on Sundays, contrary to the employment contract, demanded compensation. His sudden decision to build a wall around the property instilled a worm of suspicion in him and commanded caution in future dealings for his penny.

The guys are his age, in their early forties, and as far as he understood, they were all family men. It is difficult to live next to the various Cvetkovićs, so it is easy for him to satisfy them.

"I'm going to get something to eat and see if the old man's gone. If so, that's where the tools are," he points to the work table under the eaves, "so take what you need. Only, don't overdo it!"

People spread grateful smiles and finish their beers.

Despite the ban, he enters the restaurant and takes a seat at a table. The grey overalls he wears, smeared with motor oil, stand out against the quiet ambience of the restaurant. He knows that the boss is usually in the dining room, keeping tabs on his employees. The clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of diners are absent, the restaurant is empty and the old man is not present.

Maria, the landlady, looks at him frowning:

"Are you normal, do you want the old man to see you? Go to the back and eat!"

Their noise makes the chef peek behind the counter. What Milan suspected became fact. The old man is gone.

"Please, don't lecture me and bring me something to eat. And don't bring me the leftovers from the guests this time. What are you staring at?"

"You idiot!" she replies. He has no doubt that at the first opportunity she will tell the boss about it. The snake just can't help himself, but he knows that Cvetković will look through his fingers. He's a good mechanic who has put himself through humiliating working conditions, and it wouldn't be the first time he's been pardoned. The other employees of the complex cannot understand his behavior, including his need to work alone in the scrap, and he will not satisfy them with an explanation of his motives.

Milan watches her irritably walk towards the counter that separates the kitchen from the dining room. Milan pulls the cell phone out of his pocket and sends the mason the message "everything OK".

After a half-smoked cigarette, she brings the food. He pays her tribute; she's a master of her craft, no matter how grumpy she is. Deftly, he carries a plate and two platters in one hand. Her steps are measured and professional, and the service is on a par with much more elite eateries than this highway inn, the sanctuary of long-distance drivers and cheap call girls.

"And the beer?" he can't suppress the urge to be provocative. Instead of a reply, he only gets an icy stare .Chef George, leaning against the counter and rolling a cigarette in his mouth, smiles. Further proof that the boss is gone, staff are not allowed to smoke outside of breaks. Clearly he too senses the blackness beneath Maria's beautiful surface, so he enjoys the provocation.

"What are you laughing at?" Maria is furious when she sees through the conspiracy. She angrily leaves the restaurant to chat with the gas station attendant and Yelena from the store.

The chef winks at him, stubs out his cigarette, and gets to work.

The mobile phone rings. He takes it out of his pocket, sees the name "Cvetković "on the display and answers sharply "Yes!" Thinking how little it cost Maria to rat him out.

"You stay longer, the truck with the car parts has just passed Belgrade, it will arrive in two or three hours. Did you fix the starter?"

He suddenly loses his appetite. Three hours of extra work and the unloading of the truck.

Without hiding his anger, he replies "he'll be ready when the truck arrives".

The connection is broken. He swallows the rest of the dish in large bites. The place is, uncharacteristically for this time of day, still empty and without customers. Maria, returning from the gas station, calls George from the kitchen. She pays no attention to him, so he gets up to go back to work.

George appears from behind the counter:

"What's the matter?"

"There's been no one around for hours, that's what!"

"So what?"

"Man, not a single vehicle has passed by in hours!"

Milan stops at the door, turns around and asks:

"The bricklayers, have they left already?"

"Yes, while you were eating!" her impatience comes out. It does not remain hidden from her:

"And your aspirin-sized brain didn't catch that there may have been an accident and the highway is closed?"

When she opens her mouth to answer him, Milan sees traces of fear beneath her anger and a wave of pity overcomes him. He continues in a milder tone:

"It must have been a nasty accident if traffic has been blocked for that long."

Quick as a flash, she realizes she exaggerated and lowers her tone as well:

"Colleague, there is no traffic in either direction What is the likelihood of accidents in both lanes at the same time?"

"But it must be something mundane, maybe a street job. Well, it's not the end of the world."

He leaves the pub and makes his way to Stefan, the gas station attendant. Jelena is standing next to him, gesticulating and explaining something. Milan rarely had the opportunity to talk to her, she bothered him in a special way, so he avoided her.

"It must be something trivial, maybe the army is doing their stuff." he catches her guess.

"I don't believe it." Stefan answers and adds,

"I've been working here for ten years and it's never happened, besides, I think they would inform us. Forty kilometers in both directions, there is nothing until the tollbooths, only the field!"

Milan pulls out cigarettes, offers Stefan one, and pockets one. Jelena frowns:

"If the old man sees us smoking next to the gas pumps, we'll get fired."

"The old man is not there and there is no one to rat us out." Milan replies to her.

"You're wrong!" Stevan adds, pointing to Maria, who approaches them and lights a cigarette. Milan gives Stevan a confused look. It is obvious that fear has entered her, driving the malice out of her.

"The masons are gone. I have the phone number of one, now I'll call him and ask what the hell is going on in the highway."

"Do it, but it doesn't bode well for me." Maria interjects, eagerly swallowing the cigarette smoke.

He takes the phone out of his hand and calls. After ten seconds he puts the device back in his pocket:

"No one answering. I'll try later. The shift should be in an hour. I'm going to go and finish the damn starter."

Milan moves away from his colleagues and feels their gazes on his back.

He doesn't pay attention to the time. The brushes from the third removed starter finally fit, otherwise he would have given up on it, he's had enough of lying under the wrecks. Stevan interrupts his work for a moment to ask about the binoculars. He doesn't ask him why he needs the thing and sends him to the trailer, explaining that it's hanging on the wall by the back window. Finally, he finishes the job. Tomorrow the buyer will come, who he will charge for this chicanery.

"Master, good afternoon, or evening!" he suddenly hears and quickly turns around. Two middle-aged men are standing in front of him. Both are dressed similarly, in jeans, a white sweatshirt and leather jackets. The first has blond hair, the second black, long hair tied in a braid. After the initial surprise, he suspects they came for the starter. In his mind he forms the price and how much he will set aside for his bag. Excessive harassment should be charged, but he holds back on that, her eyes radiating confidence. He is astonished at this, he has never seen people with nothing on their faces. He decides to pay special attention to them.

"Good afternoon, boys. Did you come for the starter?"

"No," replies the blond-haired man.

"Then how can I help?" His uncharacteristic friendliness awakens, caused by a certain calm and bliss that those present radiate. He thinks that he has finally met honest and fair people, but he quickly dismisses that thought from his mind. He lost faith in humanity a long time ago.

"We came to warn you to be careful in the coming days." Replies the black-haired man. Milan is taken aback. There is no trace of threat in his voice, his posture does not give him the slightest hint of aggression.

"I don't understand, I paid the debt with interest. Go and tell the donkey that we finished three months ago!" In the depths of his being he knows that they didn't come for that either, but it's not out of place to provoke them and thus put a mask on them, a mask he would like to read.

"That's not what we're here for, and we don't care, but we're glad you solved some problems."

Surprise after surprise catches up with him. It is inconceivable to him that this is happening, that he cannot grasp these people and their unexpected behavior.

"Why are you here?"

"Like we said, to warn you. You have a gift, use it. Pay attention and take responsibility!"

Losing his self-control is something he rarely allows himself to do, and now he does it with pleasure:

"Well, you idiots, are you a couple of jokers or what? Who sent you here, or do you regularly take people for a ride?"

"No. We're here to tell you what we said. And one more thing. Stop cursing God like you did in the trailer this morning. See you later."

How could they know what was going on that morning when he took apart the catalytic converter in the trailer to separate the platinum, so he clumsily hurt himself with a screwdriver and cursed God?

The two leave, leaving him dumbfounded and pensive. He would love to run after them and demand an explanation, but his whole being resists, for he knows he will see them again. This realization is too strong to dismiss as an insignificant feeling.

As they round the corner of the restaurant, he hears the blond-haired man answer the black-haired man a question he didn't understand "so our father said to do what needs to be done!" After which they disappear from his sight.

He shakes his head in disbelief and plunges into assembling the starter.

Dusk has crept in unnoticed and the shift has surely come, but not to him. Only he rules this junkyard realm. He decides to have a beer and wait for the truck. He doesn't attach any importance to what's happening on the highway, the traffic has safely settled in. Still, he doesn't hear the roar of speeding vehicles. He has been here for three years, these sounds, with constant humming in his ears have become a daily and imperceptible companion for him. The silence that he experiences for the first time spreads throughout the site.

He walks around the building and enters the restaurant. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the store where customers pay for fuel is locked. There aren't even any lights on; the old man would raise hell if he were here, and no doubt he's watching his darkened domain through the installed cameras. Inside the establishment, he finds his colleagues at the table. Clouds of trepidation hang over the staff, who stare pensively at their phones.

"What about those two guys, are they gone?"

The incredulous looks let him know they don't know what he's talking about.

"No one has come in here since afternoon, not even to refuel. The last guests left around two o'clock. There's still no traffic and the shift hasn't come either." George replies, offering to sit down.

He leans and lifts his head to the large television hanging on the wall above the counter. There is no program on it, only the words "state of emergency" tremble tirelessly.

"Have you tried other channels?"

"Yes, of course, that's the only one that transmits anything. I'm telling you, something bad is happening, I sensed it," Maria replies, grabbing the remote to comb through the programs once more. Unsuccessfully.

"Did you call the boss?"

"No signal, we're cut off!" Jelena says with a slight touch of panic, and adds:

"Which two people are you talking about? We'd see their car from here, we're not blind!"

Milan takes a look out of the window. The parking lot, the gas pumps, the access road and the departure road are clearly visible even in the twilight.

"I have no idea, two guys came, inquired about something and disappeared!" He has no desire to repeat the conversation; it is insane, especially under these circumstances.

"Where's Ivan from the workshop?" Now he notices that a work colleague is missing. The other mechanic, Bogdan, tries to send a message on the phone.

"He left about an hour ago to find out what was going on and still hasn't returned. He can't be reached either."

A leaden silence descends among the staff.

The darkness thickens and the glare of the television and cell phone display brushes across their confused and frightened faces.

"Why didn't you share this with me when I was working there? Well done, really!"

George lowers his gaze. The women pay no attention to him, they are busy with their mobile phones.

Finally Bogdan gets up and walks towards the counter. Milan suspects why and stops him:

"Where are you going?"

"Turn on the lights, it's dark."

"I don't think it's wise to turn on the lights. Don't."

"What's wrong with you, Milan? It's not the end of the world, we should be enlightened in this darkness, man."

"I repeat: do not turn on the light!" Milan said sharply, ready to hinder him in his intention.

"He's right, leave it!" Maria says conciliatory. Her suspicion that something is wrong supports Milan's assumption.

Bogdan shrugs his shoulders and indifferently declares that everyone will be fired. No one believes him.

"Let's at least turn on a light here so we're not in the dark?"

Milan thinks about what to do. He can't get the two guys' message about taking responsibility out of his head. He doesn't have time to think about it, but it won't hurt if he acts on them. After all, he believes that he has all moral and professional rights in such situations.

"All right, but first darken the windows with tablecloths!"

Jelena looks at him with wide eyes. After a few seconds, on the verge of hysteria, she begins to scream:

"We're not at war, the war hasn't started! No, it hasn't! How dare you give orders! Locking us up?"

"Shut up and get the tablecloths, you fat cow!" Maria interrupts her, stands up and starts to darken the shop window. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

Her rudeness is having an effect. Jelena jumps up and follows her without saying a word.

The men are still sitting at the table, wrestling between reason and instinct. Milan senses their dichotomy, so he tells them that there's no harm in being okay, but that it can be useful to hide and wait for the situation to develop.

Milan turns on the lights in the restaurant, goes outside and makes sure it's dark enough. He enjoys the crisp autumn air to clear his head. Ideally, he'd like to take them all to the junkyard, which is surrounded by a new wall and the only access is a narrow passage between the restaurant and the garage, just enough for a truck to fit through. And just enough to close it with a wrecked car. He thinks he's exaggerating, though. In an emergency, they can easily evacuate. For the first time since this situation began, he has time and concentration to think calmly and settle on the facts.

Traffic stopped more than six hours ago. Communications were down and Ivan, who went out to scout, did not return. He couldn't even reach the masons while the connections were in operation. It's not worth wracking our brains over these two guys, there are too many unknowns in their appearance to deduce anything meaningful. It suggests itself that Jelena is right after all. The war did break out, but not like the one he was a participant in at the time. That war was happening gradually, giving awareness time to adapt and, in countless cases, change. Stevan sits on the roof, peering out, not thinking to go down. He will deal with it later.

This time, if it really happened, it happened suddenly and without notice. The world leaders rattled their guns, threatened and sanctioned, but the people do not accept the facts they do not like. If it really happened, the missiles flew up suddenly and insidiously; he is grateful to heaven that none of them hit Serbia, he would be feeling the consequences by now. But again, what blocked communications? The power supply is still there.

All these thoughts swirl around in his head and he is not ready to accept a single one, except the one he sees with his own eyes.

"What are you doing?" He hears Jelena's voice behind him.

"I'm thinking about this situation," he replies, lighting a cigarette and handing her one.

"I'm sorry, I lost my temper in there."

"It's okay, I understand, this has all really gotten out of hand. I hope that there is a good reason for all this and that soon we will laugh about our behavior in the last hours."

Jelena exhales smoke into the night and answers after a few moments:

"No, nothing is fine, and nothing will be. You're absolutely right. Thank you for trying to reassure me, but I'm not blind or deaf. It just took me a little while to figure it out."

Milan looks at her, for the first time he sees her without arrogance. He doesn't need a light for that.

Then he calls Stevan on the roof. He answers and promises to come down soon.

The wall clock shows half past twelve. Bogdan opens a new bottle of beer and invites Milan to join him. The women are sitting with their heads on the table, dozing off. George is in the kitchen looking for food, probably taking inventory.

"I'd love to have a beer with you, but I don't think it's wise. We don't know what tomorrow will bring."

"Come on, have a drink. It's got me all mixed up, man. My family is in the village, I should have gone to them after the shift." He slurs slightly drunk. Milan can't help but notice the fear in his voice. He does him the favor. He takes a bottle from the refrigerated case, opens it at the edge of the table and sits down opposite. He certainly had nothing to do, and sometimes it's good to give in to the craziness then to keep it in chains.

"You're weird, Milan. You don't talk to anyone, you run away from people, and you'd rather play around with junk than work in a fine garage. What's wrong with you?"

Milan is aware that the alcohol has loosened his tongue and he suspects that he is being gossiped about in all three shifts, but he doesn't care. He's sure he's considered a strange person and the reasons why- are nobody's business. Bogdan is unrelenting, but he doesn't resent it:

"Do you have anyone at home, maybe a wife, kids? We don't know anything about you."

"I live alone. I don't like people because they're mostly bad. That's what I've learned."

"In that war?"

"Yes, in that one. Let's drink, Mr. Cvetković is paying. Cheers!"

Despite all his worries, Bogdan beams a smile. They toast and drink. Milan enjoys the beer and likes that he opened up, even to this man with a simple mind and a big heart. It has long been clear to him that they both come as a package.

George comes out of the kitchen and joins them at the table. He has not failed to cover the women with blankets he found in the pantry; the autumn cold has crept into the little restaurant.

He puts a piece of paper on the table with a list of foods:

"Here, that's it. I guess about twenty days. We still have to list the store, but there's only candy, drinks and other nonsense in there."

"Do you think we'll be stuck for that many days? Come on!" Bogdan speaks incredulously. But the alcohol has not completely overwhelmed him, he is after all a hundred kilos man.

"I don't believe it, but it's good to know what kind of rations we have." Milan responds and praises the initiative of the inventory, adding that they certainly have no other occupation and that it is good to spend time doing something in these circumstances.

The door opens abruptly, making everyone cringe. Stevan rushes in, smiles urgently, and says:

"Did you forget about me? So here's the thing. All this time I'm watching a truck in the stop lane with binoculars, a guy was moving around him, it looks like the truck is broken down, I couldn't see very well, but I think it's probably the one you're waiting for. Nothing would be strange to me if the army hadn't come and stopped next to him, two trucks and a jeep. When darkness fell, they stayed there, next to the truck, as if they were afraid to go on in the night! I stayed there to see if I could see a light, a lamp or something like that, but nothing! As if the night had swallowed them up. I won't see anything before dawn! I'm freezing, can I have a blanket and something to drink?"

George satisfies him and Milan adds another riddle to the already long list. The television signal is finally interrupted. This doesn't surprise him, as he had guessed, but the question remains why.

He knows it would be wisest if he slept now and someone stood guard, but there is something he must do first.

"I'm going to the trailer, I'll be right back."

Milan heads out into the night; it's not the first time he's wandered in the dark, but it's the first time without headlights and large neon signs on the roof of the building. The moonlight illuminates his path to the trailer, making the stacked wrecks of cars less creepy. Every step echoes off the concrete and every breath is harder for him to take. He'd be crazy not to feel fear and even crazier not to contain it. This is his kingdom, and the trailer is the castle where he keeps all sorts of secrets.

Finally he reaches the trailer, steps inside, turns on the light and finds what he was looking for. An old military radio station as a useless relic of the past inspires hope. He's maintained the thing as best he can and is sure it still works. The radio station's battery is charged and there is a large and noisy generator behind the trailer. Fuel is plentiful; he suspects the power will be out soon, if he's not mistaken about the war theory. The final range is twelve kilometers, and that will be enough for him to eavesdrop with a little luck. He's sure the Army still uses the VHF range for communications.

In front of the pub the transmitting equipment is put into operation, the attachment of the long rod antenna does not take much time. George comes out and joins him in the night chill. Clouds obscure the moon, making the surroundings eerie and treacherous.

"I didn't know these things still existed."

"Everything can be found in junk." Milan replies and adds:

"Pray to God we catch something, anything!"

"What can I ask of him, when he lifted his hands from us long ago. Are you done?"

"Yes, I am."

Orange reflections tear at the sky. Surprised, they lift their eyes from the device and look fascinated at the celestial spectacle. One by one, the reflections alternate in the east. A clap of thunder catches up with them.

"Artillery," whispers Milan, catches the next orange flash and counts the seconds, fourteen are there until the next thunder in four to five kilometers distance. "Let's go into the house!"

He grabs the radio station and enters the pub.

Jelena and Maria, awakened, look at him in amazement. Bogdan snores at the table and Stevan shakes him by the shoulder.

"What is this now?" Maria asks incredulously.

"An artillery attack. I wonder who from. Turn out the light, it's breaking through the tablecloths. Now!"

Jelena jumps up and darkness swallows the room.

"Someone light me up, it's high time to turn on the radio station to find out something!"

A cell phone screen illuminates the faces of the small group of people around the radio station, displacing the darkness that lies ominously over them. The flashing does not stop and the following thunder grows stronger.

Milan flips the switch and adjusts the channels. Finally, voices emerge from the receiver, the first voices in eight hours that do not belong to the employees of the Cvetković gas station complex. They listen intently to the officers' orders and their soldiers' reports, but cannot comprehend who they are fighting. Gradually the voices decrease, several units do not answer. Milan realizes from the military terminology that they are suffering heavy losses and prays that the others do not understand. Ignorance is often a salvation from despair. Especially in this world.

Gunshots can be heard coming from the radio station and then outside the complex. Milan estimates it's about two kilometers away. He looks at his coworkers, searching for any traces of panic or desperation on them, but he doesn't find them. In the dim light of the cell phone, he can clearly see sobriety in their faces, including fear, hope, and anticipation. Just as he recognized in himself. In this situation, he doesn't need the added burden of someone's panic. Or his own. Bogdan lifts his head from the table. He's been keeping an eye on what's going on the whole time, feeling no need to add to the tension:

"You hear that?"

Milan shuts down the system, banging continues in the distance. The intensity of the gunfire indicates the ferocity of the fight.

The sound Bogdan pointed out grows louder, the ground beneath them trembling slightly. The roar of the engines can also be heard.

"Tank!" Stevan shouts and rushes to the front door.

"Stop, you idiot!" Milan jumps up and chases after him. He grabs him at the last moment and drags him back to the restaurant:

"Turn off the lights on the phones!"

"What's wrong with you, this is our army, let's go to our boys!" Maria is desperate.

Stevan is kicking and Milan is trying to restrain him. Their peace was shattered to pieces by the arrival of the convoy.

Jelena's scream fills the room; the pushing stops:

"This is the end of it! We're in the combat zone, for God's sake, they don't know who we are! They can kill us!"

"But they're ours! We're in our country! Let's go out and stop them!" Maria cries, driven by desperation.

"Stupid cow, how do you know there are our soldiers out there!" Jelena's threat is obvious by her clenched fists.

They look at the woman with wide eyes. Reason overcomes them again, they understand Jelena's words and make sense of them. Milan doesn't miss the fact that Jelena is retaliating against Maria. Under other circumstances this would have amused him, but not in this one.

Stevan's grip loosens, an apology is in his eyes. Milan doesn't care about his recklessness, he understands him completely.

The radio is switched on again. A hand covers the dim light it emits. Unconnected voices reach the staff.

Silently, between the hung tablecloths, they watch the convoy moving along the highway. It does not move slowly and at a distance, as military vehicles should, but in a strict formation; they realize that the armored unit is rushing into battle.

An armored personnel carrier separates from the convoy, turns onto the access road and stops between the gas pumps. Its lights are dimmed, as movement in wartime demands. The moon, occasionally peeking out from between the clouds, is enough to illuminate the area in front of the restaurant. Soldiers jump out of the vehicle and approach the gas pumps, grabbing a tank gun and pouring fuel onto the asphalt.

"We have fuel!" reports one of the soldiers.

"Search the gas station and shoot anything that moves, you understand?"

"Civilians?"

"I said everything, are you deaf?"

"Roger that! Squad, follow me!"

Stevan notices Jelena burst into tears and Maria is not far behind either. They can't believe their own ears, disbelief nails them.

George whispers composedly:

"Through the kitchen and out the back door to the junkyard. Milan, bring the radio. Quick!"

"No, I can't believe they're trying to kill us!" Jelena stammers and frantically taps towards the kitchen. Panic spreads through the group again.

"Don't believe it later, I'll show you where we can hide, we don't have time to climb over the wall Milan grits his teeth and leads the group towards the kitchen.

They lie under the caravan on icy concrete. Milan is hidden behind the wheel, overlooking the others' hiding places. George is right next to him. He knows the soldiers will be able to find them by doing an extensive survey of the area, but he hopes they don't have time for that.

The light from two flashlights bounces past the wrecks standing around.

"There's nobody here!" The voice behind the lamp can be heard.

"Even if there is someone, how can I shoot innocent people, man, it is so easy for him to order," the other responds.

The soldiers have not yet come into view. Their voices show fear and Milan knows they have their weapons ready, it would be abnormal to act otherwise after all he has experienced.

"How? Did you miss the one at the tollbooth? If disaster was here, it would've jumped us by now. Let's go back."

The lights of the flashlights disappear and with them the voices of the soldiers.

Fear is a dangerous ally; it can create cunning and sometimes insane courage. He hopes the others don't fall for it and that they stay in their hiding places for a while longer. By his count of time, the convoy has long since prepared for battle. Detonations and explosions from heavy machine guns can still be heard. The commander of this unit is a smart man, he sent a unit out to create a reserve position and staging area in case of a retreat. He would do it himself.

His fear becomes reality. Maria jumps out of one wreck and Bogdan follows her out of the other's trunk. The urge to warn her is strong, but he restrains it. He can't give himself away, and again, he'd be sorry they were killed.

He had seen enough of it by then.

"Halt and do not move!" echoes the order of the soldiers.

The relit lamps illuminate Maria and Bogdan.

He curses softly and writhes under the trailer to see what else is happening. He knows they're busy with his captured colleagues, so he's not worried about being discovered.

"Are there others? Speak up!" The soldier tries to make his voice authoritative, but his effort is unsuccessful, fear breaks out of his words.

If they were removed from humanity, they would open fire, call for reinforcements, and search every nook and cranny of the junkyard without question. Milan makes up his mind, signals George to stay there, and writhes under the trailer. He straightens up and raises his hands high in the air:

"No, just me!"

The soldiers, dumbfounded, do not answer. Milan's heart is pounding madly, he wonders if he made a mistake trying to protect his reckless colleagues; the urge to do so was stronger than reason.

"Who are you?" This question is meaningless in these circumstances, which he does not understand, but which impose on him the hope that he will come out alive.

"We work here, we've been waiting for the shift that hasn't come, the traffic has disappeared and we have no idea what's going on. All night we have heard gunshots, we are completely confused."

Maria's scream turns into a whimper. Milan thinks at the right moment. He has seen through her cunning game, fear is indeed a dangerous ally.

"What do we do now?" asks one of the soldiers. After a few tense moments, the answer comes:

"Don't do that, brother, I can't do that. Let's take these people to the leader."

The department head, a non-commissioned officer in rank, enters the combat vehicle, sits down in his seat and grabs the microphone. The transmitter in the combat vehicle is more powerful than his handheld radio; he hopes for success. For a few minutes he tries to connect with his superior. He fails and frowns as black forebodings come over him.

As he got out of the vehicle he heard a commotion behind the restaurant, the guys must have caught some civilians so he hopes they know what they are doing. Breaches of orders must have a good reason, he will personally look into the matter and refute it himself if necessary. He can't have a repeat of the tollbooth where he lost eight people. The fresh night air clears his head, consequently he leans against the large wheel of the armored vehicle and lights a cigarette. His hand shakes and he remembers the past day:

It was like any other. He heard the alarm siren on the practice field and remembers cursing hungry and hungover in front of the recruits. Lunch time was far away and the rookies couldn't get through the practice obstacles in time. He thought the general had ordered another sudden movement; the old man had been overdoing it with false alarms lately. He issued orders, calling for haste to man the fighting vehicle and prepare it for the march. It wasn't until they were on the move that he realized the cat was out of the bag, when they were supplied with live ammunition and ordered to keep the projectile in the barrel. His orders are to join the armored convoy, break through to this position and take up a reserve position.

The word "breakthrough" was burned into his consciousness. Why make a breakthrough at home in peacetime?" There is no way the enemy could have occupied it in a flash. He chalked it up to a small mistake or motivation in the order and set about fulfilling it. Had he known what he knows now, that the fifty-kilometer breach cut the tank battalion in half, he would have acted differently. Only hatred of the horror that gripped the world prevented him from putting the gun in his mouth and firing. He knows it's impossible to eradicate the awakened evil, but if he has to die, he'll die in battle, taking them down with him as much as he can, along with his people, who display an enviable attitude. The fellows are driven by the same hatred and determination that drives him.

He throws the cigarette butt on the floor. So far, he hasn't had time to see the circumstances and accept what didn't seem acceptable. Be that as it may, he thinks, determined to find out why they disobeyed his order. In the distance, the guns are hitting full force, and as long as that is the case, hatred will be more powerful than reconciliation with surrender.

A crooked outline emerges from the darkness, steps into the dimly lit space outside the restaurant's open door, and walks slowly toward it.

He is momentarily taken aback, his tense nerves and readiness for any surprise causing his hand to dart to his holster as if of its own accord and grasp the weapon with remarkable rapidity, as befits a professional soldier.

"Zoran, my son!" A hunchbacked old woman speaks in a trembling voice. He recognizes her immediately.

"Is that any way to greet your mother? Put the gun down!"

Impossible! He thinks this can't be. She passed away last year, in a dilapidated house on the outskirts of the village where she raised him alone. Waves of shame and grief pierce his consciousness; he left her alone three years ago and ran off to the army to escape poverty and work in other people's fields. He sent her the money regularly but did not come to the funeral. He left, never to return.

"I didn't die, they lied to you. You know how mean the village is! Put it down!"

She moves closer to him.

"I barely found you, looking for you in the empty barracks and wandering around all day!"

"Is it possible that they lied to me?" The hand holding the gun trembles more.

The mother stretches out her arms. A tear, holding all his sin, remorse and shame, runs down his cheek. He approaches her and embraces her with the gun in his hand.

She presses a kiss to his lips.

* * *

"Ho, ho, ho," taunts Michael, peering through the optical sight of the M93 Black Arrow sniper rifle, and continues "they've started a mean game!"

Gabriel, leaning back on the couch and not taking his eyes off the screen of the old television, replies:

"What did you think, my brother, that they would do as agreed? It was only a matter of time."

"I know, but guess who's here!"

Gabriel blows out the smoke of the joint and carelessly throws it on the concrete. They have taken up residence in the started building across from the Cvetković gas station to perform the task of monitoring the control group. They are grateful to the old man for his greed and intention to build another complex and get additional income from the opposite direction lane. Otherwise, they would have to be stationed in the field, depriving them of any comfort.

"Who is it?" Gabriel is curious, he presses the pause button on the VCR and grabs two cans of beer from the gym bag. Mad Max remains frozen on the TV screen with a crazed look on his face.

"Abaddon's right-hand man. Here, look at this."

Michael moves away from the bulky rifle that stands on the table in front of the roughly worked window. The entire room on the second floor of the future motel is waiting for the interior plastering.

George hands him a beer and squints through the optics, where he finds Sergeant Zoran in embrace with a lower-ranking demon, dressed as a hunchbacked old woman.

"And where there's a right hand, there's Abaddon. I've been waiting a thousand years to grab him and rip his ears off!" Why did you allow that unholy man to infect the sergeant? And with a kiss!"

"He's not up to our standards. Yes, he's a good man, but he didn't come to his mother's funeral."

"Listen Michael, it's not for us to judge, that's what Peter from the Directorate is for!"

"Don't start again! Why weren't you on watch?"

"My shift, that's why it's my decision!"

Gabriel is silent, not wanting to start another millennial debate about their rights and responsibilities. He knows that God approves of his archangels' every action and that Michael is sharp in these matters. He takes aim at the hunchbacked grandma and pulls the trigger with relish.

A 12.7-millimeter bullet strikes unmistakably, shattering her head into hundreds of pieces that scatter everywhere. Her body slips from the sergeant's arms and falls to the ground, turning into black smoke that dissipates into the night.

"Perfect! The stinker goes back to hell!"

Gabriel smiles smugly and moves away from the rifle.

"Now let's get out of here, I'm sure Abaddon is around, we don't want to be discovered prematurely!" Michael drains the beer and crumples the can with his fingers.

"And the sergeant?"

"Let him go, mortals will judge him. He will definitely face St. Peter, though I must admit I feel sorry for him. Tough childhood and all that. I'll stand up for... " Michael interrupts the sentence and looks at Gabriel, stunned. He changed his clothes in an instant. Boots, leather pants, a leather jacket on his naked body without a sleeve, and a shortened shotgun on a wide belt.

"What on earth do you look like?"

"Like the Mad Max! That is so cool, man!"

Gabriel's face widens into a boyish smile.

"Have you gone mad, brother?" Michael smiles too; there is boundless love for his brother in his gaze, every pleasure of Gabriel's is his too. The mortal form they have assumed for concealment allows for earthly pleasures they rarely have the opportunity to enjoy.

"If you're in Rome, make like a Roman, the apocalypse is on!" Gabriel answers with a raised forefinger and adds in a more serious tone:

"Let's get out of here."

"Wise words you have spoken. Take the bag with the beer!"

* * *

Detonations jerk him out of his slumber. Leaning against the large wheel of the combat vehicle, he realizes he has fallen asleep. He's heard stories that soldiers can fall asleep standing up, but he didn't believe it. Until now.

He dreamed of his mother. The wet trace on his cheek testifies that the dream was intense and fast.

He was planning to see who they took into custody. The commander doesn't report in, though the lines aren't broken. He is furious because of the lieutenant's negligence. He has fulfilled his orders to occupy this place and inform him, and now he is playing dumb. Can no one act properly, can no one listen, no one perform his words and military duties? And under such circumstances?

Wrath occupies every pore of his being. He ordered all living souls to be killed. Now he must kill them himself and punish the one who disobeyed the order. He will kill the lieutenant later. It is a state of emergency, martial law is like a strict mother to disobedient children.

Mother. She raised him alone, working in other people's fields for a pittance, the laughing stock of the whole village. He fled the shame to make it even greater. The world deserved nothing better with such people, irresponsible officers and disobedient soldiers. It is just that humanity should be exterminated. The appearance of this calamity now made sense. As he walks towards the entrance, rage blazes in his mind, leaving not a single crumb of humanity. He wonders where the gun in his hand came from, he can't remember taking it out. As he does, he stares at the gun, not thinking to put it back in the holster, he'll need it at the restaurant.

Maria, Bogdan and Milan are sitting at the table. They hold their hands on him as ordered.

Four soldiers stand around the table with weapons drawn, staring at them. Milan returns their gaze without fear, reading their faces. Young lads, in their twenties. Two unstable, one in between, the last as mentally strong as a rock. They have survived the horror and seen death, post-traumatic syndrome to follow. Their glazed looks and imperceptible tics speak for themselves, they are on the cusp of shock and at the gateway to madness. What they have recently experienced was cruel and vicious. Milan's observation is interrupted by one of the soldiers, in the same voice as in the junkyard:

"Have you seen these things, have you been attacked?"

Maria finally raises her head and answers defiantly:

"Who would attack us? And how did you know we were hiding in the junkyard?"

The soldiers stare at each other. It is incomprehensible to them that they have been spared from evil. The one closest to her clears her throat and answers:

"The blackout of the restaurant. Those tablecloths hanging in the window are certainly not part of the menu!"

Milan grins. The young soldier is intelligent and funny and he liked him immediately. He is sure that he will not cross the gate of madness and that he will remain level-headed no matter what happens next.

The door slams open. Sergeant Zoran enters the room angrily, holding the gun on them:

"Am I talking to sheep or commanding soldiers?" he shouts. His hair is white as snow and an excessive amount of saliva comes out of his mouth.

The soldiers immediately point their weapons at him and the youngest among them commands without hesitation:

"Zoran, you're infected. Put the gun down and we'll call the paramedics..."

With the shot, the sentence and the soldier's life are interrupted. The boy falls beside the table. Blood seeps in a thin stream from the hole in his chest.

No one answers, they are silent, trying to process the situation they don't want to process. A flash of reason appears in Zoran's eyes. The soldiers, though surprised, cock their weapons and only their innate humanity prevents them from firing. Finally, Bogdan, horrified, asks:

"Why did you kill him?"

Milan is about to burst. The soldiers are idle and there is nothing he can do. He knows it's not easy to shoot his own and even his superiors, but it's necessary or he'll kill them all. He doesn't know what the infection is or how he got it, but if they don't do something, they'll never know.

Another shot echoes through the restaurant. Bogdan, who was hit in the head, falls onto his back along with the chair.

"I repeat the question. "Why didn't you carry out the order and kill these? Why do I have to do everything myself? Don't you see what's happening around us? No man deserves to live!" Zoran grits his teeth; his eyes blaze with madness, they are wide open and there is nothing human left in them. His mouth bleeds from his own bites. He hears a noise behind him and turns around in a flash, but his reaction comes too late.

Stevan hits him hard with his hammer and George grabs the hand with the gun. One shot surely hits the ceiling. Jelena appears at the door and covers her mouth with her hands. Maria finally begins to scream.

Milan jumps up from his chair and takes the gun from Zoran's limp hand.

The soldiers are still undecided how to act, so he orders them:

"Put him on a chair and tie him up good!" he orders them.

Eventually their boyish faces take on a resigned expression, only occasionally overshadowed by fear, and they do as they're told.

The men bring the bodies to the front of the building, cover them with tablecloths and leave them. It is not long until dawn and the battle in the distance is still thundering.

"They will never liberate the city," muttered one of the soldiers to himself. Milan does not miss this and decides to finally clear everything. He calls them to the table. Curiosity is stronger than the grief for Bogdan and the soldier.

"We got a distress call, we thought it was another drill" began the soldier, the funny one, and continued:

"So we set out to accomplish the task. Our scouting party had twelve people and now there are only three of us. We were supposed to take this position, provide a medical service here or make a reserve position, I have no idea, the main thing is that we went."

The soldier accepts the offered cigarette and continues the narrative. The listeners do not miss the trembling of the cigarette:

"The population is panicking, they want to follow us, we have no idea what's going on and the police are ordering people to lock themselves in their houses. It was also on the news; the government has declared a state of emergency. Didn't you see it?"

"We didn't turn on the TV in time and our connections are broken," Maria answers and takes a cigarette.

"Yes, they attacked the transmitters first.

"Who the hell attacked?" Stevan interjects impatiently.

The soldier stares at his buddies as if looking for encouragement to reveal a secret. Finally, he continues:

"Beasts. Monsters, animals, I've never seen anything like them. They are sometimes as big as horses, but also as huge as dinosaurs."

"Beasts? I beg you!" George says arrogantly. Milan is silent, he knows the boy is speaking the truth. He would not tell fairy tales in this situation.

"Yes, beasts, pure evil! Covered in a certain armor, the bullet barely penetrates them. Each one is different, no two are alike, have tentacles, claws, long tails to beat with, huge snouts and sharp teeth, they'll cut a man in half in an instant! Some are fast, some are sluggish. Man, I know it sounds crazy, but it's true!"

"The army cannot destroy them?" asks Jelena.

"We're trying missy, but the thing is they don't act like animals and it seems they have minds, they hunt humans in an intelligent way and there are millions of them, they just sprung up like that, out of nowhere."

"So where do they come from?"

Silence covers the room. No one knows the answer to this question; he explains to them again that the pack just appeared, out of nowhere, and rushed to its feast. They have seen this, he says, with their own eyes.

"Those things come from hell," inserts the hitherto silent soldier.

No one disagrees. His explanation is as credible as any other.

Milan read about other dimensions, parallel worlds and portals a long time ago. Hell as one of the dimensions fits in well, but he rejects the thoughts that don't make sense.

"Command believes they are of alien origin, but they don't know how things show up on Earth," the other soldier is more rational in his speculations.

"What happened at the tollbooths?" Milan is tireless. The soldiers show signs of mental exhaustion, but the gas station staff do not care, their need to find out something burns in them.

The soldier continues his lecture:

"We got to the tollbooth. A company of military police cleared the way for us, that much we got over the radio. They had several engagements with the enemy and were about ten kilometers ahead of us. Then we came to the tollbooth. There they were waiting for us and all but one was like him," the soldier pointed to Zoran, who was tied to a chair with a bloody head and still unconscious.

"The whole troop had this crazy look in their eyes and they all got white hair. At the tollbooth something happened to them, madness overcame them, they started shooting at us. The men in the armored vehicles were dumbfounded, they were ordered not to return fire. The damn generals had no idea what was going on. But the others jumped out of the trucks to safety and started firing when they saw that many of our comrades were dying. Over a hundred of them remained lying there, all from the military police, most from our unit and many from the infantry."

The soldier finally breaks down, tears streaming down his cheeks, and no matter how hard the lad tries to control himself, he cannot. His body shakes. The other two soldiers sit down. The surviving terror has taken its toll.

Milan expected this reaction. He signals to the others to leave the soldiers alone with the horror they have experienced. Only now is the awareness of death experienced and avoided spreading through their young minds. Before, this realization had no time to overwhelm them, they were like automatons concerned with their survival.

He is well aware of this aftermath of the body and mind. He has experienced it himself, back in the day, and knows that natural selection takes place with them. Either they become whining cowards who run and hide until they go berserk, or they harden and remain at peace with reason. Milan knows what will happen too, he's sure of the latter.

He approaches the bound sergeant and lifts his head. Zoran is breathing steadily in deep unconsciousness and the blood is no longer dripping. The wound is not deep, but he knows he has a concussion. His hair is completely white, he has never seen anything like it and believes that only severe and unimaginable horror causes such a condition.

In a moment, an idea comes to him and he proclaims:

"I go into Cvetković's office and look at the surveillance monitors, there has to be video. I need to see what happened to him out there while he was alone. Someone sit by the window and keep watch!"

Jelena follows him. She was often busy in her overtime with the accounting in this office:

"I have the key so you won't break down the door!"

He considers for a moment. "The office is above the store, in a building next to the restaurant that forms a right angle. You would have to cross the open space between the gas pumps, the moonlight illuminating the entire area. The sergeant was out there alone, that's why this happened to him."

"Come on, from now on no one will be alone!" he resolutely grabs the pistol strapped to his belt and opens the door. The soldier who informed him of what had happened jumps up, wipes the wet spots from his face, grabs his rifle and says resolutely:

"I'm going along!"

Milan looks at him. Despair has left him, certainty has returned to his eyes. Traces of fear are still visible, and as he has always believed, fear is a good ally.

"Okay, bring your lamp."

Stevan opens the door and remains in guard. The three make their way across the plateau. The moon is enough to light their way. Cautiously, they hurry to the store, looking around every moment. Detonations with orange reflections can still be heard, the army's activity making them feel safe.

Cautiously they enter the gloomy shop. The soldier does not light the lamp, he raises his gun and signals the two to calm down. After making sure there is no danger from the darkness, he lights the flashlight, smothering its light with his fingers. Behind the cash register, he grabs a few packs of cigarettes from the shelf and stuffs them into the pockets of his camouflage uniform. Milan is liking the soldier more and more, thinking ahead about seemingly insignificant things; people can last a few days without food, but not a few hours without fags.

They climb the steps and the soldier releases the light of the lamp. There are no windows on the stairs, they are safe.

"What's your name?" Milan whispers.

"Vladimir, everyone calls me Vlad," the soldier answers briefly, his weapon still pointed at the circle of light from the lamp.

"I am Jelena and this is Milan. I am glad that you are with us," she says and unlocks the door of the office. Only the light of the monitor illuminates the room. Jelena did not fail to close the curtains on the window and before that took a look at the highway. Milan plays the footage and finds the moment when the sergeant stood alone in front of the armored vehicle.

"For God's sake, what is this?" Jelena is horrified, her eyes fixed on the screen with a hypnotic stare.

A human-like being with a bumpy body appears in the frame and approaches Zoran, who is leaning against the vehicle. No sound is heard, but it is obvious that they are talking briefly. The freak approaches Zoran and embraces him. A short time later, he falls to the ground and turns to smoke. The sergeant makes his way to the restaurant.

Milan turns off the monitor:

"We've seen enough. Let's go back."

"What did we see?" "Jelena asks, still horrified by the unbelievable scene on the screen.

She gets no answer.

Together they walk back to the inn, and though their minds are occupied with recording, they don't forget to be careful. A few meters from the entrance, a deafening sound reaches them, breaking through the landscape. They raise their heads and look up at the sky.

Two gunships chase a huge outline into the night sky. Their searchlights only briefly illuminate the flying behemoth as it twists and turns to escape them. The pilots don't spare the guns, wasting the marker ammunition like fireworks. Occasionally the monster's outline takes on frightening contours, two pairs of wings resemble dragonflies and allow the behemoth enviable maneuvering abilities.

The serpentine body defies the laws of aerodynamics with its coils, its huge tail swings and tries to overthrow the pursuers. Despite the skill of the pilots and countless hits, the behemoth still fights back. Its destruction seems impossible.

Maria, George, Stevan and the other two soldiers come out of the building and watch the battle in the sky. The lighting from the pub casts a large cube of light onto the plateau. Milan is not happy, but he can't blame them. The battle they are witnessing is as awesome as it is unimaginable; you could only see something like this in the movies. Until now.

"Shut the door!" Milan shouts at them. The roar of the engine swallows his words, yet one of the soldiers closes the door.

Suddenly the tail of the monster hits the rotor. The sound of the engine changes, the aircraft tilts and crashes to the ground about three hundred yards from them. The torn off arm of the propeller whistles over the complex and crashes to the ground not far from the junkyard. The observers are too preoccupied with the skirmish to be alarmed, and are unaware that the entire collision is taking place above their heads within a mile and a half radius.

The monster seizes the opportunity and, with a furious roar that drowns out the noise of the second helicopter, lunges at its fallen prey lying helpless on the highway. The rage expressed by the monster is immeasurable. Milan prays that the pilots did not survive the crash. The pilots of the other helicopter attack the beast, which scatters the pieces of the crashed plane with its beak. Their volley fire is accurate, each projectile hits and two fired missiles find their target. Finally, the beast falls and dies with a pitiful howl.

The helicopter that emptied the arsenal rises into the air and sets course for the base.

"My God, look!" Maria shouts, pointing at the moon. A swarm of similar monsters sets off in pursuit of the helicopter. There are about ten of them and it is clear to all that the other cannot escape.

"May God help them. Let's go in, quickly!" Milan commands, and everyone hurries. Everyone realizes that they will be discovered by one of the flying monsters, and the fury with which the launched device was torn apart intensifies their fear.

They lock the door and stare at each other.

"What was that?" Maria asks, this time reining in her hysteria. Her mind rearranges itself and accepts the impossible conditions.

"Hell has opened, that's it," says the soldier who advocates this theory. The composure with which he lights a cigarette shows Milan that he believes in what he has said and has come to terms with it. Horror no longer dominates the young mind.

They'll be fine, Milan concludes.

"What's your name?" he asks him.

"Jovan."

"Why do you think hell opened up, do you believe in God?"

"I don't believe in anything anymore, brother. These creatures are not of this world."

"And why hell?"

"Because that's exactly how I imagined the creatures from hell."

The lights suddenly go out.

"I'm surprised the power has lasted this long. Give me a light, someone, I know where the candles are," Maria's voice is heard in the darkness. The light from the flashlight flickers as Maria walks towards the counter. As she lights the candles, the bound sergeant groans and wakes from his unconsciousness. With two steps Milan is in front of him, grabbing him by the hair and lifting his head. His face is bloodshot and his eyes are closed, yet he tries to free his hands.

"What was out there, with the armored vehicle?" Milan asks, ignoring his suffering.

Finally, Zoran opens his eyes and stares at him, finding neither reason nor humanity in the sergeant's eyes. Then he opens his mouth and answers in a changed, deep voice:

"On the seventh day, everyone will die!"

Silence spreads through the room. People stare silently, caught between fear, despair and disbelief.

Milan repeats the question and pulls Zoran's hair even harder. The sergeant spits in his face and starts laughing maniacally.

Vlad, driven by rage evident in his face, approaches, takes his rifle and pushes him back into unconsciousness with the butt. Milan is not angry at this action, he saw terrible outlines in Zoran's eyes; his gaze was like a curtain that he did not want to open, but behind this curtain he could sense a horror previously unknown, the horror that follows death, and for the first time since the beginning of this incomprehensibility he feels helplessness, horror and fear.

He shakes his head to clear those poisons from himself and suggests they gather around the table and figure out what to do next. What he saw behind the curtains of Zoran's gaze he keeps to himself. He doesn't want to scare them any more than they already are.

Maria and Georg emerge from the darkness of the kitchen and surprise them with freshly brewed coffee. The pleasant smell lures them to the table, cigarettes are lit and people make themselves comfortable on the chairs. Only puzzled eyes move from one to the other. The questions find patience in them as they can't find answers here, but they can go in search of them.

"What was on the video?" Jovan breaks the silence and takes a cup of coffee. Vlad tells him, carefully choosing the words, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't ignore the truth Jovan presented, the truth about the opening of hell.

Stevan continues with the questions, not allowing Jovan to repeat the story of hell:

"So these animals appear suddenly, out of nowhere, just like that, as far as I understand you?"

"Yes, that's how we are informed," Vladimir answers and adds, "a window opens and the monsters come out like crazy".

"Windows?"

"Yes, like windows or doors, in various widths and heights. And mostly in front of populated places. We've been hearing it on frequencies we shouldn't be listening to. They don't mean much to us anyway. So we went out with the battalion, outside the town several huge windows opened up, the job was to destroy anything that came out of there."

After a hearty sip of coffee, he continues:

"To me it looks like portals to another dimension, I've seen it on TV, how we share space with another world that is on a parallel plane or something like that."

Finally, Jovan gets a word in edgewise:

"Dimension, parallel, hell, does it matter what you call it? What matters is what comes out of it, and folks, all that comes out of it is disaster! I call it hell!"

"All right, brother, hell or no, I don't care!" Nenad calms him down. Milan doesn't intervene; attentively he follows the soldier's conversation. He likes the analytical attitude of these young minds, and it seems that Stevan and George accepted the circumstances, like Maria, by making coffee. Jelena, too, has proved adequate in the shop, drawing the curtains in the office. Satisfied that no trouble in the form of panic or despair comes from this small group, he speaks:

"Listen up. We should cover our bases here. This place isn't the best place to hide, the storefront's huge, and you should..."

"Why are we hiding? Our people are dying and we're sitting here like cowards! There's a fight on, we've got to radio the Major and join the fight!" Nenad interrupts him.

Vlad gives him a look of incomprehension and replies sharply:

"We're still an army, and we have orders. As long as I'm corporal, there'll be no change in duty. Sit down and wait for orders!"

"I know, Private Brother, but it's hard for me, no one's coming yet, they must be short of people, you know what the situation is, many have fled!"

Maria offers him a bottle of liquor and says in a soft tone:

"Nenad, isn't it? Look, it's hard for all of us and we all have someone somewhere. We don't know what's out there and it's night, the morning will be wiser than the evening!"

Nenad accepts the bottle, takes a big swig, passes it on to Vlad and replies:

"You're right, I'm sorry."

"I can understand you. Milan, what did you want to tell us?"

Milan accepts the bottle from Vladimir and continues the proposal:

"We'd better fortify ourselves. The gate to the junkyard isn't locked, and this window isn't secure either. What is that thing out there? They didn't have vehicles like this in my day."

"Lazar 5, armored personnel carrier, abbreviated MTW. It is equipped with a 7.62 machine gun, a 20-millimeter cannon, an anti-tank missile launcher, a reconnaissance drone, mine protection, radiation protection and a radar and is named after the medieval prince Lazar Hrebeljanovic," Vladimir answers with a touch of pride.

"Does the Lazar have a ramp in the rear?"

"Yes, of course."

"Does the radar pick up bigger beasts?"

"Given the right conditions."

"Then I suggest we park the MTW lengthwise along the shop window with an open ramp towards the front door and put someone inside to guard with radar on. Feasible?"

"Of course."

The soldiers are interested, they find meaning in the proposal.

"And in the back?" Nenad asks.

"The junkyard is surrounded by a new wall that adjoins the complex. The building can only be entered through the front door or through the kitchen.

"At least it's something you can do. Go!" Vlad orders and the soldiers jump up.

"We need fuel!"

Stevan also stands up and offers:

"There's tons of it, but it has to be done by hand, there's no electricity. I'm going with you!"

Milan and George set out to close the large barred gate that leads between the buildings to the junkyard. As they lock it with a heavy chain, they hear the Lazar start up. The sound of its powerful engine is barely audible, resembling the muffled rush of a waterfall in the distance. The engineers have done a good job, Milan concludes, checking the strength of the two-and-a-half-meter fence. After making sure it's locked, they head to the MTW.

Vlad is keeping watch near the Lazar. Nenad and Jovan are inside the vehicle, monitoring the surroundings with the infrared system. Suddenly Vladimir's radio sounds:

"A creature on the right, fifty metres away. It's approaching us, slowly."

Milan breaks out in a cold sweat. He turns and looks at the door in disbelief. It's open again, and the dim light from the candles is enough to attract the creatures. Like the roar of the engine.

He draws the gun and looks at Vladimir. Stevan, with his hands in the shaft, is unaware of the threat. He pumps violently, trying to finish as quickly as possible.

Vlad grabs his radio and answers. Milan fears in vain that the boys will release fire, exposing their position, they don't know how many of these monsters are lurking around.

"How big is it?" Vlad whispers into his radio.

"Big as a horse," comes the answer.

"Run that thing down. If that doesn't work, use the cannon."

Vlad removes the hose from the tank opening while the engine gets louder. The Lazar rolls away and drives into the darkness. Nenad presses the gas and the vehicle accelerates.

Stevan raises his head, he knows something is happening, and all three of them stare at the small red lights on the rear ramp of the MTW. Shortly thereafter, a dull thud is heard, followed by a terrifying howl that fades into grunts.

"Looks like they finished him off ," Milan says quietly, and Stevan, realizing what's happening, asks:

"How many are there?"

"Just one, for now."

The arrival of the Lazar announces itself with a barely perceptible hum. After a few seconds, it emerges from the darkness and stops next to the gas pump. The ramp opens and a dim light from within illuminates the rope at the end of which the corpse of the run-over monster is tied. Nenad walks down the ramp, followed by Jovan. They turn on the flashlights and forget caution for a moment. The whole group now shines their lights on the monster.

"This thing almost looks like a rhino," Stevan says with awe and continues, "look at its teeth."

The lights of the lamps glide over the head of the beast. Its strong jaws are set with a row of thin and sharp teeth, and on its snout sits four thin and long horns. The stocky neck is covered with scales that extend over the entire body. It has three pairs of legs and a huge tail that tapers and ends in a point. The wounds from the impact of the Lazar are visible.

"He noticed us when we broke through the highway fence. This thing stood quietly in the middle of the roadway with his head up as if he was listening or sniffing. Out of surprise he barely moved and we rammed and ran him over, I turned and rammed him again. Jovan had the idea to tie him up, drag him along and examine him. They're not very smart," Nenad finishes his short report, kicks the corpse and unties the rope from the monster's leg.

"So, these creatures are terrorizing the world?" Stevan wonders.

"You forgot the fliers, and they say there are hundreds of different species and all sizes. This one seems to be just a weak specimen. What is it?" Vladimir replies in amazement, illuminating the structure on the monster's back that stands out against the corpse.

"Amazing, that's a saddle!" Jovan is convinced.

The others from the restaurant join in and stare spellbound at the dead beast. Finally, Vlad takes out a bayonet and buries it up to the hilt in the eye of the monster.

"What's safe is safe. I wonder who or what has ridden this creature."

Milan frowns, he shouldn't have asked that question.

Ignorance is a walnut shell in calm water. Milan's water is agitated; he has seen the rider on the monitor in Cvetković's office.

"Let's go. We've been out too long."

* * *

Gabriel gives full throttle, and the small car accelerates on the highway. The thunder can be heard from afar, and Michael sulks in the passenger seat. After a while he says:

"I can't believe you tore the muffler off just to make that much noise."

Gabriel does not hear him. He is constantly turning the steering wheel left and right to avoid imaginary obstacles. The vehicle sways dangerously and threatens to veer out of control.

"What did you say, I can't hear?" he replies, to which Michael adds in a stronger voice, "and of all the cars you found that wretched Yugo?"

"Modesty, my brother, modesty, that is our virtue!" comes the driver's reply. He grabs the gear stick and tries to shift into fifth gear.

"This clunker doesn't have the fifth!" Unbelievable!"

Michael waves his hand, grabs a fag and offers one to his brother. Suddenly the front of the vehicle starts to shake and the Yugo 45 goes out of control.

"The steering shaft has broken out!" Gabriel is thrilled and Michael cheers with joy "Geronimo!"

The vehicle skidded, hit the crash barrier, rolled over several times and came to rest on its roof.

The two angels pull themselves out of the wreckage unharmed through the shattered windshield. While wiping the broken glass from him, Michael scolds:

"What's this circus with the exhaust, have you lost your mind, brother? How are we supposed to go on now, the hordes are lurking and we'll lose time! Here's your meekness!"

Gabriel stares at the wreckage and says, laughing:

"Calm down, man. We'll make it in time. Now you pick the vehicle and give me a cigar, mine fell out during the thunder ball. It was an unforgettable experience, the rollover at one hundred and forty, admit it!"

Michael has to admit. He can't deny that he didn't enjoy the stunt spectacle Gabriel was preparing. He ties his long hair, tousled by the accident, into a ponytail, takes cigarettes out of his jacket and lights them for both of them:

"Grab the bag of beer from the wreckage and let's go. The courier arrives soon and we must hurry so that the five chaplains do not wait longer than necessary."

Gabriel does as he is asked and they set off on a walk along the deserted highway. After the second cigarette, their chat is interrupted by a bright light in the night sky. Tiny is the beam of light that descends upon them, but sufficient to illuminate the area all around. Eventually it floats down to head height of the two and transforms into a young angel of the lowest rank. A slender, sexless body, shining like a pearl, with huge wings gathered at his back. His eyes are silver and his head is bald, as apprentices should be.

"Well, where have you been so far?" Michael asks rudely. He has never had tolerance for students, he believes that the iron is forged while it is hot.

The young angel drops to one knee:

"A thousand pardons, my lord. It was hard to find these people. They were hiding in different places and it took time to accept my existence and understand my words!"

Gabriel grabs his arm and pulls him up:

"Come on, get up and stay off formalities. We are on Earth and the apocalypse is in full swing. Take a form and act natural."

The apprentice transforms into a young man with short black hair. He has an envelope in his hand, which he hands to Gabriel, and looks fearfully at Michael, whose gaze is fearful and penetrating.

Gabriel grabs his arm and pulls him up:

"Come on, get up and stay off formalities. We are on Earth and the apocalypse is in full swing. Take a form and act natural."

The apprentice turns into a young man with short black hair. Gabriel takes the envelope he has brought with him. The young angel has no desire to raise his eyes to Michael, whose gaze is reverent and penetrating.

"Whose disciple are you, angel?" the question echoes through the night.

The young man, still not looking up, answered, "Mr. Serafins".

"No wonder you're so stiff," Gabriel laughs and opens the envelope. Michael approaches and the two flip through the pages together.

"Wonderful figures," Michael is being sarcastic, "but they'll do the trick. Are these guys on the move?"

"That's them, sir. They're on their way to the appointed place, but it's uncertain if they'll get there. I saw the hordes and I don't think..."

"They will arrive," Michael replies shortly.

"Fear is a good ally," Gabriel adds and takes a beer out of his pocket, presses it into the young angel's hand and offers him a cigarette:

"Light your cigarette and drink your beer!"

"My lord, it's against the rules, I can't!"

"I command you. Show disobedience and you will feel my wrath!"

The young angel is torn between his instruction, Michael's piercing gaze, and humility. Nevertheless, he accepts the cigarette and the beer, draws in the smoke, winces and soothes the cough with a big gulp from the can.

"That's the spirit. When you're in Rome, act like a Roman," Gabriel starts laughing and Michael finally gives up being strict and joins in the laughter.

"What's your name?" Michael asks in a somewhat milder tone and restrains his laughter.

"I haven't gotten one yet, but Mr. Serafin calls me Tulip!"

Michael and Gabriel stared at each other for a few moments, only to giggle loudly again. The young angel is embarrassed and looks to the ground. He has heard all kinds of stories about these archangels, about their heroic deeds, but also the violation of discipline and law that push the Lord's mercy to the extreme limits and beyond.

"Serafin is very resourceful, he always has been! Don't be ashamed. You're one of us now. We'll call you Luigi."

"Has your sword tasted the blood of a demon?" Michael adds.

Puzzled, he looks up:

"No, my lord. It's still early and Mr. Serafin said..."

"And I'll tell you this. You'll stay with us until you stick your sword in that demon. And then, if you prove yourself worthy, you stick it in a demon! Drink the ale, Luigi! How did Serafin let you go?"

It takes a few moments for the apprentice to understand the meaning of Michael's words. His job was simply to pick a few bad priests and order them to come to a certain place, tell both archangels about it, and return to the First Sphere where the angels dwell. He worries what the Lord Serafin will say, and he can't even imagine what it means to stick a sword into a demoness.

Are all the stories whispered through the First Sphere true, is there indeed a place where masters occasionally descend to indulge in physical pleasures with demon daughters?" Still, one thought makes him happy, the thought that he will finally use his sword and send a demon back to where it belongs. For thousands of years he has patiently studied and prepared. Suddenly, he has the honor of assisting the famed Archangels and gets the opportunity to sully his sword with the blood of an unholy one. His friends, the learners, will also rejoice. He reins in his vanity and pride, but this endeavor is not successful.

"He has been given a task, my lord," Luigi replies, finishing the can in one gulp and inhaling the cigarette smoke again. The fear of these gentlemen gradually gives way, but humility remains.

"Very good, so you like beer. Take this bag and carry it. If you feel thirsty, you are free to drink," Michael orders and turns to his brother:

"What kind of circus performers do we have here?"

Gabriel, thoughtful, flips open the pages from the cover. He frowns more and more, which is very uncharacteristic for him:

"We have two who try to seduce every woman in the village, even married ones, under the pretext of divine comfort and mercy. We also have a gambler who cheats, even the poor are not sacred to him, and we also have an infidel who became a priest only for the sake of prestige and money. And now watch out, we have one who loves children, especially boys."

Michael is overwhelmed with anger. Fornication and vice he hardly forgives, the jokers who call themselves orthodox priests, but children certainly not. Gabriel shares his opinion, but his brother, unlike him, masks his anger and hatred for these freaks. There will be no mercy for them in the office of St. Peter, he will personally see to it, despite the fact that Peter himself is sharp on the issue. He will use special connections to make sure that these jokers burn coal in the boiler room of hell forever, without a single break for centuries.

"Luigi, you made a proper selection, we are satisfied. These clowns will serve as bait and be sacrificed."

"Bait, sir?"

"Yeah, bait. Demons like to possess them. A bunch of priests in one place will be irresistible to them, and we don't have time to hunt them down one by one. Our schedule's full. So, let's go."

Three angels, illuminated by the moon, stride along the highway. They chat casually, make jokes and drink. The youngest, Luigi, listens to their stories with fascination and pride, and his love for the archangels grows more and more.