… in which Lyonya, Valya, Bassoon, student Petrov, and Major Zakharchuk encounter completely inexplicable things, recall history, literature, and a little bit life-saving physics
Behind the rectangular corrugated iron gate and the easily opened metal bolt lay a large, dark warehouse space. It seemed that this large shed had never been intended for storing anything particularly valuable. Or perhaps the owner relied entirely on the guards and simple alarm systems. However, neither of these could be seen here anymore.
The dim yellowish light coming through the doors from the street was clearly insufficient, so Bassoon turned on his flashlight and began to search around with its beam. Wooden crates and boxes, reminiscent of refrigerator packaging, were tightly packed together, leaving only narrow passages and forming a kind of maze.
"Let's not split up," Lyonya commanded his companions, tensely following the bright spot from the flashlight with his pistol, and then asked loudly, "Is anyone here alive?!"
No one answered the student, no matter how hard he listened. Only the quiet footsteps of the hapless breakers could be heard in the echoing metallic silence of the warehouse. But then, around the next turn, the light from the flashlight caught a scene in the semi-darkness that made everyone gasp, and Valya even let out a quiet cry of surprise. In the middle of the warehouse, where the maze of boxes ended, a wide square space was completely filled with dark figures standing shoulder to shoulder. Petrov, panicking, flinched, but his back bumped into the plump belly of Zakharchuk, who was bringing up the rear.
"Quiet!" muttered the major. "You'll knock it over..." "What is it?"
"False alarm. They've put mannequins here," commented Bassoon, seeing the flashlight glint off the round plastic heads. "I suggest we spread out and search the room for useful tools. But let's not lose sight of each other."
"Agreed," nodded Leonid.
Everyone began to open the sealed boxes and rummage through their contents. One of the first finds — a box of Chinese pocket flashlights and packs of batteries — was considered a stroke of luck. With their help, further looting turned out to be much easier and faster. But, as luck would have it, nothing more valuable was found. Balloons. Colored hydrogel pellets. Pencils and ballpoint pens. Stickers with rainbow ponies. Erasers that smelled like strawberries and bananas. It seemed that the entire warehouse was filled to the brim with various stationery and other cheap garbage.
"It's all Chinese trash here," Valya commented, tossing another box aside. "Will the tape be used?"
"Take a couple," Lyonya nodded.
"These mannequins are Chinese too," said Petrov, strolling leisurely along the rows of mannequins and not particularly eager to participate in the general search.
"Whoever put them here..." muttered the girl, noisily tearing open a bag. "You could shit yourself..." .
The historian shrugged:
"No idea. Maybe the Tajiks were joking? By the way, this is also a Chinese theme. Have you heard of teg'g'acotta ag'my?"
"What?" asked Zakharchuk.
"About teg'g'akotovaya ag'miya," Petrov repeated contemptuously, clearly indignant at his companions' cultural ignorance. "It's several thousand clay warrior statues that were created by order of the first Chinese emperor of the Qin dynasty."
"What the fuck? Just because?"
"They were supposed to accompany and protect the emperor in the realm of the dead..." the historian continued, but Bassoon, who was fiddling with large wooden boxes, interrupted him:
"Listen, cut it out with your history lectures. We're already in the realm of the dead here. Come and help me... There's something heavy here, I think..."
With an expression of weary resignation, Petrov reluctantly took a few steps toward the Rosgvardia soldier who was unpacking the crate, but suddenly froze in place, his eyes wide.
"What's wrong, Maidan guy?" asked Zakharchuk, noticing the horror on the student's face.
"It's strangling me!" Petrov whispered barely audibly.
Only now did everyone notice that a shiny plastic hand was clenched on the historian's shoulder. A moment later, a second identical hand rose and began to strangle the student.
Bassoon was the first to react. Jumping out from behind his boxes and putting all his weight into the blow, he swung the butt of his automatic rifle into the empty plastic face, which, however, did not even crack. With a hollow sound, the statue flew to the side. But the rest of the plastic figures were already in motion.
"Let's get out of here!" Leonid commanded, already grabbing Valya and dragging her toward the exit. But it was impossible make their way quickly through the maze of wooden boxes to the door of salvation. Torn packaging film and overturned cardboard boxes got in the way. Behind them, hundreds of artificial hands flailed chaotically in the air.
Stomping their hollow feet on the floor, the crowd of mannequins, like a swarm of ants, began to push against the boxes. The wooden walls of the warehouse maze began to shift, cutting off the people's escape routes.
"Upstairs!" Bassoon shouted with all his might and deftly climbed onto the nearest box. Petrov followed him. With some incredible effort, Lyonya pushed Valya, who was clutching her metal suitcase, upstairs. Then, with the help of a Rosgvardia soldier, he climbed up himself. The pudgy Zakharchuk, in his haste, dropped his shotgun, decided for some reason to pick it up, and got stuck between the boxes. Lyonya and Bassoon grabbed him by the arms, trying to pull him out, but it wasn't that easy.
"Come on, Major! Use your feet! Push with your feet!" the Rosgvardia soldier yelled, but Zakharchuk only groaned and kicked his legs helplessly in the air. The special forces soldier wanted to use his automatic rifle as a support to prevent the trap from closing, but it was too late. The wooden walls squeezed together, crushing the police major's chest with a crunch. Zakharchuk hung between the boxes like a rag doll.
"You, bastards! Wanna you be drop dead!" Valya screamed hysterically, pressing the button on her heavy device as hard as she could, but to no avail. Suddenly, she slumped, as if discouraged by her own memory:
"Petrovich said it would only work once... Stupid... Why did I drag him here..."
Nevertheless, the position taken by the people now gave them some advantage. The wooden storage pallets they had climbed onto were well above human height, and therefore above the height of the mannequin. The plastic mannequins banged frantically, bending into the most unexpected positions, filling the air with a noise reminiscent of the chirping of giant cicadas, but they couldn't climb up.
"Like some Hoffman..." Petrov muttered, turning the cap of the air freshener can with trembling hands, directing the stream down into the raging plastic crowd and clicking his lighter.
The orange jet of flame momentarily illuminated the warehouse. Ominous glints danced on the mannequins twitching in their surreal bacchanalia. Several shiny empty faces without eyes or mouths were covered with soot, but did not catch fire. Smoke rose from smoldering cardboard boxes and the acrid smell of burning polyethylene packaging filled the air.
"Stop it!" Bassoon grabbed the historian by the arm. "You'll burn us faster that way! You see... They don't burn! And they don't break. Fiberglass. Glass fiber."
"How do you know that?" Lyonya asked in surprise.
"We use it to make transparent shields..." explained the Rosgvardia officer.
"Maybe you should shoot it then?" suggested the student.
"We could..."
Bassoon pulled Petrov away from the edge, slowly, almost thoughtfully, pulled the bolt back, then jerked the automatic rifle up and fired a long burst at the fiberglass heads. The bullets entered the fiberglass bodies, leaving round holes behind, but by the time the magazine was empty, not a single mannequin had fallen to the floor. The mangled, riddled figures continued to try to reach the people sitting above with admirable persistence.
"Well... That's the end of our authority," the Rosgvardia soldier smiled hopelessly, throwing down his now useless machine gun. "Unless shall we try your miracle weapon?"
"Lyonya!" Of course! You have those special cartridges!" Valya reminded him, but Leonid had already taken out his old Nagant revolver and was now squinting as he aimed it at the chattering crowd of statues.
"By the way, how did your friend decipher the name 'NKVD cartridge'? It sounded kind of scientific..."
"Neutralizer of a quantum wave duality," said Lyonya and pulled the trigger.
The bullet pierced someone in the plastic sea of hands and heads, followed by a sharp clap and an electric crackle. A short white-blue flash blinked. The air smelled of ozone, and the immobilized hollow figures fell to the floor.