Located in Chandrovo; perhaps this is one of the most transportable villages, because it is close by car and by minibus too. Fortunately, route number 61 goes here regularly.
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However, accessibility is both a plus and a minus. For example, not all residents of cottage settlements are happy that anyone can walk along their streets. However, it is possible that Sloboda will close after the active construction is completed here. And then you get tired of opening the barrier for KAMAZ trucks and tractors.
But this is already an intra-neighborly affair of local residents.
And we drove into the village from Chandrovo - completely free. On the roads of those streets where rapid construction continues, there is concrete. As they move in, asphalt will appear.
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The following photographs show that initially "Otdelfinstroy" tried to build up its village with standard flat houses:
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However, over time, this practice was abandoned. I can assume that the developer was simply tired of fighting the chaotic desires of the residents, who either wanted an additional balcony, or a fence made of a different material, or even “exactly the same as the neighbor’s, but with mother-of-pearl gates.” Now the only thing that unites all the cottages in this village is the absence of cellars. Chandrovo has very high groundwater.
Now everyone builds who is in what much. Some of us, for example, were deeply traumatized by the marble finish of this house:
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An artificial pond into which incorrigible fishermen have thrown their fishing rods before our very eyes. It is assumed that the pond will become larger over time, and the OFS will somehow ennoble its banks. True, they have not yet figured out how to do this so as not to pat the wallets of the residents of Sloboda much.
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The future of the green circle inside Sloboda, which now looks wild, has not yet been determined. Maybe it will be a park, or maybe a sports ground. But I can say what will happen on the paths: on the top - playgrounds, on the bottom - a quiet recreation area leading to the pond.
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More photos:
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About the problems that exist with communications and the satisfaction of basic human needs, such as the Internet, I think the residents of Sloboda will tell better than me. My job is to post pictures.
Yesterday I asked the OFS to send me a layout of free plots, but, apparently, things are going well in the company and the company does not need additional informing the population. Well, okay, I'll say on my fingers:
- the first line (closer to the Yadrinsky highway) costs 220,000 rubles per hundred square meters,
- the second line - 275,000 rubles per hundred square meters,
- the third - 330,000 rubles per hundred square meters.
In short, the farther from the highway, the more expensive. In general, there is still much to build:
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Don't go far, we have seven more cottage settlements ahead of us.
To be continued
Mikhail Liberzon-Ogly (Uncle Misha)
Quiet settlement
Annotation: Chronicles of the village "Quiet Sloboda", Moscow region, Solnechnogorsk district.
Mikhail Liberzon-Ogly Zelenograd
feat
Michael PROF Ryazan
Quiet settlement
(according to the world of books in the Age of the Dead series by Andrey Cruz)
Epigraph:
- Missionary activity? Do you want them to come back and tell everyone about other worlds?
- Yes exactly.
But no one will believe them. With the mood that prevails on Earth, they will all be caught and lynched.
Vickers shook his head.
- There is a group of people who will believe them, these are, as they call themselves, dreamers. Dreamers run away from reality. They imagine that they live in the time of some Pepys or someone else, but even there they do not find
peace and a sense of security. Here we can guarantee complete freedom and security. Here they can return to the simple, unpretentious, worry-free life they long for. And no matter how fantastic our stories sound,
dreamers will believe them.
- Are you sure?
- Sure.
Clifford Simak
"Ring Around the Sun"
Prologue
June 23, Wednesday.
Early morning.
Village "Quiet Sloboda". Moscow region, Solnechnogorsk district.
It seems that only the sun rose, warmed, and steam crawled from the asphalt with its first rays, dissolving very soon, the night rain, which fell the day before in small puddles on gray, well-groomed asphalt paths. Everywhere bird songs for hundreds of voices, so much so that they are already jammed. You can eat them, birds, here at least with your ass - the forest, consider, almost surrounded the village from two sides. The sky is not a cloud. Previously, in such a sky, the eye clung only to light white lines, which were left behind by patrolling the space above the capital and its environs, jet planes - our air shield. But now the planes almost do not fly. Not that the sky has become completely uninhabited - however, flying machines, for three months now, have become a rarity. And the shield is no longer relevant - a threat of this kind has disappeared by itself. There is no longer an insidious external enemy stretching out hooked fingers from near and far approaches, as he was depicted in the caricatures of the former Soviet agitprop. The enemy is now deeply internal, so internal that it is not necessary to follow him far. You don't even have to take a step - that's how much!
Fresh, but not cold at all. The smell here and the air are such that coniferous-herbal tea is brewed from them. And this is near Moscow, this is in the first quarter of the 21st century. The vegetation in the front gardens is dense and smells powerful, confident, juicy - lilacs, flowers, something else ... And its colors are bright in the sun, almost without halftones. And prickly, sparkling water beads in small, small scattering on the leaves - from the same night rain. But it will disappear even faster than puddles on the pavement - ten minutes and that's it. The sun rises quickly and the day is apparently warm. Or even hot.
Quiet Sloboda is our settlement not far from the Pyatnitskoye Highway, on a plot in the form of an irregular quadrangle with an area of about fifty acres. This is if you take only the "vein". There is also a “promka” - a wide strip along the southern border of the entire territory, going east of the “vein”, and in the corner between it and the forest approaching from the north and east - there is also an “agricultural road”, or rather one of its parts, there, where we have greenhouses and just vegetable gardens. The northwestern border of its "vein" is also almost closely stuck to the dense forest.
There is only one road from the highway. Asphalt and quite narrow - barely pass if you are moving in the opposite direction. Eight hundred meters away from us, the road "forks" for the first time: - to our left, and to the right through the field further, into two more small colonies of summer residents. Our road rests on the central gate, and from the platform in front of them it "forks" again, to the left and to the right, to two more entrances that functioned before the arrival of misfortune. Now the side gates have been drowned out - there is no need, but rather the opposite - one hemorrhoids from them. A week later, as it all happened, Bastian (about him a little later) ordered the technician to be kicked out, and she, not sparing diesel fuel, in just half a day, turned two asphalt forks to the side gate into a real obstacle course, dug up to a depth of three meters and littered with sides of the field with all sorts of wildly mangled auto-junk. I didn’t have to travel far for the latter - dying Moscow did as a single newly-departed would do, as usual, upon departure to another world, freeing itself from its technological fluids and slags through the last contractions of the intestines and bladder. That is, the dying capital instantly spewed out such a stream of cars from itself that the narrow Friday stood up already on the third or fourth day of the disaster. And in both directions. They fled from Moscow to the region, and from Solnechnogorsk they were already breaking in all directions - so quickly the infection flared up there. Almost immediately, ghouls appeared from the villages along the highway. Yes, and some bitten refugees would be enough to bring a new necroorder there. Half a day - and everyone who did not dare to leave their cars and belongings, who did not flee to anywhere, but just away from the road - everyone was already stomping and wandering around their property, acquired by overwork, in a dead state and looking for themselves - wherever anyone devour.
Well, if it's a draw now, then it's ours. Before the forks were dug up, about two dozen men and almost the entire staff - about forty village Chopovtsy (yes, we also have our own private security company, and a lot of other things of our own) made an unmeasured number of walkers on the track and drove so many cars , which was enough to score both asphalt appendixes. Cars, trucks, buses - everything they could reach, that they managed to pull out of the track. Three hundred came out - no less. They drove it, but returned for the last time with losses - Yurka Monakhov was devoured by a ghoul, who are now universally called "morphs". One family was left without a breadwinner - it's bad, but the community will not leave them, of course.
Well, then, in the order of a subbotnik, the entire population was engaged in these machines, who even knew how to hold a piece of reinforcement in their hands. They beat the cars with all available tools, cut what was being cut, bent what was bent, turning them into a kind of porcupines. They put these improvised "hedgehogs" on the sides of the mutilated forks. Construction debris, soil from the pits from the new site was brought and dumped, as if propping up this barricade from the inside, in such a way that, ripped up in many places, the torn and curved car body bristled towards the field at an angle of forty-five degrees. They fucked the whole village like Papa Karla, but each of the cars turned into a serious obstacle, and if someone wanted to overcome such a barricade, they would not be able to do it in one fell swoop and would make a lot of noise. Between themselves, they also tied all this rubbish, as best they could, with pieces of cables, where they could be welded, it’s good that the electricity supply had not been turned off then.
Dead men came to the noise, but not much, and a dozen and a half guards easily whipped them, letting them in fifty meters. A couple of bright heads in our country quickly realized that it was shots that attracted zombies, and therefore, since silencers were not allowed for civilian weapons, they thought of jamming the firing with improvised means by attaching automobile oil filters to the barrels. Of course, there was no external aesthetics, but the effect was there at close range, although there were deviations from the target, but so ... - pah, ... you can hit. At the same time, powerful calibers equipped with such an improvement only clapped lightly, while when firing from something “five to forty-five”, one could only distinguish the clang of the bolt, spitting small shells onto the ground.
The village fence, not very strong, made of corrugated board, but high, more than three meters, was braided on top of the "rigid", which was stockpiled, at one time, until the asshole. And from the side of the village, where the side entrances broke off, they assembled from a bar and put up, additionally fixing on cable braces, two temporary wooden towers, ten meters high, equipped according to the model of those that are made in expensive hunting grounds for commercial hunting - with walls , a roof and round-the-clock duty ... Only from the outside the platform was made more powerful, they let it out a little, and they put sandbags there - since now it has become purely military, and the situation, accordingly, is an emergency.
They dragged and dragged to the towers two ancient, like shit mammoth Dima, shabby DShKM, and dragged not from the outside, but from our own industrial area. This rarity was also stocked up in advance, just in case “just in case” - and I knew about it. Craftsmen from garages made simple machines for them from what was. Machine guns, although they were not "not kissed", but not so much with a huge shot. With the current resource, they quite cheerfully coughed for themselves, without giving out special jambs. About eight hundred meters away, in the place where the road leading to the village made a slight bend, they drove into the field a truck with a ref-trailer, also dragged from the road, which now by and large was not particularly in demand. Several short bursts were fired at her cockpit from both towers, which made the latter turn into a “perfect dick,” as a warrior named Kostik, sitting on one of the machine guns, satisfactorily formulated, a stocky, small stature, but wildly healthy merry fellow. Double benefit - and the cars were shot and, so to speak, a visual aid was depicted for those who, with malicious intent, would decide to pay a visit. The side of the ref-trailer was subsequently used as a field for a formidable inscription:
"Stop! You are in the zone of destruction of a large-caliber machine gun.
Be sure to contact security on one of the frequencies, depending on the available
means of communication: -
27.150
33.000
42.000
52.00
124.000
144.500
433.075
446.100
Please state the purpose of your visit. If you continue to move without radio identification, fire will be opened to kill!
For persuasiveness, a home-grown, but very witty artist (still the same, by the way, Kostya) depicted below a hefty skull with two, as expected, crossed at the bottom, and signed even lower, paraphrasing the catchphrase: - “leave the show-offs clumsy, everyone who enters here ". Bastian was then angry, and then he suddenly grunted in his beard, and waved his hand - let him stay, they say ... And on the roof of the ref-trailer they brought out large 124,000. Type frequency for pilots. All in the mind, in short.
Now, from the side of the only entrance, from the southwestern side, in order to break into the “oasis of civilization” called Quiet Sloboda (and colloquially Slobodka), you will have to sweat a lot, and still with a very illusory probability of success. And on the way, there is nothing to think at all. At the same time, they threw FBS-ok on the road with a truck crane from the construction site, in a checkerboard pattern, as expected. From there, the “fifteenth” channels were brought from the construction site, several pieces were cut and made something like hedgehogs, like in a movie about the war. We just finished with welding and the electricity became “yok” - they sniffed in time.
Fortifiers among us, of course, are not pros, but with the collective mind we can come up with something. Yesterday, the board of the village decided to complete the construction of the “social program” in the southern corner and relocate families from the first line of the southwestern “social program” there. In the small townhouses of the first line, built of foam blocks, like the rest of the houses of this type in Slobodka, guards and our other defense affairs will now have to be located, two alarm groups, something from the arsenal. And what is convenient - immediately on the front, so to speak, edge. Almost forty houses connected by light metal passages, the passages under which can only be protected from below with chain-link and road mesh, will unite into a kind of fortress wall and will, among other things, be the second reserve line of defense. Where there were small gardens, alas, now there will be just an eighteen-meter strip of land, up to the very first fence - they plowed up, and the trees were cut down, although it was a pity. Empty land, but the normul is shot through like this ...
Then, in the same way, we plan to modify the “social program” from the side of the forest. She also lined up along the border there. Although the forest is not particularly suitable for walking, but God saves the cherished - there, too, the fidget has been stretched abundantly between the trees, and even the Chopovites have twisted some signal extensions. Then, as soon as possible, it will be necessary to cut down a clearing of twenty meters there - and building materials and firewood will not be superfluous. In a normal life, for such logging voluntarism, the head would be torn off.
Now there still live and are on duty those who always lived there. They sit on their own, without closing their eyes every four houses, then neighbors, and so on along the chain - they are responsible for their sector and we don’t pull people from there to other borders, because in addition to security and other work, the village is full.
In general, the entire territory, together with the industrial and agricultural sectors - about a hundred hectares - is not guarded. Patrols were organized from the vein along the road between the field and the industrial complex. And the promka is generally under heavy guard. There is the guarantee of our existence. Warehouses, car fleet, workshops, a couple of small industries, not very dirty. The field is external, where it approaches our territory, they dug up a hundred meters with a plow. Finished yesterday - now only the tank will pass.
If you look at the residential village from a bird's eye view, you can see that it consists of three main zones, lying on both sides of the central boulevard, which starts right from the checkpoint and leads straight to the City. To the right and left of the boulevard, perpendicularly, driveways diverge, going to streets parallel to the boulevard, which close all the buildings on the sides. Everything is very simple, without any special general planning "frills".
At first, as soon as the checkpoint passed, you get into the "social program" - a quarter consisting of small townhouses. Housing is typical, houses made of foam blocks with insulation are not too luxurious and spacious, but quite affordable for those who do not have much money at all. It was specially designed that way.
Further - the "middle class", again on both sides of the boulevard. The plots are larger - the houses have already been built by someone who is very much, but again, without showing off.
Well, at the end of the boulevard - this is the "City". The boulevard rests on the central square, rectangular in shape. In front of the square there is a large, again on a local scale, parking lot, somewhere for fifty cars, maybe a little more. Right - "Eliseevsky" - this is how they called a small two-story mini-market building among themselves, with food and all sorts of related stuff. To the left and right are two three-story buildings - administrative buildings, where those who wish, mainly from the "middle class", who had their own small gesheft, had small offices. There was also a tiny tavern, and a place where all sorts of economic and operational services that were vital for the village met, and, of course, where the village board itself met. To the left of the City live, as they were jokingly nicknamed, "oligarchs" - just a few large plots with large houses for those who finances allowed. But the concept of "Big" is conditional here too. Houses of six hundred meters and plots of thirty acres, against twelve acres of land and houses of two hundred and fifty meters of the "middle class" and four acres plus 120 meters of two sections of the "social" townhouse.
When it, that is, the village, was still only conceived, they tried to simplify as much as possible everything that they were able to simplify. Well, yes, let's not get ahead of ourselves - everything is in order:
Now is the time to return to the personality of the same Bastian, which was already mentioned earlier. In fact, he is in fact not Bastian, but Lazarev Valentin Sergeevich. Someone from the local intelligentsia (“intelligentsia”, of course, in the good sense of the word) “driven” him with this unusual name in honor of the hero of one children's book called “People and Robbers from Cardamom”. There, Bastian was the name of a kind mayor who "walked around the city and found out if everyone was doing well," to quote a distant Scandinavian writer with an unpronounceable name more or less accurately from memory. The reason for this was, most likely, the good-natured appearance of the head of the settlement. A tall, slightly plump man with short-cut, but still thick hair for fifty-seven years old, which has already accumulated a fair amount of gray hair, a neat but weighty beard, of the same consistency, attentive and devilishly complex brown eyes, actively living on a wide and smiling face , from which a completely healthy, and not apoplectic, blush, as happens in people of age, rarely descended. Invariably polite speech, simplicity in dress, the absence of any hint of complacency and arrogance betrayed in him an intelligent and pleasant person, with whom it was pleasant to deal with. But its apparent softness is the first impression, and behind the outwardly harmless, plush appearance, there is a slightly different person. As far as serious matters are concerned, Lazarev is a tough, resolute person, and sometimes even too harsh in his movements. In the post-Soviet past, he steered cyclopean construction projects in those parts where the temperature does not rise above plus ten even in summer, then settled in Zelenograd in the same position as one of the defense enterprises, he eventually accumulated a wealth of experience and connections, both a politician and a business executive. In combination with a number of positive and necessary human qualities, we got Bastian - the chairman of the board of our Quiet Sloboda and one of the co-authors of the idea of its birth.
About five years ago, when the nineties had already died down with their firing and showdowns because of everything and everything, when hordes of guest workers flooded into the capital and large cities of central Russia, making the streets even less safe than in those recent "dashing times" . When, at times increased, the automotive biomass of megacities, having replenished, as a result of the loyal credit policy of many banks, with an army of fresh, inexpensive foreign cars, finally plunged these same megacities into a state of permanent transport collapse, and asthmatics into more frequent systematic attacks of suffocation from the smog forever hanging over their heads .... Well, in a word, just at that time, which is called the "era of change" and does not end in our long-suffering and multinational country for the last twenty years, an idea was born in the minds of individual citizens with a tough and uncompromising summary "it's time to fuck out of here !!!"
And Valentin Sergeevich, although he lived in Zelenograd, where it still seems like it was still possible to live, although he already had a dacha in the Klin district of the Moscow region, on a trip to which he had to stand for hours in traffic jams from those who wanted to enjoy the "nature of the day off" , but now, he was gnawed by the feeling that something had to be done with this existence. And now he, as a resolute, active person, and also having a fairly extensive circle of acquaintances in various fields, did not put things off indefinitely. Quite soon, a small team of like-minded people formed, which, by chance, I also got into. The main goal was not to “conquer the universe and change the world”, but only in the already existing and far from perfect world, to fence off his own, small, but precisely his little world. To saturate it with exactly the meaning that people who are committed to traditional human values, work, family, a normal, calm and dignified life consider important for themselves. People who have reached, if not the heights of wealth, then certainly not idle, with a burden of responsibility and the ability to bear this burden. Professionals, people with a clear understanding that it is necessary to survive not when the whole earth is covered by a global cataclysm, but right now, because what is happening around can no longer be called a calm life, because the future is foggy, because the present is unstable and many, many more "becauses".
In contrast to the goals formulated by an unpretentious chain of actions such as: buy land - cut plots - build some kind of shit on them with a beautiful facade, sell and fuck, which most developers set themselves, our heroes had a different approach. They stayed here to live and did everything in the first place, not for the sake of the laws of wild marketing and "short money", but thoroughly and for the long term. The main result of this approach was that the village functioned as a single organism, where representatives of different social strata got along well and had their own niche, from working families to the families of those very conditional "oligarchs". The only criterion that was strictly observed was formulated as the “complete adequacy and sanity” of the settler. One of the clauses of a rather extensive contract was called upon to ensure this state of affairs, where one of the conditions for its conclusion was consent to undergo a medical examination from a narcologist and psychiatrist, as well as deep processing of personal data of everyone who planned to settle here, young and old. Getting a “residence permit” here was more difficult than getting a permit for a weapon in a license. And even more interesting was that this clause of the contract, contrary to fears, did not meet with any rejection from potential residents. The vast majority of those who came with a smile agreed to go through such a "filter", knowing full well why this was invented and what guarantees it promises. Only a few visitors, covered with crimson spots and indignantly puffing something about a violation of the right to privacy and its inviolability, slammed the door of an impromptu "showroom" in one of the construction trailers, behind which a construction site was already in full swing in the fenced area, fed by the efforts of Lazarev from full-flowing credit lines and supporting state programs. The administrative resource and connections of the director of the defense enterprise had an effect. A year and a half later, the Head of the District Administration, having said a short eulogy, cut the symbolic ribbon to the applause of the audience. The first line, on the right side of the already well-maintained boulevard, from the social area to the City, celebrated its birthday and began to live and be healthy, cheerfully filling with new people ...
Well, yes, we will periodically return to such brief excursions to the origins, if necessary, explain the origin of something interesting, which we have in the village a lot.
In the meantime, Valentin Sergeyevich (Bastian) Lazarev was slowly walking from the City to the main checkpoint, along the boulevard path, gradually flooded with the rays of the sun, shifting more comfortably to the side, so that he would not rub the already completely marked belly, the waist holster in which the Stechkin warmed up ". The pistol is not the most practical, but it is large, as befits the pistol of the chairman of the board. The pistol, due to the high status of the owner, rarely leaves the holster. And why does he need it now, for example? Behind the head of the settlement, a little in the distance, stomped two "chopers" with AKSU, tightened in a well-chosen in size and fitted to a specific figure, black uniform and hung with all sorts of useful military equipment, stuffed into pockets, pockets and compartments of quite good offloading vests. On the left sleeve, round stripes were distinguishable with an inscription in a circle, yellow on black: “Civil militia of the village of Quiet Sloboda” and a silhouette of a hornet in white on a black background. That is how the former private security company "Shershen" was now called, created and headed by a retired FSB colonel *, Lenya Goldman, an old friend of Bastian. Goldman, by the way, was also in a hurry to the gates of the checkpoint, having just closed the gate in his front garden. He was thin, bony, green-eyed and arrogant, of small stature, with characteristic "Jewish" bald patches on a short-cropped hair, passing through the temples downwards into a short and stiff reddish beard, and vaguely resembled the face of an ancient Babylonian warrior from a picture in a history textbook. Unless the beard is shorter.
Five minutes earlier, a sentinel post, located on the top floor of an abandoned and still unfinished boarding house, informed the high command that dear guests would soon arrive.
Coming out onto the boulevard, the colonel immediately saw Bastian and, with a mental effort, interrupted the string of memories that he had just indulged in the day before ...
* In the light of the events described, Leonid Grigoryevich Goldman will not be called a retired colonel or ex-colonel, but will simply be a colonel ... for brevity and because there are no former FSB colonels))
Goldman.
March 20, Tuesday, lunch time.
Zelenograd. 1 Department of Internal Affairs "Matushkino-Savelki" Zelenograd administrative district of Moscow
- “It happened, it happened! - shirt in the ass rolled up!
That was precisely the answer of Leonid Grigoryevich Goldman to Bastian to his alarmed "What happened?" some time after the head of the private security company arrived at the first department of the Zelenogradskaya mentovka, to deal with a strange incident that happened at the school where the bulk of the village children studied. (Every morning from the village, accompanied by a car with “chopers”, a school bus with high school students, attached by the efforts of the board in two city schools, went to the city).
- Svyatoslav, engineer Berdnikov's son, broke his classmate's head and, it seems, to death ... - the colonel turned to the old and good acquaintance, Andryukha Chekhmakin, who was sitting on the edge of the table, raising his eyebrows inquiringly, and, as it were, looking for confirmation - did he digest correctly and conveyed the information that fell on him a minute ago. Oper nodded, confirming that everything that was happening was not a bad dream at all. Both turned their eyes to a sporty, fair-haired young man, chained in bracelets, who was sitting opposite the said opera. The guy was in some kind of prostration, his back hunched and, dropping his head down, looked at the floor, somewhere past the chained hands. The sleeves of a thin woolen sweater pulled up, and the hands themselves were trembling - everything was covered in dried blood stains.
Tell me - a thundercloud hung over a juvenile killer, Goldman.
Eleventh-grader Svyatoslav Berdnikov looked up at him, in which common sense remained completely at the bottom, and everything else was filled with some kind of panicked and hunted despair.
Leonid Grigoryevich, it was Seryoga, Balakin…. When he appeared, it seemed to me that he had lost his mind ... And he appeared not from the entrance, but from somewhere behind the school ... And his eyes were somehow abnormal, as if he had stoned ... no, not even stoned, as if blind, probably .. or not blind, I don’t know ... I can’t describe ... He ... he ... - The guy trembled finely and tears suddenly poured from his eyes.
This Seryoga - Chekhmakin continued after Berdnikov - went up to the porch, where your hero was standing in the company of several more ... umm .. classmates. And then he suddenly rushed for no reason at one girl from their class - how was she? he asked the detainee, who again doubled over, looking at the floor.
- Katya ... Klimenko ... she is my girlfriend - the guy answered in a muffled and stifled voice, without raising his head.
- Katya? ... Your mother, and this is ours! What `s next? Goldman frowned.
- And then this Balakin dumped the girl on the floor and gnawed a piece of meat right from her neck. - again, the opera continued for Svyatoslav - at first your hero tried to simply tear him away from her, and when he couldn’t, he took a hefty urn, which they have at the entrance, and left Sergey Viktorovich Balakin without half of the skull with the frame from this urn. He hit eight times ... He had zero chances to survive. As a result - the girl is in the hospital, and the guy - the operas clicked his tongue loudly - in the morgue! So, Leonid Grigorievich, your one hundred and fifth is breaking in all its glory. No self-defense can be explained ...
- He was on drugs - the detainee suddenly gave a voice - he did not feel anything at all. When I wringed one of his arms, I completely dislocated it from my shoulder, but he didn’t care at all. And Katya screams, fights back, and blood flows from her neck in a stream. And he climbs on her, bared his teeth ... Leonid Grigoryevich, he stank of some kind of chemistry - he seemed to be on drugs - he suddenly became feverishly frequent .. Earlier in our stairwell, even before we settled in the village, the drug addict lived - so he smelled very similar ... he cooked something there ...
- And eight times with an urn on the head, why? - interrupted his operas
- So he climbed and climbed! I hit, and he climbs, I hit, and he climbs ... And Katya yells .. And then she stopped .. She just turned on her side and that's it .. I shook her, shook her, I wanted to somehow bring her to her senses, but she does not answer ….
- With the girl what? Goldman asked the opera.
- They took me to the hospital - it's good that the ambulance arrived quickly ...
The radio, somewhere in the pocket of Chekhmakin's leather jacket, hitherto silent, suddenly burst into a whole excited tirade. Over the next minutes, Andryukha loudly quarreled with his interlocutor, who insisted on the departure of operas for at least three more episodes. It was about cases, like two drops of water, similar to what happened at school. From fragments of the conversation, it became clear that on the way to the hospital, in the ambulance carriage, Katya died, bitten by the “drug addict” Sergei Balakin. And then the same Katya killed two more people in the hospital. It was the same Katya, who was the girl sitting on a chair in handcuffs, Svyatoslav.
Chekhmakin cursed in a variety of flowery ways, turned the wheel and the radio shut up. A silent scene followed. Oper looked at Goldman, Goldman looked at the opera, and the juvenile delinquent and murderer Berdnikov looked at both respected people named above.
Goldman.
March 20, Tuesday, lunch time
Zelenograd
City Hospital №3
They flew up to the Third City Hospital twenty minutes after the previous events. Chekhmakin on his "Accent", Goldman on the "Prado", and then the choppers "Hornet" in the amount of four rather big kids, because of their dimensions, they could hardly fit into the usual "seven" Zhiguli. They decided to leave schoolboy Berdnikov and not drag him back to his place, even though he tried to. He was locked in one of the cells of the department until all the circumstances were clarified, which, in the light of recent achievements, were already taking some kind of strange, if not bad, turn.
Turning around the corner of the four-story building, where surgery and traumatology were located, everyone saw that a whole string of Ambulances lined up at the admission department, which with its tail had already stretched for a decent distance, occupying almost the entire access road. There was such a feeling that all the cars present at the substation, at one moment, turned out to be right here. Some of them did not even stop their flashing lights, and pale bluish reflections darted along the white facades of the hospital buildings on a cloudy day. But Goldman was not even struck by this. People were bustling about all over the surrounding area. A lot of people, not only medical workers, distinguished by a specific uniform, but also a dozen and a half policemen, a little less than rescuers and, significantly exceeding all employees, the number of people of a purely civilian appearance.
This bustle and bustle, from a distance of two hundred meters, looked like an absolutely meaningless Brownian movement, but when the car rolled closer and the details became visible - the back of the head, from what he saw, froze even the colonel. With a loud and heartily uttered, “Blya-a-a-a-a-ah!!”, Leonid Grigorievich sharply hit the brakes and their mini-autocade, screeching hoarsely with rubber on the damp asphalt, almost “caught up” with each other, got up , as if dug in. They were immediately propped up by another howling ambulance also, which almost stuck its gazelle snout into the rear bumper of the "seven" and did not think to knock out its barrel organ with illumination at the same time. The driver literally fell out of her open door, and a paramedic landed from the front seat, who, paying no attention to anyone, rushed somewhere back, behind the car.
And, meanwhile, what he saw struck even the most violent imagination and aroused an irresistible desire to be away from everything that was happening here, somewhere very far away. Before Goldman and the company unfolded the picture of a real major terrorist attack. There were wounded - and of varying degrees of severity. They were everywhere: - on gurneys under the canopy, where there was a door for receiving emergency patients; on gurneys, accumulated at the usual entrance to the "reception"; on the path, on the benches, and even right on the March snow that was already beginning to melt a little, lying on the lawn around. Lying and sitting on hastily bedded, whatever, and, sometimes, just on the wet ground. Amidst this groaning, screaming and humming tide of people, the white coats of hospital doctors and the blue robes of "ambulances" rushed like alarmed seagulls. The doors of some of the ambulances who were waiting in line were open, and it was clear that work was in full swing there too. The rescuers tried to help as best they could, but everything that was going on here was so chaotic and decentralized that there was not much effect from this.
Ordinary people, most likely, some relatives of the wounded, not used to such spectacles, basically just rushed aimlessly from group to group, shouted something hysterically, waved their hands, clung to doctors and rescuers running past, with phrases like “Yes, do something!”, And, thereby, even more catching up with stupid kipish and panic. Only a few could provide some kind of more or less normal assistance, but they did not run, did not hysteria, and were completely absorbed in their occupation. The cops, ordinary PPP-nicknames, who, against the total number of people, were many times smaller, and who, apparently, did not expect to see such a surprise when they arrived here, tried to act according to the instructions, but this instruction, or was it not for such a case is written, or not so read. Therefore, they acted intuitively, and intuition commanded them to rush along with everyone and shout loudly something like - “Citizens, keep calm and disperse!” and pushing civilians, everyone from everything, as if they were breaking up a fan fight in a sector of the stadium.
Another detail caught my eye: - almost all the wounded were covered in blood, some were unconscious, but there were also real violently crazy people who, despite the efforts of those who helped them, stubbornly resisted, pulled out and strove to reach out to their saviors , to the gums with bared teeth. Two or three of them had to hold them together. Some patients, having escaped from captivity, simply wandered around like drunks, languidly trying to grab hold of anyone who ran past, or simply fell into view. And this is how we managed to take a closer look, despite the terrible injuries that were present on them. Many were in clothes soaked through with blood, as if they had been doused with this blood from a bucket on purpose.
And it was also unpleasant that a couple of these same “drunks” - a man and a woman, loitering on the periphery of this bacchanalia, were already distracted from what was happening and, quite purposefully, headed towards the newcomers. When they, waddling with their strange, slow and some kind of puppet gait, approached a distance of ten meters, the colonel seemed to be scalded with boiling water. He suddenly clearly remembered the words of Berdnikov Jr.: - "... his eyes were somehow abnormal, as if he was stoned, ... no, he was not even stoned, as if he was blind." The two who intended to communicate had eyes that exactly matched the description of a schoolboy. There was something in them from the eyes of a dead fish. Dragged in a muddy film, dead inside, but at the same time violently making movements in orbits, as if capturing and looking for more and more new targets, homing elements of some kind of rocket. And what the hell was the most fucking nasty thing about all this, in the approaching woman, or rather, upon closer inspection, a young girl, Goldman recognized Katya. The same Katya, whose death, as the opera managed to tell on the way, the doctors ascertained on the way to the hospital in an ambulance. The same Katya, who later, already at the reception, unexpectedly got up and tore with her even white teeth the “sleepy” one of the paramedic, who was unable to fight back in the cramped space of the minibus, from the imaginary deceased, albeit clumsy, but who had become unexpectedly strong and tenacious. The one that, according to Chekhmakin's story, was torn to the bone by the hand that rushed to the aid of the doctor, who, despite the fact that they managed to stop the blood and treat the wound, for some reason died fifteen minutes later. And is it not for this reason that the beautifully outlined girl's mouth, and with it the rest of Katya, were thickly smeared with blood? And she also didn’t have a oh-very large fragment of the neck on the left side, which is why the head hung slightly to the side and gave it a somewhat reproachful look, they say - “I didn’t save it, Leonid Grigorievich, although it should protect us!”
"Don't let them get close - they are dangerous!" - Goldman turned to his companions, suddenly realizing that in the hands of himself and, for a long time, the award "Walter-P99" had materialized, with which he never had the habit of parting, except, perhaps, only going to bed. Chekhmakin, who came up, also hurriedly climbed somewhere behind the lapel of a leather jacket, by all appearances, for a service card.
But of the "chopers" only one of the four - the former soldier Vitek Selikh - did not fall into a stupor, but, already, cursing, climbed into the trunk of the "seven" for the "twelfth Saiga". The other three, in vain that they are such healthy ryakhs, crawled out of the car doors, with drooping jaws and frightened expressions, stared blankly at the entire interlude, doing absolutely nothing, although each of them had the seventy-first Izhu hanging in shoulder holsters.
- Wake up, collective farmers, fuck your mother!!! - yelled at his subordinates, suddenly furious colonel. – Trunks in hands, freaks!!! - Automatically, to himself, he still managed to think that it would be nice to give a bashing to the personnel officer, for a completely understandable reason - who did he score?
As if startled by a rude shout from a blow, the other three and less efficient "Hornets" woke up and hastily, fussily dug into their "armpits". About ten seconds later, three bolts rang dully, letting nine-millimeter cartridges shortened to service version into the bore. Goldman was the first to raise his "Walter" in the direction of the bloodied people walking towards them.
At that moment, from somewhere behind the general hectic hubbub suddenly blocked, hovering almost on ultrasound, a desperate woman's scream. Because of the ambulance that drove up behind, the old paramedic fell out onto the path, and some man, probably an brought patient, was leaning on top of her. He was naked to the waist, profusely hairy, his head was hidden almost to the eyes with a gauze bandage with bloody spots already showing through, and instead of one arm there was a strange fragment of scraps of a bandage and scraps of torn muscles, ending with a sharp fragment of one of the radius bones, the one which is thicker. Having filled up his prey, he seized his arm with his teeth, in an unprotected place, right under the blue uniform sleeve that had pulled up in the struggle. On the hand, right from under the clenched teeth of the attacker, immediately ran, branching, trickles of blood. The woman desperately tried to block attempts to get her bared mouth to her neck, trying to rise and lean on her good arm. He would have already clutched at the neck, but from behind, awkwardly grabbing under the armpits, the driver was pulling him away from the victim.
Suddenly, briskly, to the grappled, pulled one of the previously “slowed down” Goldman choppers, the driver Andryukha Dubrovin. As if driven by a desire to rehabilitate himself before the high authorities for his previous joint, a two-meter and one hundred and thirty-kilogram fighter, with a running start, a monstrous blow to the head, shod in a heavy army boot, with his foot, knocked down a hairy man with a paramedic who continued to scream heart-rendingly. He hit so hard that the laces on his shoe burst. Distracted by the cry, the colonel even thought that he clearly heard the crackling of breaking cranial bones.
When he turned around again, Katya and her companion were already very close, literally, five to seven steps away. They walked just as slowly and brokenly, not taking their eerie gaze of dead fish eyes from the prey, and Goldman, for some reason, at that moment clearly felt himself and his companions were precisely the prey, for these two .... - two already it’s not even clear who. This look of theirs was like a hallmark of something terrible ... no, not just scary, but to tremble, to hiccups, to vomit nervous, creepy, not at all human, settled in their bodies for some reason ...
And then, stupefied by everything he saw, he, on some instinct that rose from the very depths of consciousness, pulled the trigger twice, aiming the girl at the left side of her chest. And, a moment later, deafening him, he lashed loudly directly over the right ear of PM Chekhmakin. Dumb heavy bullets hit the approachers almost simultaneously. They swayed and stood up for a moment, even slightly leaning back, but then, as if the pendulum, which had reached the upper swing point, synchronously pecked back and forth with all their weight, increasing inertia and continuing to rapidly reduce the distance to the shooters. Holding the gun with both hands, not taking his eyes off Katya, who was advancing on him, who, according to all conceivable laws of the universe, should have already fallen asleep on the pavement with two bullets in the heart, and, at the same time, slowly stepping back, Goldman stumbled with the heel of his boot for which - a crack. According to the law of meanness, at the most inopportune moment, he himself flew back onto this damn asphalt. For a moment it seemed that on the face of the girl, or somewhere at the bottom of her dead eyes, a shadow of triumph flashed. She stretched out her hands to him and quietly hissed, in the manner of only a boiling kettle, and then suddenly took a wide decisive step, intending to fall on top of him, grab and, most likely, bite ... He had not even had time to even be completely frightened, when suddenly the girl's head exploded with a mixture of bloody spatter, tufts of hair and something else, in a halo of powder smoke from a close, point-blank, rifle shot. An almost completely decapitated body spun in place and settled very close. And he also managed to notice that, having orientated himself in an incomprehensibly quick way and remained on his feet, the opera also suffered fire, now aiming at the head of the guy advancing on him, walking with Katya. And he, too, fell on his back, like a log, almost flat, and froze, stretched out with a bullet hole just above the bridge of his nose.
- Stand! Police! Weapons to the ground! Hands behind head! - the cops ran to them in a race, once again feeling comfortable in line with official instructions. Three... no, four...five...seven. - Goldman, obediently raising both hands up, automatically counted the zealous law enforcement officers who rushed in their direction, and at that very moment Dubrovin, to the heap, fired two rounds from his IZH-71 into the head, which began to rise from the ground "hairy". Nearby, the paramedic howled softly, clutching her hand, which was bleeding very strongly and unpleasantly.
There was a fear that, at the sight of armed men who had just overwhelmed three, one of the “pepes” would lose their nerves. Moreover, two of the seven were armed with short-haired AKSU-shki, and, judging by their warlike stances, they were already on the verge of being ready for their immediate use, well, at least for someone.
At this moment, again, very, very timely, he showed up with a heart-rending “Set aside!” Andryukha Chekhmakin. The puffy captain with an apoplectic chin, who was running ahead of the others, braked at these words almost with axle boxes.
- Chekhmakin, what are you doing?!
- Quietly, Evgenich, they almost sent us to the next world!
- How are you here?
- We're here on business. And you?
- Duc was accompanied by a psycho - he gnawed his wife right in the apartment, but he himself was beaten up - dear mother! We escorted both of them to the hospital.
- And what?
- Yes, nothing, - they arrived, and then four more crews - they called everyone from the reception directly from the street, consider that they gathered in one minute. Like, psychos in the waiting room throw themselves at people.
- And you?
- So there, they tried to put things in order, only what kind of order was there - it was quiet here half an hour ago, but now we don’t know what to grab onto.
- Are there any bodies?
- That's it, Andriukh! Why did you open a gun? How are we going to unsubscribe now?
No way - unexpectedly Goldman got in, who had silently observed the dialogue before - this is not a psycho, captain, and in general a fucked up campaign. We just shot three people, at least one of whom was medically dead for half an hour already - he nodded at the headless corpse of a recent schoolgirl. - Did you, captain, pay attention to their eyes?
- So yes, that is, so exactly - for some reason, the apoplectic captain strayed on the charter, in front of the civilianly dressed Goldman.
- And if you did, then listen to the introductory, captain ... Take your personnel and now, without delay, start to bring down from all the available trunks those who have eyes like ... - then the colonel abruptly threw up his hand with the "Walter" - a shot rang out and on the ground five meters away from them, another fish-eyed donkey approached the ground with the same puppet gait.
The rest of the cops already sat down, completely unaware of what was going on.
“Look,” Goldman continued, taking Yevgenich impetuously by the elbow and leading him to the guy killed by Chekhmakin, “look at his eyes!”
- Well, yes, I noticed - there are some of the wounded here - Evgenich even wrinkled his forehead, from visible mental efforts.
“Captain, my advice to you is to start bringing down such people right now and right here. Don't think about what will happen next. And my heart senses, then there will be a war, which, as you know, will write off everything! - With these words, Leonid Grigorievich turned abruptly and waved his hand to his choppers, which were already gradually coming to their senses.
- Dubrovin - drive me, Petrukha, replace him, Andryukha - then he turned to the opera - they drove to the department - give me the guy. If everything settles down - I promise - he will not go anywhere, but now, you see for yourself. And one more thing - here he bent down to the very ear of the opera, embracing him - my advice to you, take your family and hide, come to us in Slobodka as a last resort - something went oh-very-and-o-huen-but-not - So!
Ten seconds after that, the head of the Shershen private security company was already sitting in the passenger seat of his luxury foreign SUV, at the wheel, which was already in Petruha's chopper, and was pressing the buttons of his luxury foreign mobile phone. It was necessary to act quickly, and the delay, judging by the situation, as the great commander said, was now "like death." And so literally this "death is like" Leonid Grigoryevich Goldman has never imagined in his life.
"Prado" with the "Seven" hanging on the tail almost closely did not go to the main entrance, but took it straight, heading to the emergency exit from the hospital, which was between the maternity hospital and the antenatal clinic. The gates were locked there, and for some reason there was not a soul around. Selikh, no longer parting with his Saiga, ran to the gate at a trot, looked for about seven seconds, then suddenly moved to the right, raised his gun and fired. The padlock torn off near the shackle flew to the ground.
- "It is imperative to find out where this soldier served" - again automatically noted Goldman to himself. And his phone was already ringing - Bastian had to organize a lot of things in the next few hours.
The pathologist Kireev felt unusually disgusting. Apparently, the dog that bit him at eleven o'clock in the morning, if, after all, was not rabid, then at least she definitely did not brush her teeth. And what the hell, one wonders, on the way, he decided to pat on the back of the neck, which seemed very unhappy, a mongrel, standing alone and motionless on a narrow path leading to a small one-story mortuary building?
“Your love for dogs will get you into trouble, Kireev.
He bandaged himself, and washed the wounds at the site of the bite with miramistin, but you still need to run to the emergency room, and as soon as possible, especially since it’s very close.
- Just now, one moment, let's see what we have today at work. Yeah, ... judicial.
Coming out of a small room with a piece of paper in his hand, reading with difficulty as he walked - for some reason the letters blurred in his eyes, Kireev entered a large room where, on one table, lay the decapitated corpse of a young guy. And the same, headless male, full, overgrown with black curly hair and with tattoos - on the other.
- So-and-so, - overcoming the increasing nausea and headache, the pathologist continued to read the disobedient letters. - Balakin - a head injury with a blunt, severe ... and Avakyan - a traumatic amputation of the head, a car accident ... - the nausea suddenly began to calm down, but instead of it some kind of wild fatigue piled up, forcing him to return to the office and sink onto a small sofa upholstered in dermantine. Lie down for fifteen minutes, and then run into injuries .... he thought as he fell asleep.
He woke up, it felt like right there, in a second. My arm didn't hurt, nothing hurt at all... not at all, but something was wrong with my eyesight. And I really wanted to eat. There was not a single thought in my head, except for the all-devouring feeling of hunger. None.. not at all. And no wonder - Kireev was dead, his heart was not beating, the nerve endings no longer transmitted signals to his almost dead brain.
After several unsuccessful attempts to get up from the sofa, he, nevertheless, slowly got up and, with some kind of ridiculous gait, as if drunk, clinging to the walls, wandered to his workplace, completely rejecting the planned trip to the emergency room ...
Description of the village Quiet Sloboda
The project for planning the territory of the cottage village Tikhaya Sloboda was developed on the basis of the town planning conclusion of the year, taking into account comments and suggestions. Cottages of the village are located in the zone of promising urban development.This suburban village is proposed to be built up with low-rise houses, cottages and public buildings that provide a complete infrastructure for the development of the microdistrict.
1. Townhouses of 2 types from 2 sections with a total area of 170 -185 m2 of one section with a total area of plots of about 5 - 7 acres for each section.
2. Nine types of detached cottages with a total area of 200 to 400 sq.m. with plots from 9 to 26 acres.
3. Premium class cottage with a total area of 947 m2 with a total area of 30 acres.
All houses in the countryside village in the planning solution provide for an individual garage for parking a personal car for townhouses and cottages for 1-2 cars. It is also possible to use the site adjacent to each house for parking.
Technical and economic indicators of the real estate of a suburban village:
The total area of the village is 58.54 hectares;
- The total area of plots of townhouses of the 1st type is 6.95 hectares;
- The total area of plots of townhouses of the 2nd type is 2.89 hectares;
- The total area of plots of cottages 29.68 hectares;
- The residential part of the development is 39.52 hectares;
- The area allocated for the construction of public buildings 2.54 hectares;
- including the area of the site of the children's center, located outside the cadastral plan of 0.93 hectares.
- Floors 2 floors;
- The number of residents of the village 1337 people;
- Number of townhouses - 79 units;
- Number of cottages - 238;
- Quantity of premium-class cottages 1 pc.
