The sun flooded the earth with orange light, forcing the adults to cast long, slightly blurred shadows. The breeze died down, and somewhere in the distance the whistle of a steam locomotive was heard again, followed by the lonely barking of a dog.
Not knowing what else to do, Vitalka began to memorize the numbers of garages, the doors of which were painted green — the usual shade was some kind of red, similar to rust. It's still a twenty-minute walk to the bus stop, it's boring. He walked along, a little regretting that he hadn't found a single coin and that he couldn't hear what the adults were saying. Probably about something funny, Uncle Lyosha is still giggling. Eh-huh... So, "515" is green... "497" too...
There was a walking man painted in white chalk on the gate of garage 471.
Vital approached the gate, not really knowing what attracted him so much to the drawing. An ordinary sketch made by a child's hand: a man was walking somewhere with a smile on his round face, with his hands in the pockets of wide trousers, and a cap on his head. He had seen this drawing before, but where?
Vital looked at the adults, and wanted to call them to look too, but suddenly changed his mind.
The boy took one last look at the drawing and ran after the men.
— ...the swamp will be drained," Uncle Lyosha lit another cigarette. Vitalik was walking half a meter away from them. — At the last meeting, Vitek said that money had been found for this case. We need to make it before the cold weather, while the weather is good.
"Well, they've been talking about it for two years," Grandpa replied.
—Yeah, that's right... It just seems like we've decided now," Alexey shrugged his shoulders. — Maybe we will be asked to help as members of the cooperative.
Grandpa chuckled, and then said:
— This swamp used to be much bigger... and the cemetery is old on Berezhka. Then the cemetery was moved, the land is painfully convenient for building... Well, the swamp was partially drained, but not completely, I don't know why.
"I probably didn't have enough money, as usual," Uncle Lyosha coughed and spat on the road. — Eternal trouble. Listen, do you know Mitya Tolstoy? He sort of worked at your factory.
— I remember there was one.
— So imagine, he died recently. They say it's cancer...
The adults again started some kind of incomprehensible conversation about the unknown Vital Mitya, and the boy fell behind. As he walked, he thought about how he could die of cancer, and there didn't seem to be anything particularly scary about him. Besides, the crayfish are delicious, they then caught a whole bucket in the river near the cottage. Maybe he bit where with his claws? I'll have to ask later...
Suddenly, there was a long, drawn-out howl, followed by hoarse barking. Vital started and looked back, expecting to see a dog making such a mournful sound.
Nothing: the same garages, refreshed by the slanting rays of the orange-like setting sun. Nothing unusual, only...
"THE SWAMP"
The boy looked confusedly at the garage gate they were passing: it was on them that this word was written diagonally. In the same white chalk as that drawing. It was just a swamp, nothing more, but the boy suddenly felt uncomfortable. Why would anyone write "swamp" on a garage? Maybe, of course, his peers were joking (he himself sometimes drew and wrote all sorts of nonsense on the walls of houses and on asphalt). But one word "swamp" — what's the point?
Vital looked confusedly at the setting sun, which was almost close to the roofs of the garages. Now it was not orange, but a little reddish, pulled up by a haze, as if some hot liquid was bursting it from the inside.
"THE BOY IS HERE"
The kid even stumbled when he saw the new inscription on the next gate. It was indistinct, as if written with a trembling hand, but still quite legible.
And again it was written diagonally.
—Grandpa,— Vitalik called uncertainly, but Vitalik did not hear him: they were arguing in low voices with Uncle Lyosha.
Vital caught up with the adults and walked as close to them as possible, not listening to the voices. He looked around, feeling a sense of unease he couldn't understand. The road he had walked a hundred times seemed strange in the light of the reddish sun, as if it had suddenly been taken and replaced by some unfamiliar one.
There were no more inscriptions, and the boy began to calm down, when suddenly the long-drawn howl sounded again. Suddenly, the sound stopped abruptly on one note. The adults fell silent and exchanged glances.
"They've got mongrels," Uncle Lyosha said through his teeth. He adjusted his glasses and lit another cigarette.
—Yeah, like uncut dogs,— Grandpa replied, and they laughed.
Vital pulled his grandfather's sleeve.
"What is it?" The grandfather looked at the boy.
"What does that mean, Grandpa?" Vitalik asked.
"Eh?" You about... But then he saw it for himself.
There was a white inscription clearly visible on the gate on the left, which they were passing by now.:
"SHAB-NIGGURAT IS COMING"
The three of them walked up to the old, rusted gate.
"Yeah, someone's not watching their garage at all," Uncle Lyosha muttered under his breath. He took off his glasses and began to wipe them off from dirt and dust again, as unsuccessfully as the first time.
"What is it, Grandpa?" — the boy asked again.
"I don't know, Vitalka,— he read the inscription again. — Someone was messing around.
—Okay, let's go,— Alexey replied. He only glanced at the inscription that alarmed the boy. — I feel like sleeping, there's still football tonight.
— Yeah, let's go, Vital, — the grandfather took the boy by the hand and they started walking towards the exit of the garages again.
Vital was glad that he was walking next to adults, but he still felt somehow uncomfortable. There was something unpleasant about the gibberish written on the rusty iron. Here they passed another intersection — straight rows of garages went off in all directions. The boy remembered this place, which meant that it took seven minutes, at most ten, to walk to the bus stop.
"What the hell is this?" Uncle Lyosha drawled.
Vital stopped looking at the garages they were passing and looked ahead.
The exit that he and his grandfather always went through was closed by a gate.
—That's it,— said the grandfather. "Where did they come from?"
Uncle Lyosha was the first to approach the shutters and shake them.
"Who the hell knows. It's also locked," he angrily pulled the old padlock. — Did you climb?
He had already put his foot on the bottom rung.
— And what about Vitalka? Grandfather asked. "It's about three meters away, and I can't carry him on my back."
Vitalka looked fearfully at the high gates, and then turned his gaze to his grandfather. No, of course, he liked to climb all sorts of fences, but at such a height...
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