This is from Ivan's perspective
The remainder of the night was a disorienting blur of fitful slumber filled with nightmares and heart-stopping terror when a gunshot would wake me up. Every gunshot echoed through the deserted streets, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins. I huddled in the back of my truck, praying that the violence would soon end.
Eventually, the sporadic gunfire faded into silence. Whether the thugs had exhausted their ammo or simply lost interest, I couldn't tell. But their retreat let me sink into a deeper sleep, albeit one plagued by nightmares. I dreamt of being roasted alive over a fire, trussed up like a pig on a spit. The heat was intense, the flames licking at my skin...
I woke with a gasp, the oppressive heat of the dream lingering as I took in my surroundings. The sunlight streaming through the truck's windshield was almost blinding, and I realized with growing discomfort that the cab of my truck had turned into a makeshift oven. The windows were rolled up, and the air conditioning was, of course, non-functional.
With a sense of rising panic, I tried to crank open the window, but the lack of power in the truck made the effort useless. Sweat was already beading on my forehead, pouring down my back and belly, the stuffy air in the cab making it increasingly difficult to breathe and giving me a massive headache.
I turned to the door, desperate to escape the stifling heat forming in my brain. The door wouldn't budge. I tried to unlock the door manually, but it still wouldn't budge. I locked and unlocked it, but it still wouldn't budge.
I looked to the other door in desperation and realized something. In haste, I'd forgotten the crude security measure I'd implemented the previous night: I'd tied the door handle to the seat belt.
In a frenzy, I tried to untangle the knot I had created. The heat was making it nearly impossible, causing my eyes to blur and my hands to slip with sweat. After several heart-thumping seconds, as my lungs burned from the labored breathing of stale air, my desperate tugs finally paid off. I managed to yank the belt off the door handle.
With a force that took me by surprise, the door swung open, and I tumbled out, greedily sucking in lungfuls of air. But the relief was short-lived as the air was not as clean as I expected. I was hit with a wave of smoke that immediately sent me into a fit of coughing so severe I felt as though I might black out.
Barely managing to keep consciousness, I realized the air outside was filled with smoke somewhere nearby. I fought to slow my breathing, using sheer force of will, and yanked my shirt over my nose and mouth to serve as a makeshift filter. That was enough to steady the oxygen in my brain and body.
The morning air, though smoky, was significantly colder than the inside of my truck. It quickly chilled my sweat-drenched body as I climbed back into the truck, leaving the door open just a bit to let in the fresher air while the warm air kept me warm.
With the sun up now, my visibility improved. Looking out, I saw the road ahead was littered with broken-down cars. A glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed the same sight behind me. My heart sank further as the reality of the situation set in. This was more complex than my truck breaking down and a power outage in the area.
My gaze in the rear-view mirror registered something amiss at the back of my trailer. My heart jolted as I recalled the collision from last night. Someone had crashed into my trailer. I had almost forgotten about it in my panic and confusion earlier.
Grabbing my sweater for warmth, I exited the cab and made my way toward the rear of the trailer. The morning light allowed me to see the full extent of the crash. The car had plowed itself entirely under the trailer. It was a gruesome sight, with blood and oil spilling on the pavement. The impact had crushed the front of the car, leaving no doubt that those inside had met an immediate end.
A wave of guilt washed over me. I felt a deep sense of sorrow for the people in the car. I was powerless then, and I was still powerless now. There was nothing I could do for them. The reality of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut, bringing nausea to my stomach and a sour taste in my mouth.
With a heavy sigh, I stood there in silence, paying my respects to the lives lost in a moment of chaos and tragedy. After a few moments, I shook myself from the depressed state and turned my attention back to my immediate predicament. I needed to figure out what to do next.
I made my way back to the cab of my truck and stared at the lever that would pop the hood. I was in a futile internal debate about whether to even attempt repairs. After what felt like an eternity, I came to the reluctant conclusion that there was a higher chance of snowfall on the sun than me successfully diagnosing, let alone fixing, the issue with my truck.
To the disappointment of my uncle, who had tried to teach me the basics of mechanics, my skills in that department were baby-level at best. I could change a tire, check oil levels, or even replace a battery if I really had to, but this was well beyond my abilities.
With a resigned sigh, I climbed onto the trailer to get a better view of my surroundings. A few columns of smoke curled into the morning sky in the distance, a silent testament to the chaos unfolding. The normally bustling city was eerily quiet. No movement of vehicles, no signs of emergency services like police or ambulances, and certainly no one I could report the situation to. My hopes of finding someone with access to communication who could call a repair shop quickly faded.
As the sun ascended higher into the sky, I noticed some movement in the neighborhood off the highway. People started emerging from their homes, milling about aimlessly, reflecting my uncertainty. I considered going over, searching for some help. Still, a knot of apprehension in the pit of my stomach kept me rooted in my spot, just looking for what will happen next.
About twenty minutes later, I spotted a group of approximately ten individuals turning onto the street I was watching. They were carrying something, although, from my distance, it was impossible to make out precisely what it was. My gaze followed them as they approached a house with an expensive-looking car parked in the driveway.
Any comforting thoughts that they might be checking on their neighbors evaporated when the front door was kicked in, and all ten of them swarmed inside. The morning's tranquility was shattered once again by the chilling sound of gunshots. The group emerged shortly after, their arms complete with various items I couldn't distinguish from my vantage point.
One individual made a beeline for the high-end car parked in the driveway, quickly unlocking it with a key. However, after a few fruitless seconds of trying to start the vehicle, they abandoned it. They ran off after the others, who had already disappeared from the street.
The knot in my stomach unraveled, and a wave of nausea overtook me. I doubled over, dry-heaving from the stress of what I had just witnessed. This wasn't just a widespread power outage or a mechanical failure. It was anarchy.
This scene of lawlessness unfolding before me was eerily reminiscent of the anarchy that had consumed my homeland during the collapse of the Soviet Union. When those who were supposed to protect and serve their people abandoned their duties, opting instead to join in the chaos and robbery alongside the bratva.
I shut my eyes hard, and for a moment, I was back in my childhood home, reliving the day's trauma when those men stormed in, demanding that my family hand over the rights to our family factory. I could almost see their smirking faces, the cold guns, and feel the cold dread that had settled in my young heart... I quickly shut down that memory, forcing myself to focus on the present. I refused to let the memory finish.
I couldn't afford to lose myself in the horrors of the past, not when the present demanded every ounce of my attention. I snapped back to reality just in time to see another group of people turning the corner onto the street I was watching.
I was unsure if it was paranoia or reality, but I thought one of the marauders below glanced up at me. A cold sheen of sweat broke out all over my body as time seemed to stretch, elongating each second to an unbearable length. The tendrils of smoke hanging in the air seemed to freeze as if time had paused.
In this surreal, slow-motion panorama, the thug turned away from my direction and focused on the house he was heading towards. It felt like an eternity before time snapped back to its average pace.
I made a hasty retreat towards the ladder, my movements clumsy with fear. I fumbled, stumbled, and nearly slipped as I descended, finally coming to rest on the hitch coupling. I sat there, trembling like a leaf, wishing for invisibility or, better yet, the comforting familiarity of home.
Slowly, my tremors began to subside, replaced by a creeping numbness. I was starting to acclimate to the horror, accepting the madness around me as my new reality. But then, another gunshot pierced the air, snapping me out of my forced complacency.
That sound acted as a catalyst, solidifying a decision within me. I needed to get out of this chaos, to escape this dystopia. A surge of determination coursed through my veins, pumping adrenaline into my system.
A strange calm spread throughout my mind and body. My hands felt strong. My legs didn't tremble.
I had a mission.
My goal was clear.
I was going to make it home. I was going to see my wife again. The thought of her waiting for me ignited a fire within me. I refused to be another casualty in this senseless anarchy.
I was not going to be a victim.
Not today.