The connecting station of Subway Line 35 was hell.
The viscous blood immersed every inch of the tiles and shredded meat and severed parts were scattered everywhere. The smell of gunpowder occupied the place and it even covered the terrifying smell of blood. A seemingly endless amount of corpses laid on the ground with the stick-thin arms withering away.
Pairs of military boots stepped over the dead bodies and stood in front of a collapsed wall.
"The road ahead is blocked," Sminov said. "Maybe it is the masterpiece of the survivors."
Yegor did not speak. He walked up to the collapsed gravel pile, extended his right hand, and wiped the wall with his index finger.
He then gently rubbed his index finger with his thumb and closed his eyes as if he were sensing something.
After a long silence, he opened his eyes and looked at the collapsed wall, then said slowly.
"It collapsed a decade ago. It should be directional blasting."
