D A Novel (George Right) - By George Right Page 0,119

time with the blows. However, the vibration obviously came from elsewhere. It was hardly probable that someone would be beating his own head against the wall, though now he would not be surprised even by this. More likely someone or something was breaking to the outside through a closed door. But what would happen when it escaped?

Nevertheless the man went to the left, towards to sounds. Any direct danger would be better than uncertainty. If another victim was breaking to freedom, as was he, he would help. If, on the contrary, it was the murderer who had gotten himself into a trap... or any other creature, for example, the next mutant, but far from insect size already, then he would try to strengthen the door or whatever contained this thing. But how would he understand it? Talking through a door? And what if the murderer, however mad he was, could convincingly pretend to be a victim?

Meanwhile the blows grew closer and closer. He took some more steps and saw a door. It did not differ from the one which he had gone out not so long ago, except for the mutilated and, probably, tightly jammed lock. Obviously, someone had tried successfully to jam it because he concluded that this door should not be opened. And that someone had probably tried for a good reason?

However, he had apparently overestimated the durability of the door which shuddered and caved in under blows from within. It was not simply hit with fists and feet but was apparently rushed all over. It even seemed to the amnesiac that it was already possible to distinguish on the surface of the door a rough convex resemblance to a human silhouette, and he didn't feel himself assured at all that he wanted to meet whoever was so fiercely breaking out.

While he stood in indecision, however (there was absolutely nothing to prop up against the door other than his own shoulder), one more desperate blow moved the door outward from the door jamb several centimeters, and the following one threw it to the floor. And then something dreadful fell out into the corridor.

A suitable word had escaped from the dark depths of amnesia: mummy. And specification: from old horror films. The figure was, almost from head to foot, in some sort of dirty bandages. Here and there they had been torn and bloody. There were no other clothes, or footwear. From under bandages on the head in several places long ugly strands of black hair rose up.

The amnesiac involuntarily recoiled.

"Who are you?" he hoarsely exhaled, throwing up again the useless flashlight, as if it were a sword.

The figure, which had found balance, sharply turned toward him. It seemed to be as frightened as he was.

"And you?" she asked. The voice was female. And the body outlines, actually, also female.

"I would like to know it myself," he muttered and then had a subsequent thought that, probably, he had better pretend to be more informed–or at least try to stay in control of the order of questions and answers.

"You don't remember anything?" she understood, her voice disappointedly going down. "Me too. For how long are you here?"

"Thirty, forty minutes," he shrugged his shoulders, "or maybe hours. I am not sure that I correctly perceive time here. And that's from the moment when I came to my senses. But before..." he again shrugged his shoulders.

"Like me. I regained consciousness in a closed room, in bandages. For some time I waited for someone to come and explain. Then I began to shout and call out. Then I understood that nobody would come. I began to bang on the door. That's all. And you? You were outside, weren't you?"

"My door was open."

"But what is there? I mean, around?"

"Nothing good." He grew dark. "I don't know where the exit is, if you speak about it."

"It is after all not a hospital?"

"Yes, in hell there might be such hospitals."

"But also not a prison? I mean..." She looked around. "It is too dirty here, even for a prison. And I have beaten out a cell door. Where are the jailers? Where is the alarm? It looks like there was no one alive for many years here."

"We are."

"Yes. Listen, we have to name each other somehow."

"Just ‘Hey!’ won't be enough?"

"Personally I don't want to be called just ‘Hey!’ And then, maybe we will find someone else."

Or it will find us, the man gloomy thought, but answered aloud : "Well, considering circumstances, you can call me Adam," and