I dreamed about this story. Of course, not entirely, only the most bright moments. I reconstructed the rest, and changed the names of the heroes and the names of the cities. But overall it remained a dream. It’s just some kind of sign system, formalized in words and visual images, which can be deciphered in different ways.
I warn you - it was a nightmare.

Part I
Epilogue. In a sober mind

The Hummer approached Moscow from the Kaluga direction on a clear summer afternoon. He had a car - a black Hummer with Tula license plates, because of which he, in fact, earned his current name. God knows what the score is for the last month and, as always, far from the truth.

He was dressed as if he had just come from the Marlboro Classic salon: trousers, a jacket, Cossack boots - all leather and a little suede, good-quality and comfortable clothes. He suspected that this was not really his style, but he liked this kind of clothing. In addition, she played on the image - Hammer did not look like anyone, everywhere and for everyone he turned out to be a completely non-local person. This is partly why no one has yet mistaken him for a relative or acquaintance. Hammer could only be recognized by someone who remembered his face. Or real name.

He liked the car too. Of course, the child of the American conversion consumed gallons of gasoline, and its transmission was not for dummies. In the extreme mud, this tank could have drowned if you weren't used to it. But he tried not to drive along gullies, but the car’s ability to push through traffic jams turned out to be very useful. The cars simply flew into the ditch, and he carefully moved the trucks just enough to leak further.

In addition, on occasion, the outlandish carriage could be exchanged for something useful for life. And there was no need to fear a robbery with the aim of seizing a car. The few whom he met on his long journey to Moscow were preoccupied with something completely different. Of course, he could stand up for himself and his property. But the junk was now worthless. There were heaps of rags and iron everywhere. And everyone gave away the most valuable thing for that day - information - for free.

He drove up to the Ring Road bridge, under which the Kaluga highway was diving, and took his foot off the gas pedal. There was an outpost ahead. The first serious outpost of the entire journey. Roadblock. The Hummer turned off the music and rolled down the door window.

“I recognize my fellow countrymen...” he muttered under his breath with a sad grin.

Under the bridge there is a monumental barricade made of reinforced concrete building structures. The narrow passage on the right was blocked, no more, no less, by a real T-80. And above, on the bridge, there was a Shilka anti-aircraft gun, and its four barrels were staring straight into the newcomer’s forehead. He looked around in search of manpower, but found none. And a little to the left of the Shilka I noticed a massive tower, suspiciously familiar.

“Howitzer-cannon one hundred and fifty-five millimeters,” flashed through my head. – Nothing special, I’ve seen more. The self-propelled base is standard - “SU-100P”... Damn it! But I probably served in the army! And it looks like they are on self-propelled guns. Well well! Oh yes I am!”

This discovery surprised him so much that he began to slow down with some delay - there were fifty meters left before the barricade. And I almost went deaf when an invisible speaker shouted to the whole area:

- Stop!!!

He abruptly pulled the car down and, showing his peaceful intentions, turned it towards the outpost on the left side. He arrived home and was about to enter. In any available non-violent way.

- Well, who is in charge here? – he asked loudly, leaning out the window.

– What was told to you?! - the speaker barked. – You were told not to appear here again! We'll shoot you to hell, you asshole!

- I do not know anything! - the guest shouted. - I don’t remember anything! And you yourself are a goat!

The speaker fell silent, puzzled. There was an incomprehensible muttering - apparently, they were arguing about something at the microphone. The guest lit a cigarette and prepared to wait.

- Come on, tell me what your name is! – the speaker demanded in a normal voice.

- I have no idea! – the guest answered.

– Why did you come?

- Yes, I’m local! Moskvich I was in past life!

- Hey! Looks like he's woken up! - they shouted from behind the barricade. - Maybe we can take a closer look?

- Man, are you finally awake? - asked the speaker.

- Yes, I’ve been fine for more than a month...

- Well, thank God! How did you get us, man! Hey guys, come take a look at what kind of person he is. Unhappy cowboy...

- You will answer for the cowboy! – the guest shouted cheerfully, opening the door and jumping out of the car.

Young men with machine guns, dressed in the most intricate combinations of street camouflage with jeans and leather, deftly climbed through the barricade.

The guest habitually stuck his hand into the cabin and pulled out a fourth-caliber smoothbore hunting carbine.

Seeing a weapon for shooting at low-flying hippopotamuses, the outpost personnel fell asleep and fell back into cover.

- Gun to the ground!!! - the speaker screamed. - Gun to the ground!!! I count to three and fire!!! Once!..

The guest slowly put the carbine on the hood and raised his hands just in case.

- Sorry! - he shouted. - Bad habit! I won't do it again!

“Cowboy…” the speaker croaked. - They would have killed me!

- Well, that's it, that's it! I won't shoot! I want to go home!

- Everyone wants to go home... So what is your name?

- I have no idea! Now it looks like a Hummer. But just think about it - how can a Russian person have such a surname?

A guy in a black beret crept out from under the tank, disrespectfully dragging a heavy sniper rifle by his belt.

- I know him! – he shouted upstairs. - This is Gosh!

I have long noted that Divov gravitates towards descriptions of the extreme psychological states of an individual. This novel is another “cruel experiment” on the characters. Perhaps this experimentalism is most obvious here. The impossible happens - most of the population of Russia dies suddenly, and the survivors lose their memory. All seemingly young and strong, these people, who have retained only the most primitive skills, turn into real animals. But the main nightmare lies ahead - individuals have begun to wake up. Having regained their human consciousness, these people were the few who tried to understand what had happened. However, memory returned to them reluctantly.

As we know from the classics, a sighted person in a land of the blind is far from being a king. What is the fate of an intellectual in a country of idiots? Kill so as not to be killed.

The main character, Georgy Dymov, nicknamed Gosh, a Brain Ring expert and a fan of Westerns, experienced this fate. He was driven from city to city, and everywhere his meaningful gaze aroused the hatred of the “stupid”. In the end, he remembered the skills he acquired somewhere and turned into a merciless killer, a real “Predator.” And if it had not been for the meeting with his comrades in misfortune, most likely he would have died in an unequal struggle with the crowd.

There is no explanation for what is happening and it is completely unnecessary. It doesn’t matter HOW the heroes lost their memory, it’s important WHAT they will do. This is psychological modeling in its purest form: an abstract situation and specific personality types.

There is only one conclusion: the death of civilization turned people into monsters. Having thrown off the shackles of moral principles along with his memory, the first thing a person began to do was kill. And also rob, rape and just punch people in the face. Aggression, the evil chimpanzee, has not disappeared from our nature. In the young and strong, it sleeps, suppressed by attitudes received from parents, teachers, psychologists, the church... But when all this was gone, the animals broke free.

Interestingly, it is not only “dumb” people who are aggressive. As you read the book, you begin to understand that man of sense in its fall it will surpass any beast. Take, for example, the professional opportunist Oleg, the Chief’s henchman. And Ghosh, with his “exploits,” is more reminiscent of a predatory beast than a fighter for justice. Moreover, if the aggression of the “stupid” falls on the “woke”, then the “smart” themselves often kill each other: just in case, for their own safety. Bely and Gosh are becoming wild and almost ready to fight over trifles, psychiatrist Korsakov and Chief are going crazy from paranoid ideas.

Human piggishness is manifested in full in this world. Nothing stops you from fighting, betraying, no one forces you to treat others well. The result is a war of all against all.

The most unnecessary and dangerous people in this world turned out to be decent people, incapable of mimicry and not having tyrannical tendencies. They were left with only one choice - armed resistance to a world in which there is no one to trust and no one will believe you. They cannot become part of the “stupid” herd, they do not want to have any relationship with this herd, and therefore it tries to destroy them.

The heroes not only have to regain their memory - they must re-realize themselves as people, intelligent and cultural beings. But they don’t have time for this: the “stupid” ones and their cunning leaders are quickly crushing the world under them. The Regulators are faced with a choice: become bitter or try to treat the enemy humanely. And they are trying to the last to avoid escalating the conflict - but, unfortunately, there are too few of them - seven people against thousands of “stupid”. Of course, they managed to create some kind of precarious balance with the help of “mortar terror,” but sooner or later the enemy would have found guns.

Humanity in this world is dangerous. Gauche spared several “stupid” people - and it cost the lives of two friends. No one condemned him, but he realized how untimely such morality and logic was. Therefore, when Zhenya fell into the clutches of the Tula “stupid” people, Gosh agreed to shell the city. But the danger of turning into a killer again haunts him, and he dreams of leaving the fight.

To remain human or to fight for survival at any cost is the dilemma facing every hero. Regulators are trying to find balance, survive and become the same, and even help those who are like them. However, Ghosh constantly feels guilty for the murders that he had to commit while escaping. He does not at all desire to be the savior of civilization; rather, he is driven by a sense of responsibility. If it weren’t for his friends, he would have long ago gone to live somewhere in a deserted area and hid there from the nightmare.

Other characters, on the contrary, accept the rules of the game. The leader uses his status as the eldest in the wild pack, reveling in power. Oleg successfully pretends to be a “stupid”, which ensures his survival and even power. Korsakov, although he is gathering the “awakened” to help them become human again, is already possessed by a general mania of suspicion and thirst for power, and is looking for the unknown culprit of the disaster.

Of all the diva characters, Ghosh most closely resembles Tim Kostenko from Heart of Steel. Both are once prosperous people whose lives, due to someone else’s fault, turned into hell. Both are very self-confident (but this self-confidence is slightly hysterical), somewhat dudes, prone to reflection and loneliness. Ghosh, however, is a more mature person, battered by life and self-critical. After all, the author created these characters at different periods of his life. Autobiographical characters are commonplace. Those who want to understand what the author and the hero have in common are referred to “Weapons of Retribution” - Divov’s autobiographical novel about his army life. There you can read about mortars, army customs, and much more.

The situation has not been resolved. As we guess from the prologue, the disaster had a second wave that equalized everyone. The second “awakening” was widespread. But will the “woke” be much different from the “dumb”? After all, history knows many examples when it was not specific people who lost their memory - but the people as a whole, the people were deprived of culture, ideas, morality - and the consequence was always chaos and lawlessness. Our country experienced something similar quite recently, having radically changed its state ideology - and has still not completely gotten rid of the consequences, and may never get rid of some consequences.

Historical similarities with modern, or, more precisely, with Russia of the 90s are quite obvious. Here there is shooting in the streets, and a lack of understanding that the USSR no longer exists, and the power of the strong, and a war for spheres of influence, and even a cartoonish “Americanization” (though, we took the example of prosperous America, and here it is the Wild West). Of course, everything is very exaggerated, almost brought to the point of absurdity, but the problem remains the same - do we remember who we were and who we want to become?

The result: a powerful action movie and deep psychologism at the same time. A book about strong people and their struggle for survival. The most important thing in this book is the people.

Rating: 8

“Features of the National Apocalypse” from Oleg Divov. The book is about how to become human after losing yourself and how difficult it is to remain human in an inhuman world. In a world in which, no matter what, there was a place for love, loyalty and friendship.

I would like to note such a feature of the novel as reverse chronology: the reader gets to know the main character, starting with the epilogue, that is, in fact, with how it all ends. An interesting author's move, despite the fact that Divov manages to maintain the intrigue, and the plot turns out to be not so simple.

Frontier Law is easy to read, but hard to forget. It is scary more in its design than in its events. Before being a masterpiece, the novel lacks a bit of dynamism and variety in the main action. Overall, it’s very good for Russian science fiction. Thanks to the author for sharing such an interesting dream and doing it very worthy.

Rating: 8

Humanity is affected by an unknown virus. People did not go blind, did not become covered in ulcers, did not become cannibals, were not sexually intoxicated - they lost their memory. And not entirely, but fragmentarily (how exactly is discussed in the book). With difficulty, through an endless war, through the loss and acquisition of humanity in oneself, the one who managed to find the courage to remember survives. Severe men wash themselves with tears when the past comes back to them.

Baring his teeth in a sad grin, a “hero from nowhere” appears among them - Gosh, Georgy Dymov, possessing a strange stock of knowledge (much greater than that of his comrades in misfortune), a ruthless manipulator, ready for destruction, both physically and psychologically. ... Sorry, this is not the first time this topic has bothered me: maybe because I myself am led, persuaded and unforgivably simple-minded - I don’t know...

Eh, Dymov...

“Eh, Dymov, no matter how much life breaks you, you are still normal and normal... Decent people have long been schizophrenics, but you are like water off a duck’s back.”

Oleg Divov, my irrationally beloved one, fell into a kind of awkwardness in this book. I don’t know about male readers, but I found there was too much tangents and guides, tanks and cartridges, as well as other saber-rattling.

I was disappointed by the pretentious and at the same time not new “reverse” composition: end - middle - beginning. Moreover, the middle turned out to be so overwhelming that after it we had to return to the beginning (that is, to the end, ahem) in order to understand what, exactly, was happening there. Well, in fact, the finale turned out to be crumpled in addition, as if the author was tired of it all: “Come on, guys, get out on your own, as best you know...”

Eh, Divov...

Rating: 6

Another version of the post-apocalypse, only somewhat unique. There are no noisy catastrophes in it (most of the planet's population quietly fell asleep overnight), and the survivors (namely those young and strong) have almost completely lost their memory. In connection with this message, the author in his book pays attention not only (and not so much) to the adventures of his heroes, but also to their psychological state.

In general, the book turned out to be an acquired taste: if you ask yourself what it is about, the best answer will be “simply about life in a simulated situation.” There are no visible goals or ideas in it, although, naturally, there are plenty of hints and allusions. And there is no ending as such either - it’s just that at some point the text quietly ends and the characters go on their way outside the book. Whether they will survive or die - the author is no longer interested in this. That is, there were people who woke up (?) in this new world and began to try to live in it... It was written well, you can’t take away Divov’s talent, but that’s all...

I was also somewhat confused by the reaction of almost all the characters in the work, repeatedly described by the author, to the awakening of some memories - why exactly “tears in three streams”? Without being a psychologist, it is difficult to assess the veracity of such a reaction, but for an amateur it does not look very plausible.

Rating: 7

What I liked:

Very lively heroes (believed);

There are no cartoonish villains, or even more – there are no villains AT ALL, which is good news. There are just people.

Wonderful atmosphere of the book;

The crumpled nature of the ending forced me to think further, stimulating my imagination.

P.S. A strong suspicion crept in that Divov strongly dislikes Tula for some reason.

Rating: 8

To be honest, I was terribly disappointed in the book. After “The Culling” and “The Best Solar Crew,” which I read in one breath, I only finished reading this book to the middle, and then read it in fragments every 10-15 pages. What was most annoying was the “twitching” of the characters, the unevenness of their behavior, the GG is either a superman or a boy crying into a pillow... It’s also interesting how the author came up with the idea - 1 person is smart, and everyone else is “stupid”? As has already been said here, and I support this opinion, GG is autobiographical. Somehow I don’t really want to look at the author’s ego that has grown to exorbitant proportions :)))

Rating: 3

A very memorable story. Although you don’t always believe in such a development of events in a given situation...

So, people devoid of memory and, to a fair extent, intelligence, present a very unsightly sight. The laws of the pack, the power of instincts, cruelty, thoughtless submission to the strong... “Gentlemen, we are animals!”

This society, according to Divov, rejects those who are better, smarter, more decent. In the world of stupid people, they are outcasts... however, not always. There is a choice: either you subjugate the crowd (“the people”) to yourself, or you will be expelled or destroyed. And thus, the elite rules the cattle, but the cattle also rules the elite. Something new? Of course not...

It's interesting how people react to the gradual return of memory. They both crave it and fear it. And it is unknown which feeling is stronger. Indeed, if nothing can be changed, perhaps it would be better to never find out what was lost?

It seemed to me unlikely that the clever “expert” would transform into a kind of cowboy ranger. And in general, GG did not evoke any sympathy. It’s strange, but it seemed to me that the author himself experiences similar feelings, although the character’s partial autobiography is beyond doubt. Or is this some kind of self-examination, self-criticism?

But still, “The Day of the Triffids” really comes to mind. And also “Mobile” by King.

Rating: 8

Um... somehow I didn’t understand. I didn't get into it.

Somehow it all started with nothing and ended with nothing.

A strange novel, to say the least. Mmm...searching for yourself? It’s more like trying to remember, and the fear that the person you remember is no longer the current you, but someone scary. That's what I took away from this book.

Rating: 7

I read the first couple of times in 2001-2002, I really liked it, I constantly remembered and quoted.

I re-read it the other day... It’s not the same. Uninteresting, unconvincing. I thought for a long time - why? Apparently time has passed - life is different, and we are different.

Made a conclusion: the target audience novel - men 25-35 years old from the late 90s - early 2000s.

Many of Divov’s novels are tied to the “here and now” and gradually lose relevance.

But how cool they were then!

P.S. For those who gave high marks “for old times’ sake”, I advise you to re-read it.

Rating: 5

Still, Divov’s dreams remained dreams. This is very noticeable and leaves some disappointment. Because the depths of the subconscious are, of course, interesting, but I would also like some clues. I would like to know what exactly happened, when, why. And, of course, how it all ends. At least for the main characters. But there are no answers. Just questions, questions, questions. And if someone had told me the plot, I would not have read this novel. And after reading, it would seem that one can only regret the lost time, but...

But Divov has something that the vast majority of modern authors do not have. He has very strong emotions. Emotions that capture and make the book not read, but experience. And what has been experienced will not be forgotten so easily. It will excite you.

And Divov also has a hero. No Hero. Divov has a rare man who, not only in life, you can’t find in books. A man who knows how to love and is ready to wait, who cares who he is with, who does not buy Viagra before meeting the woman he loves, because he does not need anyone except his beloved. And no matter how fabulous this Hero looks, he is believable, you believe in him. You believe that all the women who see him fall in love with him. Because who else to love if not him? This is not a man, but a dream. And for this dream, which looks so real that it seems you can touch it, I will forgive the author for errors in the plot and understatement.

I dreamed about this story. Of course, not entirely, only the brightest moments. I reconstructed the rest, and the names of the heroes and titles

Changed cities. But overall it remained a dream. Just some kind of formalized system of knowledge in words and visual images, to decipher

Which can be done in different ways.

I warn you - the dream was terrible.

EPILOGUE. IN A SOBE MIND

The Hummer approached Moscow from the Kaluga direction on a clear summer afternoon. He had a car - a black Hummer with Tula license plates, because

Which is how he, in fact, earned his current name. God knows what the score is for the last month and, as always, far from the truth.

He was dressed as if he had just come from the Marlboro Classic salon: trousers, a jacket, Cossack boots - all leather and a little suede, good quality and

Comfortable clothes. He suspected that this was not really his style, but he liked this kind of clothing. In addition, she played for her image - Hammer is not for anyone

He didn’t miss it, everywhere and to everyone he turned out to be a completely non-local person. This is partly why no one has yet mistaken him for

A relative or friend. Hammer could only be recognized by someone who remembered his face. Or real name.

He liked the car too. Of course, the child of the American conversion consumed gallons of gasoline, and his transmission was not suitable for

"dummies". In the extreme mud, this tank could have drowned if you weren't used to it. But he tried not to drive along the gullies, but his ability

Cars pushing away traffic jams turned out to be very appropriate. The cars simply flew into the ditch, and he carefully moved the trucks exactly

In addition, on occasion, the outlandish carriage could be exchanged for something useful for life. And robbery with the aim of capturing

There was no need to fear the car. The few whom he met on his long journey to Moscow were preoccupied with something completely different. Of course he could

Stand up for yourself and your property. But the junk was now worthless. There were heaps of rags and iron everywhere. And the most valuable thing for this day is

Anyone gave out information for free.

He drove up to the Ring Road bridge, under which the Kaluga highway was diving, and took his foot off the gas pedal. There was an outpost ahead. First

A serious outpost along the entire journey. Roadblock. The Hummer turned off the music and rolled down the door window.

I recognize my fellow countrymen... - he muttered under his breath with a sad grin.

Under the bridge there is a monumental barricade made of reinforced concrete building structures. The narrow passage on the right was blocked, nothing more, nothing

Smaller, a real T-80. And above, on the bridge, stood the Shilka anti-aircraft gun, and its four barrels stared straight at the newcomer

Head-on. He looked around in search of manpower, but found none. And a little to the left of the Shilka I noticed a massive tower,

Suspiciously familiar.

“Howitzer-cannon one hundred and fifty-five millimeters,” flashed through my head. - Nothing special, I've seen more. Self-propelled base

Standard - “SU-100P”... Damn it! But I probably served in the army! And it looks like they are on self-propelled guns. Well well! Oh yes I am!”

This discovery surprised him so much that he began to slow down somewhat late - there were about fifty meters left to the barricade.

This book is one of those that could never be on my reading list, because... well, I don't read such things. Nothing personal :) She wouldn’t have ended up here if her husband hadn’t been a fan of Divov, if he hadn’t had eye surgery, if he hadn’t been bored out of his mind and I hadn’t suddenly decided to read aloud to him. It was this combination of circumstances that led me to the “Law of the Frontier.”

Firstly, I want to say that reading aloud is not so easy, it turns out. If these are not children's fairy tales, then this is quite a feat! Especially for a person who generally has problems with ligaments. So I gained respect for those people who voice audio books))) This is a huge job!!! Simply unreal!

But all this, of course, has nothing to do with the “Law of the Frontier.” In principle, even I greatly exaggerated with my “this book could not have ended up here.” Post-apocalepsis. Very rarely, but this topic finds me in literature. Divov presented quite interesting story. The idea of a mass epidemic is generally not new, but I have never seen such a version anywhere else. Humanity, or at least Russia, was devastated in the near future by a mysterious epidemic, during which the “young and strong,” the flower of the nation, one might say, survived. However, almost all of them lost their memory and emotional side of consciousness. The few who have retained their sanity and are desperately trying to remember who they were “before”, this new population of the country is called “dumb”. Or something else, no more refined and no less unflattering. Those who have retained their sanity call themselves people, that is, people. Actually, they are the heroes of the work. People moving around the new Russia, looking for clues that would help them remember. As if from pieces of a mosaic they reconstruct their lives, their personality, acquiring a name instead of some banal nickname. And at the same time they learn a new life and communication with new “neighbors”. The past is fraught with many secrets, mysteries, and sometimes it might be better not to remember it.

Unbeknownst to himself, this company is headed by Georgy Dymov, a sort of walking encyclopedia with the skills of either a soldier or a mercenary. Unbending, full of rage and strength, wanting to remember everything. In the meantime, he suffers from the fact that he does not even know where he actually knows everything he knows. But he demonstrates a thirst for knowledge and, as they say, “learning ability” - he grasps it on the fly.

The plot develops nonlinearly. End, middle, beginning. Everything got confused, curled up into one big snowball. Here, try to figure it out for yourself and remember, even if the epidemic did not affect you. However, the puzzles fit together and the picture emerges. This picture, among other things, clearly shows an abundance of military equipment, about which I really don’t understand anything. Despite its origin. Nevertheless, as time passed, we went to the museum, where my husband showed me with his finger “they shot from this,” “they arrived with this,” etc. The picture was finally formed only after this excursion.)

It was interesting to observe people deprived of the basis of their existence - personal memories and cultural heritage, universal human memory. What will happen to people if you take away EVERYTHING they know, leaving only skills and body memory? Hands remember how to hold a fork, but more and more often they hold weapons, of which there are countless here, in this new world. And the heroes themselves acquire more and more animal habits. Memory loss gave rise to weakness and fear, and weakness gave rise to aggression. Everything unknown is met with hostility; the world, by definition, is full of evil. Is it so? Why are "stupid" people so angry? Why do “people” have such poor self-control? And where can I find a professional psychiatrist for this whole gang who can cope with the problems of the new world?

Oleg Igorevich Divov

The young and strong will survive

I dreamed about this story. Of course, not entirely, only the brightest moments. I reconstructed the rest, and changed the names of the heroes and the names of the cities. But overall it remained a dream. It’s just a kind of sign system that can be deciphered in different ways.

I warn you - it was a nightmare.

FRONTIER (eng. frontier): 1) border, 2) border of the advance of settlers in the USA.

Part one.

Epilogue. Of sound mind.

The Hummer approached Moscow from the Kaluga direction on a clear summer afternoon. He had a car - a black Hummer with Tula license plates, because of which he, in fact, earned his current name. The devil knows which one and, as always, far from the truth.

He was dressed as if from a Marlboro Classic salon: trousers, jacket, boots - all leather and a little suede, good quality and comfortable things. He suspected that it wasn't exactly his style, but he liked the clothes themselves. The result was a successful image: Hammer did not look like anyone, everywhere and to everyone he turned out to be a completely non-local person. Therefore, no one has yet mistakenly mistaken him for a relative or acquaintance. Hammer could only be recognized by someone who remembered his face. Or real name.

We were also lucky with transport. The American conversion product consumed gallons of diesel fuel, and its transmission was not for dummies. In serious mud, this tank could have drowned if you weren't used to it. But the car’s ability to push through traffic jams came in very handy. The cars simply flew into the ditch, and he carefully moved the trucks just enough to leak further.

Finally, on occasion, it was possible to exchange the outlandish carriage for something useful. There was no need to fear a robbery with the aim of seizing a car. The few whom he met on his way to Moscow were preoccupied with something completely different. The junk was now worth nothing, there were enough rags and iron for everyone. And everyone gave away the most valuable thing – information – willingly and free of charge. Hoping to hear at least something useful in return...

“I recognize my fellow countrymen...” he muttered with a sad grin.

Under the bridge there is a monumental barricade made of reinforced concrete building structures. The narrow passage on the right was blocked by, no more, no less, a real T-80. And above, on the bridge, there was a Shilka anti-aircraft gun, and its four barrels were staring straight into the newcomer’s forehead. He looked around in search of manpower, but found none. And a little to the left of the Shilka I noticed a massive tower, suspiciously familiar.

“One hundred and fifty-five millimeter howitzer,” flashed through my head. – Nothing special, we’ve seen more. The self-propelled base is standard - SU-100P... I wonder what this thing is called? Forgot. Damn it! But I probably served in the army! And it looks like they are on self-propelled guns. Well well! Oh yes I am!”

- Stop!!!

He abruptly pulled the car down and, showing his peaceful intentions, turned it towards the outpost on the left side. He arrived home and was about to enter. In any available non-violent way.

- Well, who is in charge here? – he asked loudly, leaning out the window.

– What was told to you?! - the speaker barked. – You were told not to appear here again! We'll shoot you to hell, you asshole!

- I do not know anything! - the guest shouted. - I don’t remember anything! And you yourself are a goat!

The speaker fell silent, puzzled. There was an incomprehensible muttering - apparently, they were arguing about something at the microphone. The guest lit a cigarette and prepared to wait.

- Come on, tell me what your name is! – the speaker demanded in a normal voice.

- I have no idea! – the guest answered.

– Why did you come?

- Yes, I’m local! I was a Muscovite in a past life!

- Hey! Looks like he's woken up! - they shouted from behind the barricade. - Maybe we can take a closer look?

- Man, are you finally awake? - asked the speaker.

- Yes, I’ve been fine for a month...

- Well, thank God! How did you get us, man! Hey guys, come take a look at what kind of person he is. Unhappy cowboy...

- You will answer for the cowboy! – the guest shouted cheerfully, opening the door and jumping out of the car.

Young men with machine guns, dressed in the most intricate combinations of street camouflage with jeans and leather, deftly climbed through the barricade.

The guest habitually stuck his hand into the cabin and pulled out a fourth-caliber smoothbore hunting carbine.

Seeing a weapon for shooting at low-flying hippopotamuses, the outpost personnel fell asleep and fell back into cover.

- Gun to the ground!!! - the speaker screamed. - Gun to the ground!!! I count to three and fire!!! Once!…

The guest slowly put the carbine on the hood and raised his hands just in case.

- Sorry! - he shouted. - Bad habit! I won't do it again!

“Cowboy…” the speaker croaked. - They would have killed me!

- Well, that's it, that's it! I won't shoot! I want to go home!

- Everyone wants to go home... So what is your name?

- I have no idea! Now it looks like a Hummer. But just think about it - where does a Russian person get such a surname?

A guy in a black beret crept out from under the tank, disrespectfully dragging a heavy sniper rifle by his belt.

- I know him! – he shouted upstairs. - This is Gosh!

The named man was so surprised that he even dropped his hands.

– Am I really not Russian? – he asked stunned.

Concerned faces appeared above the barricade.

- No! – the “sniper” laughed, coming closer and pulling the beret off his head. He threw the rifle under the tank. – Don’t you recognize me?

- Yes, I know you very well... You are Reddy. Igor Rodionov. Khersonskaya, house one. Oh damn…

- Well!!! – Rodionov was delighted. - Well, you see! Listen, Gosh, you haven’t met my Lenka, have you?

“Wait, wait...” Gauche leaned back against the car. - That's the news... Let me catch my breath for a second. And what about Lenka?

- Yes, my wife! In! – Rodionov showed a ring on his finger.

“Wife...” For some reason Gauche looked at his right hand. – You know, Reddy, to be honest, we never saw each other after school.

“It’s a shame,” Rodionov looked down.

- Sorry. Please tell me... What kind of name is this - Gosh?

- Yes, you invented it yourself. Almost in first grade. You are Georgiy. Forgot?

“I forgot,” Gauche admitted. Judging by the expression on his face, he was now trying on his newfound name and did not seem to particularly like it.

“It can be worse,” Rodionov nodded sympathetically. – But less often.

More and more people slowly crawled down from the barricade, and gradually a small crowd gathered around Gosh and Rodionov. The guys clearly wanted to question the newcomer properly, but he looked too dejected.

“A unique case,” Rodionov said proudly. “I’m sitting there, not touching anyone, and here’s a classmate on you...

- Couldn’t you have made a mistake? - Gauche suddenly asked.

- What?! – Rodionov was offended.

- No, that’s just me... I’m talking about the name.

“Georgy Dymov,” Rodionov said with emphasis.

“It’s not getting any easier hour by hour...” muttered Gauche.

“Your great-grandfather was Bulgarian,” Rodionov explained. - By the name of Dimov. And here he was converted into Dymov. You told it yourself.

“Rodionov,” Gauche said sadly. – Do you happen to remember the distance from the Earth to the Moon?

Rodionov clicked his teeth and looked at Gosh reproachfully.

- And the initial speed of the bullet of this... SVD? – Gosh did not let up.

“Calm down,” Rodionov asked very softly. – I don’t remember absolutely anything. I'm a fool. Cretin. Complete idiot. I know that I had a wife, Lenka. Beautiful. And everything else seems to have been erased.

Part I Epilogue. In a sober mind

Part I
Epilogue. In a sober mind