They didn’t have to wait till dawn, but the night was going to end soon anyway.
“They definitely won’t kill me,” Artiom realized for himself for the first time that night, without anyone suggesting it to him.
The dead head he carried no longer frightened him. Nothing frightened him. Everything had already happened. And what was about to happen — that was unavoidable.
“Hey, you!” the same civilian called to Burtsev.
Artiom was sure that Burtsev walked half-conscious, but no, he raised his head and spit powerfully in the direction of the man who mocked him.
“Who’s that woman?” Tkachuk suddenly raised his voice.
On the road, facing the crowd, stood the mother of Artiom Goriainov.
She was immovable and straight; only the ends of her kerchief moved with the wind.
Artiom recognized her w
