Angel Of The Seventh Day

Chapter 3

"What about those two guys, are they gone?"

The incredulous looks let him know they don't know what he's talking about.

"No one has come in here since afternoon, not even to refuel. The last guests left around two o'clock. There's still no traffic and the shift hasn't come either." George replies, offering to sit down.

He leans and lifts his head to the large television hanging on the wall above the counter. There is no program on it, only the words "state of emergency" tremble tirelessly.

"Have you tried other channels?"

"Yes, of course, that's the only one that transmits anything. I'm telling you, something bad is happening, I sensed it," Maria replies, grabbing the remote to comb through the programs once more. Unsuccessfully.

"Did you call the boss?"

"No signal, we're cut off!" Jelena says with a slight touch of panic, and adds:

"Which two people are you talking about? We'd see their car from here, we're not blind!"

Milan takes a look out of the window. The parking lot, the gas pumps, the access road and the departure road are clearly visible even in the twilight.

"I have no idea, two guys came, inquired about something and disappeared!" He has no desire to repeat the conversation; it is insane, especially under these circumstances.

"Where's Ivan from the workshop?" Now he notices that a work colleague is missing. The other mechanic, Bogdan, tries to send a message on the phone.

"He left about an hour ago to find out what was going on and still hasn't returned. He can't be reached either."

A leaden silence descends among the staff.

The darkness thickens and the glare of the television and cell phone display brushes across their confused and frightened faces.

"Why didn't you share this with me when I was working there? Well done, really!"

George lowers his gaze. The women pay no attention to him, they are busy with their mobile phones.

Finally Bogdan gets up and walks towards the counter. Milan suspects why and stops him:

"Where are you going?"

"Turn on the lights, it's dark."

"I don't think it's wise to turn on the lights. Don't."

"What's wrong with you, Milan? It's not the end of the world, we should be enlightened in this darkness, man."

"I repeat: do not turn on the light!" Milan said sharply, ready to hinder him in his intention.

"He's right, leave it!" Maria says conciliatory. Her suspicion that something is wrong supports Milan's assumption.

Bogdan shrugs his shoulders and indifferently declares that everyone will be fired. No one believes him.

"Let's at least turn on a light here so we're not in the dark?"

Milan thinks about what to do. He can't get the two guys' message about taking responsibility out of his head. He doesn't have time to think about it, but it won't hurt if he acts on them. After all, he believes that he has all moral and professional rights in such situations.

"All right, but first darken the windows with tablecloths!"

Jelena looks at him with wide eyes. After a few seconds, on the verge of hysteria, she begins to scream:

"We're not at war, the war hasn't started! No, it hasn't! How dare you give orders! Locking us up?"

"Shut up and get the tablecloths, you fat cow!" Maria interrupts her, stands up and starts to darken the shop window. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

Her rudeness is having an effect. Jelena jumps up and follows her without saying a word.

The men are still sitting at the table, wrestling between reason and instinct. Milan senses their dichotomy, so he tells them that there's no harm in being okay, but that it can be useful to hide and wait for the situation to develop.

Milan turns on the lights in the restaurant, goes outside and makes sure it's dark enough. He enjoys the crisp autumn air to clear his head. Ideally, he'd like to take them all to the junkyard, which is surrounded by a new wall and the only access is a narrow passage between the restaurant and the garage, just enough for a truck to fit through. And just enough to close it with a wrecked car. He thinks he's exaggerating, though. In an emergency, they can easily evacuate. For the first time since this situation began, he has time and concentration to think calmly and settle on the facts.

Traffic stopped more than six hours ago. Communications were down and Ivan, who went out to scout, did not return. He couldn't even reach the masons while the connections were in operation. It's not worth wracking our brains over these two guys, there are too many unknowns in their appearance to deduce anything meaningful. It suggests itself that Jelena is right after all. The war did break out, but not like the one he was a participant in at the time. That war was happening gradually, giving awareness time to adapt and, in countless cases, change. Stevan sits on the roof, peering out, not thinking to go down. He will deal with it later.

This time, if it really happened, it happened suddenly and without notice. The world leaders rattled their guns, threatened and sanctioned, but the people do not accept the facts they do not like. If it really happened, the missiles flew up suddenly and insidiously; he is grateful to heaven that none of them hit Serbia, he would be feeling the consequences by now. But again, what blocked communications? The power supply is still there.

All these thoughts swirl around in his head and he is not ready to accept a single one, except the one he sees with his own eyes.

"What are you doing?" He hears Jelena's voice behind him.

"I'm thinking about this situation," he replies, lighting a cigarette and handing her one.

"I'm sorry, I lost my temper in there."

"It's okay, I understand, this has all really gotten out of hand. I hope that there is a good reason for all this and that soon we will laugh about our behavior in the last hours."

Jelena exhales smoke into the night and answers after a few moments:

"No, nothing is fine, and nothing will be. You're absolutely right. Thank you for trying to reassure me, but I'm not blind or deaf. It just took me a little while to figure it out."

Milan looks at her, for the first time he sees her without arrogance. He doesn't need a light for that.

Then he calls Stevan on the roof. He answers and promises to come down soon.

The wall clock shows half past twelve. Bogdan opens a new bottle of beer and invites Milan to join him. The women are sitting with their heads on the table, dozing off. George is in the kitchen looking for food, probably taking inventory.

"I'd love to have a beer with you, but I don't think it's wise. We don't know what tomorrow will bring."

"Come on, have a drink. It's got me all mixed up, man. My family is in the village, I should have gone to them after the shift." He slurs slightly drunk. Milan can't help but notice the fear in his voice. He does him the favor. He takes a bottle from the refrigerated case, opens it at the edge of the table and sits down opposite. He certainly had nothing to do, and sometimes it's good to give in to the craziness then to keep it in chains.

"You're weird, Milan. You don't talk to anyone, you run away from people, and you'd rather play around with junk than work in a fine garage. What's wrong with you?"

Milan is aware that the alcohol has loosened his tongue and he suspects that he is being gossiped about in all three shifts, but he doesn't care. He's sure he's considered a strange person and the reasons why- are nobody's business. Bogdan is unrelenting, but he doesn't resent it:

"Do you have anyone at home, maybe a wife, kids? We don't know anything about you."

"I live alone. I don't like people because they're mostly bad. That's what I've learned."

"In that war?"

"Yes, in that one. Let's drink, Mr. Cvetković is paying. Cheers!"

Despite all his worries, Bogdan beams a smile. They toast and drink. Milan enjoys the beer and likes that he opened up, even to this man with a simple mind and a big heart. It has long been clear to him that they both come as a package.

George comes out of the kitchen and joins them at the table. He has not failed to cover the women with blankets he found in the pantry; the autumn cold has crept into the little restaurant.

He puts a piece of paper on the table with a list of foods:

"Here, that's it. I guess about twenty days. We still have to list the store, but there's only candy, drinks and other nonsense in there."

"Do you think we'll be stuck for that many days? Come on!" Bogdan speaks incredulously. But the alcohol has not completely overwhelmed him, he is after all a hundred kilos man.

"I don't believe it, but it's good to know what kind of rations we have." Milan responds and praises the initiative of the inventory, adding that they certainly have no other occupation and that it is good to spend time doing something in these circumstances.

The door opens abruptly, making everyone cringe. Stevan rushes in, smiles urgently, and says:

"Did you forget about me? So here's the thing. All this time I'm watching a truck in the stop lane with binoculars, a guy was moving around him, it looks like the truck is broken down, I couldn't see very well, but I think it's probably the one you're waiting for. Nothing would be strange to me if the army hadn't come and stopped next to him, two trucks and a jeep. When darkness fell, they stayed there, next to the truck, as if they were afraid to go on in the night! I stayed there to see if I could see a light, a lamp or something like that, but nothing! As if the night had swallowed them up. I won't see anything before dawn! I'm freezing, can I have a blanket and something to drink?"

George satisfies him and Milan adds another riddle to the already long list. The television signal is finally interrupted. This doesn't surprise him, as he had guessed, but the question remains why.

He knows it would be wisest if he slept now and someone stood guard, but there is something he must do first.

"I'm going to the trailer, I'll be right back."

Milan heads out into the night; it's not the first time he's wandered in the dark, but it's the first time without headlights and large neon signs on the roof of the building. The moonlight illuminates his path to the trailer, making the stacked wrecks of cars less creepy. Every step echoes off the concrete and every breath is harder for him to take. He'd be crazy not to feel fear and even crazier not to contain it. This is his kingdom, and the trailer is the castle where he keeps all sorts of secrets.

Finally he reaches the trailer, steps inside, turns on the light and finds what he was looking for. An old military radio station as a useless relic of the past inspires hope. He's maintained the thing as best he can and is sure it still works. The radio station's battery is charged and there is a large and noisy generator behind the trailer. Fuel is plentiful; he suspects the power will be out soon, if he's not mistaken about the war theory. The final range is twelve kilometers, and that will be enough for him to eavesdrop with a little luck. He's sure the Army still uses the VHF range for communications.