Read METRO 2033 for Free Online Page B

turn on the spotlight, and strange, delirious silhouettes become visible in its beam. They’re naked, covered in black, glossy skin, with huge eyes and mouths like gashes . . . They’re striding rhythmically ahead, towards the fortifications, towards death, with reckless abandon, without wavering, closer and closer . . . There are three . . . Five . . . Eight beasts . . . And the first among them suddenly throws back its head and emits a howl like a requiem.
    You feel a shiver along your skin; you resist the urge to jump up and run, to toss your gun aside, to abandon your comrades, to throw everything to the devil and run . . . The spotlight is aimed straight into the muzzles of these nightmarish creatures to strike their pupils with its bright light, but it’s obvious that they’re not even squinting, they’re not throwing up their hands, but they are looking into the spotlight with eyes wide open, and continuing to move steadily onward, onward . . . Do they even have pupils?
    And now, finally, the guys run up from the three-hundredth metre with more machine guns; they lie down alongside, commands fly overhead . . . Everything’s ready . . . The long-awaited ‘Fire!’ thunders. At once, several guns begin to rattle, and the big machine gun rumbles. But the dark ones don’t stop, they don’t crouch; they stride ahead fully erect, without slowing their pace, just as steadily and calmly as before. In the light of the spotlight, you can see how the bullets tear at their glossy bodies, how they’re being pushed backwards, how they fall; but they get right back up again, rise to their full height, and march on. And again, hoarsely now, because its throat has already been pierced, a sinister howl rings out. Several minutes more will pass as the steel tempest finally breaks this inhuman, unthinking obstinacy. And then, when all of these ghouls have tumbled, breathless and motionless, the guys will finish them off with shots to the head from five metres, just to be sure. And even when everything’s over, when the corpses have been tossed into the shaft, that same sinister image will continue to hover before your eyes, for a long time to come - bullets plunging into those black bodies, the spotlight scalding those wide-open eyes - but they kept on marching, as steadily as ever, onwards . . .
    Artyom convulsed at the thought. Yes, of course, it’d be better not to chat about them, he thought. Just in case.
    ‘Hey, Andreich! Get ready! We’re on our way!’ they shouted from the south, from the darkness. ‘Your shift’s over!’
    The men at the fire began to move about, throwing off their stupor, rising to their feet, stretching, putting on their backpacks and weapons and Andrey picked up the little puppy. Pyotr Andreevich and Artyom were returning to the station while Andrey and his men were returning to the three hundredth metre since their shift there hadn’t quite ended.
    Their replacements walked up and exchanged handshakes, ascertained whether or not anything strange or peculiar had happened, wished each other the relaxation they deserved, and sat down a bit closer to the fire, continuing a conversation they’d begun earlier.
    When everyone was already headed south along the tunnel, towards the station, Pyotr Andreevich began speaking heatedly with Andrey about something, apparently returning to one of their eternal disputes; and the husky guy with the shaved head, who had questioned them concerning the dark ones’ eating habits, fell away from them, drawing even with Artyom, and beginning to walk in step with him.
    ‘So then, you know Sukhoi?’ he asked Artyom in a low, muffled voice, without looking him in the eye.
    ‘Uncle Sasha! Well, yes! He’s my stepfather. I live with him,’ answered Artyom honestly.
    ‘You don’t say . . . Your stepfather? I’ve never heard of such . . .’ muttered the man.
    ‘And what’s your name?’ Artyom decided to ask, having reasoned that if someone questions you about