Chapter 463:

Sitting behind the steering wheel, trying to start the Volkswagen. He turned the ignition key once. twice. The engine was caught for the third time, and the wheels plunged into the crimson mud because he retreated her and returned to the track. Vasilav saw the British driving towards the car and cursed him. No help-he doesn't want to steal the car, but he has work to do. He used to be a referee and he was responsible for the safety of the game and the participants. One of the heroic cities has collapsed. He must do his best to prevent following his twin brother. He must chase and reason about it. Use quiet words and promises to get rid of fear. If he fails, it will be another disaster, equal to the one before him. His conscience is broken enough.
Mick was still chasing the masses, shouting at Yelovsek. The thief did not pay attention and had to drive the car back to the narrow, slippery track. Mick quickly lost the chase. The car has started to accelerate. Mike was very angry, but there was no gasp. Mick stood on the road, kneeling on the ground with both hands, sobbing calmly. "Asshole!" Judd said.
Mick looked down. Their car is gone.
"Can't even drive normally."
"We have... we have... want to... catch up with..." Mick gasped.
"how about it?"
"on foot…"
"We don't even have a map...it's in the car."
"Jesus... Christ... Almighty."
Together they walked along the track and left the field.
A few meters later, the blood tide began to fade away. There were only a few condensed streams leading to the main road. Mick and Judd reached the intersection along the bleeding tire tracks.
The road is empty in both directions. Tire tracks indicate a left turn. Judd stared into the blue-green distance along the lonely road. He said, "He has gone deep into the mountain."
"He's crazy!"
"Shall we go back to the same path?"
"It will take us on foot all night."
"We will hitchhike."
Judd shook his head: his face was lax, his expression dazed.
"Don't you know, Mick, they all know this is happening. People on the farm-when those people are crazy there, they get out. There are no cars on this road, I will lay you down Come down to anything-maybe there are a few stupid tourists like us-and no one will stop for someone like us."
He is right. They looked like butchers, full of blood. Their faces were greasy and their eyes went crazy.
Judd said: "We have to go, the way he goes."
He pointed this way. The mountain is getting darker now. The sun suddenly went out on their hillside. Mick shrugged. Either way, he could see them spending a night on the road in front of them. But he wants to walk anywhere-as long as he keeps a distance between him and the dead.
In Popolak, a kind of peace was ruled. Not crazy panic, but numbness, accepting the world like a sheep. Locked in their place, tied, tied and fixed each other in the life system, not allowing any sound to be louder than any other sound, and not allowing any sound to be lower than that of the neighbors. They let crazy consensus replace the quiet sound. the reason. They are involved in a thought, a thought, an ambition. In a short period of time, they became dedicated giants, reshaping their image. The trivial personality fantasies are swept away by an irresistible wave of collective feelings-not the passion of the mob, but a kind of heart-inspired stress that breaks thousands of voices into an irresistible command. The voice said: Go!
The voice said: Remove this terrible sight, I never need to see it again.
Turning to enter the hill, his legs stepped half a mile. Every man, woman and child on the boiling tower are invisible. They only see through the eyes of the city. They have no thoughts, but think about the thoughts of this city. They believe that they will not die with their indomitable and unrelenting strength. Vast, crazy, dead.
Mick and Judd drove two miles along this road, smelled the gasoline in the air, and drove a distance along the Volkswagen. It overturned in a drain blocked by reeds on the side of the road. It did not catch fire. The driver's door was opened, and Vasilav Yelovsek's body fell. His face was composed in a coma. Except for one or two small wounds on his sober face, there seemed to be no signs of injury. They gently pulled the thief out of the wreckage, out of the filth of the ditch, and hit the road. When they made a fuss about him, he groaned, rolled Mick's sweater, pillowed his head, and took off the man's coat and tie. Suddenly, he opened his eyes.
He stared at them both.
"Are you all right?" Mick asked.
The man said nothing for now. He doesn't seem to understand.
Then: "English?" he said. He has a strong accent, but the problem is clear.
"Yes."
"I heard your voice. English."
He frowned.
"Are you in pain?" Judd said.
The man seemed to find it interesting.
"Am I in pain?" he repeated, his face full of pain and joy.
"I will die," he gritted his teeth.
"No," Mick said, "You are fine-"
The man shook his head, his authority is absolute.
He said again: "I will die, I will die."
Judd squatted beside him. His voice is weaker at the moment.
He said, "Tell us what to do." The man closed his eyes. Judd probably woke him up. "Tell us," he said again, and his sympathy quickly disappeared. "Tell us what is going on." "About?" the man said, his eyes still closed. "It was an autumn, nothing more. It was just an autumn..."
"what happened?"
"City. Podujevo. My city."
"Where did it come from?"
"Itself, of course."
The man didn't explain anything. Just answer a riddle.
"Where are you going?" Mick asked, trying to sound as non-aggressive as possible.
The man said: "After Popolak."
"?" Judd said.
Mick began to understand the story.
"It's another city. Like. Two cities. They are on the map-"
"Where are you now?" Judd said.
It seems to have chosen to tell the truth. For a moment, he wandered between the riddle of death on his lips and the story of living enough to bear him. What does it matter if you tell this story now? There can be no other games: it's all over.
"They came to fight," he said, now in a soft voice, "and. They come once every ten years-" "Fight?" Judd said, "You mean all these people were killed?
Vasilav shook his head.
"No, no. They fell. I told you."
"Well, how do they fight?" Mick said.
The only answer is "walk into the mountain".
Vasilav opened his eyes. The face covering him was tired and sick. These innocent people have suffered. They deserve some explanation.
"As a giant," he said. "They fight like giants. Do you understand? Their bodies, bodies, bones, muscles, bones, eyes, noses, and teeth are made up of men and women."
Judd said: "He is crazy."
The man repeated: "You go to the mountain." "See for yourself how real this is."
"Even if it is-" Mick began to say.
Vaslav interrupted him, eager to finish. "They are good at giants. It took hundreds of years of practice: every ten years the number gets bigger and bigger. One is always ambitious and bigger than the other. The ropes tie them together perfectly ...Ligaments...It has food in its stomach...It has a pipe in its waist to remove waste. The most discerning person sits in the eye socket, and the most vocal person sits in the mouth and throat. You won't believe it Engineering principles."
"I don't know." Judd said, standing up.
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