Vania forced himself to look through the scope of his Vintorez again. His heart was racing – its beats so loud as if it was about to burst out of his chest.
“No doubt… That’s him.” – the realization crept over Vania like a winter chill.
Old memories flashed before his eyes. Playing in the yard, going to school together, vacations at the seaside abroad. He wanted to pretend this was all not real; to trick himself into believing it was not happening to him. Vania lowered his face. Dry, spiky grass stabbed at his eyes. His head spinned. The stench of his filthy uniform and sweat brought him back to reality.
One more glance through the scope. His brother, his head resting on his left shoulder and his AK-74 dragged through the mud by its sling, wandered aimlessly. Broken movement, barely audible bubbling instead of speech, empty eyes… The skinless hands of the walking dead disgusted Vania and his gaze shifted again to the purple, motionless face of what was once a human being.
“He is gone. Just… gone.” – the fingertips of Vania’s left hand, circled around the sniper rifle’s barrel, turned white. – “Nothing human left there… He… NO – THIS – is not my brother. Anymore”.
The shape changed course in the meantime and circled around one of the many scrap-metal piles dotting the landscape. The crackle of his Geiger counter cut through the air. The device was going crazy, but the corpse remained undisturbed. To Vania, it looked like it was following an invisible guiding ring. Click – Click – Click – Click… Vania examined the pile through the scope of his rifle and noticed an air distortion on top of it. His vision blurred as his eyes got watery.
“Not a human… Anymore”.
A one short puff from the muffled Vintorez was so quiet that even the crows at the nearby tree did not react. Vania lay in the grass, crying.
Andriy Karamazov 
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