Chapter 8
"How so?"
"What do you mean how? How would you demonstrate it? I'm not going to hit Sasha!" Mikhail wasn't stupid, but he was slow to catch on.
The director glanced skyward. "No need to hit anyone, for heaven's sake! Just arm wrestle, like Schwarzenegger in 'Predator'."
"Oh, that I can do," Mikhail slowly approached Alexander and extended his hand. "Let's go, bro, sorry if anything, but nothing personal."
"It's all good," with these words, Alexander bent his arm at the elbow and clasped the hand of his involuntary opponent.
"Begin."
With such a sudden command, the deputy director apparently aimed for an unexpected effect, somehow being fully convinced that the "fighter" he had chosen would be better prepared than his opponent. But it turned out the other way around. Alexander easily brought his opponent's hand down to the ground, without even encountering resistance. Mikhail clearly wasn't ready for this.
"That's not fair..." Mikhail started, but Alexander didn't let him finish the discussion of the fairness or unfairness of the contest.
"We redo it, Mikhail. Start pushing when I give the signal—I'll just hold my hand in one position."
The two guys clasped hands again, and when signaled, one of them began to try to overpower the other. But no matter how much effort the record strongman of the firm put in, he couldn't budge the hand of the rather weak manager, not even by a couple of centimeters. Alexander clearly had no trouble holding his opponent in the position he wanted, and then simply repeated his victory. However, this time he did feel Mikhail trying to resist, but it was insignificant, although from the look on Mikhail's face and his body language, it was evident he was trying his hardest.
"I ask everyone to take my words very seriously. Fire, water, and weather protection. I'll say more—if you drink the blood of a wolf, come at the smell of blood—you behave like true vampires. I can't explain what happened to us. Let's proceed from what is."
"You scoundrel! Vampires? I'll show you!" Olga Viktorovna, who had been quiet as a mouse lately, suddenly flared up, "You're the filthy bloodsucker, you jerk, you heathen!"
The sharp sound of a slap interrupted the hysterics.
"Pull yourself together, we're not in a situation to tolerate your tantrums," the same woman who had just fiercely responded in a dispute with Alexey Gennadyevich earlier delivered the blow to Olga's cheek.
"Sasha (Alexander), don't tell me what to do. Damn it. If you want to scout, go scout. We'll stay here for now. I'll count people and organize them. And I'll manage without your advice. You're still too young to give them to me."
Turning away, he indicated that the matter was closed. Then he began giving commands to people, trying to organize them. Strangely enough, they obeyed him. For some, he was the familiar boss, for others, the confidence in his voice mattered more than what he was saying.
Seeing that everything was getting back to normal here, Alexander headed in the direction where he had felled the tree and where there were no people. Tearing off a branch, he cleared the trunk and sat on it. He needed to gather his thoughts. Very soon, all his fellow travelers on the road here gathered around him, as well as a few more people.
Predictably, Semen approached—his close friend and colleague, who couldn't stand bowling and therefore came to the sanatorium with everyone else. Besides his work colleagues, there was also a guy and a girl who were nearby at the time of the strange displacement and who managed to drink the wolf's blood. Just as unexpectedly, a couple, who had been arguing with Alexey Gennadyevich, joined this company.
The man looked at Alexander sitting there for a while.
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