After a few days of staying in the basement, the realization slowly sank in that we would be here for a long time. Leaving the city in our own car was extremely dangerous. The train station had turned into a chaotic swarm of people. Platforms, the main hall, and surrounding areas were packed with individuals desperate to save themselves. The enemy could strike this place at any moment, causing a massive catastrophe. The occupiers had attempted to hit the station several times. Fortunately, their shells fell behind the main building. Trains departing from Kharkiv were overflowing with people. Passengers stood in the corridors and vestibules. Meanwhile, we hid underground. Winter made its presence felt within the walls of our basement. The cold air and drafts led to coughing among most of us and our neighbors. Something needed to be done, so we rallied together as a strong unified team.
The first task was to insulate the half of the basement where people constantly resided, separate from the empty half. In the latter area, there were entrance doors, and the freezing air quickly seeped through the gaps, lowering the temperature inside. Amid the sounds of explosions, the men went up to their apartments and searched for anything that could be used to insulate the basement. With combined efforts, we managed to obtain a pistol for construction foam and one and a half canisters of foam. It was critically insufficient to seal all the openings, so we additionally used plastic bottles, scraps of wooden sticks, and even leftover pipes found in the basement from the building construction. With all these materials, we maximized the airtightness of the inhabited half of the basement and covered everything with construction foam. The result didn't take long to manifest. We still kept our outerwear on, but the temperature inside noticeably increased. However, it was not enough.
My luck knew no bounds when I discovered an old heater in the far corridor. It stood among a pile of bricks and was covered in dust. I knew that it was not left there for no reason amidst the remnants of construction materials, but my mind wanted to believe in something better. I brought the heater into our corridor and plugged it into one of the two electrical sockets that covered the entire basement. Warmth radiated from it instantly. Whether we were so chilled after a few days that we felt even the slightest temperature rise or my brain was tricking me into perceiving what I desired as reality, I couldn't tell. But after a couple of minutes, smoke started emanating from the heater. I quickly pulled the cord out of the socket, avoiding a fire. We needed to raise the temperature inside the basement somehow. There were many children among us who suffered from the cold.
We and our neighbors had small heaters in our apartments, but there were only two electrical sockets for the entire large basement. However, each section of the corridor had electrical meters. Our building had been constructed only a few years ago, and most of the storage rooms were still unsold. Therefore, the meters near the doors remained unsealed. Thus, we could gain access to them. The problem was that we had to connect cords to exposed wires that carried electrical current. My father took on this task. He had worked as an electrician many years ago. Despite the risk of getting an electric shock, my father used regular extension cords to install sockets in each section of the basement where people were present. With this setup, we started using the heaters to raise the temperature, even if only slightly. The result was noticeable. From the initial 5-7 degrees Celsius, we managed to heat the basement to around 14 degrees. It was still not warm enough to take off our jackets, but it was progress. The thing is, it was challenging to adequately heat such a large space with small heaters due to the thick concrete walls.
After a day's work, I sat happily on our makeshift bed, made from leftover building materials, and drank hot tea. Outside, the dark winter night had descended once again. The enemy intensified their shelling of my city. After each powerful explosion, the walls vibrated, and dust rained down from them. Breathing became difficult due to the dust. It instantly entered our noses, making it feel like there was not enough air for everyone in the basement. So, periodically, we went to the cold half of the basement, which also served as a smoking area. Despite the cigarette smoke, it was easier to breathe in that part of our shelter. We couldn't go outside at night because a curfew was in place. However, we could slightly open the entrance doors and inhale the outdoor air for a few minutes.
Around midnight, fatigue overwhelmed my body, and I fell into a deep sleep. I wasn't even awakened by the sounds of exploding shells. Nor was I disturbed by the snoring of people, caused by the pervasive dust. But I didn't sleep for long. I opened my eyes and saw that darkness had engulfed the entire basement. After one of the shellings, the electricity had gone out. People were in a state of chaos because without the heaters, the temperature quickly dropped. Without electricity, we couldn't make tea for the children. We needed to get back to work and find solutions. My father and a few neighbors went outside. There was fluffy snow on the ground, and the weather was freezing. The entire courtyard was empty. However, a light was shining on the first floor. Bingo! This meant there was still electricity in the building; it had just gone out in the basement. Perhaps, after the shelling, there was a voltage surge, and a simple fuse had blown. However, the electrical panel was locked, and the key was with the guard. The guard, an elderly man, had stayed at his post and sought refuge in the basement of a neighboring building. Despite the curfew and the shells falling in the city, we had to find the guard and get the key from him. I will never forget the scene I witnessed in the courtyard of my own building. Dark silhouettes of high-rise buildings with faintly lit bulbs on the first floors. Every step I took on the snow echoed amidst the soulless concrete walls. The chilling realization of a new reality didn't leave me. Was this really my Kharkiv? Another flash and a powerful explosion jolted me. We managed to find the guard and persuade him to open the electrical panel of our building. Once again, my father came to the rescue. Amidst dozens of fuses and an equal number of switches, he found one that had been turned off. With two simple movements of his hand, electricity was restored in the basement. As a precaution, we agreed with the neighbors to take turns using the heating appliances and kettles to reduce the load on the power supply.
I sat back down on our improvised bed and listened to the conversations of the people around me. For the first time, I felt joy among those present. Our underground refuge had become more habitable, and, most importantly, we had achieved this through our collective efforts. It gave us a sense of assurance that we would survive. Perhaps no one knew this for sure. But the belief still lived within us.