There are two Saltivkas. One is above ground, an area containing row after row of broken buildings and charred cars on roads cratered by bombs, solitary figures hurrying along, and frightened faces peering out of windows amid the sound of explosions.
There is another Saltivka, though, comprising hundreds of people who used to live there and are now transplanted underground, huddled together in metro stations, anxious about whether the homes they left behind have survived the daily barrage of missile strikes and artillery rounds.
