Finally, having dealt with the door lock, I exhale calmly. So, the skill came in handy, it wasn't for nothing I learned from Furgon. Putting the tool back in my backpack, I sling it over my back and cautiously open the door, holding my pistol and flashlight in front of me. Nobody. I enter the room, closing the door behind me. And what a stash that stalker had set up.
A small room with a small table and a couple of dilapidated chairs in the middle. In the far corner was a small, dusty, murky green sofa, to the left of which was a nightstand. In the opposite corner from the sofa stood a tall cabinet that reached the ceiling. And above the table, a single screwed-in light bulb was found.
Recalling all the stories I had read while playing games, I reach for the switch, which was behind me, and flip it. A moment later, the room was illuminated by a warm light, flickering every few seconds.
"Wow, lucky," my lips whisper as I hide the flashlight in my pants pocket. "Okay, just the cabinet and nightstand left to check..."
Passing the rectangular table, I approach the cabinet. Crooked and peeling doors, swollen wood in places. It had clearly seen better days. I open the cabinet, and the loose hinges can't take it, immediately falling to the floor. I lean the cabinet door against the wall and begin to examine its contents.
Several shirts thoroughly eaten by moths, a pair of trousers in the same condition, and even a rubberized work suit. Rummaging through the pockets, I found nothing interesting. Well, trinkets like a wrapper from a "barbariska" candy and an empty matchbox. I crouch down and pull out the lower drawers, where I find a small bundle wrapped in a checkered shirt. Unfolding it, I find a notebook with a beige cover, on which a phrase was scrawled in blue ink: "Pripyat, or there and back." Ha, the guy was full of ambition. But his diary will have to wait.
I need to examine the upper drawers of the cabinet, but I can't reach them just like that. The chair, pushed under the table, doesn't look very reliable. I'll have to move the sofa. I grab it from the side, lift it slightly, and drag it a few meters until I'm by the cabinet. Climbing onto it in my shoes, I open the upper doors and find a couple of white bags filled with cans of various stewed meat. The expiration date, unfortunately, was a year ago.
I get down and am about to return the furniture to its original place when I notice that on the floor, in the very spot where the sofa used to be, lay a large bundle. Well, this stalker's things
are all out of the ordinary, aren't they? Food in a hard-to-reach place, and random bundles scattered around the stash. I grab the fabric and unfold it, pulling out a hunting shotgun and a couple of boxes of buckshot for it. On the butt of the rifle, I find the word "Troll" scratched with a knife, apparently the nickname of one of the previous owners. The weapon itself is in decent condition, although it will need to be cleaned and lubricated.
Having finished examining the room and moved the sofa back to its original place, I start preparing a late dinner. I take a pack of crackers, a can, and some solid fuel from my backpack. Putting the mixture of rice and meat to warm up on the table, I reach for the diary. I'll read it while the food is ready.
I pick up the diary, opening it and revealing pages yellowed by time. The handwriting of the owner of this notebook leaves much to be desired. The first entries date back to 2006. Five years, so, have passed since then. I wonder if this pioneer is still alive. I'll read a few of the first entries first, and then move to the very end.
Entry dated 19.06.2006.
Ha, I outsmarted that fat mug! Pulled the artifact right from under Sidor's nose. No need to shorten my name to Dil. But I feel uneasy, he looked at me too maliciously. Well, nothing, he won't have the guts to do anything himself, and to hire someone, ha, greed would choke him. We'll break through.
Entry dated 24.06.2006.
We settled our differences with Sidor with our fists. Heh, he might be fat, but he hits hard, my head is still ringing. We drank and parted ways amicably.
Entry dated 15.07.2006.
If only a trader would appear at the Cordon. I'm tired of dealing with those freaks at the checkpoint, risking my skin. And all for what? To spend a week on the road and get only twenty thousand? We collected this loot with the guys for half a month! I told Sidor everything, he thought about it. Let's see what comes of it.
Entry dated 24.07.2006.
Sidor decided to settle here, at the Cordon, and start trading. He says it's not his business to be a stalker. It's understandable, you need a knack for anomalies here, which he never had, heh. I'll have to help the old man.
Entry dated 29.08.2006.
Finally, we managed to find reliable people and establish the first supplies of provisions directly to the village. Ah, now we'll live like people. And Sidor has set himself up nicely in a local dugout, wants to turn it into a bunker.
I suspected that Sidorovich wasn't so simple, but I never imagined he was one of the first stalkers. And this Dil... I think I can interest the trader with this diary. After all, it's his comrade's memory. Okay, the canned food is almost warm, I'll flip to the very end, see what he wrote last.
Entry dated 13.07.2009.
Today, Khmury approached me, offering to guide their group to Rostok. He promised a generous share of the loot, as the places there are unexplored. I promised to think about his offer.
Yeah. I feel like Gandalf, I have a gut feeling that some terrible evil has taken root in those "Mines of Moria." But, as one practical basement dweller said - to hell with this mysticism. It seems to be happening. I hope we'll have our own Thorin too.
Entry dated 14.07.2009.
If I haven't returned from Rostok, and someone else is reading this, know that my fate has gone beyond the Limits of the World. At least, I want to think so. Under the sofa is the rifle of my fallen comrade, use it. In the drawer where you found this diary, there is a secret compartment. There are recipes for artifact transmutation, collected by me personally and some other stalkers. For all this, I ask only one thing - give the diary to Sidor, if he is still alive.
I close the book and put it on the sofa, sighing. So, this is the experienced guide from Khmury's story. Well, I wanted to give the diary to Sidorovich anyway, but first I'll study the rest of his entries. And transmutation recipes? I glance distrustfully at the cabinet, as if expecting it to answer me.
"This is something new," I say aloud, carefully taking the canned food off the fuel. "I'll deal with this later..."
The next morning was awful. The room, without proper ventilation, was very stuffy, and that sofa was not comfortable at all. My whole body aches. After a little stretching, tidying myself up with wet wipes, and having breakfast, I pick up the PDA to write to Valerian about successfully infiltrating the Garbage.
"Yeah," I exhale, looking at the missing network icon. "What else could you expect when you're underground? I need to get out."
I hid the rifle and the diary under the sofa, just in case. I don't think anyone will show up here in my absence and be able to open the door, but I feel calmer this way. I leave the room and lock the lock with my lock picks. On the way back to the hatch, I leave an opened pack of crackers in the pipe where I saw the rat yesterday. A kind of tribute for letting me pass.
I carefully stick my head out and look around. Not a soul. I quickly climb to the surface and head towards the abandoned slabs at a light jog, hiding from any unwanted glances. Leaning my back against a large concrete rectangle, I take the communicator out of my backpack and go to the messages section, starting to type a message.
Executioner: I'm at the Garbage, had to make some noise and take out a few bandits yesterday. Otherwise, everything is fine. I'll be back online in the evening.
Waiting for sending.
"Waiting for sending?" I ask stupidly, looking at the PDA screen. I look up at the top right corner and see that there's no signal again. "Damn it... Something on one of the garbage heaps is jamming the signal, or, more likely, it's the work of someone's dirty hands."
I put away the PDA and decide to head southwest, past the small swamp. Maybe I can get out of the jamming radius and contact Valerian.
I detach myself from the concrete block and, looking around again, head towards the swamp. I pass by broken slabs, a dug pit with some iron debris, and a few bushes, finding myself right at the viscous, muddy green liquid, over which a light green mist hovers. And on the earth islands of various sizes were puddles of anomalous jelly, shimmering with an acid-green color.
Try my luck and try to find an artifact, or just go around the edge? Well, it costs me nothing to scan here with an anomaly detector. I pick up the bear, flip open the mesh cover, and turn on the device. Immediately, a beep followed, and the detector began to show the direction to the artifact. Decided.
I put on my gas mask and screw in a new filter. It's a rather poor defense, actually, but there's nothing else. According to the detector's readings, the artifact is on the other side. I carefully step on the soft, damp ground, avoiding the jelly patches, until I reach the other side of the swamp.
The artifact I was looking for was under a large snag, part of which was in the murky water. Unlike the jellyfish and stone flower, which resembled stones, this artifact looked very much like a piece of meat of unknown origin. Brown in places, reddish-brown in others, as if torn out by someone and slimy to the touch. It looks like a piece of meat.
Not a very rare artifact, as far as I remember from the game. Well, nothing, it will help to buy off bandits if necessary. And it can serve as a legend for the locals, that I'm here for artifacts. I carefully pack it into a plastic bag and put it in my backpack.
Leaving the swamp, I take off my gas mask and put it away as well. And then I stride cheerfully southwest, towards the edge of the forest. I won't go deep into the forest, I'll just check if there's a signal there or not. If there isn't, I'll have to go to the diggers.
As soon as I reached the edge of the forest, several blind moles rushed out at me with loud barking. It was no trouble to shoot them all with my pistol, but I got a few more trophies in the form of dog tails. Gathering them, I take out my communicator and see that there's still no signal.
"I wouldn't be surprised if this jammer covers the entire Garbage and a bit more," I sigh. "Well, there's nothing else left. I'll go to the diggers."
The road to the flea market took me a whole hour until I reached two large, about twenty meters high, rusty fuel tanks behind an equally huge garbage heap. I walked along the western side, staying away from the asphalt road and possible bandit trails, and occasionally shooting at raging dogs.
The flea market was a pathetic sight. A half-ruined gray building, of which only a couple of staircases and small platforms remained, where the local stalkers were located. This place won't even protect from rain, let alone emissions and other unpleasant phenomena. And how do they survive here?
The diggers guarding this ruin didn't react to my sudden appearance from behind the right tank, so I was able to approach calmly and climb the steps to the second floor. I look around, searching for someone to talk to, but a stalker sitting on a mattress by the wall calls out to me.
"Greetings to honest people," he says, beckoning me closer with his hand. "They call me Wild Napr, I'm the boss here. You look like a seasoned stalker, and I've never seen you here before. Can I help you with something, brother?"
"Tell me about this place?" I ask him, crouching opposite the stalker.
"Why not tell you," the stalker shrugs with a slight smile on his lips. "This is the Flea Market. Our second home, so to speak. The main life here begins at night. Stalkers, after sleeping off their excursions, come out to trade. Some guys trade during the day too, but after sunset, there's more choice. We also have a technician, but he provides his services after sunset as well."
"And the bandits?"
"It's only a plus for them," Napr sighs deeply, shaking his head and ruffling his short, light-brown hair. "They take a
corresponding percentage for their noble permission to trade quietly here and take everything the diggers dig up at the Garbage for free. Ah, if only I could get the guys out of the concentration camp..."
"Concentration camp?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow as if in surprise. "Where is such atrocity happening?"
"Right at the entrance, practically, at the graveyard of abandoned equipment," the stalker is surprised. "What, you didn't come from the Cordon?"
"Well, where I came from," I chuckle. "That's my personal business, Napr. But before I came here, I visited the graveyard. Only there's no one there except a few stripped corpses with black and white patches."
"Are you serious?" the leader of the diggers leans forward, trying to find any hint of insincerity in my face, and after my nod, he turns to another stalker sitting by the fire not far from us. "Shnur, gather the guys and take a walk to the concentration camp. But be careful!"
"Napr, weren't you against it yourself recently?" asks the lanky stalker, getting up from the floor. "Pale and his guys are there. And if something goes wrong, then..."
"Our guest," the leader of the diggers says, nodding his chin towards me. "Told me that the guys somehow managed to free themselves. It would be good to check."
"So if they had freed themselves, wouldn't they have come here?" Shnur wonders, approaching.
"He has a brother in Orest's group, and from the concentration camp, as you know, it's closer to the path to Agroprom than to us."
"Got it, got it, we'll go for a walk now."
"Well, brother," Napr says, clapping me joyfully on the shoulder. "Thanks, you did us a favor! If the guys really saved themselves, you can ask us for any help, we won't refuse. Those freaks kept messing with us. Now we can breathe a little freer. If only this jammer wasn't here, we could have contacted Valerian."
"Jammer?"
"Yeah, the yogi's technician did it. Stuck it on the roof of the hangar where the bandits are based..."
Well, the next goal is set. First, I'll deal with the technician and his jammer, and then I'll scout the situation.