Abandoned pig farm, some time later.
Borov cast a wistful glance at the steadily boiling pot hanging over the cheerfully crackling fire. He wanted to eat, and the food was running out. The supplies they had brought with them were depleting at an astonishing rate. It would seem, just three men, not even a leader, and the food was literally vanishing into thin air. Then he gets up from his seat, walks over to the pot, looks at the murky whitish soup of pasta and the last can of stewed meat, and stirs it. If it continues like this, we'll have to switch to dog meat...
Just then, Fraer enters the building, throwing his cigarette butt, smoked to the filter, aside as he walks, and with a drawn-out yawn sits down on an old tire.
"What are we gonna do, kids?" the bandit suddenly asks, addressing Borov, who is cooking, and Kocherga, who is lying on a sleeping bag.
"What do you want?" he replies, raising himself on his elbow.
"We need to eat, guys, eat! And drink vodka, not mess around with this crap," Fraer grumbles angrily, adjusting the Kalashnikov hanging on his shoulder. "We need to leave, anywhere, but leave."
"And where?" Borov asks tiredly, rubbing his sweaty eyebrows with his fingers. "To the west and south there are stalkers, to the north there's Freedom and radioactive waste dumps, to the east... And who the hell knows what's there! Wherever you look, it's a dead end... If something hadn't happened to Shnyga, we'd be rolling in clover."
"It's not for you, pretty boy, to complain about food and vodka after you ate that stalker's stash all by yourself!" Kocherga suddenly bursts out with an angry retort, jumping up from his cot. "You're whining more than anyone, and you could have..."
"What did you say, you idiot?" Fraer, enraged by the mispronunciation of his nickname, jumps up from the rubber and even grabs his assault rifle.
Borov, watching the next quarrel of his lackeys, became more and more furious with every second. These!.. He couldn't even find words for his anger. But as he was about to step forward to bring these two to their senses, a third party intervened in their argument.
A shadow flickered in the doorway, and a stalker's figure appeared behind Fraer. Just a second, and the muzzle of a pistol on an outstretched arm was pressed to the bandit's head. Bang! And the dead lackey falls to the ground. Kocherga bends down in one motion, turns back towards the cot where his modified SPAS lay, and lunges for the weapon. Several more shots follow, each embedding itself in the thug's back. He died, barely managing to reach his weapon.
And now, Borov, standing in complete stupor, was left alone with death. Today, the bony lady came for him in the form of a young stalker with tired eyes, but the bandit didn't have long to look at him - his gaze was fixed on the pistol aimed at him.
"Hello, Borov," says the stalker, who somehow knew his name. "Long time no see."
"Do I know you?" the bandit asks, frantically trying to recall and replaying meetings with various stalkers and not only.
"Alas, we never got to meet. You ran away when I visited your base for the second time," his interlocutor chuckles. "You killed a stalker recently, didn't you? I need his PDA."
"It's over there," Borov points with his finger at a small army duffel bag standing in the far corner of the room near the dead Kocherga.
"Thank you," the stalker says and pulls the trigger.
Abandoned pig farm, same time.
I look at how the body of the failed bandit boss awkwardly falls to the floor, and, stepping over the corpses, head towards the bag indicated to me. I take it in my hands, untie the neck, and look inside. At the very top, there is indeed a PDA, a worn one, with a crack on the screen. It has seen a lot during its operation. And below, under the device, were folded stacks of money and several small plastic bags with something white inside.
I set the duffel bag aside, pick up one of the bags, open it, and pour its contents directly into the bubbling pot. The rest of its brethren followed the same fate, after which I remove the pot from the fire, go outside with it, and pour the drug-laced soup onto the ground. I didn't want to leave the bags here or hide them, and throwing them into the fire... seemed like a dubious idea to me.
Then I put out the fire so as not to start a fire, quickly search the corpses, on which the only valuable things were
communicators and guns, and head back - to report to Yar about what happened.
Freedom Base, half an hour later.
The technician is found in his rightful place - in a large garage with a once blue, now long faded sign with white letters forming a single word: "Remzona" (Repair Zone). Yar set up his workshop in the farthest corner, amidst many old tables piled with spare parts and other metal junk. Now he was digging into some jumpsuit, carefully unraveling the threads.
"Oh, Executioner, hello again," he greets me when I appear in his field of vision. "Just a second, five seconds of work left... Done. Well, now I can take a smoke break. Need to fix something or... came about my business?"
"About yours," I answer him, looking directly into his eyes, which flashed with hope for a moment, then immediately replaced by grim understanding. I reach into my chest pocket for the worn PDA, pull it out, and hand it to Yar. "Here, check if it's the one or..."
"It is," Yar answers grimly, furrowing his brows. His face seemed to darken from such news. "These scratches... I recognize them, how many times I've repaired this PDA. What happened?"
"Bandits have settled on the abandoned pig farm, they were afraid to touch your guys, but not an ordinary loner," I recount what I managed to find out. "They ambushed him when he went to his stash near your base, hit him on the head, and dragged him away so that no one would notice the body. I've already dealt with them."
"Damn it, Shnyga," the Freedom guy grits through his teeth and, seeing the confusion on my face, explains. "He got them access to the Valley, said they were old friends of his. Chekhov didn't spread the word about it, I found out by chance, well, I overheard it accidentally... In short, the boss said to turn a blind eye to their presence, as long as they don't mess with us. Naturally, they were forbidden to come within a mile of our base, but Shnyga often went to them with food. And look what it led to..."
"This, ahem, clarifies a lot," I purse my lips. It became clear where... However, that's fine. It will all be over soon. "Do you need help with the funeral? Not much is left of Kirka - the scavengers did their work, but he can still be buried."
"And you'll help?" Yar asks, his eyes wide open. The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out, and his face became calmer.
"I offered myself," I smirk. "Well, when you're ready, grab what you need and come to me. I'll lead you."
"I'll go right now!.." the stalker jumps up, but immediately stops. "I just need to tell Chekhov that I'll be away..."
"I'll wait."
A little east of the construction trailer near the factory, an hour later.
By the time we left, Yar had gathered a few more Freedom guys to help us, including the familiar Pyatno. So we dug the grave with several hands quite quickly, and just as quickly buried it back with its new inhabitant. As soon as we were done with the earth, Yar began to build a tombstone from wide and strong planks. The two largest, one of which was shorter, he nailed crosswise, then added a very small plank on top, nailing it horizontally, and then another one below - diagonally. A solid Christian gravestone. Having finished with it, the technician began to engrave his friend's nickname and years of stalking.
"Kirka,
2009-2011"
"Let's go, Executioner," one of the Freedom guys says to me when the work was finished, and the technician himself sat before his friend's grave. "Let Yar think about things..."
"Isn't it dangerous?"
"Ha," my interlocutor chuckles. "Do you know why we all call Yar 'Uncle'? He's the oldest in our clan. When Chekhov first came to the Zone, Yar was already settling in. In short, no one will touch him here, and if they do... I can only sympathize. So let's go, man."
Freedom Base, evening.
After paying at the bar for the company that gathered to help Yar, I finally leave them. As fun as it was to chat with the Freedom guys, I still have some urgent matters to attend to. And the first of them will be a visit to Shnyga. To do this, I first buy a small, hundred-gram packet of white sugar from Ashot and crush it into powdered sugar. The addict will choke for a dose, so he'll tell me a lot of what he's been keeping from his clan mates. And the fact that the dose isn't real... That's his problem, isn't it?
Asking Pyatno for the key was a piece of cake, especially after buying that bottle I promised him the other day. So, nothing will prevent my conversation with Liza's brother. I open the door with the key, go inside, and close the door tightly. Looking at the addict over my shoulder, I see his shoulders slump, and he presses himself into the bed. Is he afraid after that time? Strange, I didn't hit him very hard then.
"Hello, Shnyga..." I begin, walking closer. "I am the Executioner. A hired stalker who was supposed to escort your sister here, we've already met."
"I-I remember," he answers quietly, looking away.
"I came here to talk," I continue. "Nothing that could concern any secrets of your clan. I'm interested in what relationship connects you, Borov, and the other bandits from the Dump?"
"Nothing!" he exclaims hastily and loudly, and I wince. Noticing this, he lowers his tone and repeats it again, but much quieter: "Nothing... Nothing connects us."
"I already know that it was thanks to your support that they were able to establish themselves on the former pig farm," I say. "If you're afraid of something... Tell me."
"Those people... They are very serious! I... I don't want to..." he blurts out in a rush, making some words sound very slurred.
"By those people, you mean Yoga and his lackeys?" I ask another question, to which he gives a cautious nod.
"Y-yes... They s-said that if I don't keep quiet, they'll kill me, kill me horribly!"
"You have a whole clan behind you, if I'm not mistaken, the most numerous at the moment. And you're still afraid of some scum?"
"Th-they don't care, they..."
"Enough," I stop his stream of consciousness. "I'll never believe that a Freedom guy could actually be afraid of some bandit gang that didn't even have decent weapons... You weren't afraid for your life, but for your supply of that crap, right? You went to Chekhov for drugs, to get these bandits to stay here?"
"Wh-where..."
"They got in my way," I shrug and slowly take a packet of white powder out of my pocket. "And I dealt with them. And found what they had. If you answer my questions, this packet can be yours."
"I..." Then he swallows the saliva that has accumulated in his mouth in one go, and his eyes are fixed on the powdered sugar. "I'll answer. Everything."
"What connects you to the bandits?"
"What you're holding," he answers bitterly, starting to tremble slightly. "It's strong stuff, try it once, and that's it, you're hooked."
"What did they demand in return?"
"At first, nothing, then just small things. Information about patrols, who exactly you can negotiate with, who you can't, and all that. Nothing that could harm Freedom, just..."
"What helped the bandits avoid the persistent interest of their superiors in your group and carry out dark deeds behind their backs," I voice instead of him. "And how long have you been hooked?"
"A few months, m-m, since April, yes, exactly... Listen, give me a hit now, okay? I can't..."
"No-o, Shnyga, you'll answer all my questions first, and then do whatever you want with it," I refuse his request. "Do you have many such snitches-stoners?"
"There were a few, now I'm the only one left. Some perished in the Zone, some were killed by mercenaries..."
"Those same friends of yours that you're so worried about, according to Ganja, right?" I chuckle. "How did you get hooked on this?"
"I wanted more..." he answers quietly, looking away again. "The bandits had a den where anyone could enter for a certain amount. Booze, drugs, boys, and sometimes girls... But girls were a rare commodity, very rare..."
"And how many people from your clan went there?"
"Ma-any, very many, about twenty, I think, for sure. And also some loners, hunters, ours, and even Duty members," he continues to tell. "Just pay on time, and the whole spectrum of entertainment is provided to you."
"Where exactly is this den? I don't remember anything like that in the bandits' hangar," I ask almost the most important question.
"Hah, in the hangar... There, on the territory of the depot, there is an exit to an underground storage room, and there..."
"And how do you get there?"
"I don't know," Shnyga shrugs, revealing yellowish teeth in a crooked grin. "Before entering, you had to put on a blindfold. Then they spun you around many, many times until you lost your orientation in space, and they led you, led you for a long time to this place. So here I can't help you."
"Then take it," I toss the packet of powder into the air, as Shnyga lunges forward sharply and catches it, then immediately scurries into a corner and opens it with trembling hands. He carefully dips his index finger into the packet and licks it, his eyes widening in surprise.
"This is not!.." In an instant, I'm next to him, covering his mouth with my hand.
"Just try to make a sound, and you won't live to see tomorrow," I hiss directly in his face. "I am a much more terrible person than those who got you hooked on drugs... Yoga was trembling and shitting himself when I cut his throat, and your fate is much, much worse. I hope we understood each other, Denis?"
"Y-yes," he whispers when I remove my hand from his lips.
"If you say a single word, nothing will save you from my coming. Goodbye."
I felt disgusted with myself and the threat I had to resort to, but there was no other way. However, I learned something important that I will have to check on the way to Rostok. If there really is such a room in the depot, a lot could have been left there. Money, drugs, documents... And, most importantly, people.
If there really are prisoners left there whom we didn't save... I'll definitely check on the guys.
I leave Shnyga's room, lock the door behind me, and put the key on the table. They won't steal it here, will they? And I head straight for Chekhov, who asked me to stop by around this time. I quickly climb the stairs, turn on my toes, and knock on his office door.
"Yes, yes, come in!" Chekhov's cheerful voice comes from inside. "You're right on time, Executioner, come in quickly."
"Good evening," I nod to him and, only after entering, notice that he wasn't alone in the office. Some bald Freedom guy was lounging on the sofa.
"My name is Chert (Devil)," he says, sitting up and barely lifting his backside off the sofa, and extends a dry, sinewy hand to me. "Nice to meet you, Executioner. I'll lead our group first to Kordon, and then to Predbanik, and from there we'll get Shnyga and his sister out to the mainland through our channels."
"Nice to meet you," I reply, sitting down on a chair. "And how many people are going?"
"Me, you, Shnyga with his sister, and three more of ours, a total of seven people," the bald man answers. "Any preferences for the route?"
"Can we make a short stop at the hangar at the Dump? There are neutrals settled there now, there's some business to attend to..."
"Any whim for your, ahem... In short, no problem," the stalker smiles, getting up from the sofa. "Alright, I'm going, I won't disturb your conversation. And, uh, we're leaving tomorrow morning, at ten. Goodbye, gentlemen."
"Until tomorrow," I say goodbye to him, and then turn to Chekhov, who had been silent until now.
"You're definitely not coming with us?" he asks, squinting his eyes. "If you agree, then I, so be it, will show you to the clan's stash. And there, take whatever you want as a reward."
"No," I shake my head. "I'm definitely not going."
"A pity, a great pity," the Freedom leader sighs and pulls out a small oblong box from the desk drawer. "Then here, take this. It's a check for ninety thousand and a good optical sight. For your Kalashnikov, by the way, it should fit. I remember the reward for the chimera, tomorrow, when the guys carry your box, you'll see what will be there. And now... Goodbye, Executioner. It was a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise."