Happy Easter, everyone!
The Dump, underground communications under the Depot, half an hour after the Executioner's group left.
"So-o-o," the stalker, who was shining a bright flashlight in the dark, says at another turn. "At the fourth turn, we go here, right? Oh, and there's the door open."
"Why did we even climb in here?" grumbles another wanderer, shivering from the coolness.
"The Executioner wrote to Valerian," the first one shrugs. "There should be corpses here somewhere, the bodies of our guys."
"And maybe… Leave them? Let them lie peacefully…"
"Sivy, you say such things, it's unbelievable," the stalker snaps, sharply turning on his heels to his partner. "We can't leave our guys here, we can't!"
"Why?"
"It's
not human, Sivy. And… it's a bad omen to build a house on bones, so…"
"Ah-ah, an omen…"
After this phrase, a dead silence reigned, broken only by the occasional quiet drops falling from thin pipes running along the ceiling. Sighing quietly, the stalkers continue their path – towards the slightly ajar door in the round wall. And when they entered, they could only gasp for air at the terrible picture that stretched before them. Many corpses lying on mattresses – naked, beaten, covered in bruises and corpse spots.
"The Zone…" Sivy exhales, pressing a sweat-soaked sleeve to his grimacing mouth. "Write to our guys, we can't handle this alone."
The Cordon, evening.
The stalker cradle greeted us with complete tranquility – no mutants, no sounds of distant shots, absolutely nothing. Only the cawing of crows tearing at carrion and the howling of the evening wind, piercing to the bone, swaying the tall crowns of the trees. We take a short break right at the northern checkpoint, inside a small building. We didn't build a fire, nor did we cook anything – we just wanted to catch our breath before the final march.
And then, after resting, we continued along the asphalt road, not deviating from it even a step. And, although everything around was calm, a certain anxiety was burning in my chest, intensifying with every step that brought our detachment closer to the old base of free stalkers. I didn't know why this oppressive feeling had settled in me, but… When we approached the ruins, this bubble burst, bringing some spiritual relief.
Scattered scrap metal mixed with torn boards, pieces of whitewash, bricks, gravel on the grass mixed with someone's blood, long dried under the sun's rays. Only a skeleton, devoid of muscles, remained of the former fortress. The once impregnable fence of cars lined up in a row was completely dismantled, exposing the ground scattered by explosions. And my path, walking hand in hand with the stalkers from this clan, finally ended… It's strange to think about this, looking at the ruins left from my second home, but so it was.
"Wow," Chert whistles, stopping at the foot of a gentle slope where an old farm stood. "I wonder what happened here…"
"Military helicopters," I answer briefly. "There used to be a stalker base here. Those who are now settled in the Depot. They didn't share something with the checkpoint commander, and that's how it ended."
"You were in their group, right?" he asks, turning to face me and looking into my eyes. "Why did you leave?"
"I fulfilled my obligations to them in full," I shrug. "And then I wanted freedom. To decide for myself where to go and what to do."
"Aren't you afraid of being alone?"
"Who should I be afraid of here…"
At this phrase, I walk a couple of meters forward, stop to turn around and look at the rest of the group, gesturing for them to continue. Then we pass under a broken railway bridge, walk past the grain elevator and the ATP, bypass that very green wagon, until we reach the Village of Newcomers. The stalker standing guard eyed us warily, gripping the handle of his pistol with a sweaty palm, but did not dare to address us. He just silently stepped aside, letting us into the camp.
"Well, here we are," I state the obvious. "We should decide where you will stay until morning. And you, Liza, should also visit the old man. He will be glad to know that you are alright."
"O-okay," she says quietly, looking away, while a crowd of curious newcomers drills us with their gazes.
"Oh, Liza!" Wolf says joyfully, coming out from behind the corner of his house. "And Executioner, you're back, and not alone. And I thought why the little stalkers were so quiet. My name is Wolf, I'm in charge in the village."
"Chert," the main Freedom fighter introduces himself, extending his hand to the stalker for a greeting. "I'm responsible for my people. If any questions or problems arise, contact me."
"Likewise," Wolf replies with a slight chuckle, shaking his hand. "Are you staying for the evening? My guys will surely be happy to hear a couple of new tales from experienced stalkers."
"We're all for it," the Freedom fighter smiles. "Where can we stay for the night? If anything, I'm willing to pay. I don't want to stay outside at night…"
"You can stay at my place," I offer. "The house isn't very big, but there's enough space on the floor for everyone."
"And I can give you mattresses," Wolf says in turn. "Say, three hundred each."
"I have a spare one at my place," I remark tactfully, watching Wolf make a scary face at me. Haha!
"Then here, fifteen hundred," Chert immediately pulls a pack of folded bills from his breast pocket and counts out fifteen banknotes, which are immediately placed under one of the empty plates. "And, Liz, I'll go with you, okay? We need to talk to the merchant…"
When the Freedom fighter left with the girl, we first go to Wolf's house to pick up the mattresses he was storing, and then move them to my place. I asked to leave the container with artifacts in the former Hunter's room, where I plan to move. Fortunately, the old man had a mortise lock on his door, so I didn't have to worry about the few valuables I had. Then I closed the door, letting the Freedom fighters out, and locked it. Let them walk around and talk to the locals.
And as soon as I turn around on the porch, I see Chert and Liza coming out of the merchant's basement, with slight smiles on their lips, and the girl herself is clutching a large wad of light green bills. I descend the small staircase and walk towards them.
"How were the negotiations?" I ask, standing opposite the Freedom fighter.
"Not bad," he replies with a grin. "The bald magician conjured up a small window for tomorrow, during which we can safely pass the checkpoint without any problems."
"And how much did such a pleasure cost?" I whistle mentally, estimating how much such a service could have cost the merchant.
"Not too expensive," Chert shrugs, while Liza fidgets, clutching the hem of her leather cloak. "Especially since Freedom and Sidor are about to make a deal. Alas, Executioner, but I won't tell you the details. It's a secret, as they say."
"I understand," I nod slightly. "Alright, I need to go see him myself. Yours, if anything, are already settled at my place. I've locked the house for now, but I'll open it when I get back."
"Understood, man," the greenhorn pats me on the shoulder, and then turns to the girl. "Well, shall we go to the campfire? Let's chat with the locals."
She nods gently, casting a quick glance at me, and both of them disappear behind me, heading towards the campfire opposite Wolf's house. I, in turn, head towards Sidorovich. I descend the stairs, entering a small room with a watchful Stas. I greet him briefly, putting my weapon in a drawer, and go in to see the merchant. He, as usual, was staring at the bright laptop monitor, typing something, his fingers clacking loudly on the keyboard.
"Hey, Executioner," the merchant greets me hoarsely, tearing himself away from the screen for a moment. "Thank you for fulfilling my request, well done."
"I wouldn't say it was a walk in the park," I shake my head, approaching him. "First stalkers attacked because of it, then a chimera… The revolver, by the way, performed beyond all praise."
"A chimera, you say," Sidor taps his fingers thoughtfully on the tabletop and presses his thick lips together. "M-yes, in all fairness, I should pay you…"
"Don't scare me," I laugh. "I've already received my payment for the chimera. And, to be honest, I could use your help with financial matters."
"What kind of help do you need?" the merchant leans back in his chair, folds his arms across his chest, and tilts his head slightly to the side, fixing his sharp gaze on my face.
"Well, here it is," I pull two checks received from Freedom out of my pocket and hand them to Sidorovich. "I'm interested in cashing these checks into currency and transferring the funds to some secluded, but well-protected place."
"One hundred and ninety-two thousand five hundred, Freedom…" Sidor reads from the papers, then looks at me indignantly. "Are you out of your mind? Do you think I have a mountain of dollars?"
"Don't I?" I raise my right eyebrow.
"No, of course not!" he replies sharply, slapping the checks on the table with his palm. "Well, if it were fifty thousand, or at least, purely out of respect for you, a hundred, I wouldn't say a word. But almost two hundred grand… No-o-o, brother, I can't exchange that much right now."
"And when will you be able to? And what about a place to store it?"
"When I can… M-m, I think a month will be enough," Sidorovich replies. "You understand, the Hunter came to exchange money recently, and before him, a few more wanderers. Dollars, alas, don't fall from the sky into my lap. And organizing a safe deposit box is easier than easy, I have a couple of good international banks that work with stalkers."
"And how is access granted?"
"You find any branch of the bank where you left the money, give them the account number and password, and voilà – you get access to your money anywhere in the world. Or almost anywhere," Sidorovich's lips stretch into a wide smile. "But I won't open an account for free. Ten percent of the deposit amount."
"Deal," I nod. "Just the account, or will there be interest?"
"Alas, you'll have to do without it – it's a fee for service and no questions about the identity of the account holder or the origin of the funds," the merchant spreads his hands. "So, do you agree?"
"I agree. And I'll leave these checks now," I say, after a moment's thought. "Just write me when I need to come to finalize the details."
"Alright," Sidorovich takes a thick notebook from a desk drawer, opens it towards the end, and makes a note in a sweeping hand, then puts it back in the desk along with the checks. "So, you trust me?"
"You haven't
lied to me yet," I smile slightly. "By the way, I'd like to place an order with you. I need two isolated single containers for carrying artifacts. How much will that cost?"
"Ten each. You'll get them in about five days."
"Against the check," I reply briefly. "And one more question. What's the situation with the armor?"
"You'll get it along with the containers," Sidorovich says, glancing briefly at his laptop.
"Good," I sigh briefly. "Since we've sorted everything out, I'll go. See you later."
"Have a good trip," the merchant replies hoarsely. "Stalker."
Executioner's House, late evening.
The rest of the day was filled with a series of routine tasks for me. I had to clean the house, prepare food, fetch water, and generally prepare the dwelling for a bunch of new guests. I completely cleared out the small room where the Hunter had put me and moved into the master bedroom with a proper bed. And Lisa can sleep in that room; after all, she's the only girl in our group. As for the Freedom guys, in my opinion, they'll sleep perfectly fine on the floor.
I didn't cook anything special, just went down to the cellar, got some potatoes and a few jars of pickles, and simply boiled the potatoes until they were fully cooked. I sliced some sausage, cheese, put a couple of bottles of vodka on the table, and I think that's enough. For those with a sweet tooth, I prepared a jar of raspberry jam and a small vase of cookies. So, when the whole honest company barged into the house looking for food, everything was ready.
"E-eh," Cherth yawns widely, covering his wide-open mouth with his hand. "I thought you went to rest. You could have called us, we would have helped the guys."
"I would have helped too!" Lisa squeaked in turn, to which I smirk.
"Oh, come on," I smile briefly. "Sit down, let's eat!"
Executioner's House, night.
After dealing with the dishes and the remaining food, I slip out of the house to get some fresh air before going to sleep. And I turn my gaze to the sky, strewn with myriads of bright stars. Beautiful… And, although the sounds of quiet conversations still came from inside the house, the rest of the village had already plunged into quiet darkness – the campfires had long since died down, and the stalkers were fast asleep.
The door behind me creaked softly, and light, but clearly audible on the soft grass, footsteps sounded. I turn around to see a panting girl standing before me, looking at me timidly. Just a moment, and she rushes forward to hug me tightly. I don't hurry to return her affection, and she takes a step back.
"Thank you," Lisa says almost inaudibly, lifting her chin and looking into my eyes. "And… about my offer…"
"No."
"I… I understand. You still have things to do here, but… maybe you'll think about it? And here," she shoves her hand into her pants pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. "This is my phone number, if… No, when you get out of here, call me!"
Then she approaches me again, stands on tiptoe, and gently kisses my cheek with soft lips, then in an instant turns and runs back into the house.
"Alas," I say quietly, taking a lighter from my pocket and setting the edge of the note on fire with a small flame.
The Cordon, early morning.
The farewell with the new acquaintances was a bit awkward. We didn't know each other too well, so we just shook hands after breakfast, and each went their own way. It was clear that Lisa wanted me to continue the journey with them, but her wishes were not to be fulfilled. I was simply glad that it was all over, and continuing our acquaintance did not fit into my plans. My goal now was to get my hands on the second key to the laboratory as quickly as possible, to personally take out everything that could represent any scientific or monetary value. After all, papers of this level would be a good help when looking for a job.
And since I wanted to get to Rostok before dark, I had to leave now. Therefore, as soon as the backs of the Freedom guys disappeared over the green hill, I locked the house door and headed north along yesterday's route. I traveled light, taking only provisions and a few rounds of ammunition – I don't need to fear mutants, and there shouldn't be any people in those parts right now. And if there are, well, I'll just sneak past, not getting involved in anything.
The road to the Garbage was calm and uninteresting – I just enjoyed the cool summer morning with a sky shrouded in gray clouds, hoping I'd manage to cover enough ground before the rain started. As I passed the ruins of the former base, I noticed several marauders there, moving stones and dragging away scrap metal; they were clearly trying to find something valuable and intact. I didn't interfere, let them be.
Soon, I encountered a large brood of blind ones on the road, sleepily staring in different directions in a small clearing behind tall fir trees. Some of them were still sleeping soundly, stretched out on the flattened grass, while the youngest and most active were playing with each other, running after each other. After observing them for a while, I continued on my way, and fifteen minutes later, I reached the northern checkpoint, still empty since yesterday evening.
The Garbage, a few hours later.
The rain did start when I was weaving between abandoned cars and trees that had fallen onto the road, but it lasted only a short while and was very weak. This happened several times. I didn't hide from the weather; it was a waste of time – the suit wouldn't let me get too wet in such a light rain, and if I lingered too long, the road might eventually become more difficult due to puddles and spreading mud.
When I saw the slightly open gate with barbed wire attached to it in the distance, I exhaled calmly. Only a little bit left, and in a few hours, I'll be setting up camp under the stone arches of the old factory. True, somewhere in the back of my mind, a strange feeling pulsed, as if I had forgotten something, but what exactly? I couldn't remember. Well, screw it.
I walk under the light rain past the graveyard of abandoned equipment, pass a garbage pile with a yellow tractor at its base, then – bushes where several boars have made their beds, and I reach the hangar. I'll go in to say hello to the guys next time, when I've dealt with my current business, so I confidently walk on.
Construction trailer by the fence leading to the Rostok factory.
Petro, sitting on a chair that had seen better days under a small canopy by a green trailer, was smoking a cigarette, sipping hot tea. Fortunately, he and Mazay had managed to boil water before the rain started. Mazay, sitting next to him, right on the grass, was sharpening a wooden stake for some purpose known only to him. And, having scratched his stubble, the stalker took a deep breath, contemplating his difficult life.
They had come here in their small group for money, profit, and loot. In that order, but… None of that materialized. It was exactly the same as on the Predbannik, only much, much more dangerous. Mutants, anomalies, and radiation were many times more numerous, as were people ready to shoot you for a quick profit, even a small one. But there weren't many artifacts or other ways to earn money here – they had to compete a lot for places occupied by other wanderers.
And now their group had returned from an unsuccessful trip again – they wanted to explore the nearby anomalies, but they were firmly occupied by stalkers from the Depot. And you can't go against automatic rifles and armored suits with pistols and sawed-off shotguns…
"Hey," Mazay suddenly addresses him, rising on his knees. "Someone's coming."
"Who…" Petro replies, but then stops abruptly, seeing a lone stalker walking briskly down the road with his hood pulled over his head. "Really, someone's coming. And in the rain. Is he completely crazy?"
"Maybe we should mug him, huh?" the stalker says, pushing the wooden stick aside and reaching for his hip holster.
"Are you completely crazy?" the smoker hisses indignantly. "Don't you see he's got an automatic rifle hanging there? And armor? Your pistol is like peas against a wall to him. You shoot, and then he'll take us down with one burst."
"M-m," the disgruntled Mazay presses his lips together, then spits thick saliva onto the grass. He really didn't want to lose the loot, really. "How about we wait until he comes closer, and when he relaxes, we'll take him down from behind? No risks, but the loot from him…"
"E-eh," Petro drawls foolishly, feeling a silent and grim agreement within him, which he could not resist. What else could the unfortunate stalkers, who were consistently unlucky, do? And this stalker… May the Zone be a soft bed for him. "Yes."
A short five minutes pass before the unknown wanderer reaches them. But to their great surprise, he paid no attention to the stalkers or their camp, but silently walked a little further past the trailer, towards the closed gate. A light scraping sound is heard, a leaf opens, and the stalker disappears behind a thick iron sheet.
"Where is he going? There are anomalies there," Petro says thoughtfully, but Mazay interrupts him.
"This is our chance! While he's figuring out how to get through, we'll take him down through the barbed wire! Let's go, before he's gone!" he blurts out in a rush, jumping up and heading towards the fence. "And where…"
But the stalker was already gone. There was no blood, no sound of a vortex or a springboard activating, which the road leading to the abandoned factory was littered with.