Caves under the laboratory complex(?), same time.
The stalkers, stunned, stared at the unexpected savior, or at least at the place where the human voice had come from. Pitch darkness reigned everywhere, and even with eyes accustomed to the gloom, it was impossible to make out anything. Then, like a bright sun, a flashlight flashed, but its light was directed slightly to the side, and both rescued men squinted blindly, wiping the tears that welled up in their eyes.
"M-man…" the young stalker stammered, almost crying. "Th-thanks! If…"
"Quiet, quiet," the savior's voice gently stopped him. "It's not over yet. When we get out of here, then you can thank me. How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Any fractures or dislocations?"
"No, I don't think so," the stalkers replied in unison.
"That's good," the stalker who saved them continued, putting the flashlight aside, leaving it on, and helping both of them to get up. "Get used to the light for now… Do you have any gear with you, or did you lose it on the way here?"
"Nothing's left," whispered the young, very young stalker, and tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes, he sniffled involuntarily… The stalker was genuinely glad that his prayers had been heard; he had already said goodbye to life, and now… "My God, thank you…"
"His name is Father," replied the other stalker, more experienced, stocky. A typical man with a swarthy face, a cunning gaze, and a hooked nose. A thick beard on his chin. "And my name is Gypsy. Sadly, I have no gear with me. What I had to eat and drink has long been consumed, these creatures threw away the weapons somewhere…"
"Executioner," their savior introduced himself briefly. "They're not particularly dangerous, how did you get caught?"
"Not dangerous?" Gypsy chuckled grimly, digging his fingers into his beard and starting to comb the skin of his chin. "Well, yes, that's true. If there's one or two of them, but not ten… Especially since a behemoth came at us that's immune to bullets. I'm assuming you killed it?"
Instead of words, the Executioner picked up the flashlight lying on the ground and directed it straight at the corpse of the terrible mutant, which lay on the cave floor. Instead of a head, only a bloody neck and a puddle of blood under the body were visible. Gypsy just whistled at the sight, amazed at how accurately someone had nicknamed their hero. Father, however, only turned pale and, clasping his hands on his chest, began to mutter something under his breath.
"May I ask?" Gypsy said after a moment of silence, looking at Father with displeasure.
"Go ahead," the Executioner replied, lowering the flashlight. "But quickly."
"You, uh, how did you end up here? And what was that creature shouting about a father?"
"The father of this creature is a nightmare. Nothing more, nothing less," the stalker replied after a slight pause. "And how I ended up here… That's none of your business, be glad I even bothered with you."
"Indeed…"
"Since that's all, now I have a couple of questions for you," the Executioner asked in turn. "Who are you? Where are you from? From which group? How did you get here, and do you remember the way out?"
"We're from Boroda's group," Father replied firmly, having calmed down and come to his senses. "Free stalkers, making a living by selling artifacts… It's surprising you don't know, since you're also from the Misty Thicket…"
"I came from the direction of the Dark Valley," the stalker opposite them said, and Gypsy, hearing his words, immediately jumped up and clutched his rubberized suit with his thin fingers. Before he could say a word, the cold
muzzle of a pistol pressed against his chin. "Uh…"
"Get away from me," the Executioner hissed, and the stalker reluctantly backed away.
"Forgive me, you fool, brother," Gypsy immediately whined. "Understand, we haven't been able to find an exit from the Thicket for a month and a half since the Great Emission, and here you are from your Dark Valley… I couldn't stand it."
"What about getting out of the cave?" the Executioner asks, ignoring his words, though he lowers his pistol.
"I-I remember how they dragged us here," Father replies cautiously. "But it's a long way..."
"I don't care, as long as we get out of here."
Father nods deeply, slowly bends down for the flashlight, takes it in his hands, and with its help examines all the passages from the main hall of the cave. After a few minutes of searching, he finally finds the right passage and calls the other stalkers to follow him. At the same time, the Gypsy watches the Executioner very carefully. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, and the flashlight's beam helped him get a good look at their unexpected savior. A tall and strong man in a cool jumpsuit, which most of their group could only dream of. To the dark-skinned stalker's great surprise, the Executioner had no assault rifle with him – only pistols.
"I don't care," he thought to himself, stepping behind the Executioner, who had two mutant heads hanging from his belt. "He saved us, so thank him for it. We can talk later, by the campfire..."
They walked for a very long time, winding through seemingly identical tunnels and wandering in the darkness of the underground. Several times, Father, to his shame, led their squad into dead ends, after which they had to turn back, and the shy stalker kept apologizing. The Executioner, however, behaved detachedly, neither blaming nor supporting him, only sighing loudly at these mistakes. As the Gypsy understood, the savior was thoroughly tired, and the only thing he could think about was a quick exit from the winding network of caves.
A couple of times they encountered small groups of mutants. Some ran from them as if from fire – without looking back, and some, who apparently were unaware of the latest events, bravely rushed into battle. When this happened for the first time, a squad of three stalkers entered a long and wide cave corridor, at the end of which they were met by four mutants. Roaring, they rushed forward, and the tired stalkers didn't have time to react. The test subjects, or their descendants, took one wide step towards them when the loud sounds of gunfire cut through the underground silence, painfully hitting the eardrums of the prisoners. And the victims, like bags of garbage, fell noisily to the ground.
The Executioner, cocked like a spring, dealt with them instantly, even though a second ago the black pistol had been in its holster. Surprised by such agility, the Gypsy, looking tensely behind his own back, exhaled and thought to himself:
"The Zone, who have you sent us for help...?" the dark-skinned stalker asked a question that remained unanswered.
Then several more hours of fruitless wandering passed, until the cave floor began to rise with each step, and the stalkers felt a gust of fresh air. Quickening their pace, they finally reached a wide exit carved into the stone fifteen minutes later. Outside, it was night, and a misty haze had engulfed everything around, but none of the stalkers paid attention to it. They all tiredly collapsed on the ground, greedily breathing in the clean, not stale, air. Even the Executioner, taking off his helmet, tried to catch his breath.
Misty thicket, deep night.
"Haaah," I exhale, kneeling, feeling relief descend upon my soul. The pitch darkness and the oppressive stone vaults of the laboratory and cave no longer surrounded me. I am free... I hope my efforts will be duly appreciated by the scientists. Then Father coughs to the side, and I turn my head to him. "How are you, stalker?"
"Kha-kha, I'm fine... Just tired," he replies in a weak voice. It's impossible to make out his expression in the dark, but he's clearly lying. He's sick, very sick.
"How far is your camp from here?" I ask, deciding to skip this topic.
"Who the hell knows," Gypsy spits on the ground, judging by the sounds. "The misty thicket, it is... A bitch, that's what it is. You can wander for days and weeks past your destination without reaching it. Ask anyone of our guys. So... Maybe an hour's walk, maybe two, or three."
"Lovely," I exhale through my teeth. This is all I needed right now. "Just tell me which way to go. North, south..."
"Northeast," Father immediately replies. "But you won't make it. There are many more anomalies at night than during the day, and even less visibility. You'll get into trouble after just one step."
"Haaah, at least I'll start a fire..."
As much as I wanted to reach people and rest and eat properly, it wasn't worth going out at night. Even with my anomalous vision, it was easy to stumble into something in the fog. So, moving a little away from the cave and descending from a small hill, we find a small hollow where, sheltering from the wind, we decide to start a fire. It was easy to gather firewood nearby, and after a little more than ten minutes, the fire was crackling merrily, and a pot with the remains of my provisions hung over the flames. Since we'll be reaching people soon, why not share?
Everything went into the iron pot – the stewed meat, the canned vegetables, and even a little groats and pasta. A kind of hodgepodge of everything I had with me. All that was missing was a bottle of vodka and a guitar for the full atmosphere, but it was good enough. Gypsy is in charge of cooking, and I fall onto my back on the ground and stretch out my legs, yawning widely.
Misty thicket, same time.
"Look at that, he fell asleep..." Gypsy says, pointing with a spoon dripping with fragrant moisture at the Executioner, who had suddenly fallen asleep.
"Let him sleep," Father waves him off, looking wistfully at the orange flashes of the fire. "He earned it."
"What about me? I'm not doing anything. Let the sick man sleep. I'm just worried that someone might gobble us up without weapons," the stalker grumbles, stirring the contents of the fire.
"Spit on it," another sighs. "With the Executioner, we have nothing to fear..."
Someone's paw quickly slices through the air with a whistle, and Father's head is torn from his body, leaving a jagged edge of flesh on his neck. Blood spurts out in pulses onto the cut, while the body slowly falls to the side. The stunned Gypsy wants to scream to wake up the Executioner, but it's too late. Something huge, with white fur, opens a huge maw from which a long, dry tongue with many hooks immediately falls out, and teeth snap shut directly on the stalker's skull. The scream dies in his throat, never having a chance to escape.
In just a couple of moments, the Executioner, sleeping soundly, is left alone in the forest.
Misty thicket, morning.
A light breeze blew, trees creaked, and I still couldn't wake up. It was very hard to open my eyelids and get up, I was too tired from yesterday, a day filled with not the most pleasant events. I wanted to continue lying peacefully on the soft grass and sleep, sleep, sleep. Until I got completely rested, having had sweet dreams. But! Things wouldn't wait for me, especially since I had to apologize to the guys. I didn't take my watch on patrol, shamelessly sleeping through everything.
I open my eyes and slowly prop myself up on my elbow, turn my head to the fire, and... silently fall into complete shock. The pot lay on the ground, spilling its contents, the fire had long since completely burned out, and our entire makeshift camp was covered in blood. Damn it!
I quickly jump to my feet, immediately drawing my pistol, and begin to survey the surroundings. A lot of blood had been shed, there were scraps of meat and fabric from the stalkers' jumpsuits everywhere, and at the spot where Father had sat yesterday, there were small drops of blood leading away. There was also a single track left by the mutant – the imprint of a large hoof, deeply embedded in the ground. Based on this, one could think that the creature weighs a couple of hundred kilograms, if not more. I'll go see where the stalker's blood leads me.
I follow the drops and find his severed head in the nearby bushes. A calm expression was frozen on his face, his eyes had even begun to dry out, having spent the whole night open. The stalker didn't even realize what had happened to him... His right cheek was covered in a dark purple bruise, and, judging by the appearance, his skull bones had simply been crushed by a sudden blow. His neck was broken, and the muscles and skin were carelessly torn. Whoever it was, it was a very dangerous opponent. But why didn't he touch me...
"Achievement, exactly!" I slap my forehead with my palm. "With these lab freaks, I completely forgot that mutants shouldn't touch me... But who was it? Why like this? Bloodsuckers, in principle, are capable of tearing off a head, but with one blow? And they hunt differently. And I don't know of any other mutants capable of this. Nothing is clear."
It was a pity that I couldn't save the guys. They had almost returned to their comrades' camp, and then... And I, damn it, a sleepyhead, didn't even wake up when they started eating them. I wanted to tear and throw things from my own incompetence... If it weren't for my affinity with the Zone, then... I would also have become a victim of this mutant and wouldn't have even had time to squeak. Damn it!
I spend a few minutes with the head in my hands, immersed in a sea of not-so-good and cheerful thoughts. It turned out that one overly zealous stalker had completely relaxed, believing in his own invulnerability. How many times I had vowed to myself never to let my guard down again,
so as not to suffer myself, but... As usual, only luck and the System's help saved me. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't have gotten past the Antechamber, remaining there as a fetch-and-carry-shoot-dogs kind of guy.
"Forgive me, Father," I sigh sadly and heavily, looking into the stalker's dead eyes. "Forgive me..."
And I close his eyelids with my fingers to grant him eternal peace. What is within my power will be done. I will deliver his remains to the camp, where Father's comrades will bury him and bid him farewell. I promise. And, not daring to put the stalker's head in a bag, I decide to carry it like this, in my hands. I hope that others will understand me correctly and not start shooting. How did they say it, the camp to the northeast? I'm heading out immediately.
After just a couple of dozen minutes, I really wanted to eat and drink, but I had nothing left after last night. I hoped that we would reach the camp normally in the morning and eat like humans, but here... What's going on, Zone...
As the Gypsy said, the places here are quite mysterious. The fog constantly threw me off course, so I had to check the compass from time to time. And the ubiquitous thickets of plants, trees, and scattered large stones often blocked my way, causing me to deviate even further from the original route in search of a place where I could bypass the unexpected obstacle. The most surprising thing was that during my entire journey, I never heard the sound of any living creature. Not a mutant, not a bird, not a person. And the further I went into the Misty Thicket, the more I felt the wrongness and deadness of these places. It shouldn't be like this, but... for some reason, it is.
After a little more than an hour, I managed to reach an old and abandoned farmstead located right in the middle of the forest. A dilapidated wooden fence, most of which lay on the ground, and a few houses that looked not bad, covered in fog. I couldn't see them clearly, as an old man's voice immediately stopped me.
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" someone from the farmstead asks menacingly, and I have to peer into the fog to get a better look at my interlocutor.
A frail old man, whose face was etched with deep wrinkles and had long since become gaunt. Thin wrists peeking out from under the sleeves of an old checkered shirt, on his head – a ushanka hat, whose best times had long passed, and now it could hardly warm its owner even in not very strong frosts. A large nose, blue but faded eyes, and bushy gray eyebrows on a frowning forehead.
"Well?!" he impatiently urges me, raising a horizontal double-barreled shotgun. "Answer, you scoundrel, or I'll kill you!"
"I'm a stalker," I answer him loudly. "I heard that Boroda's camp is located here, so I came to ask for shelter."
"Here?!" the old man exclaims in response. "Ha! I've never heard such nonsense, your marauders settled in the northeast."
"So I was going northeast," I say patiently and look at the compass, its needle pointing exactly north.
"This is the Southern farmstead," the old man explains willingly, lowering his rifle and taking a few steps towards me. "You're quite a fierce one, marauder. If you saw this at night, you'd shit yourself with fear. And your buddies are up north. The Thicket led you astray from where you wanted to go."
"How so? And why are you calling me a marauder?"
"And how else, if you and your buddies are real marauders? You steal and steal, you drag and drag the treasures of the dead!" the old man laments, throwing his rifle over his shoulder and spitting lusciously at his feet. "And how it led you... Apparently, it wasn't for nothing. Come into the house, we'll talk there. And leave the head here, don't bring carrion into my house..."