S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Southern Comfort

by John Mason

  Walking with steps as quiet as possible on the rocky and sandy ground, they proceed. The Captain’s artifact lights up just a small part of the cave, as if they were walking in a sphere of dim, red glow.

  “Stay in the light.”

  Tarasov moves closer to the old man, wondering if staying close to the glowing artifact is a good idea. It gives more light than their headlamps would alone, giving them a better chance to avoid stumbling in the hazardous ground, but it could also make it easier for a bloodsucker – or anything else that might lurk in the dark caves – to detect them. However, his better judgment tells him to rely completely on the Captain who is leading them through a maze of tunnels with firm steps, never hesitating before taking turns into shafts to the left and right where no one but him would know which direction to take. Tarasov hopes that the old man’s sense of direction doesn’t fail him, since the only thing he can detect is that they seem to be gradually ascending.

  After long minutes of sneaking and climbing, they reach a point where the tunnel widens. Tarasov grimaces under his gas mask when he sees a dead body on the ground, the torn Stalker suit bearing the marks of huge claws. Thousands of flies swarm around it.

  “Squirrel, fall back into line!” Tarasov whispers angrily when the guide moves to inspect the pockets on the dead Stalker’s body armor. “This is no time for scavenging.”

  “But…”

  “Shh! Quiet!” The Captain says in a low voice. “I heard something!”

  Now Tarasov can hear it too – it’s a muted roar coming from the depths of the tunnel lying ahead. Instinctively, he raises his weapon.

  “If we hear it, we don’t need to fear it,” the Captain whispers. “It means that the bloodsucker has not detected us. Howl is good, but silence is deadly.”

  “I hate bloodsuckers,” Squirrel whispers back. “Especially sneaky ones.”

  The long, tedious march takes its toll on Tarasov’s energy. Walking is easy on the hard ground and the ascent is mostly non-exertive, but constantly keeping his eyes peeled and ears pricked becomes more and more exhausting as the time passes. As his mental energy depletes, a creepy sense of claustrophobia sets in.

  Damn this spelunking… these narrow shafts sap on my energy with every step I take, no matter of the Emerald I carry.

  He delights at the sight of the tunnel widening again into a long, oval-shaped space, and is already considering a short break when he sees the Captain freeze in his steps. Then he hears the noise of footsteps approaching them.

  “Jesus Christ, here it comes!”

  He doesn’t need Squirrel’s desperate scream to realize the danger. In the red glow of the Captain’s artifact, the shadow of a bloodsucker appears on the rocky wall only a few meters to their right. Tarasov raises his rifle to shoot but the Captain’s fragile figure is standing between him and the mutant.

  “Bloodsucker! Hold it! Don’t approach!”

  Tarasov is about to shout for the old man to get to the ground so that he has a clear shot, but realizes that it’s not him or his comrades the Captain is talking to – he is directing his words to the mutant.

  “Hold your fire,” the major whispers to his companions. “Hold your fire!”

  The Captain raises the staff holding the glowing artifact higher and steps forward.

  “Move away, kravasos… move.”

  With eyes wide open from dread and surprise, Tarasov watches the mutant’s shadow taking a step backwards, as if mesmerized by the artifact’s light. With a nod of his head, the Captain signals them to proceed.

  Cautiously, they walk by the Captain who still keeps the artifact high and close to the bloodsucker’s snout where Tarasov can now see his eyes reflecting the light. When Ilchenko, the last man in their row, has reached the far end of the cavern, the Captain slowly takes a step back. Still facing the mutant he seems to hold under his command, he retreats towards them with slow, cautious steps.

  “Now go away,” the Captain says in an almost fatherly tone of voice. “Go away until your sight returns.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Tarasov exclaims. “Did you actually blind that beast?”

  But before the Captain could answer, Ilchenko steps forward. “A blinded mutant is good but a dead mutant is better.”

  Before Tarasov can bark to him a quick order to hold his fire, the machine gunner pulls the trigger on the PKM.

  After the long silence the machine gun’s fire is deafening, made even more thunderous by the echo in the cave. Guided more by instinct than reason, Tarasov also opens fire, aiming his rifle from the hip at the center of the mutant’s shadow. Emitting a cry of pain, the Captain falls to the ground. Now Squirrel’s AK joins the fire. The shadow approaches them as their bullets hit the still invisible body. Blood splashes from ever more visible wounds and now the mutant emits a dreadful, long howl. Then it falls, swirling up clouds of dust as it hits the ground. A few seconds later, the natural color of its body appears as the mutant’s brain, which made it appear invisible by whatever mysterious ability it possessed, finally dies.

  “No, no, no,” the Captain moans. “Why?”

  Tarasov quickly helps him to his feet and notes with relief that the old man is unscathed. His relief quickly evaporates as he hears several howls echoing through the cave – coming from the shaft ahead, the tunnel they have left behind them, and from unseen caverns above and below.

  “You see what you did?” The Captain casts an angry look at Ilchenko.

  “Yes! I killed a mutant!”

  “Useless, stupid private! You killed one mutant and called up a dozen!” The Captain turns to Tarasov. “Since my times, discipline has become even worse!”

  “I’ll reprimand the soldier later,” Tarasov shouts back. “We must get to that damned factory, quickly!”

  “The howls are getting closer!” Squirrel screams.

  “Run!” The Captain shouts. “Run!”

  They run, slowed down by Ilchenko who keeps turning back to fire short bursts from his weapon. If their march had been careful up to now, it has turned into a heedless rout as they follow the Captain who is sprinting ahead. He almost gets thrown to the ground when he suddenly stops and collides with Tarasov, who has no chance to maneuver around him in the narrow tunnel.

  “There’s one ahead of us!”

  The major empties his magazine into the mutant blocking their way ahead, cursing himself for not having loaded a full magazine after they’d finished the blinded mutant.

  “Squirrel! Reloading, cover me!”

  The heavy rattle of the PKM joins with the MP5’s clatter, the noise of both weapons almost obliterated by the bloodsucker’s howl. When Tarasov’s fires his now reloaded rifle, the howl turns into a pain-filled growl, but he keeps firing nonetheless until the mutant falls. They jump over the lifeless body and run forward.

  “Vperyod, vperyod!”

  “Squirrel, watch your back!”

  “Damn it! We have been here before!”

  “You must be kidding me, Stalker!”

  “No, Major! Forward!” The Captain, now also tired and breathing heavily, points forward. “We’re almost there!”

  “Any more side turns ahead, Captain?”

  “No! This leads straight to the factory!”

  Tarasov peers back into the tunnel as the machine gunner and the guide arrive. Bloodsucker howls are still echoing in the darkness, but none seem to be close enough to indicate an imminent threat.

  Howls are good, silence is deadly, he thinks, remembering what the Captain said.

  “Ilchenko, Squirrel! Haul your asses behind me! Cover me, I’m preparing a booby trap!”

  Tarasov removes his last two hand grenades from his ammunition vest and carefully removes the fuses. At a position where any of the heavy-limbed bloodsuckers would move it, he places one grenade on the ground and cautiously puts a stone on the release grip. Then he does the same with the other one, not giving any chance to a mutant who was lucky enough to avoid the first grenade.

>   “Done. Let’s move on, and be quiet! Especially you, Private!”

  The Captain’s guidance proves to be correct. After covering a short distance, the natural walls of rock and earth end in a wall made of bricks.

  “We have reached the cellars,” the Captain says. “But this tunnel has always been open before. Strange!” He steps back, scratching at his beard.

  Tarasov examines the wall. The rows of bricks are loosely laid and the balance of the whole structure seems to be borne by a single, if massive piece of timber in the middle. Overall, it looks like a makeshift barrier hastily erected to block the passage.

  “This was not built by a bloodsucker,” Squirrel whispers. “That’s for sure.”

  “Ilchenko, come over here,” Tarasov says. “Consider yourself our combat engineer. This wall must go.”

  “Consider it done, Major.”

  The burly soldier steps to the stone wall and gives it a kick with all his force. After a few more kicks, the timber yields. One more kick, and the wall collapses with a huge rumble, leaving a hole big enough for a man to climb through.

  “Let’s move on,” Tarasov orders. “And let’s hope we haven’t called up even more mutants by this racket!”

  One by one, they enter the room on the other side. It is definitely man-made, looking like a cellar with rusty pipes and wires running along the concrete walls.

  Suddenly, they hear a yelp.

  “Jackals!” Squirrel shouts.

  But only one mutant appears in the light of his headlamp. It seems to be frightened and hides under a pipe.

  “It’s a pup,” Tarasov confirms without lowering his weapon. “I wonder where the rest of the pack is?”

  “They seem to be one big loving family,” Ilchenko says, pointing his torchlight at some textile rags arranged in a nest-like structure and a metal plate on the ground. A bulky rucksack lies next to the pet’s place. “And quite sophisticated for jackals, too.”

  “I hate jackals. Especially sophisticated ones.” Squirrel raises his submachine gun to shoot the helpless yelping mutant. But before he could even aim, a voice comes from the darkness. It is accompanied by the auspicious noise of a rifle being cocked.

  “If you even think about hurting my dog – I’ll fry you!”

  “That’s not a dog,” Squirrel shouts back, “that’s a bloody jackal!”

  “It’s a dog and his name is Billy. Lower your goddamned weapons!”

  A beam of strong light flashes from the headlights of a human figure standing in a corner, maintaining a perfect firing position over all four of them.

  “It’s okay,” Tarasov says. “We won’t hurt your… pet. Everybody, relax!”

  Slowly, with his hands up, he cautiously steps closer to their opponent. The jackal pup darts out from its cover and hides behind its master. By now Tarasov sees that he is wearing an exoskeleton and keeps his FN-2000 automatic rifle squarely at aim. The Stalker’s face is hidden behind the helmet’s dark, protective visor and integrated gas mask.

  The major frowns. It is not looking into the barrel of one of the best weapons of the world that gives him an odd feeling about this encounter, nor the relatively small size of their opponent, but how perfectly the exoskeleton fits its wearer. It suits him perfectly, as if tailor-made.

  Strange. Yar works wonders with rifles but armor has never been his strong side.

  “Mac the Apprentice, I presume?”

  “That’s correct. Who are you?”

  “My name is Tarasov. Ilchenko and I are from the military…”

  “Friends call me Ilch,” Ilchenko adds with a grin.

  “… and that Stalker with the MP5 is our guide. Name’s Squirrel.”

  “And who’s that? Did one of you bring his grandfather on this joyride?”

  “The grandfather holding that red light is… well... he’s with the good guys too, he only stepped into a time vortex. Call him Captain. Can we all relax now?”

  Mac laughs. “The Captain looks like a lich king from some stupid RPG!”

  “You have something against RPGs? Best loot I ever had!” Squirrel asks, stepping forward.

  Tarasov grins and waves him to halt. “That’s not the kind of RPG the kid means. Mac, you are right about the Captain, but he is a chaotic good lich. We’re all with the good guys, believe me.”

  “Ooo-kay… I won’t shoot you. But if you ever look at Billy the wrong way…”

  “I love that puppy,” Squirrel says. “Hey puppy, you want some sausage?”

  In reply, the jackal pup snarls at him and emits an angry yelp that was probably intended to be a frightening bark.

  The tension eases as Mac cradles his rifle. Ilchenko and Squirrel do the same.

  “So, let’s get down to business,” Tarasov says. “Uncle Yar has sent us to get you back.”

  “How is he doing?”

  “He’ll be doing better once you get back to him.”

  “Forget it. Tell him I’m off to the Panjir Valley.”

  “What?”

  The Captain’s frightened cry surprises them all. “Operation Magistral is still going on? We went there five times… always beaten back! That place is hell! The column! The column was heading there…”

  “What’s wrong with this dude?” Mac asks. “The valley is like heaven for Free Stalkers. There’s fewer mutants, and no arrogant Dutiers poking their dirty noses into Stalker business.”

  “Never mind the Captain,” Tarasov replies. “He’s not really up to date.”

  Suddenly, the jackal named Billy starts to growl even without Squirrel bothering him.

  “Uh-oh… here come the bloodsuckers,” Mac says, readying his rifle.

  “How do you know?” Tarasov asks in surprise. Then he looks at the jackal pup called Billy. “Don’t tell me that…”

  The pup’s low growl is suddenly subdued by an aggressive howl coming from the tunnels.

  “You must have pissed them off, Stalker… you see, all animals seem to hate you.”

  “It’s mutants, man, not animals! And actually, it was this trigger-happy boyevoychik who woke them up, not me!”

  “We should leave,” the Captain anxiously says.

  “Yes, man! Let’s go or we become bloodsucker food!”

  “Let’s,” Mac shouts, grabbing his pet and putting him into a bag hanging over his chest. He opens a metal door leading to a corridor to their left. “Get in there. Move!”

  “You first, kid,” Tarasov says, readying his rifle.

  “Billy, cover your ears!”

  Mac steps to the opening in the wall and fires a projectile from his rifle’s built-in grenade launcher. The low thump is followed by a huge explosion inside the tunnel, strengthened into a thunder by the narrow space, followed after a second by two more detonations. Rocks and earth fall in and block the tunnel, while Mac gets his rucksack and even finds time to comfortingly caress his jackal.

  “Did you booby-trap the tunnel? All the better. At least I could save some grenades!”

  “Why did you bother building that stone wall?” Tarasov asks when they step into the corridor and Mac closes the metal door tight. “You could have blocked it with a few 40 millimeter grenades from your rifle’s launcher!”

  “I have only a few grenades left, but there’s more than enough bricks lying around here. Pity to leave it, though… it was a good place to hide. Hey, fat boy, let me through!”

  Ilchenko lets Mac pass him by and take point in the corridor. “I am not fat, you little dwarf,” he grumbles.

  “Nobody calls me a dwarf,” Mac says, looking back at the machine gunner towering behind him.

  “I suggest you two settle this later,” Tarasov snaps. “Mac, where to now?”

  “You’ve probably guessed that this is the cellar of the textile factory. Normally, the way up should be clear. If not, Billy will warn us.”

  “How so?”

  “He has a good nose even for a dog. Smells out any mutant, no matter how far away. Anomalies as well.”<
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  “Maybe that’s because it’s a jackal!” Squirrel says.

  “Gospodin Tarasov, where did you find such an imbecile guide who can’t tell a dog from a jackal?”

  “First, you will address me as Major or komandir. Second, Squirrel is cool. He eats bears for breakfast.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that. His breath smells like that.”

  “And you –”

  Tarasov cuts into Squirrel’s words “Shut the fuck up, both of you! Let’s move!”

  The corridor is narrow and dark, but at least man-made – a relief in itself after the maze of caverns they have left behind. At regular intervals, Tarasov sees metal doors with little hatches at eye height – unusual for a cellar of a factory, making him wonder what this place might have really been. One door stands ajar. He peeks inside, and what he observes looks like a prison cell.

  “This place is creepy,” he says.

  “You want to see something really creepy?” the kid replies.

  “I’ve had my share of creepy things for today, thanks.”

  “Too bad. Nothing is as creepy as an underground torture chamber.”

  “A factory with prison cells and a torture chamber? What the hell was this place?”

  “Guess what? The factory levels are above. Below – it was KGB, CIA, whatever.” Mac halts at a winding, metal stair case. “You sure you want to miss the torture room?”

  “Sir! If I may ask you,” Ilchenko says behind them, “I’d like to see it.”

  “Why am I not surprised? Forget sightseeing, Ilchenko. Dammit, am I the only one who wants to get out of this dungeon as soon as possible?”

  “No, man! I’m with you, as always!”

  “We shouldn’t tarry here too long, Major.”

  “Up we go then,” Tarasov says.

  The rusty staircase creaks and heaves under their steps, as if it could collapse at any moment. Two more corridors appear, which Tarasov is glad to leave unexplored as they continue their ascent.

  When they reach the top of the staircase, Mac signals them to halt and looks around with his rifle poised to shoot before waving them to follow him.