A faint noise grows from the darkness, like someone rubbing their hard-skinned palms together. Beyond the light circle of Ilchenko’s lamp, the darkness seems to move on the ground. Tiny, dim green spots evolve and move towards them.
“Back! Fall back!” Tarasov screams. He sees two amber-colored lights appear high above him. “Holy shit! A snake!”
This time the major is not alone. The bullets riddle the mutant’s erect body as it is about to strike. Obliterated by shotgun shells and rifle rounds, it collapses with a long, vanishing hiss. Tarasov gasps for breath.
Damn this place… and this is only the first level.
Beyond the steel door of the storage room they locate the origin of the smell. A pile of bodies lie on the ground, some of them missing limbs. Half digested chunks of flesh coat the concrete. Tarasov quickly puts on his gas mask, but the sickening smell is still in his nose. He quickly looks around the small room with uneven shelves on the wall.
“At least this was not for nothing,” he grumbles. Fighting back his nausea, he picks up four heavy bundles from a crushed crate.
“What’s in there?” Skinner asks curiously as they walk back into the large room, weapons ready to fire.
“Explosives.”
“Uh-oh. We’re getting angry?”
“Not yet.”
Back in the lobby’s relative security, Tarasov orders a short rest. “Check weapons. Have something to eat. In ten minutes, we move into the laboratories. Ilchenko, you keep an eye on those corridors. Sergeant… come over here for a minute.” He sits down on the ground and pulls out the notebook from his pocket. “Let’s see what we have here.”
His headlamp illuminates neat, old-fashioned handwriting. A name is written on the cover’s inner page but the ink is smeared, leaving only Sakharov legible.
“Hello, hello, Professor,” the major mumbles, thumbing the pages. He reads the writing from the first legible page aloud so that Zlenko also knows what they are about to discover.
“According to researchers, the two statues were built by an ancient tribe called the Lokottaravadan. Ancient Sogdian manuscripts, discovered by Sir Aurel Stein’s expedition and obtained by us from the British Library, tell that the female priests of this tribe possessed almost magical healing powers. However, this is dismissed by most historians as merely the stuff of legend. Anthropologists also agree that the Lokottaravadan are long extinct but Stein insisted that a few of them might still be found, scattered among the local Hazara tribes. We also learned from the manuscripts that the famous statues at Bamyan, called Samal and Shamama, did not only serve spirituality. The Lokottaravadan sculpted them to watch over a site where, according to their faith, a demon or object of destructive power was buried. In later centuries, long after this mysterious people were annihilated, the same site became known as the City of Screams, after Genghis Khan massacred every inhabitant of the city standing there in 1222.”
“Don’t tell me this was all about some stupid anthropologists getting a hard-on from superstition and legends… what is the meaning of all this?”
Tarasov struggles to find the right words. “Well… What concerns us now is that there’s something very bad and evil down below… that is what the scientists were after… I should have guessed. Anyhow, it goes on: From samples taken from the debris of the statues, we could establish a striking similarity between the molecular structure of local stone fragments and certain artifacts, found and known in the Exclusion Zone for their health-restoring effects, like the Soul or Mica variety. However, the local samples don’t emit any radiation, except at very low values which might be due to the nuclear fallout after the recent events. Another intriguing feature is that occasionally the fragments start to glow but without emitting heat of their own. Understanding the nature of these fragments would be a major scientific breakthrough.”
Tarasov looks at the Stalkers. Zef and Skinner are sharing a can of energy drink, while Ilchenko keeps his eyes fixed on the dark corridor and murmurs to himself as if in a delirium. Zlenko is pale and sweating. All look tired and winded.
“We’ll get back to this later… now let’s have a look at that laptop.”
To his dismay, the drive is encrypted. He puts it into his rucksack and takes the pen drive recovered from the first body they encountered, hoping to have better luck with that one. Tarasov is relieved when after plugging it in his PDA, a directory appears with files arranged in chronological order.
29 July, 2014
Kiev is not satisfied with our process. We offered extra payment to motivate the excavators. I hope they will dig faster. This place is a damn warren. To make things worse, someone before us destroyed the access to the lower levels. We have to make our way down by digging and explosives… I can ignore the Academy but my buyers are getting impatient too. They reduce my money each day until I find that artifact, or whatever it is.
15 August
We had a setback today. An excavator started a fight. He screamed something about ruling the world and killed two others before the guards shot him. Again I had to double the excavators’ money. They are becoming anxious.
28 August
Now it’s really about time to enter the lowest level… I already lost tens of thousands of dollars due to the delay. Anyway, even if this goes wrong, they paid me enough for the Gauss gun blueprints before. I don’t have to worry about my old age… I only wish this mission would be over either way, because this place is becoming eerier with every meter we dig deeper.
10 September
Shame on me. Couldn’t bear the pressure. I wanted to bide time and told the buyers everything… two days later they were here. They shot the guards and took over command. Sakharov is so much lost in his research that he didn’t even notice that our output now goes to Beijing instead of Kiev. But what I’m concerned about is that they made a pact with the dushmans… that wasn’t part of the deal. That’s a fucking betrayal. What the hell could I do? I’m powerless. How I wish it could be possible to get away from this cursed place and enjoy my earnings… I would give everything I got for this if I could just get away from here!
11 October
Holy shit. The test subjects broke free. The guards are panicking. What should I do, what should I do… We are holed up in the mess room. Those fucking howls from the depths! They drive me insane. I want to get out. They can’t leave me here! I am their friend! They can’t betray me like this!
Zlenko sighs. “Permission to…”
“Cut the crap, son… we’re way beyond that, you and I. Speak your mind, for God’s sake.”
“Does it still make any sense to go deeper? There are no scientists to save here anymore.”
“That’s no excuse for us to leave this place… we need to search the laboratories and secure any research results we find. Those are our orders. As a matter of fact, the scientists are less important to Kiev than what they found out.”
Zlenko doesn’t look happy.
“Are you still with me, Viktor?”
“I am, komandir. But I’m worried about the Stalkers… I overheard Skinner talking to the black guy about leaving us and going to look for artifacts. We better watch our backs.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m even more worried about Ilchenko… he’s on the edge. He was always a cocky sonofabitch but… not like this.”
“Keep a close eye on him and don’t let him get into a fight with Zef. With all the mutants around, the last thing I need is them shooting each other.” Tarasov stands up and claps his hands. “All right, Stalkers… let’s go down into the labs. Ilchenko, you’re a good point man. Keep it up! Come on guys, look alive!”
“Can I take point for a change?” Skinner asks, taking his shotgun from his shoulder. “I don’t want that machine gun guy grabbing all the artifacts.”
“Suit yourself, Stalker. Ilchenko, stay with me.”
Laboratory, 12 October 2014, 14:29:02 AFT
The corridor leading to the laboratories is short, with doors
opening into small rooms. Looking inside as they move by, their headlights fall on destroyed field furniture and scattered documents. Tarasov takes a few sheets from the ground. Unsure if the long rows of numbers hold any valuable information, he lets them fall back to the ground.
A metal staircase winding down lies at the end of the corridor. A faint, bluish light glimmers beneath. If Tarasov had to choose between the darkness of the bunker level or the disconcerting light below, he would rather stay in darkness.
“Steady, Skinner… move quietly!”
The Stalker is halfway down the stairway when he suddenly stops. “Vaska,” he shouts, “is that you?”
Tarasov cannot figure the reason for the Stalker’s agitation, but leaps down the stairs to stop him from rushing forward into the large room where the stairs emerge. Wherever he looks, he sees devastated furniture and smashed cabinets, with broken computers and their blown out screens scattered around the floor. It is emergency lamps that spill the cold blue light over the devastated room, lending the room all the ambience of an operating theatre in Hell.
He hears the others descending the metal staircase, but the clunk of boots on metal cannot nullify the faint but discernible voice of a man crying in agony.
“Vaska!” Skinner shouts, his voice echoing in the room. “Where are you? Is that you over there?”
“Stalker! Stay here!”
Ignoring Tarasov’s words, Skinner runs to the other end of the room, where a steel door swings open. Skinner cries out in despair and horror.
“Oh no! Vaska! What did they do to you?”
Cursing, Tarasov moves to pull him back. He has almost reached Skinner when he becomes aware of something that freezes the blood in his veins. As if the sound of a woman’s desperate cry wouldn’t be enough, his eyes widen in horror at what he sees.
“Nooria!” he utters upon the sight of her lying on the floor with blood covering her belly and limbs.
“Fuck!”
Skinner’s voice and the gunshot following it bring Tarasov back to his senses. He grabs the Stalker’s shoulder and drags him away from the door.
“Don’t come closer,” he shouts to the others. “Back up the stairs, move!”
“Let me fucking go,” Skinner shouts, trying to wrestle himself free from Tarasov’s grasp. “It’s Vaska from the Asylum! I must help my friend!”
“It’s just a fucking mutant trying to scare you away!”
The Stalker’s heavy body suddenly becomes lighter as Zef
joins Tarasov in his efforts.
“Hold him,” Tarasov shouts when they reach the staircase, taking a grenade from his ammunition belt. Nooria’s defiled corpse becomes clearer with each step he takes toward the door but, overcoming his horror, he leaps forward and tosses the grenade into the next room. A painful howl follows the explosion. Then all falls quiet. The apparitions disappear.
“I saw Vaska…” Skinner bemoans as Zef eases his choke-hold. “He was my best buddy… I believed him dead but I saw him… first he was in a fucking cage, and then bound to an operating table with fucking pipes and catheters screwed into his head…”
“It was just your imagination,” Tarasov explains, but his own voice is trembling too. “The mutant wanted you to run away in fear. It’s over. Vaska is fine!”
“How can you be sure of that? We must find him! Maybe he is still alive somewhere in here…”
“There’s no one here except fucking mutants, you asshole,” Ilchenko shouts and aims his machine gun at the Stalker. “Stop this moaning, you’re making me nervous. Very nervous!”
“You haven’t seen what I saw.” The Stalker stands up and looks at Ilchenko, his eyes molten with rage. “You haven’t seen those cages. I saw them, just a moment ago. They are for real. I’m through with you! I’m going to save my friend!”
“Skinner, if you want to live, stay here!”
“I’m a free Stalker, not a soldier you can order around. To Hell with you and your mission!”
Tarasov pushes Zlenko’s rifle down as the sergeant aims it at the departing Stalker.
“Skinner! We’re all together in this! Come back!” he calls.
“Fuck you,” the Stalker shouts back as he disappears into the darkness beyond the steel door.
His three remaining men look at Tarasov.
“He’s a dead man,” Zef murmurs.
“What was I supposed to do? Shoot him?”
Nobody replies.
“I couldn’t bear his moaning about artifacts anyway,” Ilchenko finally says. “I could have done you a favor, Major — if you still have the guts for things like that.”
“The soldier has a point. We could have killed him and taken his ammo.”
“I don’t need you to agree with me, monkey-man.”
“I’m with Ilchenko on this one too, Major. It was a mistake to let him go like that.”
Zlenko’s comments come as a surprise to Tarasov. This is the first time the sergeant has openly chastised him. Nor has he seen fear appear on the huge Stalker’s face before, though it is present now.
“What’s wrong with you men? Again: was I supposed to shoot him or what?”
“Yes,” Ilchenko eagerly replies.
Tarasov notes the agreement on the other’s faces. He places his finger on the rifle’s trigger. “Forget about that Stalker. Ilchenko, Zlenko, we search the lab for intel. Zef, keep an eye on that steel door.”
“If you say so, boss,” the Stalker replies, reluctantly.
Keeping one eye on his soldiers and the other on the debris on the floor, Tarasov looks for anything that might hold a clue to the scientists’ fate. He bends down to check on a damaged computer. In this moment Ilchenko fires his machine gun. A computer screen falls to the hard floor, smashing into pieces. The machine gunner shouts out triumphantly. “Yeah! Bullseye!”
“What are you doing, Private?”
“I was taking a screenshot!”
Tarasov wants to angrily reprimand his man, but then decides to leave him be for a moment. With his curiosity prevailing, and not sensing any immediate danger, the major continues reading Sakharov’s notebook.
Compared to Professor Herman’s research output from the Zone, our own measurements indicated a strange connection between how the C-Consciousness affected the Zone and the developments in Afghanistan after the so-called accidents. It is a proven fact that massive nuclear contamination alone is not creating Zone-like environment. Now that we have learned that the artifact hidden under Gholghola acts in a similar way to the C-Consciousness, we might get closer to the explanation. To better understand their similarity, we need to better know their differences.
While the C-Consciousness was an intelligent entity of its own kind and manipulated those who got in contact with it, the local phenomenon doesn’t seem to follow a reasonable pattern. Instead, it appears to influence all creatures by multiplying their level of aggression. Our observations of mutated carnivorous species have proved that this influence develops motoric capabilities in a way to facilitate the success of aggression. In other words, it first turns aggression into the basic instinct, overruling all other behavioral patterns; then develops physical features that give the affected species more chance to succeed with their aggression. It is the strangest form of mutation we have ever observed. We don’t know yet how humans as a highly intelligent species are affected. Probably individuals with a particular tendency of aggression and violence are more prone to be affected. However, appropriate psychological research needs to be conducted to clarify this. We were promised that in a few days the first test subjects will be delivered.
The excavators are still clearing the passages leading into the lower level. We cannot wait until they break through into the oldest catacombs. Currently we are set up in a room that we built between the former Taliban bunker complex and something that might once have been an underground fortification. The excavators are clearing it now. To facilitate our research, we constructed the test subjects’ cages in
such a way that they can be lowered below. All we have to do is to expose them to the psychotic influence for a certain period of time and take psi-measurements afterwards. I have no problem with using mutants for my experiments but do have reservations about using human beings, even if they are criminals taken captive by our guards. But for science, sacrifices have to be made.
Pages with long rows of numbers and scientific equations follow. The words on the last page were written by the same hand, but the writing is barely readable, as if put to paper by a gravely unsteady hand.
Our expedition has been betrayed! There was a traitor among us, selling us out to a hostile power. I am an old and weak man — what can I do now? The only way to prevent our research results falling into the wrong hands is by unleashing the research subjects on those who hijacked our expedition… God have mercy on our souls!
The writing ends abruptly at the bottom of the page.
He has barely put away the notebook when a muffled scream comes from the direction Skinner had disappeared in, followed by a quick succession of shotgun blasts. The sound that follows the shots is not something that Tarasov would have expected to hear, though: a bellowing laugh full of malice. Tarasov glances at Zef and the Stalker aims his weapon and takes a step back from the door. He is breathing heavily.
“Maybe he found his buddy after all,” Ilchenko says with a grin.
Zlenko appears. “There’s another room to the right… should we check it?”
Tarasov nods and follows the sergeant. He keeps his weapon at the ready when opening the door, but the small room behind only holds two bunk beds, a table and bookshelves. A half-empty bottle of vodka and an open can of luncheon meat still remain on the table.
“Someone had his breakfast interrupted,” Tarasov tells Zlenko.
Stepping back to the computer room, he has to convince himself that what he sees is for real. It is not Ilchenko’s sinister smile or the machine gun pointing at Zef’s head that seems so surreal, but the sight of the Stalker sitting on the floor and weeping, bashing his head with his fists.
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