———
Staying cautiously out of rifle range a few hundred meters away from the Alamo, Skinner, Commander Saifullah and a half-dozen Talib fighters watch Ramirez’s lonely figure approaching. Giving a cold shoulder to his fate, the Lieutenant is drawing on his cigarette as he returns at a leisurely pace.
“Their answer is no,” Saifullah says.
“Stubborn bastards,” grumbles Skinner.
“All the better,” the Talib commander observes. ”When the infidel gets here, we’ll show them how they will die. All of them.”
“Not without gang-raping their women first, I guess?”
“This is Afghanistan, Stalker.”
When Lieutenant Ramirez walks up to the Humvee with the white flag fastened to the antenna, Saifullah gives his men a sign to get hold of him. Skinner pushes them aside.
“Let the man say what he has to say!” Then he turns to Ramirez and looks into his calm eyes. “Lieutenant, you’ve kept your word. Respect. Let us know the Colonel’s reply.”
Ramirez takes a last draw on his cigarette, then tosses it into the wind and clears his throat.
“I am to tell you that going to our knees is no part of our Code. That is the answer of the Tribe.”
“Fine with me, Lieutenant,” Skinner says shrugging his shoulders. “I appreciate you telling the reply without barking that cheesy semper fi, oorah! stuff. Guess we can all add it mentally anyway. Okay… Saifullah, he’s all yours.”
A bloodthirsty grin appears on the Talib’s face as he draws a long, curved sword. His men step to Ramirez.
“On your knees, you dirty dog!” Saifullah yells.
“Didn’t you hear what I’ve just said?” Ramirez shouts back.
Before Saifullah’s men can manhandle him, he draws the M1911 pistol that Saria had slipped into his pocket, raises it to his head and pulls the trigger.
The gunshot is still echoing in the valley when Lieutenant José Ramirez collapses to the ground.
Taken over by anger and frustration, Saifullah kicks the corpse. “God curse your wretched soul, you miserable pig of an infidel!”
Skinner slaps his forehead. “Oh shit…. as if that would change a thing. Never mind, dushman, I guess they got the message anyway. Hey! We better get the hell out of here!”
But Saifullah, still in rage over the Lieutenant’s suicide depriving him of a theatrical execution, now begins to hack off the head of Ramirez’s corpse. Skinner grabs his arm and pulls him to the vehicle.
“You got dirt in your ears, you crazy dushman? We gotta move! Now!”
They climb in the captured Humvee and quickly drive away, backtracking the road to the southern outpost.
“God be praised!” Saifullah shouts over the roar of the engine and squeaking suspension. “That pig escaped our wrath but we still have the other prisoners. They won’t be so lucky!”
”What?” Skinner asks back. “That man gave his word of honor to return and he kept it! Bloody impressive if you ask me. Now it’s your turn to keep your word and release his men!”
“War is deception,” Saifullah replies with a smile and mumbles something in Arabic that Skinner can’t hear through the engine noise. Then he adds, “At least you told him the truth, Stalker. This land is ours. Invaders must quit it or die!”
Hearing this, Skinner slowly shakes his head.
‘Ours’ meant myself and my mutant brothers, not your sort of devious savages.
36
Edge of the Swamps, Exclusion Zone
Their passage through the Tuzla tunnel gave Tarasov’s companions a good introduction of what is awaiting them deeper in the Zone. The heavy breathing under the gas masks. The light of their headlamps, appearing so tiny in the cavernous tunnel. The sizzling Electro anomalies, gleaming on the ground with blue sparks, the crackling Geiger counter, the green glow of the Veles detector’s tiny screen and the beeps it made to warn them of unseen anomalies. The tedium of bolt throwing to find a safe way through. The three blind dogs with open wounds covering their bodies and their leaps as they tried to bite into the companions’ throats. The blinding muzzle flashes of their shotguns in the darkness.
“Now you know why people venturing here are called Stalkers,” Tarasov whispers to Pete.
“I wish we’d be out of here already,” the kid whispers back, anxiously.
At least the tunnel was not long and the end, beyond which the inner Zone was waiting for them, came closer with each step they made.
Having at last covered the last steps separating them from the daylight outside, Tarasov pulls his gas mask off and deeply inhales the fresh air. Before him, the rails lead to a ruined bridge over a dark and slow-flowing river, flanked by sparse bushes and reeds. On the other shore, to their right and south to an embankment with derailed carriages rusting away in the tall grass, the Great Swamps are stretching out. Fog banks are floating over the endless fields of reed and the waterways between small islands of solid earth. A barbed wire fence runs along the far shore or the river, at places overgrown by reed. To the far south, a watchtower stands out from the grey fog. Even further, partly covered by fog and tall reed, greenish vapors squirm over the riverside. Tarasov is glad to be far away from the poisonous cloud and the anomalies that emit it.
“Welcome to the Swamps,” he tells his companions who stand at his side in silence, apparently impressed by the vast, foreboding landscape. Then Nooria points forward and Tarasov immediately understands that no matter their first glimpse of the Zone, it was something else that rendered them speechless — and he himself is struggling to believe his eyes.
“Incredible,” the Top murmurs.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says. “Want some coffee?”
Tarasov blinks at the sight of Sawyer sitting on a rock and leisurely pouring a pouch of instant coffee into a metal mug full of steaming water.
“What is it, Mr. Stalker?” the survivalist asks cheerily, killing the flame of his camping gas cooker. “You not happy to see me again?”
“I’m certainly grateful that you—but how did you get here?” Tarasov stammers. “How did you manage to overtake us?”
“What do you mean, overtake? I stepped into that thingy, and here I was. Thought I’d wait for you here until you happily arrive. And how has your bolt gotten here?”
Tarasov stares at the bolt lying on a stone right next to the tunnel.
“That’s the bolt I threw into the anomaly! Gospodi, I’m not going to take one more step until—I don’t like it.”
“Anyway, we’d better rest for a few minutes before crossing the river,” Hartman says.
“But keep off this bolt, just in case.“
“You don’t want to keep off my coffee, I guess,” Sawyer says offering them his mug.
Tarasov still copes with the idea of Sawyer not only surviving an anomaly, but being teleported at the shore of the river sound and safe while it took them a full hour to navigate through the perilous tunnel. “It’s impossible!”
“What’s important is that Sawyer’s bag with his underwear is safe,” Pete says and gladly accepts the mug of fresh coffee. “Got any sugar?”
“Creamer for me, please,” Hartman adds merrily.
“Pete, don’t stick your nose in someone’s underwear if you don’t understand it,” Nooria says. “Zone appears to be very powerful!”
Sawyer shakes his head. “What’s there to understand? I’ve got my energy bars, the cooker… all survivalist things that will come in handy. Got no creamer, but here’s a pouch of sugar. Gives one extra calories to burn.”
Tarasov sighs, then he too takes a sip of coffee. He begins to look at the Australian with a different eye; not far from them he sees proof that the Zone is still much less merciful to others. He points to a spot on the riverside.
“In any case, you’ve been lucky… unlike that Stalker over there.”
Not far from a small, dilapidated wooden boat stands stuck in the sandy shore, a man lies in the shallow water. He wears a ragge
d protective suit, resting his head on his forearm in such a peaceful pose that makes him appear as if he were just sleeping.
Something moves in the reed, then the head of a black, dog-like creature appears. Its snout resembles that of an oversized bulldog, but its wide mouth flashes fangs fit for an alpha wolf. Seeing the corpse in the water, it licks its snout with its thick, blue tongue.
It trots to the corpse, licks its snout once more and bites into the dead man’s face.
“Yes… this is the Zone,” Tarasov whispers. “Our Zone.”
The mutant growls when it becomes aware of the five humans. It seems to hesitate, but its hunger is apparently stronger than caution — or maybe it just thinks about leaving the still living humans for later.
The bang of a rifle shot shatters the silence. A split second later, the mutant’s head is hit and goes off with chunks of human meat still in his mouth.
“Sorry for spoiling your appetite, puppy,” Sawyer says working the bolt of his rifle.
“Outstanding shot, Sawyer!”
“Just call me Finn, Top. My father was fond of Mark Twain, you know?” With a showy gesture, the Australian adjusts his hat. “Hey Mister Stalker, where’re you goin’?”
“Keep your eyes on the reed and bushes while I check the body.”
“That dog-like beast looks dead alright to me.”
“It’s that fellow I mean,” Tarasov says walking to the dead Stalker. He puts his breathing mask on to filter the stench and pats down the pockets on the dead man’s suit.
“Already acting like a scavenger?”
“Every body tells a story.”
Triumphantly, he fishes a detector from a pocket on the corpse.
“A Veles,” he says showing the device. “A next generation scanner. In normal mode it registers only radiation and anomalies, but if I open it, it also indicates nearby artifacts on a display screen. Pretty useful.”
“Didn’t help this fellow much.”
“Whatever it was, it got to him on his way out or so it seems… the Zone didn’t let him leave.” Tarasov takes one more look at the body. “And if he had a Veles, and was on his way out, it means that…”
He dons his protective gloves and turns the body over. The sight drives cold down through his spine. Even the hardened Top turns his head away with a grimace of disgust.
“At least it wasn’t for nothing.” Tarasov takes an artifact from the container on the dead man’s belt. It looks like two blue mushroom heads held together by a strange substance resembling non-sticking jelly. His radiation meter starts beeping. “A Shell… damn. I’d need another one, a Jellyfish or something similar, to balance out the radiation it’s emitting. Sawyer! Come over here!”
“What is it?”
“I need your hunting knife.”
Tarasov cuts the container off the belt and tosses it to the Australian.
“What do you prefer? Being encumbered by that rucksack or a little nausea?”
“It’s not heavy at all.”
“Fasten this container with the artifact to your belt, and ask Nooria for anti-radiation drugs every two hours or so.”
“I don’t follow.”
“That’s the point,” Tarasov says getting to his feet. “Keeping that thing close to you, you will follow me even if your rucksack were twice as heavy as it is.”
“How come?”
“It’s an artifact, or call it a swag like Hartman’s people do. The Shell I just gave you has a stimulating effect. Don’t ask me how and why. Too bad it’s a little radioactive…”
“Jesus! And you want me to put it next to my balls..? Keep that… thing to yourself!”
“Nothing an anti-rad couldn’t keep under control.”
“You sure?”
“Quite.”
“What if I drink vodka against radiation?”
“You get drunk. Can’t allow that till we get to a safer place.”
Sawyer doesn’t look convinced but when they prepare to leave, and he puts on his overloaded rucksack with much less effort, he starts to grin.
“Hey mate… that’s awesome! But if I wake up one morning with nothin’ left to piss with, I’ll stuff that bloody thingy down yer throat!”
“Don’t worry,” Tarasov says, powering on the Veles detector. ”Crap! the batteries are dead.”
Using the Swiss army knife from the survival kit they all got from Jimmy the Nut, Tarasov screws off the battery compartment of the Bear detector to switch batteries.
“What was that beast Finn just killed?” the Top asks.
“A pseudodog.”
“Lame name for a mutant.”
“’Pseudo’ means ’almost’,” Tarasov replies, shrugging. “Almost like a dog—pseudodog. Sounds logical to me.”
“At least it doesn’t attack in packs like jackals do.”
“Not so sure about that. Sometimes they team up with a pack of blind dogs. Blind dogs are cowards, they run if you kill one or two of them but the presence of a pseudodog gives them self-confidence. Once I met such a pack. They made me run faster than the devil… Okay, let’s see if it works now.”
With the new batteries, the green display of the Veles comes to life. Satisfied, Tarasov fastens it to his belt and scans the river with his binoculars.
“The current is strong but the river’s not too wide here… Think we could cross it in that boat, Top?”
“Kidding? You have two Marines in the party!”
“Actually… it’s not the water that I’m concerned about.”
“Then what?”
For a reply, Tarasov gives Hartman his binoculars and points to a spot about fifty meters downstream. Hardly visible with bare eyes but all the more conspicuous through the binoculars, there is a circular area appearing like a shallow pit in the water, as if an invisible sphere of pulsating energy would be hovering above. Zooming in, small debris becomes visible as it whirls around in the sphere, driven by a vortex of invisible energy.
“Looks like trouble.”
“A Whirligig anomaly.” Tarasov shakes his head and sighs. “Damn! Right in the middle of the river. The current could drive us into it.”
“Anomalies in the water? Jesus Christ, this place is weirder than I expected. There’s no such thing in the sandbox!”
“Sure, because there’s not much water.”
“Because you haven’t been to the Amir lakes, far to the north of the City of Screams. It’s the closest thing the sandbox has to beauty. After our valley, of course.”
“Anyways, there’s an anomaly field between the observation tower on the riverbank and the abandoned Clear Sky base. A powerful emission must have relocated the anomalies. You know what makes me scared? The thought of the Zone being a balloon, emissions the air pumped into it, and each emission making it expand till one day it goes kaboom!”
“That’s very poetic but let’s focus on what’s ahead. Can’t we use the bridge? A stretch is missing from the middle but looks like we’re gonna wet our feet either way.”
“Metal structure. Must be heavily irradiated. Besides, if one of us slips and falls off… no, forget the bridge. We’ve already used up all our luck today with Sawyer getting out alive from that anomaly.”
“You too can call me Finn,” the Australian says behind them.
“That little boat ain’t exactly a landing craft,” the Top observes. Only three of us fit in at once. Besides, steering it overloaded would be difficult.”
“Good idea. First, I’ll take you two Marines. You’ll land and establish a bridge-head,” Tarasov jokes. ”Take your rifles only. Then comes Nooria and most of our gear and finally Finn.”
The boat has barely reached the middle of the river when Tarasov realizes how right Hartman was. Water is leaking through the half-rotten planks of the hull and with everyone inside, they surely would have sunk. By the time he reaches the other bank, only a hands’ span of the hull stands out off the water.
“Do not move till I’m back. Keep your rifles a
t hand. Help me to turn the boat and let the water out.”
The reeds move and all three raise their rifles to face anything that might come out from there.
“The wind got stronger suddenly…” Tarasov worriedly says. “I hope this is not the sign of an emission approaching. If it catches us in the open we’re screwed.”
Crossing the river once more is easier with only Nooria and half of their rucksacks inside. Next, he and Sawyer load the remaining gear into the boat. Tarasov starts paddling, trying to steer the boat towards the bridge at an angle that would help them avoid the anomaly. Now he has to work hard not only against the against the current, but the wind too. With each paddle stroke, the safe angle becomes difficult to keep. Adding to their troubles, the boat is again half full of brown, muddy water. The Veles detector begins to emit a slow sequence of warning beeps. To his terror, Tarasov sees that despite his efforts they are driven directly toward the big anomaly.
“Holy fuck,” Sawyer gasps.
Tarasov doubles his efforts but it seems to him as if the strong current wants to tear the paddles out of his hands. The sluggish boat is almost impossible to steer by now. The detector’s warning intensifies.
“Take the paddles!” he yells and moves to the bow. Knee-deep in the water that keeps leaking in, he throws a bolt into the orb. The anomaly flashes on the surface where the bolt hits, followed by a weak orange glow as it consumes the bolt. Desperately, Tarasov throws a second one.
“Maybe it’ll just teleport us to the riverbank,” Sawyer shouts, trying to sound cheerful but Tarasov hears the fear in his voice very well.
“That’s not a Space anomaly! It’s a Whirligig!”
“Whirly-what?”
“A vortex that will shred us!”
The detector’s beeping grows into a frenzied whistle. Watching them with dread, their companions on the riverbank yell anxiously at them but their voice is carried away by the wind. The anomaly is only a few meters away and now they can hear its low, menacing drone.
“Paddle harder, Finn! Keep to the left, to the left!”
“I can’t!”
Tarasov grabs at the nearest rucksack.
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