S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Northern Passage s-2

by Balazs Pataki

  Seeing that Nooria has donned the protective suit under her long coat, the man nods and opens the door. Sultan’s Hummer is standing outside with already idling engine. He signals her to climb into the back seat.

  “Who are you?” Nooria asks as the Hummer leaves the compound.

  “I am the transporter,” the man replies. ”The rest is not important.”

  To Nooria’s relief, she recognizes some buildings and direction signs from her first drive to the Zone. Assured that she is indeed being driven to the promised destination, she leans back in the seat and tries to feel comfortable in the brand new leather anorak that is still stiff.

  The car drives along Minsky Avenue that becomes highway Number PO2 after it leaves the northern outskirts of Kiev. Before it bends westwards, PO2 runs by the Dnepr reservoir. Visible on a short stretch of road between the factory buildings of Stari Petrivtsi and the apartment blocks of Lyutizh, the lake appears like a grey sea beyond dark brown fields and sparse forests. Thin fog sits over the flat land.

  Nooria soon starts feeling warm under her anorak and coat. When the driver sees her removing the coat, he immediately lowers the heating. It appears a polite gesture but also means that he keeps his eyes closely on her from the rear view mirror. But Nooria knows that she’s on the way to the Zone now and this thought prevails over any dark ideas she might have about the ride and the tongue-tied driver.

  “Can we drive faster?” she asks.

  Without reply, the driver accelerates the car and honks lengthily when a dilapidated bus doesn’t move aside quickly enough. She soon regrets he impatience when a sudden dizziness comes over her.

  “Please, stop,” Nooria says with one of her hands held over her mouth. “I feel sick.”

  “I’m not driving that fast,” the driver replies and gives Nooria a frown in the mirror. Then, probably thinking that he would rather risk her escaping than clean tarnished leather seats, he pulls over and unlocks her door.

  When Nooria is finished vomiting, the driver courteously offers her a paper tissue.

  “Are you all right?” he asks with an inquisitive stare.

  Nooria nods and blows her nose.

  The Humvee keeps its speed even when the road gradually deteriorates after the first hour of driving. It only slows down after Ivankiv village, where Nooria knows they are close to the village from where Tarasov led them into the Zone.

  The driver takes a left turn before they reach Ivankiv and the Hummer leaves the decaying tarmac in favor of a bumpy dirt road.

  “Where are we driving?” Nooria asks with suspicion.

  “To the north of the Zone.”

  “Is this a shortcut?”

  “It’s the easiest.”

  Obviously, Sultan doesn’t own a Hummer only for showing it off. The road has partially deteriorated to deep mud but the car navigates through without any difficulty. She wonders why Tarasov had chosen a way apparently much more perilous.

  After ten minutes she understands that her man had made the right decision. Two eight-wheeled BTR-80 personnel carriers block the road. Heavily armed, tough-looking soldiers stand around them. One of them, wearing a black beret and apparently an officer, waves the car down. The driver halts, though Nooria sees no sign of concern in his face.

  His window goes down. To her surprise, the officer and the driver greet each other like old friends. The driver takes a thick envelope from his suit pocket and hands it over. The officer looks inside, nods with satisfaction and waves the car through.

  As the time passes, a weak sun illuminates the landscape that appears now like an ordinary forest. The morning fog raises among the pines and slowly fades away as the sun climbs higher. It looks peaceful but Nooria senses the closeness of the Zone — or at least hopes for it. She can’t make out any familiar landmark because low hills cover the sight to the north east where the Zone should lie, and without anything better to do, she puts her trust into the driver.

  When the mouth of a valley appears between two hills, the driver finally halts the car.

  “Get out,” he says.

  Nooria deeply inhales the refreshing air outside and closes the zipper on her coat. It is chilly after the warmth inside the car. Pulling the hood over her head, she looks around.

  “This way,” the driver says. “Come! What are you here, a statue?”

  “What is that?” Nooria asks pointing at something sinister on the horizon.

  “The power plant,” the driver replies with a shrug. “Thought you knew that.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Nooria looks into the distance. Far but discernible enough, a huge building looms on the horizon. Only the upper part is standing out from the fog — a rectangular structure and a tall chimney topping it. A flock of black birds passes through her sight and she hears the echoing croaks of ravens.

  “It appears close,” Nooria says.

  “Too close, actually,” the driver says. “Come quickly. I will show you the way.”

  Holding a small bag and carefully avoiding the mud puddles, he leads Nooria about a hundred meters away from the car and towards the valley between the hills. There he halts and shows Nooria a PDA.

  “Do you know how to use this?”

  “No.”

  “Strange Stalker you are. Anyway, this is the button to power it on. Now, wait a second and then press on the map tab on the touchscreen.”

  Nooria does as instructed.

  “This blue symbol marks your position. Beyond those hills is the north-eastern edge of Zaton. You should make your way to the Skadovsk first. That’s a derelict cargo ship. Sultan has friends there. Once you are ready to move on, go to the Container Warehouse in the Jupiter area.”

  “Is it easy to find?”

  “I’ve put a marker on the map.”

  “And how will I get to New Zone?”

  “Ask for Jack. He’s Sultan’s local agent and will tell you everything you need to know. When his men ask you what you want from him, you will reply: Say hello to my little friend!”

  “Say hello to my little friend,” Nooria repeats.

  “Do not forget this password.”

  “I will not.”

  “Take this too.” The driver gives Nooria a silenced Sig Sauer P229 with two spare clips. A few scratches on the black ergonomic grip show that the weapon is not new. It looks well-maintained, though, and even has a tactical laser attached under the barrel. “I heard you are quick with a blade, but this might come useful if you can’t get close enough to your target.”

  Nooria shakes her head.

  “I do not want this.”

  “But you will take it.” He grabs Nooria’s hand, forces her fist open and puts the pistol into her hand. “That’s not all. Sultan wants you to have this too.”

  He throws a small bundle at her feet.

  “Good hunting, Stalker!”

  Laughing, the driver walks back to the idling car and drives away.

  Nooria picks up the bundle and opens it. First she finds a note in neat handwriting.

  Margarita,

  my sweet, innocent little thing. This little present should help you blend in with people in places like the Shooters. I hope to meet you there again, so that we can finish our dinner that was interrupted so abruptly. Apologies for any inconvenience, little one.

  There is something else for you. It is a little thank-you for the extra entertainment you provided me, involving one of my assets. You proved as funny as I had thought. My gift should help you to better understand our world. Like it or not, it is as it is. Tit for tat — you’ve already learned what that means, I trust.

  As you see, I keep my word. You better do likewise.

  Your friend, Sultan.

  Inside a soft leather pouch which has YSL printed on it with gold-colored letters, Nooria finds a stunning silk scarf, its emerald color perfectly matching that of her eyes. As she unfolds it, a much smaller pouch falls to her feet. Nooria unfolds the waterproof paper. What she sees inside makes her scream.

>   She finds herself holding a severed human ear in her hands. A drop of blood spoils the shine of the silver butterfly earring in the lobe.

  Her trembling hands let it fall to the mud. She starts running towards the Zone, oblivious of any danger that might lurk in between the hills. She runs through the dry bushes and jumps over a fallen tree, looking only forwards where the valley opens, and keeps running until she reaches a groove of pine trees on a hill overlooking the landscape that finally opens up before her eyes from where tears of relief, pain and anger flow.

  Panting from the rush, Nooria leans against a tree to catch her breath and scans the horizon but can’t see much from her present position. Taking deep breathes of fresh forest air, she walks further and climbs up a boulder for a better view.

  To the right, atop a distant hill, there is a cluster of buildings that might have been a factory once. Even further, the silhouette of tall cranes loom against the horizon, tucked far away beyond lowlands resembling a vast, dry riverbed with patches of reed and dilapidated ship wrecks, all in shades of faded brown. She can’t see the ill-fated power plant but there is something equally sinister to her far right. It appears to be a gigantic metal structure, standing out among the low hills like a tower with something foreboding about it even from the distance. She jumps off the boulder and moves down the hill to have a better look at what lies to the east.

  A low hill lies ahead, its surface cut by crevasses from where jets of steam rise. Beyond it, she sees another watery patch of marshland with a small, stranded boat. Now it appears sure to her that once this lowland was a river, from where the water disappeared so quickly that the ships had no time to navigate into a safe harbor. Yet in this land where decay and bent physics are the norm, stranded ships seem to be all but out of place.

  All is quiet, only ravens croak in the sky.

  Nooria takes a deep breath and blows her nose into the scarf that was Sultan’s gift. She touches her blade fixed firmly to her belt and a feeling of confidence comes over her. She glances at the PDA and looks over to the distant ship wreck which is supposed to be her first destination.

  “Yes, Sultan,” she says to herself and tosses the tainted scarf away. “I must find my man. Then I will see you again and teach you what real honor means.”

  She pulls the hood over her face and disappears in the bushes, following the direction where her PDA indicates south.

  53

  Bagram, New Zone

  “I can’t believe this. Twenty-five Stalkers went with that bastard. None have returned. Twenty-five good men!” Shrink bashes at the improvised table. “All this when the Tribe is on our neck!”

  The mood in Ashot’s bar is gloomy. At first, when the Tribe appeared and began setting up positions on the hills overlooking the ruined air base, the Stalkers didn’t expect anything bad to happen. After all, it was just a month ago that they repelled the dushmans besieging Bagram together. When the warriors blocked the access roads in the forest to the west, Shrink became alarmed but there was nothing he could do to prevent the Tribe’s forces to set up forward positions blocking access to Bagram from the north. The eastern approaches were still open, but the Tribe’s machine guns and mortars made short work of the jackal and wolf packs occasionally roaming the open plains in search for prey — probably intended as a warning to the Stalkers to stay inside their base.

  When it became clear that the Tribe had put Bagram under blockade, Shrink realized that Captain Bone was not entirely a bad commander. He and his sinister henchmen had piled up valuable supplies in the former command building, mostly food, water and, to Ashot’s great pleasure, vodka. It could be enough to keep the besieged Stalkers on their feet for a week or two, but beyond that their prospects look bleak. No Stalker can venture out to hunt down a hind for food; no ammunition or spirit could be brought in by Ashot’s shady ’business associates’ who used to appear every now and then. Ammunition caused Shrink the biggest headache. When Bone and his men left Bagram for the battle at the City of Screams they left enough supplies behind, apparently in the belief that they would use it later, but they took most of the ammunition with them. Facing a strike force of the Tribe with only lightly armed, undisciplined men and being short of bullets is not exactly how Shrink imagined how things will be when he moved here from Ghorband.

  “That’s why they’re called Free Stalkers, boss. They’re free to roam wherever they please, even if it’s their doom.”

  “Shut up Ashot, for God’s sake. You just keep reminding me how difficult it is to keep this bunch together.”

  “We can defend Bagram to the last bullet but if we run out of vodka, we’re doomed already!”

  “I could ask Yar to tinker a distillation device to make our own.”

  “Really? And where do you get grain from? And water? You want me to make spirit out of me poo and pee?”

  “Dunno if I’d feel any difference between that and the poison you used to serve… But why all this?”

  “I think it has something to do with that big Loner guy who showed up here a while ago,” a Stalker says. With his heavy protective suit still bearing the green camouflage used in the Exclusion Zone and the desert-pattern shemagh around his neck, he appears a veteran of both Zones. An old, but well-maintained SVD rifle is slung over his shoulder. “He reminded me of that Duty renegade, what was his name?”

  “That’s bullshit, Siryk,” Shrink replies. “Skinner’s dead. He followed Tarasov into the catacombs and didn’t make it back.”

  “Anyway, I overheard him talking to three Loners right there, in the corner. He was talking about ambushing a Tribe patrol to get all those cool weapons, maybe even a Humvee.”

  “That’s suicide, man,” Ashot remarks.

  “So one of the Stalkers said, yeah, think his name was Hedgehog. They followed him anyway. Then a few days later that big guy returns alone, this time spreading rumors about some abandoned factory or whatever in the Panjir valley and all.” Siryk shrugs. “Well, y’all know the rest.”

  Shrink cusses in Russian. “Pizdets! You want to tell me that those idiots attacked a Tribe patrol and now those savages came to revenge it?”

  “Siryk has a point, boss,” Ashot observes.

  “But if so, why don’t they attack us?”

  “Maybe they are scared of us, that’s why!”

  “Especially of you, Ashot.” The Stalkers laugh but Shrink’s face remains gloomy. “All we can do is wait. Damn!”

  “Wish that Spetsnaz were here,” another Stalker says. He is one of Shrink’s men from Ghorband, who followed him when he took over matters in Bagram. “Rumor has it he joined the Tribe. He could put in a word.”

  Shrink rubs his chin. “Dunno even if he made it out alive of those bloody catacombs. If he did — I can’t imagine Tarasov letting the Tribe come upon us. No matter what, he’s not here now to intervene.”

  “We could make their life a little difficult,” Siryk says patting his sniper rifle.

  “Don’t even think of that,” Shrink firmly says. “That would just provoke them. Shoot at those bastards with a Dragunov and they shoot back with all they have. Goddammit! We’ve got maybe a hundred hungry Stalkers with light weapons only. If the Tribe attacks us, we can put up a better defense by farting at them—they’ll kick our butts anyway.”

  “So what then?” Ashot asks. “Just sit and wait?”

  “Sit and drink,” Shrink grumbles. “Until we run out of vodka.”

  54

  Zaton, Exclusion Zone

  Sitting on a rock, Nooria presses her hands against her aching knees.

  Pain, leave me.

  She senses the fatigue in her limbs fade. Then she raises her hand and makes a wave, shaking off the pain as if it were dust in her palms. Her fatigue is gone but the thought of the long road ahead still weighs on her like a heavy burden.

  Navigating through the watery paths of Zaton is proving more difficult than it first appeared. Without a weapon suitable to protect herself from the packs of b
lind dogs and boars roaming the marshland, avoidance was her best and only defense. Luckily for Nooria, their barks and grunts had forewarned her of their presence in time. She could have easily taken on one or two of them, especially that the blind dogs appeared to be the dumber and weaker cousins of the fearsome jackals roaming New Zone, but whole packs were a different matter. Avoiding the mutants was time-consuming, however; she had to wait in cover until they were gone or take a wide detour around them that led her into places where anomalies slowed down her progress. Some she could see, like jets of vapor shooting from crevasses in the ground or grooves shining with an eerie green glow even in daylight, others she just felt. Maybe the invisible anomalies weren’t even there and it was just her premonition that made her stop. In this frontier between possible and impossible, where everything that appears ordinary can turn out to be all but, telling imagined dangers from real proved more and more difficult as she proceeded deeper into the Zone.

  The wrecked ships and boats that litter the land made Zaton appear to her all the more alien; they were a reminder of days long gone when this part of the Zone was just a river like any other. Now they appear like the land’s memories of those days, slowly fading away in the decay and rot that the appearance of the Zone brought on everything within its borders, and it seemed to her that their dilapidated hulks echo the pain of the tortured Earth.

  Despite all this, Nooria did find signs of human presence. Here and there, she saw campsites with still smoldering fires, telling of Stalkers who spent the last night there. When the sun began to set, she saw a small group of them cautiously marching towards the cranes in the distance that might have been a river port once, then falling in disarray while fording a stretch of water and even hearing one of them screaming kravasos, kravasos! when the water stirred as if an invisible creatures had been circling around them. Then they fell one by one, firing their weapons blind. The sight of two of them being dragged into the reed by the same invisible creatures that massacred them made her quicken her pace and move further from the dreadful scene.