My anger took a few minutes to fade. My ears could tell something apart. A discreet sound was emerging. I heard footsteps. Boots made the powder crunch. The process was slow, confident. A silhouette was approaching. The individual was dressed in a beige Chapka that almost completely masked his face. Lurking in a bush, I tried not to give any breath. The man was on the phone, but I couldn’t clearly distinguish his words. He turned his back on me and sat on the snow with his hands together. He seemed to think for a few minutes and then got up, starting the hundred paces. His indecision contrasted with his apparent calm. He finally put his bag on the ground, and took out a small silver drone that he had taken off quite easily. The machine was extremely quiet. It was important not to lose sight of it, otherwise it was difficult to detect. I immediately recognised the aircraft. It was the one who had been watching me when I buried the body, the same as the one in the Red Forest. For fear of being discovered, I tried delicately to get away.
As I was retiring, I was thinking, trying to come up with a coherent reasoning. Amanda was also on the treasure trail. She had studied the issue for years and learned a lot. Originally from Cologne, she regularly planned trips to the Zone. The lure of adventure attracted her much more than profit. She knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t take any ill-considered risks. She had studied physics at university and had the right equipment to play in the exclusion zone. Oleksandr had grown up in Poland. He was fluent in German and had been able to get in touch with her easily. His quality as a former guide must have given Amanda confidence because he knew the Zone so well. Their collaboration could facilitate their research, their common ambition. Andrei had always seemed elusive to me. Yet he had introduced me to all the facets of his personality. Sometimes jovial, sometimes sinister, he was often friendly, sometimes sincere. He seemed very confident but also completely lost. I couldn’t figure it out. I was thinking about the nature of his relationship with Amanda. It was troubled, as was the one he had with Oleksandr. I had never really had confirmation of the link between these three…
I immediately noticed Oleksandr’s worried look from the moment we met in that damn bar. I was suddenly surrounded by a certain paranoia. The person who introduced me to the Zone, the one who guided my first steps, may have manipulated me. A shiver ran down my spine. What was my role in that? What piece of the puzzle was I occupying? I was trying to gather my memories. Nothing obvious was clear to me. Reminiscences, when you hunt them down, are always able to escape. They were drowning in this ever more fleeing whirlwind, this inexorable mass of pain with which I was trying to fight. The suffering was both physical and psychological. Concentrated in the only space of my skull, it didn’t give me a chance. Every day more and more, I was moving away from the redemption to which I aspired.
I was thinking about the corpse I buried. Was Oleksandr responsible? Was I able to do that? Could I have forgotten something about it? The sweat was soaking my face. I felt that I held the key to the enigma. Part of me knew the solution. The ultimate obstacle was me.
It is easy to manipulate others, but cheating your own mind is a different matter. The undertaking is difficult and highly schizophrenic. We must measure our weaknesses, tame our darkness and dominate our reason. My subconscious housed the answer. I had to force him by any means necessary.
Who else held the secret of my situation? Was my amnesiac condition perceptible? I was convinced that Andrei knew. Amanda must have told him. She had detected it so quickly…
I walked along the path like a condemned man, my arms dangling, and my head down. Ruminations turned into deep despair. I hated myself for forgetting, I despised myself for existing. My suicidal thoughts were interrupted by the vibrations of my phone. Someone wanted to call me. The number was hidden. I answered. A calm and hoarse voice uttered these three words:
“Jäta või sureke”.
The conversation was immediately cut off. I could not identify the language used, but the tone was threatening and unequivocal. Each syllable seemed to be shooting at me. Once again, the spectre of fear was spreading. Around me, the snowfall was intensifying. I turned off my phone for good and started running towards Pripyat.
I arrived a few hours later, soaked in terror. The city was darker than usual. The wind was strong and visibility poor. I saw a silver minibus with its characteristic sky blue logo. A group of tourists were present at the site. They were probably exploring the surrounding buildings, no one was inside the vehicle except the driver. I was trying to keep a low profile. After three weeks in the Zone, my appearance had become appalling. I had a shaggy beard and a nauseous smell. Even worse, I was starving. I had to steal food to survive.
I was waiting a few seconds, lurking in a bush. The driver of the minibus had not locked the doors. After all, no one was supposed to be there except the group of visitors. Why would you block a door in a completely abandoned city?
The driver pulled himself out of the machine and took a few steps into the forest to urinate. I took advantage of this moment to discreetly enter the vehicle and search the tourists’ bags until I found a sandwich and a pack of cigarettes. I grabbed my loot and ran away in a hurry.
Once again, I tried to clear my head, to think calmly about this framework that was beyond me. Finally, I had been wrong from the beginning. I thought I was the instigator of our common treasure hunt. I was rather the cog, the abused pawn whose senses and weaknesses had been exploited by others.
Rightly so, my psychosis was now exacerbated. I was mentally visualising all the events since I entered the Zone, the meetings I had had, the places I had visited. I tried to organise my memories, to seek a meaning, some coherence to these events. Was there a more comprehensive plan? Perhaps we should go further back? Had I really come to the Zone on my own initiative, or was it the result of subtle incentives, of cleverly arranged manipulations?
From the beginning, Oleksandr had behaved strangely, with his apparent detachment constantly imbued with nervousness. He seemed to me tormented and cold towards me, as if I were the cause of his concerns.
I myself had a certain uneasiness that remained unexplained. It is true that since childhood I had been suffering from anxiety, nightmares, dizziness and other more or less disabling disorders. Temporary depressions too. Who hasn’t had one before? Nevertheless, I had not always suffered in this way. I recalled that distant ataraxy that was my childhood in Pripyat.
The possibility of post-traumatic stress disorder hit me hard. The evacuations had triggered this syndrome in thousands of people, who were still suffering from various ailments. However, their condition was poorly recognised and rarely claimed. On the other hand, some liquidators had brought actions against the European Court of Human Rights in order to obtain compensation. On the other hand, evacuees from Pripyat and the villages in the Zone had not received anything.
I tried to explore the origin of my failures, to realise a self-criticism of my psyche. Andrei and Amanda were aware of my condition. Oleksandr also knew. He had measured my propensity to forget, but also my intuition skills. After all, I was the only one of us who grew up in the Zone. The solution to the riddle was me. I had to locate and unlock Pripyat’s treasure so they could appropriate it. Once the objective is reached, I will be eliminated. My corpse would be easy to hide and no one would claim my body for an autopsy. My life didn’t matter, my existence was ridiculous. Only what was buried in the depths of my memory mattered.
Oleksandr was clever, he had a head start at all times. Probably he knew my position right now or worse, maybe he was currently observing me.
Again, strong paranoia and headaches appeared. The sky was devilishly bright, which made me uncomfortable. I was out in the open, in the middle of a road serving Pripyat.
I was trying to reach the forest to gain discretion. Wrapped in trees, I tried to think. Amanda was dead, Andrei had run away. All that was left was Oleksandr and me. Was he acting alone now? Maybe he had an accomplice? I was thinking of Babushka, Egor,
the Howler…
I was torn by hesitation. The choice was perfidious. Leave the Zone and end this nightmare or complete this scavenger hunt that only I had the solution to? What did I have left? I could dive into the icy water of the river and never come out. Hanging was also possible. The trees were legion and their long branches were spread like evil arms, diabolical temptations. These invitations to die were taunting me. No, I was better than that.
***
I walked on the rails, crushing with my feet the elements that blocked my progress. Yanov was very close. The station had opened in the 1920s and once served Moscow. I was arriving on a kind of large vacant lot. Soviet military equipment rested there, promised to be forgotten. A few MDK-2Ms was lying in the middle of other vehicles in an advanced state of abandonment. The caterpillars were still present although they were faded. A numbering painted on the bodywork could still be seen.
Many train carcasses rotted there. I was remembering our walk with Andrei. I was unable to recognise the car he had shown me. They were a multitude, most of them slumped and with similar looks. As I watched the locomotives, I was struck by a red star painted on one of the trains. It was one of the most famous figures of communism with his pentagram form, which was supposed to represent a lot of things according to interpretations. Today, the pictogram was accepted as a symbol of popular culture so much so that it was proudly displayed by some well-known alcohol brands, which had the ability to annoy the former Eastern Bloc countries.
The red was so bright that it almost attacked the eyes. Someone had fun and probably redesigned it. The painting of whatever quality it was could not have survived three decades without losing its superb quality. I had been dwelling on this detail for several minutes when someone gently tapped me on the shoulder.
—Am I disturbing you?
It was Oleksandr. I jumped back.
—I’m a little surprised to see you here. I thought you had returned to Kiev, I replied.
—Yes, I did too, but I missed the Zone. Kiev is pretty dull right now. Is everything all right?
—All right. Yes, I can be fine, even though I’m pretty tired these days.
—Have you met any people lately, besides Andrei?
—No, no, no, no.
—And what are you doing here? Are you looking to see or find something special?
—Oh nothing, I’m wandering. I’m going to leave soon.
He cleared his throat as if he disapproved of my answer. His peremptory tone annoyed me. I felt like I was being interrogated, it wasn’t a friendly discussion.
—All right, don’t hesitate to call me if you see or hear anything strange. I’m your protector, don’t forget. I feel responsible. After all, I was the one who showed you how to get in. I don’t want anything to happen to you.
—Everything will be fine, I plan to come back out soon anyway.
—Very well. I’ll see you later.
He left as quickly as he had appeared, his silhouette gradually disappearing, caught up in the falling snow. Once again, Oleksandr had found himself in the area. The coincidences followed one another and made me uncomfortable. I had the impression that he knew where I was without even looking for me. He appeared unexpectedly and always pretended to be a combination of circumstances. I was beginning to think he was following me. But how could he know so precisely my movements? I had no transmitter nor emergency beacon. I undertook to unpack my bag and meticulously search the contents. One particular object caught my attention. The Geiger counter that Oleksandr gave me on the first day was there. It must have contained a GPS chip. Naively, I had kept him with me and he had never left me. Oleksandr had been following me from the beginning. He was informed of all my movements. Maybe he even inserted a microphone or even a camera? He could have listened to all my conversations. I was now sure: he knew about Amanda. A shudder ran through my body, making my organs and the ground under my feet vibrate.
Why did he need me? What was his interest in manipulating me?
Deep inside me lay an obvious solution. I couldn’t grasp it, as if the truth was too obvious to emerge clearly.
***
Silence. I was lying against a wall, my eyes half-closed and my hands joined on my chest. The ground was cold, but my body was fine there. My mind was wandering. Strange imaginings were attacking me. I was in a state of near sleep, my muscles relaxed and my attention relaxed. I could see shadows, but I couldn’t determine if they were dreamed of or suspended above me. I could feel the slumber catch up with me. Slowly, almost gently, I fell asleep. It is at this moment that he appears. Two powerful hands fell on my throat and began to squeeze methodically. Panicked, I opened my eyes in a hurry. I couldn’t distinguish my attacker. He wore a hood that concealed his face. I squirmed in all directions to escape his embrace, beating him with what I hoped would be very violent blows. My attacker was neither strong nor fit for this type of combat. I felt that his own pain made him doubtful. His actions were now insecure, almost trembling. Diminished by my attacks, he finally let go and fled without saying a word. The attack lasted less than ten seconds. His retirement had been pitiful, the assailant had left as quickly as he had emerged. As for me, I was breathless; I could not claim any pursuit. Once again, I found myself huddled in my meagre shelter, subjected to a state of absolute terror. Death had sought to strike, once again. Someone else wanted to eliminate me. In the fight, I had managed to pull out a few blond hairs, too pure a colour to be natural. It only took me a few seconds and the moon’s dim light to understand the identity of my attacker. Deep down, I wasn’t really surprised. I always knew that. I hoped not to forget this moment, I promised myself to freeze it forever in my memory. I lay down again against the wall. Silence.
Chapter 12 — Epitaph
32nd days in the Zone, Wednesday.
It was a grey afternoon, as is often in the Zone. After going through the forest maze, I arrived at the Howler’s hut. With a loud voice, I hailed him. An icy silence was my only answer. No matter how much I shouted, or threw rocks: he didn’t answer.
Perhaps he had simply reclusive?
It was his style to my dear friend. The Howler had probably barricaded himself in his house. The suspended ladder had been folded down and there was no access road to reach it. The only solution was to climb the tree through the trunk. It was unthinkable. Not even a bear could have climbed that high. I was thinking about the worst. He could have killed himself. I ruled out the possibility of his murder. He was far from human agitations, which no longer reached him. No one had any real reason to kill him. At least, I didn’t think I remembered it.
I took my courage with both hands and ran for it. My fingers grabbed the first branches and I carefully began the ascent. Despite the lack of scale, the climb seemed much easier than for Duga. The wind was harmless. It seemed to almost accompany me, gently, holding its breath. I felt safe and perceived no danger. However, I was not held by any harness. A simple loss of balance and it would be a downfall. That would be the end. However, I did not consider my own destruction as a frightening possibility. I had been through so much recently that I was detaching myself from death. It was just one shadow among many. It would hit me sooner or later, anticipating it wouldn’t change anything. I evacuated my thoughts in order to concentrate on my progress, trying to make the right movements without losing the rhythm of my climbing.
When I reached the top of the tree, I grabbed the iron bar that marked the entrance to the cabin, with its small porch fitted with a few boards. Footprints were noticeable, the snow had kept them very sharply, suggesting that they were recent.
The shack door was ajar. I didn’t bother knocking to signal my presence. An infamous smell was coming from inside. Slowly, I approached, entering the house with measured steps. Where the hell was he?
I saw him quite quickly. The Howler was sitting in his only chair in a strange position. His body seemed deformed. His head had been cut off and his arms dismembered. His chest was covered
in blood and showed multiple lacerations. I had a gagging heart with dizziness. He had been massacred, obviously without having been able to put up any defence. I couldn’t stand this sight any longer. This tortured body disgusted me. I couldn’t stay there. I came out with shaky hands. Outside, the blizzard echoed my pain. Rage animated me more than fear. I threw the suspended ladder into the void and came down at high speed. Once on the ground, I started cutting strips and gathering a few centimetres of ropes. I’ll put it all in my pocket like a precious commodity was being stored.
My last ally in the Zone had evaporated. I found myself alone and helpless. It would be so easy for me to run away, to end this brutal nightmare. But my will prevented me from doing so. A part of me refused fiercely to give up. The Zone had trapped me. I was no longer in control of my decisions. Various emotions were intertwined. It was difficult to appease them. Sadness and anger dominated fear. More particularly, a need for revenge was born in me that I felt right down to my bowels. My face was too tense to cry. I took long breaths thinking that they would help me to think, to mature a decision that would be as wise as possible. I couldn’t help it: Oleksandr had to pay.
I took one last look at the shack and then left. On the way, I thought someone might have followed me. I was thinking about the drone, the phone threats. The Howler’s hideout was probably under surveillance and I may have been tracked by some enemy at this very moment. I had to organise my discretion.
The snow had stopped falling, my steps were no longer masked. I decided to take off my shoes and started walking in order to limit my tracks, simply equipped with socks. My feet were soaked and bruised by the cold. I ignored these feelings. I didn’t want anyone to follow me. I wanted to survive a little longer, to prolong my existence in the Zone. Armed with my only knife, I went up the forest towards Pripyat. He was supposed to be there, he was supposed to be waiting for me. Thinking of Oleksandr, I was clenching my jaw to derail my teeth.
Opalescence- the Secret of Pripyat Page 13