I arrived in Pripyat with an impetuous mind. I walked the roads from one side of the street to the other, looking for my rival. I wandered openly, ostensibly roaming in the middle of the aisles without taking any precautions. Three hours passed. I had criss-crossed most of the city and there was no trace of Oleksandr or anyone else. The night was slowly approaching and I didn’t want to sleep in Pripyat. I no longer trusted its dark buildings, its vacant properties where I had almost lost my life. Contrary to any logic, I decided to spend the night outside, in the Pripyat stadium. The infrastructure was completely overgrown with vegetation, only a few brave stands rose and still overlooked the vacant lot. The wild beasts did not frighten me, the dark night no longer frightened me. I fell asleep serenely, rocked by the caresses of the wind.
In the early morning, I was awakened by countless clicks. I opened my eyes painfully and saw several people in the vicinity. A group of individuals was there. They were tourists accompanied by their guide. Most of them were equipped with cutting-edge cameras and imperial-looking telephoto lenses. They spoke German, Turkish and English. Some of them were staring at me with naive curiosity. Others seemed suspicious and armed with intentions. When I saw them, I suddenly got up, giving hostile looks. I noticed that the guide kept his hand under his jacket, probably ready to draw a gun, in case I turned violent.
As I continued to gauge the small group, a tourist photographed me very closely. He approached me with a rather quiet and natural step, as if at no time did he apprehend my reaction. He took not one, but many shots, using his camera in continuous mode. I was irritated by the deflagrations produced by the device. I imagined my face in the center of his little viewfinder, while he had to work on adjusting the right parameters. His picture had to be sharp. I had remained impassive, although I was boiling with rage. The tourist came towards me with a khaki-coloured gas mask and a red light on top. He had a satisfied smile that made him despicable.
“Could you wear this please?”
When they heard his query, the others laughed. My brain was ankylosed by cold and fear. It took me several seconds to understand his request. Contradictory thoughts attacked me. Should I have agreed to turn into a freak? Should I make a fool of myself in front of all these people, stage myself in this place where so many people had fought and suffered from radiation? Or on the contrary, should I grab the object, which was being held out to me, and propel it into the figure of its owner? Break his nasal artery, beat him up when he was on the ground, until he was begging in agony?
Obviously, the guide understood that I was considering this second option. My face had hardened, my jaw had tightened and my heart was skipping a beat. The guide approached and put his hand on the tourist’s shoulder:
“Enough, we’re going back to the minibus.”
The small group obeyed without protest. One by one, they turned their heels and walked away in a single line. As they turned back, one of them took one last picture of me. He was the one who asked me to pose. He always had the same sarcastic look. I picked up a stone that I hoped would be sharp enough and slowly walked towards the minibus. The guide was young and obviously did not expect this kind of reaction. He urged everyone to get up quickly. The vehicle started in a hurry, leaving me in a cloud of black smoke, still armed with my makeshift projectile. Seeing one of the passengers makes an arm of honour through the window, I threw the stone in his direction, hitting the chassis of the minibus, but without causing much damage. Already, the vehicle was disappearing in the midst of the fog, and I was left alone in the company of my frenzy.
Given the terror I had inspired, I imagined it was unlikely that the incident would end there. Guided tours had to be secure, tourist safety was important for business to continue to flourish. My threatening behaviour and unauthorised presence would be reported. I would probably be hunted down by a gang of Ukrainian soldiers and removed out of the Zone. I would rot in a jail. This time, no bribe would save me. The scene had probably been filmed by other tourists. I would end up on the Internet, the sequence would be edited and feed the different platforms. The video would be shared by thousands of retarded people on social networks, that would go around the world in a few hours. Yes, I was risking a lot.
I imagined a hunt with a team looking for me, dogs barking at me, helicopters spinning in the sky to track my position. I could already hear the sound of the walkie-talkies, the screams of the sirens and the echoes of the shots exchanged. They would catch me and leave me in a cell with a pungent smell and full of excrement. I didn’t deserve much better.
The headache was resurfacing, more vicious, more intense than ever. I could feel my brains imploding. I passed snow on my forehead to try to relieve the pain. It was only getting worse. My breathing was noisy and jerky. I had not forgotten my main enemy. The suffering had not dispelled my hatred. Oleksandr had to pay. He would die tonight.
***
The night was imminent, darkness would soon fall on the Zone. I arrived at the small church of St-Elias. This place was notorious for having escaped radioactive contamination, it was a miraculous anecdote that the religious liked to spread. Divine authorities would have spared the place with the blessing of the local pope. Thus, in the vicinity of the church, the thresholds of radioactivity were more than three times lower than those in Kiev. But, I had not come to meditate, I had a sinister task to complete.
I had no difficulty in locating it. I knew where he was. I always knew. My steps guided me while my brain ignored the path.
Oleksandr was there, leaning against a palisade. He seemed to have been waiting for me, or at least he had anticipated my coming to this place so much that he didn’t seem surprised to see me. He waved at me to move forward. Did he want to negotiate? Caution was required.
I approached slowly, head held high as if I was trying to measure my opponent. When I got to his height, I kept a distance of a few meters. This guy was mad, so he was unpredictable. I was maintaining some precautions. Nevertheless, I ostensibly had a defiant look on my face. I wanted to show him that I wasn’t afraid of him. I had hardened up. The Zone had made me more experienced.
—So what’s new? he asked in a slightly provocative tone.
—Shut up! I warned Andrei about your schemes. He doesn’t trust you either. We have had enough. I will talk to Amanda about it. In fact, we are considering…
He interrupted me:
—Stop it, you know very well that Amanda is dead.
My breathing accelerated. I knew it, of course, I knew it. But I had a doubt, a terrifying doubt.
—When? When? Who?! I exclaimed.
—A fortnight ago. His body was found in the forest to the north. Someone took care of burying her.
My pulse was pounding.
—Who would want to hurt her? How is that possible?
Oleksandr turned his head, looking confused and sincerely saddened. I called him again:
—Look at me! Look at me! Explain it to me!
—Andrei warned me. He didn’t give me any more details.
—I will find him, yes I will find him! I shouted in a raspy voice.
—I don’t know if you can trust him.
—What do you mean?
—Andrei and Amanda have been lying to you from the beginning. They are not looking for the treasure. Or at least, I think they’ve already found it, as we all have.
—Fuck you! I shouted.
—He is also not from the bourgeoisie of Kiev. His father was a miner, one of those who had been requisitioned to build the underground gallery under the reactor. As for you, you’re not a journalist.
My blood circulation accelerated. He knew. His tranquility contrasted with my state of tension.
—I made a phone call to your supposed editorial office. They’ve never heard of you. You’re not very bright for a forger. Although, you have a great talent for betraying yourself.
—Fuck you, man. Fuck you.
—You’re angry and that’s nor
mal. I would be just as upset if I were you. Do you even remember when we met? The circumstances were banal, but I remember every detail.
—Shut up! Shut up! If you get any closer, I’ll kill you.
He took a step forward. Oleksandr seemed totally indifferent to my warnings.
—Look, I think we need to talk.
—I don’t want to see you anymore,” I replied.
—Yes, of course. Of course, you forgot again.
He put his hands on his face and scratched his beard. He was pretending to have some kind of compassion for me. It was a bluff. I imagined him wielding a gun any minute now.
—Don’t move! Don’t move!
—You know, we have more in common than you suspect. I immediately understood when I met you. I immediately detected in you this weakness that is eating away at you. Everyone has detected it. I guess you’re not fully aware of that. Or at least, you may know about it, but you lose this memory as soon as you have created it. Amnesia consumes you, it deprives you of your own history. These cognitive problems hinder your search for identity. Your spatial and temporal landmarks are fragile, your concentration is precarious, your nights are tumultuous. For more than thirty years, you’ve been going through hell… I’ve tried to look after you, to protect you from the Zone. I couldn’t stop you, I knew you were inevitably attracted to it… Now you’re tormented. All your memories, all your actions form an incoherent mixture, a memory porridge that you are unable to restore. You have lived through every single one of these moments, including a murder.
As he pronounced his words, I perceived his discreet movements in my direction. He seemed to be approaching while trying to hide his intentions.
Suddenly, I warned him.
—Step back! Step back!
—I haven’t made any progress,” he objected.
I drew my weapon.
—I swear I’ll shoot you if you get any closer!
Oleksandr sighed. He had a little smile on his face.
—Oh, yeah? I’m waiting to see.
He took a step forward with an air of challenge. It was too much. Instinctively, I pulled the trigger and closed my eyes. I already visualised Oleksandr collapsing in a pool of blood and resounding agonies. He would be nothing more than a common corpse intended for putrefaction and oblivion. However, nothing happened except a squeaky click, synonymous with failure. Obviously, the gun didn’t work.
—Let me help you with that.
—I don’t need you.
Oleksandr seemed totally indifferent to my reactions. He reached out his hand to me as a sign of appeasement and advanced his face. We were now so close that I could see my own reflection in his pupil. With all my strength, I pushed the pistol’s butt against his head. The shock was memorable. I saw him collapse like a stone, his head bloody and his body disjointed. He wouldn’t move anymore. Oleksandr was destroyed.
I immediately fled, running on the path, smashing the branches that were blocking my way. Despite the feeling of tiredness, I was boiling with anger. A new energy was spreading in my body.
How many times had I experienced this feeling?
I spent my time escaping, surviving, struggling with the elements. Oleksandr was probably decaying in the snow by now. He may have been tough, but the cold would take its toll. His brain would trigger a vasoconstriction that would increase his heart rate to maintain his body temperature, but that would not be enough. It would eventually die out. His death would not hurt much in the end. The rifle butt must have knocked him unconscious. He would lose his life in his unconsciousness and would not even realise the great journey he would make.
I had given him the luckiest end of all. An end that I jealously envied him.
Chapter 13 — Estrapade
34th days in the Zone.
Oleksandr looked at me with an impenetrable and icy gaze. His grey eyes were inexpressive. Without saying anything, he drew his weapon and fired. I had run away the second I saw him bury his hand in his anorak. I knew he would hunt me down, he would not give up anything, until he annihilated me and my memory into dust.
Our pursuit was unusual, in the sense that it was perfectly silent. No words or threats had been uttered. He didn’t need to express his intention to kill me. I knew from the fraction of a second that our eyes crossed. One of us was going to die. A smell of death was floating in the air.
I didn’t understand what was going on. I didn’t have time for that. I had imagined it destroyed, I thought I was free. He came out of nowhere, like a ghost returning from beyond the grave. I thought I killed him two days ago, I thought I was done. And even now, I had to run away.
My physical condition was much better, but Oleksandr was driven by a kind of evil energy like that which characterises individuals who are not afraid of death. He must have felt invincible. Nothing could stop him, his strength was tenfold.
I was pretending to run blindly, but I had an idea. I knew where to bring him. Oleksandr could not use his gun near the reactor. The noise would be too easily recognisable and surveillance cameras would identify it. Security services would be able to intercept him before he could leave the Zone. So he had to kill me with his hands. Maybe he had a knife? Maybe he wanted to slit my throat?
I was only a few meters ahead, I was in a good range. I had to be quick, my chances of survival were reduced every second. I was running towards the reactor, directing my course, trying to find the right alignment. The night was clear, it would be easy for me to spot what I was looking for. Oleksandr, focused in his determination, would not see it. He was chasing me, probably unaware that I had a plan.
I saw my objective. It was right on my path. When it happened, I jumped discreetly to avoid it. My stride had been light enough to dodge the obstacle without alerting my attacker. I counted endless seconds in my head, considering the worst. I finally heard the thumping sound I was expecting and turned around. Oleksandr remained on the ground, his arms spread out and his leg bloody. The barbed wire had trapped him.
I approached him, suspicious, but determined to get it over with. I was physically diminished by those days of effort, deprivation and nights spent outside, but my survival instinct guided my strength. Fear and rage multiplied the intensity of my punches. I kicked him hard, disfiguring what was left of his face. Blood spurted and splashed from the ice patches around us. I was determined to reduce it to a pulp. But Oleksandr was tough and fought hard. It was difficult for me to struggle with his sturdy build, and his apparent indifference to his own pain.
The silence of our battle contrasted with its prodigious violence. Oleksandr hadn’t even screamed when he met the barbed wire. He had remained impassive, absorbed in his murderous madness. He was hiding his suffering, but I knew I had reached him. On the other hand, I felt that he was getting back on top. If he could get up, I wouldn’t have a chance.
I grabbed the fence that was strewn all over the ground and used it to strangle Oleksandr. Carefully, I pressed it against his throat, squeezing as hard as my muscles allowed. My fingers were bloody, the iron points were sinking through my gloves, slashing my skin. Insensitive to pain, I maintained the pressure. Oleksandr’s face was paler and more and more tense, I felt that the end was near. The blood was no longer flowing, and despite the night, I could perfectly distinguish his ghostly skin tone. He tried to say a word. His lips trembled as if ready to formulate final syllables. I finished it off with an uppercut in the brow bone. The hemoglobin had spurted out in the area. Oleksandr was no longer struggling and was not exhaling any breath. He was covered with bruises. His breathing had stopped, his eyes had definitely closed. This time it was for good.
I got up and fled without further delay, still dizzy with the outpouring of violence that had taken place. Already, a dark and familiar paranoia was rising in me. I was convinced that I would be found. Oleksandr’s allies would seek revenge.
I wanted to get rid of my bloody gloves. I didn’t even know if the blood that covered them
came from me or Oleksandr. I filled them with a few stones and threw them into the river below. With a breathless breath (“le souffle haletant”), I retreated into the forest.
My legs were shaking to make me lose my balance. I had killed a family man with my punches and a barbed wire. My bloodthirsty instinct had gone wild and I had taken over a life. What kind of people had I become?
The Zone had made me unconscious of my actions while exacerbating my own violence. Oleksandr had certainly attacked me, he had wanted to kill me. But I could have fled, left the Zone once and for all, come back to Vienna and put an end to these stories. However, I had decided to stay and kill him. I no longer knew who had attracted who, who was the real enemy in the Zone. Oleksandr, Amanda and the Howler had perished. Now it was just me and Andrei left. At this point, he must have fled far enough. He had put all the chances on his side. The scoundrel! The most harmless of all…
***
I hurried ignoring my sore legs and the biting cold. I was thinking at full speed: “The hospital basement, the invincible door… it was obvious.”
I rushed through the forest, crossing the ravines, piercing the branches. I only had one name in mind: Kopatchi.
I remembered the meeting with Oleksandr. Did I really hit him hard enough? Had I managed to strangle him as I wanted? Yes, I think this time was the right one. I was convinced I had killed him. He had to be killed twice, the guy was tough. Now I was convinced, he would slowly rot, devoured by worms. I didn’t come back to Kopatchi for the sake of his memory. I had something to recover, something very desirable.
The building I was looking for was easy to spot. It was of medium size and rather precarious, its shape contrasted with the surrounding houses.
Opalescence- the Secret of Pripyat Page 14