"And this is Sidrovich's bunker," Volf says, pointing with his hand to an open basement with a concrete staircase. "Take all valuables to him; he's the only trader in the entire area up to the bridge."
"Up to the bridge?" I turn to him. "Are there other traders beyond it?"
"Of course," the stalker replies, nodding. "There's a whole stalker camp there, not like this village. It's well fortified, and there's a trader, even a technician. But they won't let you in without a reputation. Sometimes bandits sneak in disguised as stalkers, so now they only let in verified stalkers."
"And what if someone conspires with bandits?"
"You can never be insured against everything," Volf chuckles. "And this is starting to smell like paranoia. You know, if a stalker decides to switch to the bandits' side, he'll do it quietly, so that no one knows until the last moment. Otherwise, he won't reach the brothers."
"And have there been no such cases?"
"Why wouldn't there be, there have been, oh yes," the stalker replies. "Almost every year I find out that some stalker has gone to the thieves. Some successfully, some not. Either stalkers shoot them, or the brothers stab them. But no one went to them of their own free will."
"Why then?"
"Crimes. Killed a friend on a raid, stole something, did some other mischief," he recounts. "Either they'll be killed, or they'll be kicked out of the camp with a wolf ticket. With that, you can't get into any decent camp, you can only go to the bandits. A person is a social being, few can do without society. Alright, I'm going to see the Hunter now, are you coming with me?"
"No, I'll go chat with Sidrovich," I reply. "I'll sell the artifact, maybe find some work. The Hunter said I'm free until tomorrow."
"See you then, rookie," he says, turns, and heads into the village. "And keep the detector, for helping the Hunter."
I descend into the bunker to the trader, examining the basement. Concrete shabby walls with numerous chips, as if from shots. Wiring running along the very ceiling. And several flights of stairs to a massive metal door, very similar to the one in the game. But there was also something new. A large green metal cabinet on one of the basement walls, and next to it, on a wooden chair, sat a stalker in OMON uniform and a balaclava.
"To Sidrovich?" he asks in a deep voice.
"Yes, and you?.."
"I'm Stas, the trader's guard. If you want to pass, hand over your weapons, and go ahead."
"Here," I hand him the shotgun and the Fort.
"And the knife too, don't make me search you, you won't like it," he says, taking all my weapons and putting them in the metal cabinet. Then he takes out a radio, turns it on, and says, "Client here, clear. Yes, understood. Come in."
I nod and take a step closer to the door, watching it open with a slight hum and a metallic screech. I step inside, the door closes, and I find myself in a spacious room. The floor is tiled, the white walls are yellowish in the light of a blinking yellow lamp overhead. To my left is another metal door, but not as sturdy as the first. And in front of me is a grate dividing the room into two parts, behind it is a large wide table with a computer, remnants of something edible, and the trader himself, sitting behind it. Fat, with a large bald spot in the center of his skull, in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and an unbuttoned black vest. He was flipping through something on the computer with a bored look.
"Well," he begins, not looking in my direction. "What do you want?"
"I came to talk and sell something," I say and take the artifact out of my backpack, placing it on the table in front of the trader.
"Stone Flower," Sidrovich says, then takes out a red container and places the artifact in it. "You'll get two thousand for it, and no more bills. And we can talk. And how long have you been here, because I haven't seen you?"
"I arrived yesterday," I answer the question, taking the money. "From the Antezone, you contacted me via PDA. How is it, by the way? I didn't think it had such a function."
"Ah, so it was you," the trader leans back in his chair. "Your PDA probably doesn't have such a function, you're right, it can only pick up a signal. I contacted you using a radio transmitter, I cover, heh-heh, an area of four kilometers. It's possible to cover more, of course, but the connection starts to glitch."
"Probably? So, there are more advanced PDAs?"
"Of course there are, but such a thing will be very expensive," the trader nods. "And I'll tell you even more, there are also anomaly detectors. A slightly cheaper pleasure, but you're unlikely to afford it now."
"And what kind of assortment do you have?"
"It's quite difficult to say," the trader smiles. "It's easier to say what I don't have. But I won't show it to you, I'm sorry. You haven't earned enough authority and money yet."
"I understand," I nod. "Perhaps you have a small task for me? Something I can do before tomorrow."
"There
is just that," Sidrovich leans forward, propping his chin with his fist. "You'll need to go for supplies left by the military. Not far. There will be four of you, including you. Payment in goods."
"What goods?"
"A deposit of two thousand, you'll get whatever you can gather for that amount. Agreed?"
"Yes."
"Then go upstairs, I'll contact the rest of the group, you'll meet at the bunker entrance. They know where to go."
I went up the stairs and thought about the trader. Something doesn't add up. In the game, he was portrayed as a very greedy merchant, ready to crush any competitors with very dirty methods. He didn't even give the full reward for documents, and here he was even happy to talk to me. And the task is trivial, not counting that I'll have to carry weight. Three stalkers were waiting for me at the exit of the basement.
"Are you going with us?" grumbled a gloomy, dark-haired stalker of medium height, crossing his arms on his chest displeasedly. "I'm Voron."
"And I'm Kulak," the man a head and a half taller than me introduced himself in a deep voice. I look at his hands and understand why he has that nickname; I'm not short myself, but Kulak is really huge.
"They call me Pukh," the last of them introduces himself, a slightly chubby and very young-looking stalker. "And we need to go, we need to make it before the guards at the checkpoint change shifts, there are about twenty minutes left."
"I haven't acquired a nickname yet," I reply and ask, "Is it far to go?"
"About fifteen minutes at a brisk pace," Pukh says. "A little longer on the way back loaded. There will be almost no anomalies on the road, you can relax. But we'll have to pass near the boar's lair. Stalkers periodically drive them away, but they always come back."
"And it's all because of these jerks," Voron grumbled.
"Did something happen?" I ask him.
"Voron is just complaining because usually seven or eight people go to pick up Sidrovich's cargo, sometimes, if it's a particularly large batch, then ten people. And now there are only four of us," Pukh says again, Kulak just remains silent.
"Yeah, when it comes to food, they're the first, but when it comes to bringing provisions to the Village, no, that's not for them, ugh," the gloomy stalker spits. "Veterans of the Zone, damn them. And there's nowhere to drop the cargo so these idiots don't steal it. The old miser didn't allow me to leave it in his bunker."
"We can leave it at my place, probably," I suggest. I wouldn't want to make several trips if we can't carry everything at once. "The Hunter shouldn't mind."
"You're staying at the Hunter's?" Kulak asks.
"Cool, guy, cool," Pukh smiles. "The Hunter is a good man, he shouldn't refuse, let's go."
The old man really didn't mind; he didn't care what I did with my room, as long as it was clean, but he didn't let the guys into the house, so I had to carry their backpacks myself. Kulak kept only his shotgun, Voron limited himself to a pistol, and Pukh had a short submachine gun, it seemed, an MP5. I decided to take both a pistol and a shotgun. Better to be prepared.
The stalkers showed me on the PDA where we needed to go. And this place turned out not to be that far, although, why be surprised? The military wouldn't drag supplies for sale to stalkers deep into the Cordon. The place where the provisions are is only a hundred meters from the checkpoint, hidden by trees and bushes. And we'll have to be very careful and rely only on the military's shift change.
On the way, as Pukh said, there were almost no anomalies. Only in a couple of places, from a distance, I saw dust devils and flattened grass. Otherwise, the path to the supplies was calm. Voron walked ahead, then me, then Kulak, and Pukh was the last. When we were two hundred meters from the place, the leader stopped, looked at the checkpoint, and raised his fist to chest level, whispering:
"It seems quiet, let's go quietly, crouched. Kulak, this especially concerns you."
"Understood," the strongman replies just as quietly.
We covered the remaining distance almost single file, occasionally carefully running from cover to cover, which were trees and small bushes. There were indeed no military personnel at the post, we made it. And in a small ravine, hidden by plants from the military's view, we found three huge army wooden crates.
"And how are we going to carry this?" Pukh whispers. "If there were seven of us, no problem, six carry, one watches, but now? And we need to figure it out quickly."
"I can carry two crates," Kulak quietly replies. "But only drag them on the ground."
"Okay," the plump stalker says. "Then who will guard?"
"The rookie," Voron interjects, addressing me. "You won't run away at the first sign of danger? Look me in the eye and answer."
"I won't run," I reply, looking him straight in the eye.
"Why him?" Pukh persists. "I can myself..."
"He's the only one of us, besides Kulak, who has a shotgun. Do you have buckshot rounds?" the leader asks me. "Well, he can shoot his way out of boars, and he has a pistol in his holster for dogs. Let's go, the shift change won't last forever."
The stalkers put away their weapons and picked up the crates. Voron and Pukh took one, and Kulak, somehow slipping his huge fingers into the handles of the remaining two, lifted them and indeed dragged them on the ground. The role of the leader now fell to me. I grip the shotgun tighter and walk forward. The return journey took much longer; I don't know how we managed to slip past the military, or maybe they took pity and didn't shoot us in the back. We also had to stop because of Pukh, whose palms hurt from the handles digging in. He constantly swapped places with Voron, carrying with one hand, then the other.
And during one of these swaps, a loud grunt came from a bush, and a boar emerged. Still large, but somewhat smaller than those I had seen at the Antezone, young. And it chose the plump stalker as its victim, who didn't expect this and managed to trip over a crate when retreating. The mutant didn't have time to gain much speed; a shot from the shotgun to the neck cooled its ardor, and it fell, sliding a couple of meters and burying its snout in Pukh's boot. The stalker's face was completely pale.
"Idiot," Voron hissed and lightly slapped him on the head. "You were so boastful. Don't relax, we only have a little way to go."
The rest of the journey was uneventful. When we reached the rookie village, several stalkers volunteered to help carry the crates to the bunker. We unloaded them right at the trader's, Stas didn't object, after which Sidrovich sent us to wander for a couple of hours while he checked the goods.
I returned the stalkers' backpacks, and we parted ways. It was past noon, the Hunter was still busy with his affairs in the workshop, so after a quick meal of stew and crackers, I decided to take a walk around the village. My new acquaintances had dispersed; I only saw Kulak outside, sitting by a fire, but I didn't join him or the other stalkers. After wandering around the street for a while, I met Byk, sitting alone on a bench by the fence and drinking from a flask.
"Hello, Byk," I greet the stalker. "Did something happen?"
"Ah, hic, it's you, rookie," he barely looks up at me. He's drunk. "Did something happen? It happened! Gradus is gone."
"How? Everything was fine with him yesterday?" I ask, sitting down on the bench.
"Don't you remember? Hic! Gradus angered the Zone, oh, he angered it," he says with a slurred tongue. "I told him, I told him not to do that!"
"What happened to him?"
"He fell through."
"How?"
"Just like that, hic!" Byk quickly slaps his thigh. "We were walking with him, everything was fine, bang, and he was gone. He fell into the sewer behind the railway bridge. We've walked there for so many years and nothing, but then, hic, he stepped on this damn manhole, and that was it. Instantly went underground. To his death. And we can't even bury him properly. It's too narrow, no ladder, can't reach..."
"Hold on, Byk," I pat the stalker on the shoulder and get up from the bench, heading towards home. I'd lost the desire to walk around the village.