Gradus's sudden death made me think a lot, as it was very strange. He had just said he didn't believe in all these superstitions, like, "may I fall through if all this works." And literally the next day, he was gone. It could be a simple coincidence, or it might not be, who knows. For many years, everything in the Zone has been left without necessary maintenance. The metal on the manhole cover rusted, the stones crumbled, or something else. A simple coincidence at first glance. But it still felt creepy. If the Zone is ruled by Consciousness, which will soon be destroyed by Strelok, that's one thing, but if the Zone is truly alive and hears everything, then one should be much more careful in deeds and words. Otherwise, the death of a barely familiar person didn't bother me.
Returning to the Hunter's house, I settled comfortably in the kitchen, poured myself some tea, and began to read what Volf had sent me on the PDA. And this reading was extremely interesting. Besides anomalies, there was also information about "bad" places where people go crazy or stalkers disappear too often. Psi-zones and spatial bubbles from the game, or something else. Very dangerous, but not particularly relevant yet, because they are all much further north of the Cordon, but one shouldn't lose vigilance.
After finishing, I made my own brief summary of anomalies in the communicator's notes, dividing anomalies into visible, conditionally visible, and invisible, but which can be noticed by the state of the surroundings. I'll need to memorize this and look much more carefully. There aren't many anomaly clusters on the Cordon, according to Spielberg's maps, but single anomalies still occur. And I won't be able to stock
up on enough nuts and bolts to throw at everything possible.
I finished with the handheld device, looked at the time, and realized that the couple of hours the trader had mentioned hadn't ended yet. I didn't really want to just lie or sit around, so I cleaned the kitchen, the hallway, and even took out the junk from the old man's workshop. To my question, where all this could be thrown away, I received the following answer:
"Throw away?" repeating my last word, the Hunter looked at me bewilderedly. "Just throw it anywhere, just don't scatter it in the village itself or too close. There are no janitors here, no one will clean up the mess on the street."
And then it was time to go to Sidrovich for the due reward. Stas let me pass without incident. The trader sat in his usual bored pose and was flipping through something on the computer. Not far from him was an open can of stew and a mug of coffee; I could smell it.
"Ah, it's you, rookie," he tore himself away from the screen and looked at me. "What will you take? Bullets? Medicine? Or maybe some decent food?"
"I'll take anti-rads, how much can I get with my deposit?"
"One anti-rad is seven hundred fifty, multiplied by two is fifteen hundred, and five hundred remaining," the trader said, placing two syringes on the table.
"Can I get some chocolate bar for the remaining money?" I ask Sidrovich. I don't need anything else anyway. I have plenty of bullets, the Hunter will provide food, and medicine is also fully stocked.
"Here," and a slightly worn Snickers, a double one, appears on the table.
"Thank you," I thank him and turn away.
I think it's not for nothing that this trader is called a miser. He could have given money, it's not that much money, two thousand, here. To heal a little and not die of hunger, and that's even if I don't need bullets. He gave me goods in monetary equivalent, and clearly not at the rate he buys himself. It's like they brought him these crates for free.
When I entered the kitchen, the Hunter met me, reading some book. I nod to him and go to my room, dropping my backpack. Then I return, settling into the opposite chair.
"Here, I brought this from Sidrovich for tea," I put the chocolate bar on the table.
"Did you go for supplies?" the old man chuckles, looking up from a book with yellowed pages. "And how was it?"
"Not bad, didn't meet any military on the way, only one boar," I reply. "A very young one, took it down with one shot."
"That's good," the Hunter nods. "Don't plan anything for tomorrow, I've fixed the rifle, we'll go hunting, I'll teach you a thing or two. You have a TOZ shotgun, right?"
"Yes."
"It's good for shooting mutants, but not for hunting, it misses a lot at a distance," he says. "I'll give you my old vertical one, a good weapon. I used it after... well, you know."
"Thank you," I nod.
"You're too polite for a stalker, kid."
"Is that bad?" after all, basic politeness doesn't cost much, but it avoids problems out of nowhere.
"No," the old man closes the book. "Just unusual. Usually, stalkers are not very polite people. They want everything, and quickly. You rarely get respect from anyone."
"And even Sidrovich isn't respected?"
"Heh," the Hunter laughs briefly. "I wouldn't say they respect him much, but they fear him, yes. Don't think that he likes to chat with green riff-raff like you. He's bored, and he knows how to win people over. Those who have been in the Zone longer know what dark dealings he's involved in."
"He's involved in that too?" after all, Sidrovich, although he turned out to be greedy, made a more pleasant impression than the game version, who sometimes gave out tasks to eliminate competitors.
"You're a smart guy, you won't blab, so I can tell you," the old man says, leaning forward slightly and continuing in a lower voice. "He's greedy and easily offended. He'll go to great lengths. Anyone who tries to set up their own trade on the Cordon won't last long, our trader will deal with them. Not with his own hands, of course. He has many debtors, and few ways to pay them back. Only Valerian's group trader got lucky, Sidorovich is afraid to touch him. But lone stalkers without cover face an unhappy fate."
"And many people know about this?" I wait for a confirming nod from the stalker and then continue. "Why doesn't anyone do anything? Threaten him or something?"
"The locals would like to, but they can't," he shrugs. "Sidorovich holds many by the neck. Debts, compromising material, and blackmail. The scoundrel won't shy away from anything. Those who would like to are neck-deep in this shit, so they sit tight and don't stir, wondering if another of the trader's debtors will come for them or not yet. And those who could, well, the Cordon and his affairs don't interest them. Plus, he's firmly established here. Trades with the military, and through them with stalkers. Weapons of some sort, ammo, food, and medicine. And he has plenty of other connections, he's set himself up well."
"And that's why they forgive him all this dirt?"
"Oh, that's unlikely. They just turn a blind eye while Sidorovich settles his 'affairs' with the newcomers who are nobody. So listen to my advice, kid. Be polite with the trader. If he offers you any work, it's better to refuse, he has a special passion for sending stalkers to deadly places. If they don't come back, he'll send the next one, and if they bring what he needs, then honor, glory, and a simple human thank you. And it's very easy to fall into debt bondage. If anything goes wrong, you return alive, but didn't complete the task or completed it, but not as required, then he writes such a 'lucky one' down as a debtor. And you'll have to work for a very long time to pay off his debts."
"Then why not just leave the Cordon?" I ask him.
"They've tried to leave, but it doesn't get them far," the stalker replies with a chuckle. "Sidorovich doesn't hesitate to order one debtor after another if they try to escape. And where to? Newcomers have nothing to gain beyond the Garbage. Either too many anomalies, or too much different wildlife. So be careful with the trader."
"I'll keep that in mind," I nod in response.
"By the way, be a good fellow and take some ammo to Wolf," he says, getting up from his chair and heading to the workshop. He returns with a scattering of shotgun shells in a plastic bag. "He asked me to sell him some, but another stalker managed to buy the last ones for sale before I could, so I had to make another batch."
"Alright," I take the shells and head outside.
Wolf was found by the same campfire where I met him in the morning. I handed him a handful of shells, and the stalker gave me money for the Hunter. On the way back home, the stalker I met in the morning calls out to me. Red-haired and curly.
"Hey, kid!" he says, running up to me. "Did you go for supplies today? Fist told me how you took down that boar. My name's Tishka. I'm going hunting tomorrow, and I'll have another stalker with me. Want to join? Your gun won't be superfluous."
"Sorry, but I can't tomorrow," I refuse the offer. "I'll be helping the Hunter."
"Well, too bad, but okay," Tishka says with a smile, smoothing his hair with his palm. "We'll go next time! See ya."
I watch this overly cheerful stalker with my gaze towards the campfire, where he's met by another stalker. Apparently, his partner. Now I know for sure who bought those very shells from the old man.
The next morning, the Hunter woke me up. We had a quick breakfast, and he gave me a TOZ-34 for a 12-gauge and shells for it. We left the village at seven in the morning. Almost all the stalkers were still asleep, only Wolf was sitting on the porch of one of the houses and, wishing us luck, went inside. We headed northeast of the village, past the ATP, which no one had settled yet. As the Hunter said, we were going to hunt boars, and he would teach me how to butcher the prey. In those hills, there are a couple of their favorite resting spots.
"Keep your eyes peeled, kid," the stalker begins as we move a significant distance from the Newcomers' Village. "Whenever you go beyond the camp, always look carefully at your surroundings."
"Okay," I reply, following him closely.
"Hmm, there's a tradition among hunters," he says again after some time. "To ask apprentices what they consider most important in hunting. What do you think?"
"Maybe it's endurance? The ability to wait for your target?"
"Not the most original answer I've heard in my life," the old man chuckles. "They usually talk about a cool gun, accuracy, or powerful ammo. But you, like them, are only partly right. You can take down a beast by force, what's wrong with that kind of hunting?"
"Then what is the most important thing in hunting?" I ask him quietly.
"Hunting always consists of many factors," the Hunter replies. "Weapons, ammo, even the ability to sit in ambush, all of that matters. But, in my opinion, the most important thing in hunting is to be prepared. To be prepared that your weapon might misfire, to be prepared that your ammo might suddenly get damp, to be prepared that the beast might come right behind your back when you're stalking it at its lair. In short, always be prepared that the rules of the game might change. A lucky hunter isn't the one who always comes back with a lot of prey, but the one who always comes back alive."
"And does that happen often?"
"Much more often than I'd like," he says. "It happened that my brothers in the craft went on a big hunt. For fearsome creatures. Bloodsuckers or chimeras, but you're too early to know about such monsters, they don't exist here anyway. So, such a stalker leaves, he's gone for a day, two. We prepare for the worst and go check what happened to him. And, you can imagine, he was only a few hundred meters from the camp with his trophy, and a few dogs tore him apart. He was experienced, and well-armed,
but he relaxed and lost vigilance."
After that, he fell silent. By this time, we had rounded the ATP on the left side, passing several individual anomalies, and began to climb the hill. Trees, a few bushes, and even a lone cross with a bloodied gas mask nailed to it. There was no one on the hill, so we moved further northeast. As far as I remember, there was also a derailed locomotive there. We walked a little further and, yes, I saw that very yellow-green locomotive.
"Quiet," the Hunter whispers, and bending down, points to the ground. On a small patch of clay where nothing grew, a pair of hoof prints were visible. "Judging by the size of the hooves and how deep this track is, it's a mature boar. And there might be more than one. Where should you aim? And with what?"
"It's best to shoot in the neck with a bullet round."
"Not exactly, but it'll do," he says quietly and goes on all fours in the direction of the tracks, waving me to follow him.
After walking a few meters, we reached the top of the hill, in the bushes, and at its foot, we found several boars. One of them was indeed huge, the others were more modest in size. There were four of them in total, and they all, with their snouts buried in the ground, were chewing grass.
"I'll take the huge one and the one to its left," the Hunter whispers and raises his rifle, aiming. "You take the rest. Shoot after me."
I raise my TOZ, resting it on my right collarbone, tilt my head, and aim. Two loud, consecutive shots ring out to my left, almost merging into one. I shoot after the stalker. I killed the first boar instantly, it seems like a broken neck. The second shot was a bit lower, so the boar managed to go about another meter before falling from blood loss. I quickly reload and look at the Hunter.
"Let's wait a bit," he says. "There might be more of them here, boars like to gather in packs for safety."
But there were no more mutants here. After waiting a few more minutes, we calmly descend to the corpses. The Hunter pulls a long knife from its sheath, calls me over, and begins to butcher the boar.
"Watch and learn, kid," the stalker explains, squatting by the smallest of the boars. "This might come in handy if you're left without food on a long raid. Boars are found almost everywhere, if you learn to butcher them, you'll never be without food, if you have a good weapon and ammo. First, the animal needs to be bled, for this, you need to cut the vessels in the neck, but don't make too large cuts, you'll spoil the hide.
Then he plunges the knife into the base of the boar's neck, twists it, and pulls it out, turning the body onto its back, after which we drag it aside and lay it on another beast so that its neck is lower than the rest of its body.
"Always fix the body like this, it will save you a lot of time on butchering, but, we don't need the meat now, so for the sake of the lesson, we can work sloppily," the Hunter continues his explanations. "After you drain the blood from the animal, you can start skinning it. First, you need to lay it on its back, and don't grimace, but watch carefully. You'll butcher the next one yourself. We make circular cuts on the front and hind legs at the joints, then straight cuts along the hind limbs, passing through the inner thighs and connecting with a straight line through the groin. We repeat the procedure for the front ones, only here we go through the armpits and cross the chest. After that, we make a large longitudinal cut along the center of the torso, connecting the previous ones. We cut around the anus and remove the genitals, the cut goes to the tail. In the front part of the body, we connect the chest cut with the one through which the blood flowed. And, reaching the throat, we make a circular cut around the neck. After all these manipulations, you can start separating the hide from the carcass."
The Hunter began to tear the animal's hide from the meat, sometimes helping himself with a knife, cutting where the hide was difficult to remove. And after about ten minutes of work, a bloody and intact hide appeared before me, which the old man threw away.
"Now we'll start butchering the carcass, listen to me carefully," he begins again. "We make a longitudinal cut along the belly and chest, and this must be done as carefully as possible. Near the boar's bladder are glands with extremely foul-smelling contents, which can completely spoil the taste of the meat. So try not to damage them, or other organs of the animal, otherwise, the whole hunt will be in vain."
After all these explanations, the Hunter actually made me butcher another boar, but thanks to the System, I did an excellent job. It was as if I knew where and what cuts to make to properly skin it and separate the meat from the bones and organs. The stalker was even surprised and asked if I had hunted before.
"You have great talent, kid," he chuckles. "You shoot well, move correctly, and even learned to butcher on the first try. Oh, and by the way, for the future. A boar can be killed not only by a shot through the neck but also by a shot under the shoulder blade, right here, if it's inconvenient to shoot the cervical spine. If you hit the lungs or heart, the animal will die quite quickly."
"And what can be sold from boars?" I ask him.
"For sale, you say," the Hunter thinks for a moment and says. "Well, everything goes, if you can negotiate. Stalkers readily buy the meat, very few know how to hunt and butcher prey correctly, and they all respect boar meat cooked over a fire. The hooves can be sold to Sidorovich; they say scientists make medicine from them, I don't know if that's true or not. A good hide can be sold to him too. Only the guts are of no interest to anyone. Alright, let's cut off the hooves and head back. The first lesson went great."