Hunter's Shelter, same time.
Chizh couldn't believe what he heard. This... stalker snot, who had only spent a little more than a couple of months in the Zone, and the Hunter had told him about his protégé, if not everything, then a lot, did what they couldn't? Some petty stalker managed to wipe out a pack of tarkovs that had killed two of their group? This was some kind of nonsense.
"It's... hard to believe," Chizh said diplomatically, stepping away from the bolted door, not wanting to start a conflict. Especially since this man had brought them food... "If you were armed with a Saiga or something like that, then... But with an assault rifle? And try to hit a horse in the eye while it's running. And if there are many of them..."
"Believe it or not," the stalker who had arrived, who had already taken out all the supplies he had brought and left them on the floor, shrugged. "The Hunter asked for help - I helped. By the way, you still owe me telling me where his son's grave is."
"I believe you," Ryk said, clearing his throat slightly, and got up from his seat to approach the stalker. "The Hunter is good at judging people, and I know a thing or two. There's something right about you."
"Well," the stalker said with a slight chuckle, folding his arms across his chest. "Where is the grave?"
"Zhalo is buried in the forest, at the site of his last hunt," Chizh said this time. "You won't find the place without me, and I'm not in the condition right now, heh, to go to such a place."
"Zhalo? Interesting nickname... How did he get it?"
"Why do you need to know?" Chizh pursed his lips and furrowed his brow.
"I want to get to know him better," the stalker replied. "It's not right to go to the grave of a complete stranger."
"Why didn't you ask the Hunter then?"
"The old man hasn't been well lately, I didn't want to stir up his old wounds by talking about the past," he shrugged once more and looked around at the hunters.
"Why not talk a little after eating," Ryk chuckled merrily, pleased with his new acquaintance's answer. "But at least introduce yourself, guy."
Same place, same time.
"Palach," I introduced myself briefly and immediately shook the strong, warm hand of the bald, bearded stalker.
"And I'm Ryk, *cough, cough*," he coughed and pointed to the other hunters. "Nice to meet you. The fair-haired one is Finn, and that short one is called Chizh."
"Hey!" the stalker called a shorty protested.
Amidst the light, friendly banter that began, the hunters started to eat. They greedily gulped down water and stuffed huge pieces of beef stew into their mouths. It was clear that hunger had completely exhausted them. Well, as long as they didn't choke.
"God, this is so delicious when you're starving..."
I didn't want to inspect their house at all; the smells emanating from its inhabitants weren't conducive to it. And I understood perfectly well; a long time in ambush, where you can't even go to the toilet properly or wash, but... It still made me a little nauseous. The only thing I could do was to remain silent understandingly.
When the meal was over, Ryk opened the first-aid kit and took out two packs of medicine, vitamins, and painkillers. A good choice in this situation, but without antibiotics, he would be in trouble. Squeezing a few tablets from the blisters, he popped them into his mouth and washed them down with the remaining water from a plastic bottle. At the same time, the other hunters were gathering their meager belongings.
"Everyone ready?" I waited for their wary nods, hah. They still didn't believe I had dealt with the pack of mutants and were expecting some trick. "Then I'll open."
Going outside, I stepped a few steps away from the door and first took a few deep breaths and exhales of fresh air. The hunters were examining the small, cluttered yard for now. An old, crooked cart with long-rusted metal stood right by the dilapidated fence, leaning heavily towards the ground. A few leaky buckets scattered here and there, and other junk in small quantities.
The stalkers held their rifles tightly, scanning the territory, and their legs were slightly bent and tense. Overall, it gave the impression that if there was even a single rustle, the hunting party could be inside the house in a fraction of a second. They were afraid. Then Chizh's gaze fell on a large, crimson-dark stain on the grass by the cart, and he winced, looking away. The others tried not to look at it. Did one of them fail to escape?
"They're not hurrying, the bitches," the short, dark-haired stalker exhaled through tightly clenched teeth.
"Chizh," Ryk grumbled displeasantly, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Palach said..."
"Caution won't hurt," the other replied sharply, Finn chose to remain silent. "What if some of the creatures broke away from the pack..."
"Haa," I just sighed. "Let's go already, the tarkovs are literally lying around the corner."
I tiredly rubbed my temples and headed forward along the long-overgrown village road. I passed a couple of crooked houses on both sides of it and involuntarily sighed. A pathetic sight, this small village. Most of the houses had already started to fall apart; give it a year or two, and no traveler would be able to find shelter here. Too much time had passed since anyone had cared for the buildings.
We came out onto the main road, turned left, and the hunters froze in silent shock. Seven dead tarkovs, dusted with soil from the furrows they had plowed, lay where I had left them. Completely dead.
"Mother of God, he really killed them..." Chizh exhaled and approached the corpses with quick steps. "And I, a fool, didn't believe it. Guys, just look, he really shot them in the eyes."
"Where did you learn to shoot like that, Palach?" Ryk asked me, whistling and patting me lightly on the shoulder with his huge palm.
"Just here and there," I shrugged. "I practiced a lot."
"If only we had such an apprentice for hunting, maybe everyone would have survived," Finn remarked quietly, and the entire hunting party sank into quiet regret.
"Well," Chizh tried to find words, but fell silent, only to continue immediately. "Eh, what's done is done. May the Zone be soft on them, our guys. And you, Palach, forgive me. You really hurt my pride. No, not pride. I thought you couldn't be cooler than us. But no, you can."
"It's all right," I nodded slightly and extended my hand, and he squeezed my palm in a firm handshake. "By the way, can you get anything valuable from them? I haven't dealt with them before."
"Nah," Finn shook his head. "Surprisingly useless creatures in our trade. Mad, furious, bloodthirsty, and very dangerous in packs. At first, hunters brought a lot to scientists, including tarkovs. Both whole and in parts. Alas, they are of no particular interest to science. So neither traders nor scientists will pay you anything for them."
"Finn is slightly mistaken," Chizh interjected. "Scientists are willing to buy tarkovs, but only whole carcasses and for not much money. They say lab assistants train on them, bright minds hoping that with a fresh, so to speak, unburdened by intellect, glance, they might find something in them. But, mostly, yes. There's no point in shooting them, except to protect yourself."
"You really spun a yarn there, Chizh. You didn't solve crosswords for nothing," Ryk grinned and started coughing for a long time again. "Let's go, huh? I want to lie in a normal bed."
"You should also take some more medicine, antibiotics," I remarked in turn.
"Don't teach a teacher, kid," Ryk waved his hand and walked a little further. "I know that without you."
"To tell you the truth," Finn leaned towards my ear and whispered quietly. "Ryk worked as a driver for an ambulance for a year or so. He picked up all sorts of things from doctors, now he considers himself a luminary of medicine."
"I can hear everything!"
Hunter's Base, a few hours later.
The journey to their main base was long. The hunters were very tired and hungry from being locked up, so they couldn't move quickly. However, I learned a few forest paths by which, if necessary, I could cut the road a little in the future.
The base was a large, long building in the shape of the letter "G." Brick and without any finishing, with high walls, small and sparse windows around its perimeter, and a triangular roof covered with slate. The base territory was enclosed by a small wooden fence with stone pedestals, but time had not spared it, and many of its sections were either broken or missing altogether.
We approached a large, iron garage door, clearly added here by some craftsman, and Chizh took a long key from his breast pocket, immediately opening it. Entering, I found myself in a surprisingly clean room. A concrete floor with visible signs of chipping, rows of various military and not-so-military crates stretched along the walls, and at the very end of the peculiar corridor, right in the middle of the room, was a small fire pit.
"It's so clean here," I voiced my thoughts aloud. "And spacious."
"Hah, it's no wonder it's clean and spacious here," the bearded stalker replied, while the other hunters moved further in and began to unpack their things. "When they announced the evacuation in '86, the locals took everything out of here. Materials, machines, saws, everything in a word. And as for beds, you can take any on the left side; we had to collect and drag the crates and other things from all over the area. The door, by the way, was installed by a good acquaintance
of mine at my request. He's currently at Predbannik, maybe you know him? They call him Old Man."
"Wrinkled, with gray hair and quarrelsome?"
"Yeah, exactly him. So you've met him, how's his life?" Ryk smiled with satisfaction, I didn't even want to upset him.
"They killed him."
"How? He was a decent guy, respected him..."
"In his own home, some crazy guy stabbed him over an argument," I sighed deeply, recalling the first week of my stay here. "That scoundrel, by the way, also messed with the Hunter - he stole a rifle, a gift from Zhalo. But he couldn't get far."
"The Hunter told us that you helped him with one matter. So, you returned Zhalo's rifle to him, right?" and, waiting for a nod, continued. "That's what I thought, how you got your nickname..."
"No, I only became Palach at Cordon," I shook my head. "I'll tell you another time."
"Understood, I'll be glad to hear that story, eh-eh," Ryk sighed. "What bad luck... First the Witcher disappeared without a trace, then an unsuccessful hunt, then my friends are cut down for no reason... Alright, Palach. Come in, make yourself comfortable. As I said, any bunk on the left is yours. Their owners won't be back."
And then, inconveniently, it started to rain. Heavy drops drummed on the roof and the entrance door, from which a fresh chill suddenly blew. But this morning the sky was so clear... I'll spend the rest of the day here for sure. While the hunters are busy with their own affairs, I decide to look around a bit more. I head towards the beds in the far left corner, behind the fire, and take the outermost one.
I put my rifle on the mattress, take off my backpack, and place it under the bed. It turns out there was another door here, directly opposite my bed, about fifteen meters away. But it was closed. Meanwhile, Chizh, who brought some dry boards, is starting a fire. Ryk sat heavily on the bed and rummaged through the first-aid kit, comparing the names on the blister packs and occasionally reading the instructions. Finn, on the other hand, had disappeared somewhere in another part of the sawmill and was busy with something.
I wanted to look around, but there was almost nowhere to look. At the second entrance-exit was a wide, roughly made, and sturdy-looking table, full of bloodstains. Probably, in normal times, all sorts of animals were cut up here. Even though it was clean, it was a bit boring.
"How many more hunters are there?" I decided to break the gloomy silence.
"The question is put incorrectly," Chizh chuckled, stretching his hands towards the fire. "There are many hunters, and you are one of them. Anyone who goes for prey and brings trophies can call themselves that. With a slight stretch. In our group, there are only three of us left. Soon, it seems, we will have to leave this place too."
"Why?"
"We've been unlucky lately," my interlocutor moved away from the fire and placed a triangle of welded metal rods with a small hook at the bottom over it, on which he hung a pot of water. "There used to be fifteen of us, we contacted other groups, but not many. Too many people in one territory is bad. The wildlife doesn't have time to reproduce and all that. But a couple of years ago, it started. Zhalo died on a hunt, then a couple more hunters. In general, every few months someone from our group died. About a month ago, the Witcher disappeared, and a few days ago, you know what happened. So I feel that if we stay, we will soon become prey ourselves."
"And what happened to Zhalo? And you promised to tell me about him."
Dark ravine, two years ago. Early morning.
Zhalo, Ryk, Finn, and Chizh cautiously made their way through the forest thicket, following a trail leading west. Several wild boars, judging by the depth of the marks – heavy ones. Chizh swallowed the saliva that filled his mouth at the mere thought of the juicy wild boar shashlik they would prepare upon their return.
The group of four was led by Zhalo. One of the most experienced in their company. Tall, lean, and with a perpetual slyness in his gaze. Chizh had heard that he was the son of the Hunter himself. A stalker who, at the dawn of the Zone, hunted creatures so terrifying that it was scary to even imagine, and even took assignments from factions. But he was afraid to ask Zhalo directly.
Suddenly, their group leader stopped and showed everyone a clenched fist. The hunters fell silent. The howling of the distant wind, the melodious singing of distant birds, the rustling of leaves, and the crackling... of branches? Someone nearby. Gripping their rifles tighter, they decided to walk a few more meters to hide behind the nearest large bush.
A few minutes passed before they saw those making the noise. People. Five of them. Leather jackets and cloaks with chevrons depicting pierced skulls. Bandits. All armed with light assault rifles. But what did they need here?
"Boss, why the hell do we need these hunters anyway?" one of them asks in a hoarse voice.
"Pivas, you're driving me crazy," Bugor snapped back. "How many times do I have to tell you... They're hunters, so they hunt. They take all sorts of things from mutants and sell them. And they must have tons of money. And where there's a lot of money, there we are."
"What if they shoot us?"
"Well, you're an idiot, they only shoot at animals, and a person is different, don't be a coward!"
Hunter's Base, present time.
"And then Zhalo signaled to attack," Chizh continues his story. "He was always quick to act. He stung like a bee when he or ours were in danger, hence the nickname. We took down four of them right away, and the last one started shooting back. Just one stray bullet, and Zhalo died right there. Well, we later chose a better spot and buried him immediately, so the beasts wouldn't eat him..."
"But the Hunter said his son died while hunting."
"We got scared, Palach..."
"Shit yourselves, more like," Ryk grumbles, and Finn seconds him. Both cast displeased glances at Chizh, but they were in no hurry to stop him.
"We held a group meeting to decide what to do next. Then Vedmak suggested not saying that bandits attacked us, saying it would reflect badly on all of us," Chizh blurts out, wringing his hands. "Those thugs were part of some gang, and if they found out we were involved in the disappearance of their guys, they'd send others to deal with us. In short, we lied to the Hunter. We had a hasty funeral and..."
I was speechless. And this was the kind of people the Hunter asked me to help? Those who got scared of some bandits? If they had just gotten scared, fine, but to lie to a grieving father about the cause of his child's death? It just didn't compute. Chizh continued to ramble, making excuses, but I wasn't listening at all. At one point, I felt utterly disgusted to be there. But to leave in the rain... And I couldn't find the grave without these idiots.
"I... I don't blame you," the lie was difficult, but I quickly feigned a sigh and lowered my head. "It's a shame it turned out this way."
"Thank you for understanding, it means a lot to us... You won't tell the Hunter, will you?" Chizh suddenly blurted out, fixing me with an attentive gaze.
"No, why bother the old man... what's done is done, as they say," I exhale, but I see that the hunters, who were now glaring at me like wolves, didn't believe my words. Nevertheless, they put on friendly smiles.
"Thank you, you're a true friend. Want some tea with us, Palach?" Finn offers.
"Nah," I yawn laboriously. Something's not right here, I need to be on guard. "I got up early, and I'm tired from today. I'd rather go to bed."
I take the pistol out of its holster and place it on a nearby crate, along with my knife. The hunters, like mesmerized animals, watched my every move. Then I unlace my boots and set them aside as well. Then I lie down on someone else's bed, fidgeting a bit, take the prickly army blanket and cover myself up to my neck, and place my left arm bent at the elbow on my forehead. Let them think I can't possibly watch them. After waiting for another minute or so, I start fidgeting again and during this, I subtly pull out my Colt with my right hand, keeping it under the blanket. I slowly reduce the frequency and depth of my breathing, pretending to fall asleep.
Hunter's Base, twenty minutes later.
The stalker who saved them had been snoring for about fifteen minutes, but the hunters were still afraid to make the slightest noise. They had seen how well this Palach shot and were afraid that if they made a mistake here, a inglorious end awaited them. But he, judging by his reaction, wasn't afraid of them at all and suspected nothing.
"Kha-kha!" Ryk deliberately coughs loudly, watching the stalker's reaction. He's snoring. "Hey, Palach!"
Still lying motionless. Then all three hunters quietly, just like on a hunt, get up and move to the farthest corner of the sawmill, towards the entrance door. From that distance, Palach definitely wouldn't hear anything. Especially with the pouring rain that was still drumming on the roof.
"I've never met anyone who slept so soundly..." Chizh says quietly.
"Well, he walked all the way from Kordon to us with a load on his back, and then here. He's very tired," Finn chuckles quietly. And then he turns to the dark-haired stalker, not afraid of being heard. "Why did you start telling him about the bandits, you piece of idiocy? Couldn't you have lied to him too, like you did to the Hunter, that a boar mauled his son?"
"Did you even see how perceptive his gaze was? I felt like I was being interrogated when he looked at me... So I spilled everything, like confessing, that story they fed the others."
"Yeah, if Palach heard that it was you, Finn, who took down Zhalo back then," Ryk interjects quietly. "Then we'd all be screwed. While you were unpacking your stuff, I found out from him that he's a specialist in catching and killing people."
"Why
me? Vedmak ordered me to."
"You're going to say you didn't like cutting him to shreds one bit... Who, by the way, is going to take down Palach?"
"Is that necessary?" Chizh turns to Ryk. "Maybe, forget it?"
"Yeah, and then he'll turn us in to the Hunter. The old man will have some very interesting questions for us then, which none of us will want to answer. Either he'll send his apprentice after us, and you've seen his skills – we won't get out alive, or he'll blab it to all his acquaintances, and then they won't let us live."
"Quiet, you two. It's decided, I'll take down Palach," Finn sighs. "And you two stand by as backup, just in case..."
After standing for a bit longer and exchanging tense glances, the hunters moved back. After all, no one wanted to take on the sin of killing someone to whom, by the laws of the Zone, they owed a life debt. But there was no other way. It was a mistake for Palach to start asking them questions, a big mistake.
"And Chizh..." the fair-haired stalker thought to himself. "I'll deal with Chizh. Later."
Before reaching the illuminated part of the room, Finn draws his hunting blade, already imagining how his victim would choke on blood, and rushes forward a bit. And then he stops, as if struck by lightning. Palach is nowhere to be seen, the side door is closed, which means...
"You were right, bastards," a voice says from behind them. "I won't let you live."
Through the sounds of the night rain, three consecutive shots cut through the air, startling even the unfortunate blind dog that had found shelter behind a sheet of metal propped at an angle against the outer wall of the sawmill.