ATP, early morning.
The mulatto, sitting by the fire inside the main building, shivered despite the summer-warm morning and rubbed his healing hand. His soul was filled with anxieties and worries about the future. Had
he done the right thing by leaving his own and leaking all available information to Sidorovich? He didn't know the answers to these questions, only drowning them in firewater in the hope that they would dissolve on their own.
He also didn't know why he had acted this way. A few people left, and he followed them, sensing the scent of money and a new adventure, something he had been deprived of due to his injured hand... But was it a worthy reason for others who left for personal reasons? Unlikely. Therefore, he had to lie to his new-old accomplices and the newcomers who were drawn by the smell of free canned food and vodka. He said he didn't like Valerian's politics, didn't like the Executioner...
"Ha-a," the stalker sighed deeply with relief, recalling yesterday's conversation with Sidorovich.
Initially, their entire group was hired by the merchant to finish off those who managed to survive the upcoming fight between Valerian and the military, but suddenly their assignment was revoked, and a bill was presented for the canned food and vodka, which no one wanted to pay. The mulatto just lowered his head sadly, resting his forehead on his sharp knees. Why was he here? Was he really ready to shoot his former comrades in the back, whom he had left because of his stupidity?
"Get up, you scoundrels!" Cactus, the leader of their renegade company, yelled. "Valerian and his dogs have fled the Cordon, let's go for the loot! I'm sure they still have a lot of useful stuff in their stores!"
The mulatto, grunting, gets to his feet and heads for the exit. After all, money is money. At least he didn't have to kill anyone.
Former base of the Free Stalkers, a little later.
Walking through the empty base, the mulatto felt conflicting emotions inside him - hope and despair, relief and a heavy burden on his soul. It was too late to change anything, but... on the other hand, he was now on his own and no one was his boss. And with Shilov's supplies, he could go to the Dark Valley and settle in Freedom, or move on entirely.
The stalker cast one last glance at his native camp, casting aside all regrets - it was all over. And he caught up with the other renegades, who had already headed for the merchant's stores. After all, they represented a whole Eldorado.
"Wow," Cactus whistled at the sight. Of course, the stalkers had taken the most valuable things, there was no doubt about that, but everything else... "Armor, weapons, other supplies... Guys, maybe screw Sidor, huh? We'll settle here ourselves, we'll manage somehow without his food. And then we'll form our own group? We'll take over the Cordon, and then the Garbage!"
"Ye-e-es!" echoed the voices of the other stalkers, who hurried to change into new equipment.
The mulatto, one of the few who had his own excellent armor, decided to stand aside for a while to get a better look. Overturned stalls, dishes thrown on the floor, an open cage... Nothing was left of Furgon's workspace - not even a stool. To take an inconspicuous chair, but leave so many weapons and other riches? Valerian was clearly in a hurry, but why?
And the answer came. A loud sound of something rapidly rotating and approaching the former stalker haven! The mulatto, like some others, ran outside to see the approach of two combat helicopters with machine guns and rocket launchers.
"Run!" Mulatto shouted and took off.
Same place, same time.
"Look, Vova, how they scattered," the mustachioed pilot in a helmet chuckled. "Should we let them go or what?"
"Or what," Vova replied, turning the helicopter for a more convenient position. "Khaletsky promised a decent bonus for good reporting."
"Hah," the second pilot grinned, aiming his weapon at the target. "Sorry, guys. Reporting - it's a bitch, that's what it is."
The machine guns chattered, turning the running and hiding stalkers into a bloody mess. The pilots did not receive permission for a rocket salvo, but such a dilapidated and old building, even reinforced, could easily be pierced by onboard firearms.
There was no salvation for the stalkers anywhere, and after five minutes, both aircraft headed for the base, leaving behind bloody ruins that became a mass grave for the renegade stalkers.
Newcomer village, day.
Waking up was difficult; I had never noticed a habit of going to bed so late. Yawning widely, I stretched and braced my limbs against the walls of my small room. Then I slowly got up, took my toiletries from my backpack, and went to the kitchen, where the Hunter was already sitting. Unlike yesterday, he no longer looked so dejected, even, rather, a little livelier.
"Good afternoon, Executioner," he greeted me warmly.
"Good," I replied with a nod, approaching the sink with the washbasin there. "What time is it, anyway?"
"Almost three. And I have something important to tell you."
"What?" I turned to him, wiping my wet face with a towel.
"Sit down first. Will you eat?"
"Later, I don't want to yet," I sat down opposite my mentor. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
But, despite my refusal, the mentor cheerfully got up from his seat and walked to the stove, where a dark cast-iron cauldron stood. He opened its lid, took a ladle, and served a generous portion of still warm stewed potatoes with herbs. Then he turned and placed it in front of me with a fork. A few seconds later, a glass of milk filled to the brim appeared before me.
"Milk? Where did such a treasure come from?" I asked him, bewildered.
"I got it from Sidorovich," he waved his hand and returned to his seat. "He often orders something like this that people miss after a long time here and for which they are willing to pay a lot of money. Drink it, drink it, I got it from the cellar shortly before you woke up, it should still be cool."
I looked at the mentor for a short while, feeling my appetite begin to stir from the aroma of the food. Warm and delicious potatoes in oil, with a crust, but soft inside. The taste of potatoes was complemented by chopped green onions, parsley, and small but well-fried pieces of meat. I sent the fork with everything into my mouth and immediately washed it down with milk, almost melting with pleasure. Having lived here for a long time on ordinary pasta and stewed meat, one can't help but miss such homemade food.
"It's very tasty, thank you," I said when the plate was completely empty. All this time, the Hunter was reading a slightly crumpled newspaper and drinking tea. "Decided to catch up on the news?"
"It's time," he nodded. "Because today I'm leaving the Cordon."
"Already!?" I almost jumped up, but the Hunter placed his dry palm over mine.
"Yes," he nodded with a slight smile. "I've been preparing for this step for a long time and I understand that it's pointless to postpone it any further. In these two short months that we've known each other, only you kept me here. I kept telling myself that I wouldn't leave here until you became a full-fledged hunter. And you became one, much earlier than I expected..."
"I..."
"Don't say anything," the Hunter looked into my eyes with unprecedented warmth. "Although our acquaintance is very short, I... can definitely say that on that day I met someone whom I can proudly call my friend. Thank you for everything you've done for me so far."
"Thank you too, Hunter," I sighed, leaning back in my chair and looking up at the white ceiling.
"Well, since we've finished with pleasantries," the interlocutor chuckled briefly. "Now it's time to talk about what else I can give you. You really don't want to take money?"
"Definitely, because I can earn it myself, and you'll need it more."
"Hah, alright. Since you're so principled," the Hunter sighed and took a rolled-up sheet of thick paper from the breast pocket of his checkered shirt. "Here, it lists the names and contacts of those I can trust. Some of them are hunters like us, and some are very profitable and reliable clients. If anything happens, you can always turn to them for help there or for work, just mention me."
"So," I took the note from his hands and began to read the names. "Zveroboy, Chekhov, Colonel Bragin, Sakharov? You even worked with scientists?"
"And I thought you'd be more surprised by the military man," the teacher chuckled briefly, then grinned. "But yes, I've had to work with all sorts of people, and these are the most normal ones. By the way, Chekhov has a job for you right now, if you want."
"I'll think about it. More importantly, how are you going to cross the Perimeter?"
"Through the soldiers. I'll just go to the checkpoint, contact the colonel, and they'll take me to the mainland in a UAZ with all honors," the mentor shrugged and, seeing my bulging eyes, explained. "I'm legally in the Zone. I provide, so to speak, professional assistance to the valiant army as a specialist in catching particularly dangerous game. Therefore, I can leave freely at any time."
"And how can I get such a status?"
"Only through official structures in the Zone, student. Scientists there, the military... Before, as far as I remember, the latter recruited entire detachments of military stalkers, but I don't know how things are with that now. If you're suddenly interested, contact Bragin, he'll tell you," the Hunter explained. "With scientists, it's simpler - you just need to complete a few tasks, show that you are truly a valuable worker, and then you'll have legal status in your pocket."
"But there are very few legal stalkers here."
"Well, you don't get such things for shooting dogs and boars. But finding some important documents, bringing a particularly valuable specimen - that's something," the mentor grinned and, sighing, got up from his seat. "I should start packing."
I followed his back, which disappeared into the workshop, and plunged into a sea of thoughts. I was glad that there was definitely a possibility to legalize myself through scientists. Only I
would have to work a lot and hard, and these tasks would be more difficult than dealing with bandits. It's one thing to get some artifact or go underground for something, but what if they order a specimen of some chimera? It would be difficult to deal with it with just a Kalashnikov or a shotgun. And then get better armor. And all this requires money.
For a moment, I even regretted not taking the seventy-five thousand promised to me by the Hunter, but then I shook my head, driving such thoughts away. He needs it more. To buy a house, land, check his health in the hospital and get treated, the same medicines. No, I'll earn my own equipment. It's not for nothing that Valerian gave me a detector? Ugh, artifacts, beware.
By this time, the teacher had come out of his room. A dark coat over a shirt, dark green pants, and polished boots, and a backpack with his decorated rifle, gifted to him by Zhal long ago, hung on his back.
"Well, Executioner," he addressed me. "Come on, escort me to the door."
I silently got up and followed him until we reached the porch. A strong smell of fire immediately hit my nose, and my ears were filled with the cheerful hubbub of stalkers. I glanced at the clear, cloudless sky. Such a good day is marked by a farewell. Sad.
"My dear student," the mentor turned to me with a smile and immediately hugged me tightly. "Know that I am proud of the stalker you have become, and that I was your teacher. And finally, I will give you a parting piece of advice. Always move forward with your head held high and never betray yourself or your principles! I believe that whatever you set your mind to, you can achieve it. And I'm not saying goodbye to you, but saying - see you soon on the mainland. Good luck, hunter!"
"To hell with it," my lips whispered as I hugged the teacher tighter. "See you soon."
But as much as I didn't want to let go of this man who had given me a home on the Cordon, I had to do it. It will be better for both of us. He will find deserved peace, and I will be able to move forward boldly. I released my arms and took a step back, looking at the Hunter one last time. He just nodded to me and, turning around, walked away with a brisk step.
Newcomer village, same time.
The Hunter walked firmly forward to a new chapter of his life, and although there were doubts in his heart, he knew for sure that it was all for the best. He regretted leaving these lands, which had become so dear to him, and after a long time here, he desperately didn't want to leave Ilyusha, but he couldn't do otherwise. The old man knew that the Zone would sooner or later devour him; it disliked outsider hunters who interfered with the natural course of events. So it was all the more surprising to realize how much it favored his student.
"Well, may the price of the path laid out for you not be high, Executioner," the Hunter quietly said, under the surprised glances of the stalkers sitting on the bench. "And I hope you won't scold the old man too much when you find the farewell gift."
Newcomer village, twenty minutes later.
I didn't know how long I stood on the soft grass barefoot, looking south, in the direction the Hunter had gone. The parting gave a dull, aching pain in my heart, spreading from it to my arteries and returning along the veins. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned to the open door and entered the suddenly empty and cold house.
I fell weakly onto the kitchen chair, closing my eyes, and involuntarily thought about the future. Since the Hunter had left, I had nothing more to do here. And I didn't want to just sit around. When I left Valerian's group, I wanted to go on my own journey, to see the Zone as it is far from the gatherings of bloodthirsty people.
But now? I was unsure of my desires. To meet the Hunter again soon, I needed to fix my documents, get a legal pass... And for that, I desperately needed scientists. Moreover, I could travel for work with them. For once, my hands would not only shed blood but also create. Not in the literal sense, haha, but as an intermediary.
But the equipment... It seemed that it was not very suitable for more complex and dangerous areas of the Zone. Anomalous protection was minimal, and the Kalash, although a good thing, lacked power. And shooting a magazine at mutants every time, like with the tarks, was not much of a pleasure. I needed something powerful but compact, so I could carry it with my assault rifle.
"Decided," I clapped my thighs and got to my feet, heading to my room. "I'll take the money and go to Sidor, maybe he has a decent option. And what's this?.."
On the table in the small room, under the kerosene lamp, lay many rolled-up stacks of Soviet banknotes. And next to them was a notebook sheet with the inscription: "Don't be angry, there are exactly seventy-five thousand here. Treat yourself, little student."
"What a damn annoying old man," I growled in annoyance. "And you won't give it back now, he's probably halfway to the mainland already."
But now, with all my savings, I was the proud owner of a whole hundred and thirty thousand rubles, which I had to spend on improving my equipment. Such a large amount of money burned me literally from the inside, as if whispering to me not to spend it, but only to save, save, and save. And so that greed doesn't overcome me, I had to spend it as quickly as possible, and there was no better place for such a task than Sidorovich's bunker.