Under Batut's shouts, which reached me from the bar, I went outside. It's a shame it turned out this way. It really is. But there's nothing to be done now, and I don't want to do anything about it. Let it be so. I exhaled loudly and tilted my head to the sky to look at the clouds peacefully drifting across it. Life goes on, no matter what happens. I lowered my chin and saw that the gazes of several stalkers were focused on me; they were all clearly interested in what had happened, but I had no intention of satisfying their curiosity.
I turned right to head home and noticed that the former garbage had finally been cleared, and in its place, a whole tent camp had formed. A dozen or so stretched tents adorned the space between the hangar itself and the brick wall, and life bustled within them with stalker concerns. Of course, there weren't too many people around at the moment, and that included the tents, but it was interesting to look at, so I moved forward.
The sleeping places were varied – from old patched and re-patched ones to new army tents, depending on what everyone could afford. The tents themselves were literally stuffed with household junk, such as pots, plates, spoons, and the like. Their owners carried all their valuables with them, or hid them somewhere nearby, thinking no one would steal their stash. As I approached the center of this "district," I stumbled upon a smoldering campfire, by which a man was sitting. In a cauldron hung on a tripod, something was bubbling aromatically and invitingly.
"Man, won't you share, huh?" I asked with a slight smirk, not really expecting anything.
"And what do I get?" the poorly shaved stalker replied with a returning smirk, his sparse curly hairs sticking out in all directions on his face.
"I can give you a razor," I replied with a harmless joke, and the stalker laughed uninhibitedly.
"And you know what? Deal!" he said. "My name is Sasha, Sasha Poltinnik. You'll really help me out with this razor, my old one is completely dull..."
"Executioner," I introduced myself briefly and sat down on an overturned crate placed near the campfire. "Why don't you buy one from Shilov?"
"Ah," he waved his hand before stirring the concoction again. "When Valerian's men fled from the soldiers, they took everything, imagine, except for the household items. So, consider us in deficit of razors, shaving foam, and other joys of life. And there are no fools willing to drag themselves to Sidor, everyone knows he'll have orders booked for a year in advance, you won't be able to get anything."
"Well, of course," I grunted, reaching into my backpack and pulling out an opened set of disposable blades. "Here, it'll be enough for starters. Need to borrow some foam?"
"Where would I need so much?" Poltinnik said shyly. "One will be enough, thank you very much. And no foam, I still have some. Give me a plate..."
I handed him a military-style mess kit, into which he immediately poured several ladles of thick gravy made from stewed meat, pasta, and, judging by the smell, canned tomatoes in their own juice, which is a rare pleasure in our parts. I scooped it up with a spoon and began to devour the treat, feeling my stomach fill with each bite. Poltinnik decided not to lag behind me, and together we halved his round cauldron.
"Thank you, it turned out very tasty," I nodded and immediately asked: "Where can I rinse my utensils here?"
"There's a pump over there, behind the last tent," Sasha said, pointing with his thumb behind him, and then looked up at me with blue, but reddened eyes. "So, maybe I can give you some to take with you? You can heat it up later or eat it as is, it's better than cooking when you're tired."
"Too generous for just one razor," I shook my head. "It's kind of awkward."
"I don't know anything," he replied quickly and immediately took my mess kit from my hands, filling it with food. "Take it, take it, I'm not stingy."
With a smile, I accepted the filled container back and hung it on my belt, and then, on impulse, reached into my chest pocket for money and pulled out a few hundred rubles, which I immediately placed in my new acquaintance's palm. He tried to resist, but this time I didn't listen to his objections. And as soon as his defense crumbled, and Sasha took the money, I headed to the pump to rinse my spoon. It was located at the very edge of the camp, in a corner behind a red brick fence on a concrete slab.
"Well," I said quietly to myself, washing my spoon. "Now it's time to be on my way."
It's a shame I didn't get to see the bathhouse being built, but I'll make up for it when it's all ready. I threw the spoon into my backpack, turned on the heels of my boots, and walked towards the closed gates.
"Guys, open up, please," I addressed a couple of stalkers who were smoking by the fence.
"Well, well, you even said the magic word," one of them spat right under my boot, almost dirtying me. "Why don't you go..."
"Let's not argue, shall we? You just shut your mouth and open the gate," I interrupted him, and he visibly blushed. His friend detached himself from the fence and casually began to walk around me.
"Look at you, such an impudent one," he hissed, throwing his half-smoked cigarette onto the asphalt. "Haven't had a good beating in the kidneys in a while? Think you bought an automatic rifle, put on body armor, and you're an experienced wanderer? Do you know how we took this hangar? How the guys shed blood? And here comes some under-the-fence riffraff and starts throwing his weight around..."
I stood in complete shock, listening to all the nonsense this... I don't even know what to call him, was spewing at me. It never occurred to me that any of the free stalkers would imitate bandits so strongly. And against whom was he going? Against me? For some reason, it seemed that if there was anyone who wouldn't do such a thing, it would be me... I pursed my lips, which the stalker noticed and, with a triumphant smirk, approached me within arm's
reach...
"Well, how are you going to apologize to us... Khh!" In an instant, I assumed the necessary stance, and while the organism, not expecting my agility, was trying to understand what was happening, I delivered a strong blow with a clenched fist to his jaw.
The victim of his own stupidity took a step back and began to fall sideways, while I sharply turned and kicked the stalker who had approached from behind in the ribs with all my might. He tried to block with his elbow, but it was too late, and he only winced from the strong pain. Grabbing his side with his left hand, he began to reach for his pistol with his right, but I intercepted him and hit his crooked nose with a clenched fist once, twice, and finally, a third time, until resistance completely ceased.
By this time, stalkers began to gather in the backyard where our brawl was taking place. And most of them immediately reached for their weapons, but they were in no hurry to draw them. Then the groaning body beneath me suddenly started to scream:
"They're beating our guys, kill the goat!" he shouted nasally, clutching his bleeding nose.
"Isn't that the Executioner?" a voice came from the side.
"Is that really him? He wouldn't raise his hand against his own..."
"Let's kill him and be done with it!"
"Right! Well, on three? One..."
"Quiet, damn it!" Valerian's voice boomed, and I saw him pushing his way through the crowd of gawkers, shoving them aside. "What happened here?"
"I'm very interested too, Valerian," Quiet interjects from the side. "Why did your man dare to lay a hand on ordinary stalkers?"
"Executioner, explain yourself," Lothar says, casting a grim glance at another stalker captain, then turns back to me.
"He attacked us! Demanded money, and when we refused, he knocked out Stepka and beat me up!" the nasal-voiced one interrupts, eliciting a wave of disapproving murmurs from the stalker ranks.
"I simply asked them to open the gate for me, but they decided to start throwing their weight around, asking who I was, where I was from, how I dared to approach such brave war heroes!" I begin speaking loudly, so everyone can hear. "You all know me. Personally or by rumor, it doesn't matter. And you know that I, along with other stalkers, stormed this hangar, I was on the front line! And it was I who blew up the iron gate from the other side, allowing our guys to get inside! And then some scumbags, whom I'm seeing for the first time, dare to tell me I'm some kind of loser who miraculously bought his gear? Dare to tell me, who spilled blood here, that it was they who suffered for this damn hangar? And after all this bullshit, they dared to try and rob me too! Just think about it, stalkers – a stalker!"
"Confess, Stump," Valerian addresses the nasal-voiced stalker in a deathly voice, turning pale with anger. The stalker leader's cheek twitched, and his fists were clenched white.
"He's lying!" Stump tries to accuse me, but then my new acquaintance intervenes.
"The guy's telling the truth!" Poltinnik pushes through the crowd. "I caught the beginning of the conflict, they were the first to attack him! They started robbing in broad daylight!"
Quiet, with an emotionless expression, sharply turns and quickly disappears into the crowd. At the same time, Valerian orders several burly stalkers to drag away the two bodies lying on the ground and disperses the crowd to their tasks. Only after that does he approach me and lead me aside to talk.
"I have no complaints against you, you did well not to let yourself be insulted," he begins, pursing his lips. "Those scumbags. Now it's clear how they started playing..."
"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.
"Stump and Syava are lackeys we recently took in on Quiet's recommendation," Valerian explains. "Who they are and where they came from is unknown, but I suspect they're from the bandits. The situation, in general, is this. This, uh, unpleasant person, by all appearances, planned to severely damage my authority in the eyes of other stalkers, implying that the bandits were driven out, and they themselves took their place – taking a percentage from other stalkers. As soon as questions arose for me, he would have skillfully disposed of these scoundrels, claiming he had nothing to do with it. And by then, it would have been impossible to get anything out of them. So it would have turned out that I was to blame all around. Either I was negligent, or, even worse, I ordered the collection of tribute myself."
"And they touched me because they didn't think I'd dare to fight back," I say in turn. "I think if I hadn't started hitting them, they would have mentioned you too, saying, 'Behind us stands not just anyone, but Valerian himself.'"
"Most likely," Valerian nods in confirmation and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taking one and then offering me one. I refuse, and the stalker grunts, shrugging slightly.
"You know, something still doesn't add up in my head," I decide to ask something else. "If Quiet brought them, how could he shift all the blame onto you?"
"It's simple. They recently asked to join Yakut's squad," the stalker exhales a cloud of white smoke. "He promised to think about it and, I'll tell you right away, he was generally not against taking them. And then it's a small matter – they cause trouble, other stalkers start complaining, discontent builds up, and in the end, we conduct a forced investigation, during which we find ourselves. And then Quiet, along with Stump, impeaches me and, to the jeers of the crowd, takes my place. As a result, they're on top, and I and those guys who decide to stay with me will have to leave this place."
"And is there any way to prove Quiet's involvement in this whole scheme?"
"How?" Valerian chuckles sadly, extinguishing his cigarette on the brick fence. "He brought them, and then they decided to come under my command. So these woodpeckers would have been my responsibility if not for you. And playing on the emotions of the crowd, like I'm aiming for a second Yogi and soon everyone will have a hard time again, doesn't take much brains. It's not far from lynching."
"It all sounds rather sad," I say, a little stunned.
"What did you think?" Valerian smiles grimly. "This is what an increase in numbers leads to – instead of like-minded people and simply good people, such vampires come, and they cast their shadow over the whole company. On the other hand, our clan cannot stagnate now, we'll simply lose our advantage over others and eventually disappear like morning dew."
"What are you going to do with Quiet?"
"I haven't figured it out yet, I was hoping there wouldn't be a confrontation, and we could come to a reasonable agreement," the stalker's shoulders sag slightly, it was clear he was genuinely upset by what had happened. "But something definitely needs to be done. If they want war with me – they'll get it, we'll see who outsmarts whom."
"In that case, I can only wish you good luck," I place my hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. "If you need my help, just write – I'll try to come right away."
"Thank you, Executioner," Valerian grunts, straightening his chest. "The more painful it will be for me to tell you the following... You'd better not show up here for the next couple of weeks, until the hype of this story dies down. It's possible there will be other provocations, and you've already gained a reputation as a person ready to use his fists. Especially since you almost got into a fight at the bar."
"You already know?" I raise my eyebrows.
"Well, I have to justify myself as a leader in something," he smiles paternally and places both his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them tightly. "Don't hold grudges against them, they'll calm down and understand everything."
"I wasn't even thinking about it."
"That's good," he pats me on the shoulder. "Have a good journey, Executioner."
I nod at him and, with mixed feelings, head towards the exit of the base. This time, although the stalkers glanced at me askance, they opened the gate without question. And as soon as they closed behind me, I turned back, casting a last look at the brick arch of the hangar rising above the fence. I felt uneasy, and frankly, even disgusted. It became much clearer why Valerian's group hadn't survived until the Marked One's arrival. External enemies, internal strife, and, in general, the general disunity of stalkers – everyone seeks profit only for themselves. And there's no difference between some free stalkers and bandits; they even raise their hands against their own.
Much needs to be done before the stalker clans become something more. But this is definitely not my fight. Valerian and the others must deal with it themselves, and I will help them if my help is needed. For now, my path lies south, to my native home and a warm bed, where I can fully rest and catch my breath before going to laboratory X-18. Moreover, until I get a suit with a closed breathing system, it's better not to go into such places. Who knows what kind of experiments were conducted there?
The Cordon, a few hours later.
The evening cradle of stalkers met me with a noisy company right at the northern checkpoint. As soon as I pass through the mesh gate, I immediately stumble upon several stalkers sitting by a campfire, telling each other stories. They were all dressed in leather jackets, only a couple of them sported a flimsy body armor. Some of them lazily glanced at me but immediately returned to their conversation, while others, more engrossed, didn't even lift their heads.
I walk further, not wanting to linger here, but unexpectedly a strange stalker steps into my path. A tall, strongly built man of about fifty, with a long, chest-length, gray beard. A hood was pulled over his head, but his face could still be seen. A long and large nose with a hump, a thin line of lips, and slightly sunken, but attentive
gray eyes. A golden Orthodox cross peeked out from under his beard.
"Greetings, son of God," he says in a deep, resonant voice.
"And to you, greetings, Father," I reply, raising my left eyebrow. I cast a glance at the Winchester shotgun hanging behind the priest.
"Father Diodor," he introduces himself and extends his hand for a handshake.
"Executioner," I see the priest wince at my nickname, but he doesn't withdraw his hand, and I shake it. A very strong priest. "Do you have some business with me?"
"I want to offer you to share bread and water with us and stay for the evening sermon," Diodor replies with a slight smile.
"Forgive me, Father," I bow my head. "But I cannot consider myself a devout Orthodox Christian."
"That doesn't matter, my son," the Father smiles with snow-white teeth. "As long as your heart and soul are open to a kind word, you can be present."
"In any case, I must refuse," I sigh. Why is he bothering me? "I'm tired from the long journey, I want to sleep and just rest. If the spiritual path leads you, Father, to the novice village, I will gladly listen to the sermon."
"M-m, agreed," he nods with determination. "Have a good journey, my son."
"And you, Father."
And then I hurried south on the Cordon, to the village. Nothing happened on the way, except for the sounds of distant gunfire somewhere in the west, beyond the former free stalkers' base. I calmly pass under the bridge, past the elevator, and then the ATP. And after less than an hour, I find myself in the village that has long become my home, exhaling relaxedly. That's it, no conflicts, no quests, and no trips until tomorrow. I'll eat some fried potatoes with meat, wash it down with a shot of vodka, and go to sleep.
"Have you heard this joke?" comes from one of the campfires, around which several novices have gathered.
And somewhere there, behind one of the fences, a loud guitar was strumming, and a young, almost youthful voice was singing "No Way Out," clearly remembering his failed, but very strong love. I just walk home, turn the corner, and approach the locked door to insert the key into the keyhole, but I accidentally miss, and it gives way, opening inward.
"What? What the hell, I locked it..." I whisper to myself, feeling a surge of adrenaline in my veins.
I run into the house, leaving the door wide open, and freeze in shock – the kitchen is turned upside down. Chairs are scattered, a small collection of books left by the previous owners, and dishes, the table is pushed somewhere into the corner. I check my small room – the mattress is torn and reeks of urine. I go further, the entire Hunter's workshop is destroyed, and most of the tools are missing. And, most terrifyingly, the master bedroom. The door lock was forced open, and the entire room was defiled. Cabinets, mattresses, clothes... And the chest with artifacts, which I had left here, was gone.
Whatever creature did this clearly wanted to end its life in the most extreme way possible for itself. And while the chest could be somewhat understood, this destruction of the entire house and... the rest – definitely not.
"Damn it!" I finally lose my temper and kick a hapless pillow with my boot, sending it flying against the wall. "Haa... Well, Wolf, I hope you've prepared a speech, you lousy defender of property."
And in full gear, I go outside.