Cordon, edge of the eastern forest, same time.
The stalkers swallowed nervously, exchanging glances. A chilling horror flooded their entire being. Going deeper into the forest, shrouded in a white haze, seemed like madness and practical suicide, but the man standing before them held himself firm and swaggering, his dark glass visor gleaming. Girya and Zayats synchronously stepped back a couple of paces, gripping their sawn-off shotguns tighter. Petrukha remained standing, although his trembling legs urged him to abandon the idea.
"Know that I will not blame any of you for anything," Palach's voice echoed lightly across the small clearing. "Sometimes it's important to retreat if you feel you are not ready for an important step. But... it's also important to face your fears and move forward, no matter what. Although... I'm not urging you to do anything, just give me your answer."
"Forgive me, Palach," Girya grumbled these two words, averting his gaze and turning away, followed silently by Zayats. The stalkers walked a few meters before turning back for the third newcomer. "Petrukh, and you?"
"And I..." he begins to say, but stops, peering into the distance, lost in the white haze. "I'll go with him. See you at the camp, boys."
The clearing fell silent, broken only by the distant rustle of tall grass and strong gusts of wind swaying the treetops, and at that very moment, Petrukha's mind was filled with terrible, even truly eerie creatures that might inhabit this forest. He understood intellectually that there was nothing terrible there, and Palach's confidence was quite captivating, but the fear of the unknown was difficult to overcome. But... it seemed that if he didn't take this step now, he would be stuck here among
the losers for a long time, as Wolf called most of the camp.
"Only time will tell if your choice was the right one," the experienced stalker's voice broke him from his dark thoughts, and Petrukha readily nodded, fully accepting his words. "Do you have any questions for me that we can discuss now?"
"Yes," he replies, immediately asking. "What should we expect from this forest?"
"Dogs, boars, bears," Palach begins to list, as if casually. "Possibly cats and almost the most insidious creature after a controller – a mimic, currently the only flying mutant I know of. It controls dead stalkers to lure others into a deadly trap using their bodies and voices. Therefore, if you hear someone's pitiful voice begging for help, tell me first. Then, together, we'll decide what to do."
"Have you encountered such a monster?"
"Yes, not too long ago, if you think about it," the stalker muses for a moment. "Maybe a month? Shilov, a merchant from Valerian's group, asked me to find a lost stalker. Alas, that creature had already claimed him. Killing it is very simple, to put it bluntly. The most annoying thing about it is the surprise and attacks from the air, from where you least expect trouble. Relax for a moment – and you'll lose your head. Let's go."
Petrukha nods nervously, squeezing the handle and foregrip of his shotgun until his knuckles turn white, and follows the stalker, who fearlessly stepped into the white haze of fog that enveloped the entire forest. The newcomer glances around warily, listening, but hears only his own footsteps and heavy breathing. Palach, meanwhile, walks completely silently, stepping softly over fallen branches, and then the newcomer tries to imitate his walking style, achieving small results – he started looking at his feet.
Somewhere in the thicket, a displeased owl hooted, and it was echoed by a multi-voiced crow's caw. The stalker shivered, chasing away a host of various distressing thoughts that terrified him to death. It was cold, scary, and very uncomfortable for him in this forest, but persistently, step by step, he followed the experienced one, knowing and feeling that it would benefit him if he survived.
Nearby, a small stream gurgled, and at that moment, Petrukha kicked something soft. Startled, he flinched, raised his shotgun, and stepped back a few paces, peering ahead. A bloody and dead animal with a torn belly and protruding organs. There were huge dents on its body, and its once reddish-white fur was covered in mud and grass, one of its ears was torn off, and… the picture as a whole was not pleasant to the eye.
"Hey, Palach," he quietly calls out to the stalker, and as soon as he stops, he continues, "Someone's lying here..."
"A fox," the stalker replies, turning and walking closer. He bends down to the animal's corpse, examines it carefully, and then looks around. "Understood..."
"A fox? A regular fox? But aren't all the animals here... mutated?"
"The ways of the Zone are inscrutable," the stalker says with a short sigh. "Haa, personally, I believe that animals that were in close proximity to the ChAES have indeed mutated, while for a long time many of their untouched brethren remained. But... mutated animals are remarkably voracious, bloodthirsty, and strong, and therefore ordinary fauna can hardly resist, only run and hide. Consider this encounter with an animal untouched by radiation a real miracle. It's quite possible that it's the only one of its kind in these lands."
Petrukha fell silent, processing the words he had heard. They had somehow managed to touch something deep inside him. The newcomer, both now and in his previous life, had always tried to be more mature, more pragmatic, and not to think about unnecessary things, but now... He couldn't yet cast aside his natural softness, preserved from childhood, and therefore he felt infinitely sorry for the beautiful creature that had met a terrible death. Palach managed to immerse him in brief reflections on the role mutants played in the real, not yet distorted and tormented nature. And it turned out that... they had brought nothing good.
"Why are you frozen?" a stranger's voice breaks him from his thoughts. "We need to go."
"Y-yes!"
Forest, a couple of hours later.
The short walk Palach had mentioned had been going on for several hours, and Petrukha was completely exhausted. He was even tired of being afraid and wary of every rustle, barely dragging his feet through the thickets and trees shrouded in fog. Sometimes the wind would blow, and under its gusts the leaves would rustle, then a large crow would take flight, spreading the sound of its cawing everywhere, then something else. It was annoying. It seemed that the forest, full of dangers, was about to devour them, but something, even someone, constantly saved them from death. And Petrukha even knew the name of this creature. Palach...
The newcomer couldn't help but think about his guide and unwitting mentor, whom he himself had asked to accompany him. And all the more strange it was. Mutants avoided him, preferring to run away at the mere sight of him. Anomalies he bypassed like nuts – even in such impenetrable conditions, he bypassed them well in advance, without using any detectors or even throwing bolts ahead of him, as Wolf had once drilled into Petrukha. Although he couldn't understand much, he did grasp some things. It was better to stick with this stalker and heed every word he said.
"Um," the completely exhausted stalker quietly begins to speak, attracting the experienced one's attention. "Maybe we can take a short break? I'm tired..."
"Will fifteen minutes be enough for you?" Palach asks, turning around, and approaching, easily sits down on the damp grass. Petrukha looks at this with envy, as his jeans would get soaked through the moment he thought of sitting on the ground.
"Yes..." Nevertheless, he nods gratefully, understanding the trouble he was causing the stalker. If not for him, he would have left the forest long ago. "Can I ask something?"
"Go ahead."
"How much longer do we have to walk?"
"Hah, I thought you'd resigned yourself to it," a light, cheerful note can be heard in the stalker's voice. "No, there's just a little bit left. We'll soon reach the old dirt road, and after some more time, we'll reach the village itself. Move aside!"
Palach's sudden shout catches the newcomer off guard, and he stares blankly ahead, not moving at all. Then the experienced stalker, cursing, jumps on him, carrying him aside. Very timely, at that moment, a strange, slightly squelching sound was heard, and at the same second, a huge boar, unlike any Petrukha had ever seen, appeared out of the fog. With a blow of its snout, the huge boar uprooted a young and thin linden tree, as wide as two hands, along with its roots, and let out a piercing squeal that hurt the eardrums.
The front tusks, protruding from behind its lower lip, with uneven chips, were the size of an adult's leg and inspired awe of their owners. A muzzle opened in battle fury, from which thick, whitish saliva hung. Brown fur, in places turning black. Powerful paws with large hooves, and the boar itself looked like it weighed half a ton. It was the first time Petrukha had seen an adult and seasoned boar.
"Move, damn it, if you don't want to die!" Palach shouts into the face of the mesmerized newcomer, jumping off him and instantly moving aside.
The stalker clumsily follows his order, trying to get up, but his chest was constricted by the pain from Palach's weight on him. And he, losing precious seconds, winces and only then tries to stand up. But it was no longer necessary. The stalker sees Palach gracefully circle the raging monster, which stomps its hooves on the grass and tears up clumps of earth, and places the muzzle of the shotgun to the animal's side and fires, felling the boar to the ground with a single shot.
Forest, same place, same time.
I examine the killed mutant and come to a disappointing conclusion. The boar was sick, very sick. Meat growths, visible even through the fur, a bluish tongue, and practically blind eyes with a lot of microbial or fungal dirt. And the fact that it had broken away from its pack also played an important role. It attacked, aiming for the sound of our voices, but then couldn't orient itself and got angry.
I look at Petrukha, who has approached me and is brushing off the grass, and shake my head in disappointment. He has neither hearing nor quick reaction. The potential, let's say, is still too low... And I don't want to develop them. How did he even manage to get to Zaton? Amazing...
"Sorry, Palach, I..." he begins to apologize, but I immediately interrupt him with a wave of my hand.
"No. Your best apology will be action."
"What? Should I butcher the beast?"
"Alas, the mutant is sick, and it's better not to touch it unnecessarily," I calmly utter the phrase, which makes Petrukha awkwardly jump aside from the fallen beast. Heh. "When we get back to the novice village, I'll ask Wolf to appoint you as the chief pig butcher. You'll kill a dozen or two boars, and we'll consider you reformed. I'll check."
The stalker nods like a puppet, hiding his gaze in the thickly growing grass, which had managed to soak up a little of the killed beast's crimson blood. It was clear that he was genuinely ashamed, and I decided to encourage him a little so that he wouldn't get too discouraged.
"It's okay," I put my hand on his tense shoulder and squeeze slightly, shaking the stalker. "Everyone can make a mistake, but not everyone can survive that mistake. Learn, grow, don't sit on your ass in the camp and don't get drunk on vodka. And then, perhaps, we'll conquer the North together."
"Really?" he raises his wide eyes to me and immediately shakes his head. "Uh, you think there's a road to the North? The guys said the places there are impassable. Anomalies, mutants,
some kind of cultists..."
"How quickly you switched gears," I smile approvingly. "And there's always a road, it's not always visible and obvious. Mark my words. And now, since we've dealt with everything, it's time to continue our journey. Look, the fog is starting to clear a little..."
We reached the dirt road I had mentioned about an hour later. Now I tried to walk slower and watch Petrukha more carefully so that he wouldn't get into any trouble. After my words, the newcomer pulled himself together and became much more cautious. Well done, now I see that he has a chance to become a real stalker.
And when the old, long-overgrown road, covered with grass and bushes, leading north, stretched out before us, the remnants of the old tracks could be seen – the grass grew there a little less intensely. And a dozen or two meters from us, small clusters of craters were already visible, swirling up green blades of grass and leaves torn out by anomalies. How much further we had to go was completely unclear; after all, there were no landmarks here, and it was not easy to even estimate our approximate exit point on the maps.
"Pling!" the PDA from the bag sounded softly, and I hurried to take it out. I wonder who decided to write to me at such a time... And I was pleasantly surprised by a message from the trader.
Sidorovich: Executioner, let me know where you are. Hunters will meet you.
07/30/2011, 13:47.
Hmm, I shift my gaze to the clock in the upper right corner of the screen and realize that the message arrived with a significant delay. More than an hour has passed since the trader sent it. It seems the connection in this forest is terrible. I quickly type a text to calm the old man.
Executioner: Sorry for the delay, just reached the old road. The connection in the forest is awful.
07/30/2011, 15:23.
Sidorovich: Received. Go north, hunters will meet you on the way and escort you.
07/30/2011, 15:24.
"The trader wrote," I decide to explain to Petrukha, who is looking at me with interest but not hurrying to ask questions. "They will meet us."
"Good," he replies, adjusting his grip on the rifle.
I put the communicator back in my bag, throw it over my shoulder, and turn north to continue on my way. In general, I was satisfied with the suit so far, although I had yet to test its main properties. The main thing is that it's more comfortable to move in than I thought, even though it weighs significantly more than my old suit.
Some more time passes before, in the distance, further down the road, I notice a detachment of those very hunters, who looked like... hunters? There were only two of them, and from a distance, they looked like the most ordinary stalkers in cloaks with rifles on their shoulders. The hunters were just sitting on the grass in the middle of the path and weren't in a hurry to approach us; instead, they were quietly talking and cracking seeds. I was even a little stunned by this sight. Are there really going to be some problems again because of someone's arrogance?
Just then, one of them notices us and jumps up, waving his hand widely, after which he turns to his still-sitting comrade and helps him up. The latter starts to hobble towards us with a noticeable and strong limp, almost falling over, after which the first one catches him. M-da...
"Hello, guys," greets us a healthy hunter, extending his left hand instead of his right. "Please excuse our hospitality, but..."
"I'm sorry," the wounded stalker, tall and sturdy, with a short hedgehog of light-brown hair under his hood, bows his head. "My leg slipped into a small hole on the wet grass and... I twisted it, in short. Nothing serious, I can move my leg, but it hurts to walk. My name is Ugol, by the way. And this is my friend..."
"Petro," introduces the other hunter, slightly shorter than his comrade, but more broad-shouldered and smiling man with a magnificent black mustache above his lip.
"Oh, and I'm Petrukha!" the newcomer exclaims joyfully, shaking his left palm.
"Look-alikes, then!" exclaims the hunter. They found a reason to rejoice...
"Executioner," I introduce myself briefly. "Is it still far to the village?"
"No-o, only half an hour," Ugol shakes his head and suddenly darkens. "If I walk on my own two feet, with me..."
"Guys," Petro addresses us. "You go ahead yourselves, okay? So we don't slow you down."
"No way," I snort, taking off my bag, handing it to Petrukha, and taking Ugol under my other arm. "We'll get there all together."
"Now that's the spirit!" comes the thunderous laughter of the first hunter, while the second one shyly thanks me, and we set off.
Forest village, a little later.
"In general, things are going quite well for us," Petro decides to enlighten me as we slowly move further along the path. "We shoot animals, sell them through couriers to Sidorovich, whatever we manage to get, and take the money and food. Sometimes we go to him ourselves..."
"And do the couriers also walk through the forest?" asks Petrukha, puffing behind us.
"No," his namesake quickly replies, smirking. "They have their own paths, they always come straight to our village. We were very surprised when we found out you went a different way. We thought Sidor told you about those paths, but it turns out the old man doesn't know everything, not everything. Oh, and here we are, almost there."
On another turn of the path, a hundred meters away, we indeed began to see old, dilapidated one-story houses, sinking into the overgrowth, some of which were partially or completely collapsed. In general, this village looked much worse than the one on the Cordon. Fallen fences with rotten boards, black sheds and baths, broken windows, and a completely overgrown main road with occasional anomalies on it.
"It would be more accurate to call this place a farmstead," Ugol interjects, groaning slightly from the pain in his leg. "Well, it doesn't qualify as a village. By the way, we're staying in the elder's house on the other side."
"And how many of you are there?" asks the newcomer.
"There are only four of us in our hunting group," Petro replies this time. "Me, Ugol, there's also Ukol, our healer, and our leader is Lovchiy, a very cool hunter. Other stalkers occasionally come here, but they don't stay long. But more often than others, a preacher comes, a great guy, they call him Father Diodor. He was here when we found that artifact. He saved us from trouble."
"As far as I know," I rack my memory, stirring up everything I remember from the game. "He preaches against selling artifacts, right?"
"Yeah," Petro nods simply.
"So why did they report him to Sidor?"
"Well, you'll take it, not us," the hunter smiles broadly. "And we won't have any sin. But the money for the information – yes."
"Oh, you scoundrels..."
With such a simple conversation, we arrive at the largest and practically only house that has not been touched by time. Red brick walls, carved blue shutters with Slavic patterns, and above the roof, covered with slate, a chimney rises, from which smoke is billowing. In front of the house, there is a wide yard with mowed grass, it is clear that the hunters take care of the place where they live.
Here we bring the injured Ugol to a bench, seating him, and at this moment, someone comes out into the yard. A thin, bald stalker, dressed only in a shapeless t-shirt tucked into ordinary sports pants. He immediately rushes to the injured man, so fast that I don't even have time to make out his features, and immediately starts examining him.
"Again?" he asks sternly, carefully touching the injured foot. "I told you..."
"Oh, stop it, Ukol," Ugol replies, rolling his eyes. "As if I wanted this myself..."
"Are you from Sidorovich? He said only one stalker would come," a voice says grimly, and the head of this whole establishment appears on the porch of the house. A tall and stately hunter in full gear with a sniper rifle on his shoulder, his face with a strong chin has chestnut sideburns. A long nose with a hump, pursed lips, and gray eyes with faded eyebrows above them.
"Executioner," I introduce myself to him briefly. "I'll go for the artifact for the trader. And this is Petrukha, a newcomer from the village. He insisted on coming with me to gain experience."
"It's a good thing to teach the next generation," he nods deeply, smoothly descending the steps. "You won't mind if we head towards the artifact now? If we hurry, we'll be back before dark."
"No objections."