Afterward, we sat in complete silence for a while longer, broken only by the slurping of fragrant black tea. Occasionally, I glanced at Valerian, and his face was extremely tense. His eyebrows were drawn together, a small furrow on his forehead, and his long gazes were fixed somewhere in the distance.
"Maybe we should take care of Khaletsky?" I ask, placing my empty mug on the table. "No person, no problem."
"You should have thought about that earlier, much earlier," the stalker sighs deeply and tiredly wipes his face with a broad palm. "And how do you propose to do that? No one will agree to go to the checkpoint, and mercenaries might not even take such a contract if the major is somehow involved in their plans. They'd more likely offer him a contract on us. In any case, there are suspicions that even his death won't save us from the helicopter's arrival."
"Why is that?" it bursts out of my lips.
"Because, my friend, we screwed up," Valerian grins sadly. "It's one thing to capture the checkpoint chief, who was a thorn in everyone's side. And even then, they allowed us to do it because it was beneficial to some of the military. Another thing is to let the major escape. I'm sure his deputies, not the ones we eliminated, didn't even report the incident to their superiors so they could engage in smuggling themselves. So, if Khaletsky hadn't escaped, they might have written him off as a random victim during one of the inspections, and his place would have gone to someone among them. But now it won't work like that, and the former opposition to the major will be forced to fall under his wing, otherwise they'll report his actions to the right people. This won't go unpunished for us."
"And why can't they get rid of him themselves?"
"If only it were that simple, Executioner," the stalker chuckles and carefully places his glass on the table. "Khaletsky, no matter what you say, is a seasoned veteran. And he senses danger like a seasoned beast. We only managed to catch him because he got too relaxed. He thought the stalkers wouldn't go against him. Now, he'll never make such a mistake again. He'll secure himself so much that the other military personnel at the checkpoint will have to dust him off."
"Compromising material?" I guess.
"Exactly," Valerian replies and crosses his arms over his chest, sighing deeply. "That's where our major is very good, in politics... In short,
no matter what we do, it's a dead end, Executioner. If we leave him alone, he'll take revenge; if we kill him, others will take revenge. For not keeping our promise. So don't rack your brain and don't even think about messing with the military. It won't help anyway."
"Can I help in any way?"
"No, but thank you for the offer," the stalker smiles sadly and shifts his gaze to me. "I was thinking... We won't say anything about you leaving our ranks for now. Unity is more important to us now than ever, so we'll just keep quiet about your status to avoid sowing unnecessary panic. You, as I understand it, want to visit the village again? I'll tell the others that you went there on my orders. If you don't mind, of course."
"I don't mind."
You have left the group of Free Stalkers.
The Cordon, early the next morning.
Without waiting for the general wake-up call, I quietly dressed, tidied myself up, packed my things, and headed for the novice village. It's a shame I won't be able to say a proper, human goodbye to the guys. But Valerian was undoubtedly right; now is not the time for sad news. If more people leave, the group will have a very hard time.
In any case, it will be easy to keep an eye on the military from the village and inform my former comrades about their movements. At least some help from me. I leave the left building, which served as a makeshift barracks, and am already heading towards the camp exit when I notice a stalker a little distance away, by the wall. It was the guard who met us yesterday. If I'm not mistaken, the guy's name was Shaiba, and he joined Valerian shortly before the war with the bandits.
A very young stalker, with a light fuzz instead of stubble, stood leaning his back against the wall, holding his stomach as if he were about to throw up. His face was pale, his gaze unfocused, and sweat had broken out on his skin. I walk a little closer to ask if he needs help, and I see a full backpack and a shortened assault rifle leaning against it next to his leg. The kid is fully equipped, and it's only a little past six in the morning; everyone is still asleep. The guard change is far off, and raids are out of the question. Strange.
I look around and my eyes widen in surprise. There are no guards. Not a single one. Not on the roof, not at the camp entrance. Why didn't I notice immediately? I'll have to wake Valerian because this is not a healthy situation at all. As I looked around, Shaiba came to his senses a bit, grabbed his backpack and rifle, and headed towards the exit. Another deserter, then?
I didn't call out to him. I saw no point. He was with Valerian's group for at most a week and a half, was on rations the whole time, and as soon as a problem appeared on the horizon, he disappeared into the bushes. And... in general, I thought we were similar. Of course, I'm not running from problems and am ready to stay and help the guys, but I'm leaving too. Just as secretly as he is. He ruined my whole mood.
Watching Shaiba leave the camp, I turn back to wake Valerian. The situation was beginning to take catastrophic turns – more and more people were deserting. What if only those who returned from the Dump remained? And the deserters also left the base unguarded, not even thinking about what could happen to their comrades.
I quietly open the door to Valerian's office so as not to wake him with a sudden movement, and slowly approach the bed. The stalker, wrapped in a prickly army blanket, lay on his side, facing the wall. I carefully place my hand on his shoulder and begin to shake him gently.
"Wake up, Valerian," I whisper almost in his ear. "Get up..."
It didn't last long. At some point, the free man groaned, squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, and stretched, extending his muscles. Then he opened his still sleepy eyes, turned, and looked at me with a bewildered gaze.
"Executioner?" Valerian says hoarsely, rubbing his eyelids. "What are you doing up so early? Did something happen? Ugh!"
"Deserters," I reply, strongly suppressing the urge to yawn after him. "The guards have fled in full force and left the base unguarded."
"What!?" the stalker exclaims, sitting up sharply in bed and starting to put on his boots. "Those scoundrels!"
"Yeah," I nod, agreeing with him. "Lucky it was without incident."
And then the enraged Valerian went to sort things out. He woke everyone up – both those who came from the Dump and those who had stayed here all this time. At first, there was disgruntled grumbling, but as soon as they heard that the deserters had left the camp unprotected, they all understood why the leader was so angry. It's one thing to quietly leave the group, and quite another to leave your comrades under threat. After all, the bandits could have been preparing some final blow, or an unpleasant mutant could have wandered right into the barracks. It would have been a natural massacre.
After observing the punishment and the posting of new guards from the side for a while, I decide to head to the novice village. Finally, I approach Valerian to ask if he has any business for the stalkers beyond the railway embankment, but upon hearing a negative answer, I quietly leave. I still felt uneasy, but I tried to come to terms with this feeling. I had done everything in my power for these people.
The Cordon, which had once become so dear to me, now looked a bit alien and unfamiliar. There was no explanation for this; I had probably just gotten out of the habit. At the exit of the camp, I turn right and walk at a slow, steady pace to the embankment. I'm not even surprised when I'm met by an empty camp under the bridge. How strange that the strongest of the stalker factions, apart from Duty or Freedom, is falling apart like a house of cards due to the threats of just one military man. Sad.
Crossing the embankment, I pass the empty elevator, then the same ATP, and the memorable wagon with concrete slabs laid out in front of it. Life in the Zone seemed to have frozen this early morning. I met no one and nothing on the way, except for a couple of gravitational anomalies and a small pocket of radiation. I didn't even notice any mutants.
The novice village itself was still asleep. The dilapidated houses with crooked fences looked deserted due to the darkness in the broken windows, but I knew that wasn't the case. I walk deeper into the camp under the stern gaze of a formidable novice in a beige jacket with a pistol in his hand and look around. Just an empty street. Hmm, why not ask?
"Hey, kid," I approach the guard leaning against the fence at the entrance to the village. "Did a lot of stalkers come this morning?"
"What's it to you?" he retorts defiantly. "Are you one of Valerian's guys? Then know this, we don't give up our own. And if you don't want to get kicked out of here, behave more respectfully."
"Our own? But you're not one of ours," I begin to muse aloud. "Or have the deserters started gathering stalkers into some group of their own..."
"What, didn't you understand!?" the stalker suddenly gets angry. "Then I'll... Khh-khh!"
I deliver one light but quick fist blow to his Adam's apple, causing the guy to stagger back, hitting the fence with his back, and start coughing violently. At the same time, while he's still reeling, I snatch the pistol from his hand and toss it aside. Then, with my left hand, I grab him by the back of the neck and press the sharp blade of a hunting knife to his throat.
"Well? What did you want to show me?" I hiss quietly, still holding the reddened stalker tightly.
"Khh-khh... Let go..." he demands quietly but clearly, his eyes darting frantically from side to side. "Or the guys will deal with you..."
"You'd better ask them who you raised your hand against," I reply with a chuckle, but then another stalker appears.
"Let him go, or I'll blow your head off!" a familiar voice says menacingly, and turning back, I see Volkov there in just a t-shirt and sweatpants. He looks at me in dismay but lowers his assault rifle.
"What, will you shoot even me?" I ask, squinting, and finally let the guy go.
"What happened here?" the dark-haired stalker asks, shifting his gaze from me to the reddened one.
"He!.." the latter was about to blurt something out, but Volkov quickly stopped him.
"You be quiet," he says, looking sternly at the guard. "Well?"
"I just asked if many stalkers had come to the village in the morning. This one," I nod towards the disarmed man. "Started being insolent, and in the end, even grabbed for his pistol. I had to calm him down."
"Mmm," Volkov groans loudly and slaps his face with his palm. "How you've annoyed me, Uvalen. First the endless swearing throughout the camp, then fights, and now an attack! How many times have I told you to behave yourself, huh? Get out, I don't want to see you."
The stalker turned even redder than from the blow and glared at me maliciously. Then he started crawling on all fours, searching for his pistol in the grass, muttering something under his breath the whole time. And then Volkov's voice calls out to me:
"And why are you standing there? Come in, tell me where you've been and what you've seen."
"Right now," I answer him loudly and turn to Uvalen. "If you glare at me like that again, or decide to attack me sneakily, I'll kill you. I hope you understand."
The interior of the novice leader's house remained the same as it was before I left. I take off my shoes in the hallway and head to the kitchen, where Volkov has already laid out a variety of food. Here are the remains of yesterday's boiled potatoes, quickly reheated in a pan with oil, and pickled cucumbers, and two full shot glasses of vodka. How I missed this. If there's one thing, the food on the Cordon is the best in the Zone. Thanks to Sidor. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I rush to wash my hands, then return and sit at the table.
"Well, to our reunion!" after
the pan was completely empty, Volkov raises his shot glass, and after clinking it with mine, we drink. The stalker winces with satisfaction, and I hurry to grab a pickle to chase away the bitterness. "Tell me, Executioner, how are things with you? How did it go with the bandits?"
"Things are great," I reply. "I had to run around a lot, but the bandits, with rare exceptions, are destroyed; the Dump is under our complete control. We got through with almost no losses, a dozen or so wounded and only four killed."
"To success!" the stalker pours another round.
"There's just one problem, Khaletsky escaped and promised a good revenge. After that, many of those who remained on the Cordon decided to flee. Do you know anything about this?"
"You know," Volkov frowns and purses his lips, thinking, but after a couple of seconds, his face smooths out. "No, nothing. Only that the guys from your brotherhood have been visiting here often for the past few days and have been constantly mingling with the novices. What, is it that serious?"
"It's unclear," I shrug. "The only thing I can say is that Valerian decided to move the Free base to the former bandit depot. Just in case. And, judging by what I know, the Dump promises to become the new center of stalker life. In general, whatever happens, it's for the best. And how are things here with you?"
"Oh, I wish you hadn't asked," the stalker waves his hand. "The novices are completely green, afraid to stick their noses out of the village, but they're demanding rights like Uvalen. We should just send him somewhere far away from here. And his friends too..."
"And does he have many friends?"
"No, just a couple of guys he came with from the Predbanik. And, by the way, he was constantly hanging around your deserters and looking up to them," Volkov says and smirks. "Are you afraid you crossed such an important stalker?"
"Let him wipe his ass with his importance," I chuckle, standing up from the chair, and mentally bring up the status window to check the time. Half past eight. Sidorovich should have woken up by now. "It was good sitting with you, Volkov, but I still need to visit the Hunter and Sidor. And thanks for breakfast. I'll treat you tonight."
"Deal," Volkov says, seeing me off with a smile.
Sidorovich's Bunker, five minutes later.
"Greetings to the workers of the security front," I greet Stas, who, as usual, was sitting on a chair by the weapon cabinet.
"And to you, don't cough," he replies. "You've been gone for quite a while. Were you busy?"
"You could say that. Is your boss receiving already?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good," I say, starting to put the weapons in the cabinet. The assault rifle, both pistols, and the blade, everything went under lock and key. "Here, check the rifle. I'm bringing it for sale."
The merchant's guard silently takes the weapon from my hands and examines it carefully, then unloads it and looks into the chamber. Convinced that I have nothing to shoot his employer with, he opens the door to Sidor. The merchant himself was clearly in high spirits, brewing tea and quietly humming some tune from a Soviet film, something painfully familiar, but I couldn't recall what exactly. Hearing the metallic clatter from the door, he turns towards me.
"Hello, hello," Sidorovich grins widely and, after taking a large sip of tea, sets the mug aside. "Always happy to see a stalker from a long raid. Either you've brought something interesting, or you're about to make a substantial purchase."
"I won't even ask how you know about my raid," I smirk and shrug my backpack off my shoulder to get the diary out. "But you guessed wrong today. Today I've brought you a couple of mementos, here, take them."
The merchant looks at me skeptically, but still takes the book and rifle in his hands. He immediately sets the double-barreled shotgun aside and begins to read. It was amusing to watch Sidorovich's displeased expression change to one of joyful sadness, perhaps, and disbelief. Quickly flipping through a few pages, Sid reluctantly places the diary on the table in front of him.
"Where did you find this?" he asks hoarsely.
"I stumbled upon Dil's last refuge by chance," I reply softly.
"Dil... You read his diary, didn't you? No, don't say anything, I can see it myself. And the rifle must be his too?" to which I simply nod. "You've puzzled me, Executioner, very much so. What do you want for it?"
"Nothing," I shrug. "Except... Maybe you'll give me some food, to set up a clearing? I want to celebrate my return."
"For how many people?"
"For three," after thinking that there's no one else to invite, I reply. "It'll be me, Volkov, and the Hunter. And you come too, if you want."
"Ha-ha," Sidorovich laughs loudly and hoarsely, then smiles with satisfaction. "No, stalker, I won't go. But thank you... for everything. Come back in a couple of hours, I'll gather everything for your tea party. And are you sure you don't want anything else from me?"
"No, nothing. I don't haggle for people's memories. I'll be back in two hours, goodbye, Sidorovich."
"Goodbye, stalker," the merchant's muffled voice reaches me.
Well, now the most important thing is left. Meeting with the Hunter. Taking all my gear, I leave the bunker and head for the far right house at a leisurely pace. I go through the fence, stand on the porch, and just as I'm about to open the door with my key, it suddenly opens. And there stands my mentor.
The Hunter had aged considerably in the time we hadn't seen each other. And although he looked much better than after the bloodsucker's bite, it was clear how the illness had drained his last strength. I smile broadly and step forward to meet him, hugging him tightly but carefully.
"I thought you wouldn't come to see me," the mentor says very quietly, returning my embrace.
"I decided to leave the most important thing for last," I reply, breaking the embrace.
"Haha, don't flatter me," the Hunter says, laughing lightly, and gestures for me to come inside. "Come in, come in, I'll pour some tea, and we'll talk about everything."
He disappears into the kitchen first while I take off my boots. Freed from my footwear, I walk further into the house, put my backpack on the floor, and my assault rifle next to it. I wash my hands in cold water with soap and join the old man. He had already placed two large mugs on the table, filled with an aromatic drink, and a cracked glass bowl with a handful of colorful candies. I sit down and take one of them, unwrapping it and taking a bite. Then I immediately wash it down with tea, and the chocolate sweetness washes off my tongue, leaving a pleasant aftertaste.
"Well," the Hunter says impatiently, sitting opposite me and also taking a sip from his mug. "Tell me, my student, where have you been, what have you seen there, and what creatures have you hunted?"
"I've hunted all sorts of things," I reply with a warm smile and begin my long story.
I'm home.