“I reckon I do, mate.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure! I heard a thing or two about Chernobyl. I grabbed one as soon as I knew we were going on a trip to Ukraine!”
“Amazing,” Tarasov says. Many people try to think about every scenario they might encounter on a trip into any wilderness, but very few actually prepare for them properly. Sawyer appears to belong to these few. He suddenly takes the survivalist much more seriously. “Give me that Geiger right away.”
Sawyer’s US-made, PRM-8000 type portable radiation meter appears to him as a compromise between effectiveness and ease of use; very much in contrary to the Russian meters where the earlier always came first over the latter. It wouldn’t match the sensitivity of a scientific meter, but what it lacks in accuracy is made up by its versatility: constant monitoring, straightforward operation and tone warning that can be muted in situations requiring silence. The case was made using metal if for additional ruggedness. All in all, it is a very useful device unless one is bound to penetrate the deepest, most contaminated areas of the Exclusion Zone.
Tarasov adjusts his belt to find a place for the cell phone sized device and then leads on. “There was a flower-bed nearby, but Strelok had trampled it down. The smell lingered for a long time though.”
“Why did he do it?”
“I don’t know. I asked him why, too. And he said, ‘you’ll understand later.’ I think he just came to hate the Zone.”
“Strelok, that’s his name?”
“A nickname, Top. Like yours. He was my teacher. He opened my eyes. Then something happened to him, something broke in him. Though I think he was punished… for knowing too much of the Zone’s secrets.”
“How do you mean, punished? Or was it just a figure of speech?”
“Some people returned from here and get rich overnight. Fabulously rich. You call it punishment?”
“Can be, mate.”
“Some hang themselves a week later. Strelok was looking for different riches. That’s why he is still alive. Though he paid a heavy price for it.”
Tarasov suddenly raises his fist.
The sound of a lonely cuckoo in the woods fells silent. A long, muted howl permeates the foggy valley.
“What was that?” the Top whispers.
Tarasov waits for a minute, then gives the sign to march on.
“There’s not supposed to be any blind dogs here,” he murmurs to himself. “Not in the Rim… or is it expanding so quickly?”
“What is the Zone about?” Pete asks.
“No one knows.”
“And what do you think?”
“Nothing… or anything. A message to mankind, as some pompous scientists say. Or a gift. Some gift. Like a poisoned apple. Sweet poison for some. How do you think the New Zone was created, Top?”
“Ask Nooria. She’ll tell you it’s always been there, kept at bay by some weird witchcraft.”
“Didn’t take you for a believer in witchcraft,” Sawyer says.
“I only believe what I see, and I’m telling you—I’ve seen some really weird things in the sandbox after the nukes had hit it. Bad things. Then Nooria grew up and she’d let us see the good things.”
“What are you talking about, mate?”
“Afghanistan.”
“Mister Stalker, could you please explain in what a bizarre company I am?”
“It’s not bizarre. I was serving as an army officer in the Exclusion Zone for years. The Top, I mean Sergeant Major Hartman, did the same in Afghanistan. He came to love it too much to leave it. Am I right, Top?”
“About. Nooria’s mother wants us to leave. But we’ll only decide once we know if we love or hate it more.”
“Then, Nooria… who are you?”
“I am Misha’s woman and Pete’s big sister.”
“Apart from that?”
“Warriors call me witch. I don’t mind—they must not know everything. Only Colonel does.”
“Mysterious like always. So, last not least, the kid named Pete is the son of the all-knowing commander of the Tribe.”
“The Tribe?”
“Actually, I always wanted to ask you,” Pete says directing his words to Hartman. “I am a little confused about this. Sometimes you refer to Marines, sometimes you say Tribe… what are you after all?”
“The Tribe begins where the Corps ends. Coincides with the thin red line separating the call of duty from what’s beyond it.”
“Bloody amazing… You’re the most interesting folks I’ve met in a long, long time.” Sawyer halts his steps and wipes sweat from his neck.
“We’ll have to pass through a tunnel soon,” Tarasov says. “Look… over there.”
A hundred or so meters ahead, the rails lead directly into a tunnel.
“Looks like a gigantic mouth devouring the rails,” Pete whispers.
“Tuzla Tunnel.” Tarasov takes a bolt from the pouch and readies the detector. “Listen up. From now on, do only what I say. Keep your rifles ready but do not shoot at anything without me telling you so.”
“Local version of the Salang Pass?” the Top asks.
“Much shorter. Darker, too. Stalkers also call it the Meat Grinder.”
“And what are those things over there?”
Tarasov looks at the direction Sawyer is pointing. In the proximity of the tunnel entrance, his eyes detect blurry orbs that appear like huge soap bubbles.
“Stay where you are.” He takes a step closer to inspect the bubbles. “Don’t move.”
He opens the anomaly detector but it doesn’t indicate any danger. Cursing the limited capabilities of the low-end device, Tarasov takes a bolt from his pouch and throws it ahead.
The bolt disappears, as if sucked in by a void but no electric discharge sizzles, neither does the bolt go up in acidic flames. Yet the blurry orbs are there, unless his eyes are playing a trick on him.
“Stay away. This looks like an anomaly… a Space anomaly!”
“What if I take a chance—”
“Sawyer! Stop! Listen, what’s the matter with you?”
“Here a risk, there a risk. What the hell!”
“No! Those things… No one knows where you end up if you touch them! You could be caged for eternity in God knows what dimension!”
“You may do as you wish, but I must experience this!”
“You’re insane. Wait! Keep your hands off! Don’t touch it, I said! The others be my witness, I didn’t let you go there! You go of your own will!”
The survivalist reaches for the blurry orb.
“Of my own will. What else?”
“Nothing. Go, if you insist. God help you to be lucky!”
It is a matter of seconds for the orb to extend and a flash blinding them. When they open their eyes, the orb is still there but Sawyer has disappeared.
“Holy fuck,” yells Pete, “did you just see that?”
“Where did he disappear?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did it kill him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
“This is no place for leisurely strolls. The Zone wants to be respected. Otherwise it will punish,” Tarasov says, trying to hide his anguish behind words.
“Shit,” Hartman says. “I was beginning to like him.”
“The Zone is a very complicated system—of traps, and they’re all deadly. At the moment someone shows up, everything comes into motion. Old traps disappear and new ones emerge. Safe spots become impassable. Now your path is easy, now it’s hopeless. That’s the Zone. It may even seem capricious.”
“So it decides whom it lets pass?”
“I don’t know. I think it lets those pass who have lost all hope. Not good or bad, but wretched people. But even the most wretched will die if they don’t know how to behave. Whatever happened to him — maybe his example will save at least your lives by making you more cautious. Is that clear? Put on your headlamps and follow me.”