“Stoi! Lay down your weapon!” The words echoing in the tunnel ahead are Russian, but spoken with a strangely soft accent. “You are surrounded!”
His memories from last night’s encounter with the snake-like mutant still alive, Tarasov recoils as he sees a thick cable descend from one of the wall openings behind him. His distress gives way to fear as three commandos slide down the rope and take cover behind the wrecked bus, moving swiftly like cats without even giving him a chance to aim his rifle.
“Surrender!”
Tarasov takes his chance and leaps into cover behind the wrecked Humvee. Automatic rifle fire starts ringing out from behind the bus. He throws himself to the ground. A hail of bullets hit the Humvee’s massive steel frame.
Where in the hell is that fucking sniper?
Even betrayal comes to his mind when a familiar rifle barks up. Crow runs up to him, panting but with a victorious grin on his face.
“At last! We’re sitting ducks here,” shouts Tarasov amid the rifle fire. “They’ve blocked the tunnel ahead!”
“Sorry bro! I had to switch the scope to the Abakan.”
“Give suppressing fire from the left!”
Crow stays in cover while firing a long burst, holding his rifle over his head and what was once the vehicle’s engine compartment. At the same time, Tarasov rolls to his right, jumps up and rushes forward, firing his AKSU into the enemies appearing in the beam of the torchlight.
“Forward,” he screams, “forward!”
His limb hits against something hard as he moves in to finish the ambushers. He can hear someone barking commands but the crossfire coming from left and right cuts them short. One enemy tries to drag himself away. Tarasov grabs and turns him onto his back.
“Who are you?” he asks him in a commanding voice. All he gets in reply is a scornful grin that doesn’t vanish even as he points his rifle at the enemy’s face. It turns into a grimace when Tarasov fires his weapon. Stepping closer, the Stalker looks down at the body.
“Damned mercenaries… I tried to loosen up their tongue more than once. But they wouldn’t talk.”
“Check him for loot if you want,” Tarasov curtly replies. There is something about their adversaries’ trained movements and uniform equipment that makes him feel uneasy. While the Stalker busies himself with checking the bodies, Tarasov keeps his weapon aiming towards the tunnel stretch where the mercenaries descended, though the helicopter’s noise has now receded into the distance.
“I found a pack of smokes,” Crow joyfully reports. “Do you want one?”
Thick dust swirls in the light of Tarasov’s headlight but the temptation to remove his gas mask is too strong. “Quadruples the dose of daily radiation,” he grumbles, “and fills your lungs with polonium…”
“Correct, but that was not my question.”
“All right… give me one.”
The Stalker removes his gas mask and sits down on the body of a dead mercenary as if it was a cushion. He lights up his cigarette, then offers the pack and his lighter to Tarasov. “I’m trying to quit, you know. But there are moments when I could kill for a smoke.”
“You just did,” Tarasov replies removing a cigarette from the box.
“Yeah… You know, bad habits die hard. Maybe if I stick to my bad habits, I’ll also die hard.”
Through the smoke of his cigarette, Tarasov carefully studies the Stalker. Crow’s combat skills seem too good for a Loner Stalker, for whom battle was more about satisfying trigger-happy fingers and surpassing each other with cocky battle cries than following coordinated tactics.
“You’ve got a good sense for teamwork, you know?”
“Heard that before. Take it, buddy… don’t let anyone say that Crow didn’t share his smokes.” The Stalker puts the still burning cigarette butt into the mouth of the corpse he was sitting on and gently pats its face. “Molodets. You no longer need to care about lung cancer, do you?”
As they move on with Tarasov taking the lead, he soon halts in his tracks when his torchlight illuminates a huge bulk of fangs and muscles, its fur scorched by fire. The air surrounding it still smells of burnt flesh.
“At least the mercs took care of this one,” Crow remarks as they pass by the dead mutant.
“What the hell was that?”
“I’d have thought you have bears in the Zone. Don’t you?”
“Bears? No. Especially not like this, with claws longer than a hand’s span and a row of spiky bones along its spine.”
“If I ever have kids, I’ll take them to the Zone one day. It must be like a petting zoo.”
After hours in the darkness and suffocating dust, Tarasov feels relief wash over him when, at last, daylight glimmers at the far end of the tunnel. He has to force patience and caution on himself as he moves from the wrecks to wall niches, still concerned about more gunmen waiting to ambush them. When they reach the exit, Tarasov exchanges a glance with the Stalker. Crow nods and they exit the tunnel at the same moment, Tarasov aiming his weapon and scanning the area for any hostiles, while Crow does the same to his left.
“Clear,” Tarasov says lowering his AKSU.
“Looks like we made it, bratan,” Crow replies with a sigh.
The Geiger counter clicks steadily at normal level, meaning that Tarasov can at last remove his gas mask and take a deep breath, enjoying the fresh and cool air streaming into his lungs. After the dark and narrow tunnel, his senses struggle to perceive the awe-inspiring scenery.
He raises his binoculars. Flanked by snow-capped peaks, the valley descends steeply towards the south where a wide plain opens up, covered by lush forest. Clouds of mist drift over the dark green foliage that stretches towards the horizon. Low clouds cover the view beyond the far hills that bite into the steel-blue sky like giant teeth. Deep in the forest, the hugest anomaly he has ever seen looms, having carved a gigantic archway leading into the hills beyond it. The glint of purple fire flashes in its middle. An exhilarating sense of freedom overcomes Tarasov.
“Welcome to the New Zone,” Crow says behind him.
Tarasov turns to share his excitement but freezes at the sight of the silenced Glock that Crow is holding in a steady aim, his eyes narrowed and not promising anything good.
“Ruki ver,” the Stalker coldly says, “drop that weapon, boyevoychik. “
Tarasov lets go off his rifle and raises his hands as commanded.
“Lock your fingers behind your head. Get down on your knees… molodets. And now, it’s time for you to properly introduce yourself. Who are you and what was in that chopper?”
“We didn’t come here to harass the Stalkers! Didn’t I tell you already?”
“I don’t care about the Stalkers. I want to know what was in that chopper. Especially in the Mi-8 that made it through.”
“We were escorting a scientific expedition—”
“That’s bullshit.”
Tarasov sighs, knowing there is no way he can bluff his way out. His only hope is to be convincing enough for Crow to let him live, yet also be skillful enough to omit what little he knows of the scientists’ mission.
“I am Major Mikhailo Tarasov, Armed Forces of the Ukraine. We are on a search and rescue operation…”
Crow listens carefully to his story, without showing any emotion. Only when Tarasov describes the commandos destroying the helicopter does he narrow his eyes.
“They took an exoskeleton? That actually explains a thing or two.” The Stalker holsters his weapon. “Okay. You’re not a hunter. You’re being hunted.”
“Does that make two of us?” Tarasov asks, still unsure whether Crow is an ally or not.
“Let’s move into that hut over there and have a little chat.” the Stalker replies.