PART 1
The Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, March 2013, Somewhere South of Chernobyl NPP
Hiker was a stalker. A scavenger, a trespasser, an adventurer, a loner, a killer, an explorer, and a robber. He had been for almost eight months. His coming from the 'outside', as it was known, was like the start of a new life. The outside held nothing for him, just misery. In his time as a stalker, he had seen the re-exploration of the Zone after the second emission, the driving out of Freedom from the Dark Valley. How he remembered that fateful night. The bandits, reformed under a ruthless upstart Borov, swarmed into the Valley, catching Freedom with their pants down. He was nearby at the time, taking one of his treks across the Zone, close enough to hear the frantic radio chatter of Ashot and most of Freedom's men being gunned down as they slept by the bandits, and of Yar and Lukash leading the survivors out of the base, on an exodus through the night, over kilometers through the deadly wastelands and forests.
He had seen the time when Strelok, one of the few 'Marked Ones', left on his fateful trip to the NPP. A long time ago, he saw him in the flesh once. He was a cold man, his mind obviously disturbed by the machinations of the Zone. But that was another story, to be shared over vodka round the fire. Like all in the Zone, his outside name meant nothing, and all stalkers take new personalities as they enter the Zone. Hiker was an apt name, given to him by a grizzled, now dead veteran, who he'd led to safety through the zombie-infested Yantar.
He wandered through the Zone, taking routes through the abandoned, uncharted areas, going deeper into places than many wished to travel. He had been across the Zone many times, he knew the Cordon, the Garbage, the Agroprom, the Duty controlled wildlands of the Rostok factory complex and the swamps around Yantar like the back of his hand. These places were no strangers to Stalkers, and they were subdued and tamed over the years of occupation. Yet he had wandered roads and paths beyond the safe southern reaches of the Zone. He was one of few to claim to have been to the northern areas of Zaton and Yanov station, and returned. Few also ranged past the army warehouses, his current location. The Freedom base in the abandoned army base was the last bastion of any semblance of civilization in the Zone, and was the last stop on the famous road that led all the way from the edge of the Zone, at the Cordon, directly north, all the way the Chernobyl NPP itself. It was on this road that his current path led him, for the time being. To go too far meant death, even with the destruction of the Brain Scorcher by Strelok some months previously. The Monolith faction, still very much alive, were in resurgence after the bloodshed of the scramble to the center after the Scorcher went down. The numbers of Duty, Freedom and Military men 'possessed' by the Monolith was scary to even consider.
Pondering over, he rose from his dozing by the small hut nearby the defenses at the Barrier, and began heading down from the low rise. Checking his gear, he set off into the dark, dead woodland in the gorge that led north, along the NPP road. Like many experienced stalkers with a penchant for artifact hunting, he wore a SEVA suit, worn and battered from extended use, Despite the wear, it offered the best radiological and environmental protection of anything but an exoskeleton. Over it however, he wore a long raincoat, similar to the type worn by bandit leaders, dyed with camouflage patterns, with his rucksack slung over his back. While his apparel signaled him as a veteran of of the Zone, his armaments did the opposite. All he carried was a compact sawn-off pump-action shotgun, rusty from wear, and his old self-modified AK74m, shortened, lightened and silenced for prolonged use outdoors. It was practically a pea shooter compared to the powerful NATO assault rifles favored by the Freedom patrols and Exoskeleton-clad Loners deeper into the Zone. However, they would be breaking and misfiring after 2 weeks use, and when deep in the Zone, repair tools and skills for the shiny expensive western guns were few and far between.
As the hours passed, the dead trees stopped, and the first signs that this used to be Monolith territory became apparent. On either side of the road lay their traditional warning signs, long dead stalkers, impaled on stakes, mutilated and decaying. Hiker paid them no notice. Sights like this were grimly common the deeper one went into the Zone, as those seeking the center met increasingly grisly ends at the hands of the mutants or the Monolith fanatic nut-jobs. This entrance to this hilly, wooded valley that lay up ahead was deserted. As he reached the end of the gorge, the sight before him was common in the Zone. Ahead lay twisted, rotten, dead trees, covered in moss and lichen, surrounding the concreted road leading north, littered with debris from the original extraction and clean up in '86.
Starting down the road, he picked his way through the abandoned vehicles and piles of junk and rubble, searching for booty. All around old steel manufacturing parts and girders jutted out of the piles, resting everything from old fridges to army lock-boxes. Clambering up the piles of Soviet trash, he spied a long wooden stock and gun mechanism protruding, masked by old steel frames. Lying on his front, he tugged on it, to no avail. After struggling silently for a moment, he clambered up, putting his feet either side of it, yanking it hard.
Suddenly, a deafening crack broke the silence, as a bullet ricocheted off a metal strut barely a foot away. Another rang out as he fell back in shock. The bullet just caught his left arm, spinning him forcibly off the pile. Ears ringing, clutching his wounded arm in agony, Hiker stumbled and crawled. Stopping after a meter or so, he lay on the floor, taking it all in. Ambush. Sniper. Shot. Bleeding. He looked down, blood was emanating through a gash in his coat, pouring out thickly.
From experience, he dug out an antiseptic bandage, gasping in agony as he pulled up his sleeve to apply it. The bullet had hit just above the elbow, ripping through the muscle and maybe even smashing through part of the bone. Then he realized just what deep shit he was in. A monotone chant came nearer and nearer, over and over:
“All hail the Monolith. Scourge the Zone of the disbelievers of the Monolith. All hail the Monolith. Give strength to the preservers of the Monolith. All hail the Monolith...”
The Monolithians on patrol were here, and now coming to kill him with all the tenacity and ferocity of rabid dogs. Stumbling to his feet, he ran, crying with pain, as fast as he could for the tree line on the side of the road. As he felt grass under his feet, he heard the chatter of machine guns open up behind him, firing full auto in a barrage of lead. Dashing through the trees, almost bent double, he saw splinters and chips flying from bullet impacts around him. The forces of the Monolith were not known for precision or tactics, but the application of sheer indomitable force.
As the sound of guns dropped off, and the fanatics went to find more prey, he continued running. His Geiger counter was clicking frantically as he passed sections of piping from the long, snaking pipeline running perpendicular to the road, marking the old unofficial boundary of the Brain Scorcher. Thankfully it was long turned off, yet the woods were still full of haunted beasts that had escaped their dark abodes deep within the Red Forest. Every so often, he heard a bark or a snarl, pushing him on further west, deep into the wilderness of the Zone.
When the immediate danger stopped, he almost collapsed to the ground. His arm was slowly losing blood, his legs were tired, his stomach was rumbling, and light was beginning to fade. Above the boughs of the trees, the six great antennae that gave the Radar it's name were visible to the north. To the west, the trees grew darker and the leaves redder, leading to the Red Forest. After re-applying a bandage, he cut down a few branches, and started a small fire to cook up a pie tin from his sack. For an hour, he sat at peace, tending to his wounds, and hungrily wolfing down his dinner. He would need the energy in the coming night.
The greatest horror of the Zone is the night. At night, the nocturnal mutants and beasts replace the diurnal to prowl for food. Though the number of dogs, boars and fleshes drops, more terrible things replace them. Snorks and other worse creatures that are sensitive to the light of day go rabid at night, hunting in packs, especially in the Red Forest, and surrounding swamps and woods of the Yantar and Radar. Without a large group, one cannot camp safely in the wilderness of the Zone.
Yet, the nights in the Zone hold a different terror. The further into the Zone you venture, it's insidious low level psy-emissions play on your conscience, in ways not even understood by the scientists doing field research on it from their bunker in Yantar. This field, over time, they think may cause schizophrenia and psychosis or other such illnesses, and many a stalker has gone crazy deep in the Zone, by not returning to the relative safety of the southern areas. These emissions also cause nightmares. Nightmares so bad that it is not unheard of for stalkers to die of heart failure in their sleep, from fear alone. The only protection is a Faraday cage, leading to the legend of always sleeping with one's head in a bucket when in the Zone.
As the sun set, Hiker turned on his SEVA suit's basic night-vision system, turning the world into fuzzy shades of green. He set off west, towards the setting sun, his USP handgun in his hand. For over an hour, he walked, listening attentively to the click of his Geiger counter, skirting the invisible radiation pockets and stray gravitational anomalies. As the hours and kilometres passed, the forest seemed subdued, almost dead of life in the murky moonlight. He checked his PDA, looking at the map uploaded onto it. Maybe a kilometre remained till he reached the central body of the Red Forest, with its dark, oppressive glades that were deprived of light even during the day.
Suddenly, he heard snarls and groans over the steady click of his detector. He saw motion in the dark bushes, as something moved towards him. Slamming on his head-torch in fear, he saw nothing, just the waving and shaking of the bushes in the wind. Yet the snarling was still coming closer. And the air in the forest was still and lifeless, insulated from gusts. He took a step back, watching the rustling approach nearer and nearer, closer and closer. With sudden roar, the foliage in front of him exploded, revealing nothing. Apart from two yellow dots suspended in mid-air.
Reflexively, he brought up his pistol, firing it into the stomach of the materializing Bloodsucker leaping at him, interrupting it's charge as it collided with him. Scrambling frantically, he leapt to his feet, and bolted. Sprinting as fast as he could, he dashed through the trees, ignoring the warning clicks. listening only to the sound of the beast chasing him. He ran and ran, until a stray root in the treacherous dark intervened. He crashed face first into the dirt, sprawled on his front. He rolled onto his back, pulling the shotgun strapped to his thigh from its straps. Lying on the floor, holding his old pump action shakily, he waited for his hunter. Silence reigned, until he heard the grim rustle of footsteps.
The Bloodsucker, its invisibility ruined by the bloody hole in its torso, staggered towards him. The yellow eyes of the mutated humanoid looked almost pleading as he emptied buckshot into them. Lowering his shotgun, he took in his situation. He was in the Red Forest proper now, somewhere near the centre. His suit was ruptured in a few places, not to mention his wounded arm, and he must be bruised and cut all over. To top it all off, his AK74 had been lost in the struggle, and he had sprained an ankle. He was in serious danger now, all it would take to finish him off would be a pack of dogs, or a snork or two.
Unsure of his direction or location, he started to limp towards an area of trees lit up more by the moonlight than the rest. As he neared it, the trees began to stop altogether, and he reached a place he had only heard of in tales and stories. Before him was a circular clearing, easily 100 meters across, lit up by the waxing moon in the cloudy night sky. In the centre of it, huge tendrils of earth stretched up to the sky, shaped by the huge swirling and shifting anomaly at their core, curling them around it.
This was the Claw anomaly, one of the largest single anomalies in the Zone. It lay almost unreachable in deep in the forest, and only a handful of stalkers had ever seen it and returned alive. He approached, gazing at the huge claws reaching for the sky, and rested by some crates and fire pits of long abandoned stalker camp, taking in heat from the copious burner anomalies in the base of the claw. Strewn around it, long, thick bones lay old and chewed. By their size, they must have belonged to a pseudogiant. Gulping down some vodka to dull the pain, his eyes began to close and his breathing slowed as he came down from the adrenaline of the past hour...
Jerking awake, Hiker's eyes smarted at the watery sunlight peeping through reddish clouds pouring into the clearing as a sharp beep rang his eyes. Fumbling for his PDA, a radio transmission started to play from the speakers: “What are you doing sleeping out there stalker? It's not safe. My name's Forester. I used to be the caretaker of these woods decades ago, and now I look after those few guests I have here. You won't find any help nearby, all the roads to this part of the forest were blocked by the third great emission, you're only the second stalker ever to reach it afterwards. Frankly, I'm amazed you got through to the Claw. To reach my tower at the edge of the forest, you'll need to go north about a kilometre, following the animal track. Eventually, you should find an old tank. Don't ask me how it got there. On top of that, there's a space anomaly. Jump into that and you should be safe. You won't be able to contact me, the woods break up the signal awfully. If all goes well, I'll see you in a few hours.”
Hiker sat stunned, digesting the instructions this 'Forester' had given him. The track he meant was fairy apparent. Maybe he would get out of these woods faster than he planned. Spurred on by the prospect of the possibility of hot food and a warm bed, he scooped up his sack, and inspected his arm. As he worked, rain began to fall, and the clouds became noticeably thicker and redder every passing minute. Thankfully the sniper had missed the joint, and only taken a lump of flesh instead. Even so, it would take weeks to heal fully without a medic back a faction base looking at it. Testing his weight on his sprained leg, he set off down the trail, leaving the sunlight behind, as his PDA bleeped into life again.
“Stalker, run for the space anomaly! There's an emission inbound! Run!” Looking to his right, the base of the clouds were a deep blood red, moving closer and closer, as wind gusted through the trees. Limping in a half-jog, Hiker stumbled as fast as he could, teeth gritted with the pain in his leg. Pushing on through the woods, he staggered over a low rise. The wind picked up, as irradiated dust set off his radiation meter, making the slow click grow with an ominous urgency. As a large silhouette in the dark glade ahead came into view, the slow rumble of the emission shook the ground, and a low roar built up and up, hiding his Geiger counter. Heaving himself up onto the scarred battle-tank, he crawled towards the wildly fluctuation space anomaly above it. Looking at the sky a final time, he saw the great red wall of deadly roiling clouds that marked the peak coming ever closer, almost upon him. He reached into the ball of shimmering air above him,
Everything went white.