The Zone

by Rostok

2: Run to the Ground

Strelok, Degtayrev and Kulgrov headed out the next morning, gathering up anything worth scavenging, as little as there was. The soft dawn light cast long shadows over the factory courtyard, making it look oddly calm and beautiful compared to it's usual dark, decrepit visage. Leaving the small shelter, they entered the more administrative area of the factory following the road through to the far side. In some ways, Strelok was grateful that the path ahead was thick with anomalies. Kulgrov was still weak from malnourishment, and spending time plotting a route round the mixture of electro and gravitational anomalies left plenty of time for rest. Having had so much experience in it, he left it to Degtayrev to find the path through, heading off to pick up the handful of minor artefacts left by extinguished anomalies. An hour or so later, as the anomalies started to thin out, he looked out to the road ahead, almost directly north. It felt familiar... looking back at the factory, a wave of nausea came over him, memories rushing back.

Running like a bat out of hell up the road; looking back at the factory to see a stalker pursuing him with clear murderous intent, judging by the stray bullet passing him; throwing his bag of supplies under a flatbed truck when the stalker was out of sight at the bridge crossing so he had the speed to escape; frantically radioing Fang to blow the underpass doors they'd rigged with explosives; the boom and the darkness of the tunnel.

Coughing and spitting, he saw the engraving on his recently acquired rifle: Scar. That was who his pursuer was, his would be assassin. Looking back up at the road ahead, a dot moved on the horizon. Motioning for the others to hit the floor, he fell to one knee and pulled out his rifle, looking for the shape through his sniper scope. It was a stalker in a classic green loner's sunrise suit, lightly armed with a heavy pack. He was young and clean shaven by the look of it. No one he knew.

Someone obviously unafraid of the dangers nearby it seemed. The red forest lay to the east, the border wall on the side of the road all the way to the iron bridge. Slowly standing up, he walked out towards the loner as he heard the quiet "Hail!" and saw the man wave towards them.

They shook hands, left-handed as was customary in the Zone. Not having one's shooter to hand when dealing with an unknown stalker was always a bad idea. After meeting their first bandit, every newbie stalker knew it paid to be mistrustful of strangers.

"Pilot."

"Strelok."

The stalker looked taken aback.

"Wow, Strelok in the flesh. Everyone thought you'd died or left or something."

"I did, leave that is. I was persuaded to come back."

"Oh. Where you headed?"

"North. You?"

"The bar, I need a hell of a drink. I've come from the Skadovsk, up north. If that's where you're going, don't bother, everyone's dead. The whole north-western Zone was flooded by mutant hordes and wracked by emissions day and night, I was in the last group to get out I think..."

He looked reflective for a second.

"I ditched the rest of them back at the rickety old bridge. They were heading into the red forest, to try and find some old guy that lives there. Sounds like suicide if you ask me."

"True. Was there any reason for the Zone going rampant?"

Strelok's interest was piqued. It looked like things were bad all across the Zone.

"Well, I'd say the only reason I saw was with the rest of the survivors. I'd find them if you want answers."

"Thanks. Oh, and I would stay clear of Rostok city if I were you. The same things are happening down in the south as well. Apparently Duty's besieged day and night by non-stop mutant attacks and are barely able to get in or out. Same thing in the Cordon too."

Pilot looked dejected.

"Be seeing you. Good luck in the red forest, you'll need it."

He set off towards Yantar. Kulgrov and Alexander came up to him.

"Our first lead's not far from here, in the Red Forest. If they're alive then it sounds fairly promising. Let's head out before anything finds us."

---

Hog stood in front a large gap in the crumbling yellow walls around the Red Forest. Behind him, the the sunlight vanished almost entirely under the thick canopy of gently swaying red boughs. The rest of his small group sat around him.

"This is going to be the most dangerous part of the trip so far. Apparently even before the troubles started up, this area was teeming with both packs of psydogs and bloodsuckers. You all need to stay close to me, though Nimble and Nitro, you take the rear. All of you have to be on the lookout, the longer we take to notice something coming, the more likely one or more of us will die, ok?

Bloodsuckers can turn almost entirely invisible, only their yellow eyes are visible. They're humanoid, so don't underestimate their abilities, they can be canny hunters. If you see one uncloaked, then it hasn't spotted us yet. What I'm more worried about are the psydogs. While they usually only hunt alone or in pairs, they create extremely lifelike apparitions of themselves, often 4 or 5 at any one time. The apparitions will disappear if they take a bullet, so put a shot into each dog, if it's still there, open fire. Most inexperienced stalkers wouldn't survive their first encounter with either of them without help, and none of you are fighters, the faster we move, the better.

I want you all to stay here, I'm going to try and sort out a safe route, I'll be back with an hour at least, so stay out of sight in the watchtower by the bridge. Have someone looking out to check for anything incoming."

They all murmured in assent, checking their gear and weapons while wandering over to the small watchtower overlooking the river.

Hog turned, cocking his assault rifle and stepping into the unknown. The forest was cool and damp, even for him in his exoskeleton. Setting off northwards, he pulled off his helmet and held his binoculars to his face, listening as well as looking in all directions. There was distant barking to the southwest, but no sound up ahead. What troubled him were the anomalies in the distance where the ground started to rise up.

He replaced his helmet, and clipped a small climber's hip bag to his belt, re-appropriated to hold bolts and other small scraps of metal. Holding his rifle ready at his shoulder, he carefully paced forward step by step, noting the trees on either side of his path. Clicking broke the silence, suddenly jumping in intensity. He took a few steps back, marking a clear line in the leaves, and proceeded in a wide circle around the radioactive hotspot.

When the thick anomaly field lay directly ahead of him, he paused for a swig of vodka, every stalker's remedy for both radiation and the deep fear of the landscape so deadly. Closing his eyes for a second he regulated his breathing, getting himself under control. With the care of a surgeon, he dropped his right hand into the bag, keeping his rifle steady, and tossed a bolt into a small gap in the visible air distortions. With a screech and flash of sparks, it shot up into the air, shredding itself in the process. He stepped across a little and repeated. And repeated. Still no gap in the impenetrable wall of silent death ahead of him. He looked around, searching for another way around.

In the distance, the anomalies passed through a rocky outcrop. He jogged over, straining to see if there was a way over it in the murky light, as a howl rose above the soft sounds of leaves underfoot. He swivelled, aiming into the distance, seeing only swaying leaves on the trees and tiny rays of yellow sunlight dancing over the leaf litter covering the ground. Waiting motionless like a hunter, he counted, his heart hammering in his chest. A second howl broke the silence, coming from his right. Barely visible, a silhouette of a dog rushed across his vision in the distance, clearly not looking for him or heading for the entrance camp where the others were waiting.

Exhaling heavily, he got back to the job at hand, scrambling into the rocks, climbing precariously along the face of them across the danger below. At least the others would find this significantly easier than him, metal-shod boots, thick gloves and a body covered in servomotors was not conducive to his agility, especially when he heard the distinctly human shouts in the distance.

As he scrambled back over as fast as possible, the gunshots started, and the howling resumed with ever greater intensity. Falling to the ground on the other side with a thud, he ran, straining muscles against the groaning servos that refused to move fast enough for an exoskeleton user to sprint. Flipping the safety off his Sig550 he feared the worst. He'd told them to stay where it was safe.

As he rushed through a thick clump of bushes, chaos unfolded before his eyes. A circle of fallen long rocks, obviously originally a stone circle surrounded a trio of stalkers burning through ammo as fast as their weapons would allow. Around the edges, snorks and psydogs charged at each other and the stalkers. One of the stalkers, in a SEVA suit, had a pistol in one hand, a branch in the other, swatting away and shooting at the dogs, causing them to dematerialise in puffs of smoke with each hit. The others had rifles out, spraying at the snorks leaping at them, all fire discipline abandoned. Ducking behind a tree and seeking out the true psydog from his clones, he opened fire.

=

Nimble stood overlooking the cracked road leading up to the watchtower. Safety was just hours away, as soon as Hog came back. Of course, hours might as well be an age in the Zone, things can change so fast, but he'd survived too much to be caught out now. He'd never been a fighter, more of a scrounger, a deal-broker, a courier. He'd been in the Zone for years now, always a survivor. He'd outlived the whole of Clear Sky, survived capture by Bandits, survived the trip to the Skadovsk in the north. He should live to see his way back.

The soft patter of distant gunfire echoed from the forest. His grip tightened on his shooter. Maybe this time things might not turn out so fortunately.

---

Battle Born and his stallions had learned quickly. Learned that avoiding is always preferable to engaging. That hiding away from the open air is the way to survive the ferocious red storms that make the day darken to a blood red twilight and shake the ground. That many places to hide are often occupied already by creatures that dislike being disturbed.

This had all come at a price though. There was only 8 of them left from the 13 that had stayed on, and truthfully they were nowhere near close to finding the VIPs. They'd learned they were a long way out of their depth.

That seemed to be true for the humans in the large compound not far from the small village that they used as a HQ, well, more of a hideout. The humans had initially had plenty of troops to circulate, with guards in towers able to pick off the monsters at long distance. They'd been careful to avoid being spotted by them. Over time however, they shot less and less monsters, leaving more and more, barely firing once per hour by now.

The entrance had to pick up the slack created there, and the casualties on the human side were beginning to rack up, losing lives as they seemed to get more sluggish and less responsive as time went on, losing accuracy and arguing with each other whenever they had rest. He hadn't seen a single one eat. It must be a lack of supplies. They were under siege by an enemy that didn't have the intelligence to even understand what it was.

Him and two trusted scouts had seen it all come to a head: they'd hidden behind the bushes on a nearby ridge, camouflaged, when the first group of humans they had seen leave in all their time exit on bad terms. By the look of it, there was much shouting and gesticulating between those remaining and those abandoning the base. More monsters had started to appear, and the group had sprinted right below them to escape the onslaught.

After that, well, hope seemed a little pointless. The next attack was barely repelled; the defenders were completely overrun and those left resting fought off the rest of the monsters. That was during last night, now seemed like the final hammer blow. A horde of dogs and boars was heading for them. A few days ago and they would have been fine. Now, if the one person on watch didn't alert the rest in time they'd all become animal food.

He shuddered at the thought.

---

Strelok nearly collapsed after the final snork died. He was bruised, cut, winded and one of them had landed on his leg, wrenching the ankle badly. Too much time getting fat and slow in the big land for when it really mattered. The others weren't much better. Degtayrev's military body armour had protected him from the worst of their attacks, though two had jumped him and left him with deep cut in one arm, likely infected. Kulgrov was fairly similar to Strelok, though not being weighed down by a heavy kitbag and carrying a rifle much better adapted to CQC had meant he'd managed to just about hold his own in the onslaught. He'd obviously picked up some decent stalkering skills since Strelok had rescued him. It was left to him therefore to greet the stalker in a mercenary colours exoskeleton that had saved their asses.

"Thanks man..." He forced out before grimacing in pain behind his visor.

The merc closed the distance to them, hauling Strelok to his feet and picking up some of the spent mags lying around.

"No time to waste, you need to come with me now. There's always more out there and I've got more pressing concerns than you three to deal with."

Without waiting he started off back into the woods, hands still ready on his rifle. Degtayrev put his good arm round Strelok, supporting him as they limped frantically away from the clearing. The noon sun shone down soft rays, making the shadows of the leaves dance lazily over the blood and the corpses and spent shell casings.

The short walk felt like it took an age, the noticeable sounds of pain and stink of blood preyed on all their minds. Making each gust of wind a roar, each bush an ambush. Just like any predator around the world, the predators of the zone were drawn to the smell of blood and battle like flies to shit and picked off the weak and injured with vicious efficiency. Seeing the break in the wall up ahead, the light and safety, was the white light at the end of the tunnel.

As they stepped through, a figure emerged from a rusted flatbed truck, a stocky black woman in a stalker suit with a double barrel shotgun over one shoulder. She nodded at their rescuer, and climbed down after them. Walking round it, a pair of stalkers sat round a small fire by a building, a rifle carefully disassembled on a sheet before them, their hands moving over it with tools, deep in conversation. Atop a small watchtower across the road, a third stalker in a sky blue flecktan suit leant against the guard rail staring into the distance. Most intriguingly though was the final stalker, sitting staring into the large tunnel entrance nearby, head in her hands with long purple hair splayed over her back.

---

Yar sat down and whistled in appreciation. He didn't worry, through the thick gasmask it was barely audible. Before him lay the back of the NPP in all his glory stretching off into the distance. Some way along, a pair of charcoal grey towers seemed to be sucking in lightning from the grey sky above through massive metal maws the size of roundabouts. Signs of existence were everywhere, barricades, campfire spots, crates of supplies. Yet everything was deserted. He looked around him. Nothing moved. He strolled through the courtyards and roads, dwarfed by the massive structures on every side. It should've been a deathtrap, not a graveyard. He sighed. Jogging to a nearby ladder, he climbed with the quick efficiency of a sniper's years of experience of similar ascents, covertly dodging along rooftops and gantries, up more ladders until he lay on top of the sarcophagus itself. Staring out at the landscape from above, he just knew something was off, something he should be looking for. An old sniper's intuition. Pulling out his binocs, he panned and panned around, taking everything in, concentrating immensely. Finishing with the main compound, he started to scour the edges of the compound. It all looked kosher, but something just dug at him. Looking closer at one of the checkpoints around the perimeter, he realised that it had no road leading to it, and the structure was post disaster, not established. There seemed to be a hint of a path in the distance beyond it, more a stalker trail than a cleared military route. He got to his feet and checked his map. One step closer.

Author's Note:

Probably a little more than fashionably late by this point. Least the work paid off and I've got on Oxford offer.

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