Flea Market, two hours after Executioner's departure.
The diggers' base was gradually coming to life with vagrants scurrying everywhere, gathered in small groups and currently looking for a hangover cure. Greeting another of his subordinates, Wild Napr yawned widely and looked south with a hidden apprehension. It was precisely in that direction that the stalker had gone on his errand. The digger leader drove away dark thoughts, but the recent shooting, which rumbled over the Dump, and then the grenade explosion, did not allow him to fully dismiss them.
"Oh, I'm uneasy," he says quietly, rubbing his cold palms. "My heart is heavy. Maybe I shouldn't have sent him there?"
"Then why did you send him if you shouldn't have?" Shnur asked indifferently, pouring brown liquid from a crumpled pot into an equally crumpled iron mug.
"You know yourself," Napr replies tiredly, accepting a second mug of tea. "Something bad happened to Svezhak, something very bad. And to the messenger who was supposed to arrive here three days ago - the same. I can't afford to risk the lives of our..."
"But you can risk his life?" his interlocutor asks again, taking a noisy sip from
his mug.
"He's an outsider, and besides, he's well-armed," the digger leader sighs. "But what if he encounters something he can't handle? You heard the recent shots and the explosion, didn't you? Clearly, something happened for which ordinary weapons were not enough."
"I don't understand why you're so worried about this vagrant," Shnur shrugs. "If he comes back, good for him, he'll help us, and if not, then not. What difference does it make to us, one more vagrant, one less. Although his rifle is a pity."
"How cynical you are."
"Who would say that to me," Napr's right-hand man grins. "Even if you worry about him, you're rubbing your hands in anticipation."
"You're right," the digger replies.
The conversation ended on this note, and the digger leader stared at the overcast sky, which was covered by gray clouds, threatening to break into rain at any moment. This continued until Napr noticed the top of Executioner's head rising up the stairs with his peripheral vision, and poked Shnur in the ribs with his fingers so that he would also pay attention. And how did he sneak up to the base so quietly?
The stalker, judging by his appearance, had clearly been in a scrape. A large yellow-purple bruise spread across his face, extending from his right temple to his cheek, and all his clothes were smeared with dirt and blood. Throwing his rifle over his back, he walks closer and takes a cracked PDA out of his breast pocket, handing it to Napr.
"Where did you get so dirty?" Shnur asks Executioner after the digger leader took the communicator with the money.
"Snorks," he replies curtly. "That PDA?"
"Yes, yes, thank you," Napr smiles slightly, then, coming to his senses, asks. "And what about Freshy? He hasn't been in touch for a long time, and..."
"You already know he's dead," the stalker frowns, answering. "I'll never believe otherwise. If you want to see the culprits, take some people and go for a walk to the former parking lot, you can admire their remains. I'm going to rest."
And, paying no attention, the stalker walked past the fire to the very wall, spread out his sleeping bag, and lay on his back. Almost immediately, his rapid breathing turned into quiet snuffling, indicating that the tired wanderer had instantly gone to the realm of Morpheus.
After looking at Executioner with a stunned gaze for a little while, Wild Napr decides to follow the words of such an unusual "worker." And fifteen minutes later, five of the best-armed diggers leave the flea market, heading to the treasure hunters' parking lot, as someone from their brethren had casually nicknamed it. And while this detachment checked the words of the sleeping stalker, Napr couldn't sit still, constantly glancing at the sleeping man.
When the vanguard of diggers returned, the leader's anxiety intensified, as his brave subordinates looked with apprehension at the snoring Executioner. Even Shnur, whose experience is to be envied, had come out of so many tight spots whole and unharmed. And he, approaching the fire and sitting opposite Napr, silently finished a nearly full mug of cooled tea in one gulp.
"Well, what's there?" the digger leader asked, his voice almost trembling.
"Snorks," Shnur replied very concisely, pouring the rest of the tea from the pot into his glass.
"Are you kidding me?!" Napr, unable to restrain himself, raised his voice slightly, causing many bystanders to start listening to their conversation, wondering what could have made their leader so angry.
"Not at all," his right-hand man continued just as briefly, drinking a second glass in one go, and then continued more expansively. "Just four snorks. Three shot, one stabbed with a knife."
"Wait, you're saying he dealt with four snorks alone?" Napr's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "If it were two, okay, but four at once?"
"Not exactly," Shnur stopped him, sighing. "First, he finished off three snorks, fighting hand-to-hand with two of them, and then shot another one who was sitting by the snork burrow on top of a trash heap."
"Burrow?"
"Yes, such a tiny, damn hole in the ground where these creatures lived," the digger explained. "By the way, he blew it up with a grenade. I don't know how many bastards were there, but Executioner did us all a great favor by single-handedly dealing with an entire lair of mutants. And, to be honest, my blood runs cold thinking about this guy."
"Why?" Napr could only manage to say, calculating in his head what a catastrophe these snorks could have been for them if they had been allowed to run wild.
"Judging by the tracks, he was knocked down twice. Twice, Napr, he was pinned down by snorks. He shot one with a pistol, and killed the other with a knife. And I don't think the snorks let him do that voluntarily," Shnur paused for a moment, then continued. "And, strangest of all, I didn't find his tracks there. The trampled grass from the brawl is there, the old tracks of Freshy's group, as well as the snork tracks, are also there. But his – no, as if Executioner wasn't there at all. In short, I don't know who he is or where he's from, but as a fighter, he's very dangerous. What if Executioner holds a grudge against us, he'll pick us all off like seeds. And to act preemptively – our hands are tied, the other guys won't understand."
"D-a-a-a," Napr exhaled tiredly, slapping his palm to his face.
He just got one more problem.
The flea market, the next day.
After sleeping until morning, I somehow managed to pry my eyes open and sit up, leaning on my left elbow on the sleeping bag. I touch the bruise on my face with my fingertips, and it explodes with a dull pain, making me wince. My ribs are unpleasantly compressed when I breathe, and my throat is terribly sore from dryness. And no wonder. I've never slept so long, though I've never been so badly beaten. Ha, if you think about it, I'm too calm. A couple of months ago, I would have been in indescribable horror if something like this had happened to me. How much the Zone changes people.
Having fully woken up, I decided to look around before starting my morning routine. The camp was practically empty now, which was understandable, as it was early morning. Wild Napr and a few other diggers were sleeping near me; apparently, the rest preferred to hide in the wreckage. Finally, I get up from my spot and nod to a guard who passes by me, heading towards the long-extinguished fire in the middle of the concrete platform.
I add new dry branches to it, collected by one of the diggers beforehand, and, tearing the paper instruction for the first-aid kit into several pieces, I start the fire. While it's burning, I start to tidy myself up. I wash my face with wet wipes, treating my bruises with them, and quickly brush my teeth. Then I take my medicine and wash it down with a small amount of water left in my flask. I need to remember to get water from the locals.
I drag three rebar pieces welded together with a hanging chain to the fire, hang a pot on it, dump a couple of cans of stew into it, and place this structure on the fire. I don't even know what kind of craftsman could make such a miracle without proper electricity.
And while I wait for my breakfast to heat up, I can't help but think about how little of the stalker's life was shown in the game. There, stalkers never drank, didn't wash, and only occasionally ate something roasted on a stick, like bread or sausage. But it's important, actually. Stalkers wouldn't set up camps where there's no access to water. And if on the Predbannik and Kordon there are only miraculously preserved water columns, then on the Svalka, diggers store rainwater in barrels cleaned almost to a shine, then filter it, boil it, and additionally disinfect it with tablets from army rations. Just in case.
However, this is of no use to me. I need to think about something else now. I need to deal with the jammer before Valerian, considering me dead or escaped, sends someone else here for reconnaissance. But before I do that, I'll need to arrange for help from Wild Napr. However, as long as Avoska is alive, I can't do that. Everything hinges on the digger leader's next assignment, and all I can do is wait.
"Good morning, Executioner," Napr, still sleepy, greets me as I finish breakfast, approaching the fire. "Don't you mind talking about yesterday?"
"Good morning," I nod to his greeting.
"So, here you go," he hands me rolled-up bills, sitting to my right, and as soon as I take them, he immediately extends his palms to the fire.
"Ten thousand? Isn't that too much for such a 'simple' task?"
"Don't be ironic," Napr sighs deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "There's a bonus for the snorks and destroying their lair. Thank you for avenging the guys. And I'm sorry for sending you in blind. I won't make excuses, you understand that you might not have agreed if I had told you about the danger..."
"I don't hold a grudge, let's move on," I reply with a slight smile and pat the digger on the shoulder. "The main thing is that the next assignment is crystal clear."
"The next one?" he arches an eyebrow, looking at me with interest. "You don't mind working for us further?"
"And why not," I smirk, raising the rolled-up bills to eye level. "Especially if the employer pays decent fees."
"Hah," Napr laughs briefly. "Well, I agree. We have new work for you in your specialty."
"I'm listening."
"To be, as you said, crystal clear," the digger leader begins to explain, lowering his voice slightly. "We need to start from afar. Our group desperately needs weapon supplies. The reason, I think, you know yourself. And it so happened that we managed to contact a wanderer who calls himself Smuggler. The name matches the activity."
"And he agreed to sell you guns?"
"Exactly, Executioner," my interlocutor nods. "But then another problem arose. You can't just show up at the Svalka with a bunch of guns and ammo.
Bandits control the main routes, sometimes walking along other routes too. In short, it's a complete risk that costs extra money. That's the kind of money you brought yesterday for that PDA, for which I thank you immensely."
"But you were able to pay me ten thousand for yesterday's assignment, why not pay the Smuggler with that money?" I ask the question that interested me.
"Firstly, Freshy collected thirty thousand," Napr replies. "Secondly, the Smuggler agrees to work only for electronic money; after all, it's much easier to transfer it than to carry it around yourself or send a courier. And thirdly, the money you received was paid to you by the diggers. Almost everyone who could chipped in, as soon as they heard that you avenged Freshy's guys and destroyed the mutant lair. Believe me, if it weren't for you, even new weapons wouldn't have helped us."
"Okay, I understand," I nod this time. "What do you need me to do?"
"This time, it's really nothing dangerous," Napr smiles, moving closer. "Take the PDA and deliver it to the agreed location, west of here, by nine o'clock in the morning. The cache is checked once a week, so it's very important to make it before the appointed time. Then wander around for about an hour and pick up a note there with the location of the cache where the weapons will be. Do everything as quietly as possible. So, will you take it?"
"Yes."
An hour later, I was already rushing to get to that very spot, which turned out to be a small nook in the northwest of the Svalka. And, although Napr said there was nothing dangerous about this assignment, I had to be careful because the only way to get to the cache was to pass near a hangar full of bandits. And running into thugs is an unpleasant experience that I really want to avoid.
I run across the former roadway with cracked asphalt, from the cracks of which bright yellow dandelions and other various grasses have long grown, and look around with binoculars, checking if anyone is on my path. Clear. I move on, bypassing various abandoned and dilapidated boxes, remnants of water pipes, and other construction debris.
I reach a dug-out pit, where Avoska set a trap for Shram in the game, and, paying no attention, I move on. I cautiously peek out from behind a trash heap that hid me from the breeding ground of banditry, and notice people coming out of the hangar gates in the distance. Three in leather jackets and tracksuits, armed with a couple of pistols and a sawn-off shotgun, they headed south. Perhaps reinforcements for one of the checkpoints, or maybe they just went for a walk. Who knows.
After waiting for them to disappear around the bend, I cautiously move forward on bent knees, looking back from time to time. After all, it's quite easy to spot me in an open area. But this time it was fine, and I safely reached a small cluster of bushes a hundred meters from the trash mountain where I was hiding before. Just a little bit left.
A couple of minutes later, I find myself at a steep hill, at the foot of which is buried the once yellow, but now peeling and rusty chassis of an excavator with a torn track. I can't even imagine under what circumstances working equipment could lose its "legs." However, what business is it of mine? I approach, finding myself in another pit dug by the diggers, bend down, and stick my hand in from the left side between the parts of the chassis, hiding the PDA, packed in a plastic bag, there. I hope I didn't mess up and the Smuggler's associate will take this money.
Well, now I have to occupy myself with something for the next couple of hours. Oh, by the way, I should have a marker on my map for a cache from Pale. Why not check it now? I take out my communicator and open the map section, zoom in, estimate my location on the terrain, and realize that the stalker's hideout is not far from me. So, now I need to go southwest...
Moving in small, cautious bursts from bush to bush, I reach the marked spot. And the cache turns out to be a small recess in a steep hill surrounding the Svalka from the west and north, filled with a pile of electrities and a stump in the middle. As far as I remember from the game, the cache is located right in it.
But before I go there, I take out my detector and check the anomaly for artifacts. And I catch a fragment; someone has already been here, if an artifact even appeared here after the emission. Well, nothing can be done about it. I'll go for the cache. I take out the nuts I've prepared just in case from my pocket and, carefully throwing them, head straight for the stump. After all, it's a little scary to climb through such anomalies that hit an area. So, outlining their boundaries additionally won't hurt.
And after a few minutes, I find myself right in front of a blackened stump. I walk around it and notice a recess on the other side. And here is the hideout. I stick my hand inside and feel a plastic bag, which I immediately pull out into the light. I look into it and see a few crumpled bills, a couple of packs of ammo, three magazines, and a modified blued Colt from the eleventh year. I'll sort it out later, but for now, I'll throw the bag into my backpack.
Then I leave the anomalous recess, moving a good ten meters to the left. And for lack of a better option, I take a short run and climb the hill, immediately hiding behind a blooming bush, hiding from any prying eyes. First, I check the radiation background and calm down. For now, I can do without an antirad.
There's still a little over an hour until the Smuggler's subordinate arrives, after which I'll have to wait for him to return and leave further instructions. And, to not waste time, I decided to peek at the bandit life. And I couldn't find a better place than these hills surrounding the Svalka. Some elevation, natural cover in the form of bushes and trees, which makes it difficult to spot me, and no radiation.
I creep south on bent knees until I am almost opposite the hangar. A small clearing stretches before me, with pipes and concrete slabs laid in a circle, and a little to the right are railway tracks, leading from a tunnel into the hangar itself, with an abandoned locomotive. I take off my backpack and place it in front of me, creating a more or less comfortable observation spot, and lie on my stomach, starting to observe the bandit base through binoculars.
A high brick fence and open metal gates with certainly rusted hinges. Behind them was an empty watchtower with a missing ladder and a large asphalted area, in the middle of which stood a lonely red wagon. At the entrance to the yard were boxes and several metal barrels, behind which a couple of thugs were now hiding. Sentries.
To the right of the main building was a metal canopy with an improvised bar underneath, from which loud criminal music was now playing, audible even from here. There was nothing special there, just a few overturned wooden reels used as tables, and small boxes were used instead of chairs. There weren't many visitors, only three people who were now drinking and talking animatedly. Oh, and from behind the bar counter, hidden by metal sheets from my view, a fat, medium-height man came out and slowly hobbled to the table with the resting bandits and placed a full bottle on the table. Heh, a future bandit chieftain.
Now I turn the binoculars to the main building, which is almost indistinguishable from the one in the game. A tall brick hangar with a broken roof and protruding metal parts of unknown purpose. And the only thing that stood out from the whole composition was that very jammer, which was bothering me so much. It was installed right on the edge of the roof, near the stairs leading to the third floor of the hangar, and it looked like some kind of Frankenstein, assembled from all sorts of parts. The case was from a Soviet military radio receiver, next to it was a car battery powering this creation of a bandit technician, and the installation itself was covered with various wires and studded with antennas of different lengths, even one heavily battered satellite antenna. I wonder how the rain didn't flood it?
Stopping my examination of the jammer, I shift my gaze lower, to the hangar windows. I couldn't see much, as I'm not that high up. I noticed a couple of guards standing in the second-floor windows, but judging by their yawning faces, they were not very good sentries.
This is how I almost missed the Smuggler's subordinate passing just a few meters from me, who didn't notice me at all. I turn slightly and start watching his movements. The stalker himself was practically no different from the diggers, the same worn leather jacket, possibly with a bulletproof vest underneath, a hood on his head, and the lower part of his face covered with a gray cloth. He is armed, by the way, with a Makarov pistol.
He reaches the pit where the excavator chassis is located and disappears from my field of vision behind the bushes. After spending some time there, he leaves the place almost at a run and heads towards Agroprom, to return in forty minutes. Now I just have to wait for him to pass by me again, and I can pick up the note. But as soon as the stalker is level with me, something strange happens.
Several people emerge from behind a trash heap, confidently heading towards the cache. I look closely at them and realize that it's Avoska in the company of those very bandits who recently came out of the base. The bastards feel like masters of the situation, walking openly, not hiding at all. Well, the Zone itself commanded it.
I throw my backpack over my shoulder, grab my rifle, and carefully walk along the edge of the hill, hiding from them behind the vegetation. We arrive at the spot almost simultaneously, with the only difference being that I'm hiding from the future dead on higher ground. I cautiously take out my pistol while Avoska rummages in the
chassis for the note, and, finding it, quickly puts it in his pocket, then replaces it with another.
"Well, the job is done," the stalker begins to talk, addressing the criminals. "Now we need to go to your boss..."
"You'll excuse me, pretty boy," spits out the bandit standing in the center, raising his hand with a pistol in it. "But Yoga ordered me to get rid of you. Nothing personal."
Avoska manages to draw his Beretta, but it's too late. The sound of a shot echoes like thunder, and the killed stalker falls to the ground. The leader nods his head, signaling one of the thugs to search the body, but as soon as the bandit approaches him, I step in. They didn't even have time to understand anything before they collapsed to the ground with shot skulls.
I carefully jump off the hill and head towards the corpses, immediately searching them. The only thing that interests me is their PDAs, from which I can learn something interesting, and the note from the Smuggler. Taking it from the dead stalker's jacket, I immediately put it in my chest pocket. The communicators go into my backpack; Napr will be interested to look at them if they are not password-protected. And now let's see what Avoska scribbled in his note.
"A dug-out pit west of the Flea Market, tomorrow, eleven o'clock," I read and can't help but smile. "If anyone shows up there, they definitely won't get away with it... And now I need to get out of here before the thugs get interested in the noise."