The mentor looked very worried. Behind the feigned confidence that shone through him during our last conversation, strong anxiety was now visible. Whatever he wanted to ask me, it was something very serious and important. I adjusted myself in my chair, pulled my shoulders back slightly, and straightened my back, showing that I was ready to listen. He hesitated a little, sighed deeply, lowering his eyes.
"Did I tell you how my son died?" he began cautiously.
"An unsuccessful hunt in the Gut?" I replied, recalling such a conversation.
"Correct," the Hunter's hands, resting on the table, trembled slightly, and his shoulders shuddered. "I... I want you to visit his grave there, in the Gut."
"Then let's go together," I offered him, puzzled.
"No, I can't," he shook his head at my suggestion and looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. "While you were outside, I contacted old acquaintances who live there. Hunters like us, my son used to go with them, until... In short, they were the ones who looked after his grave."
"Did something happen?"
"Yes," the mentor nodded and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Tarks, a whole pack. They descended out of nowhere. The hunters had a tough time. A couple of people were torn to pieces, the rest had to lock themselves in one of the houses in the local village."
"And you want me to help them?" I didn't quite understand how the hunters and his son's grave were connected.
"Yes," the interlocutor replied. "I wouldn't ask anyone else, it's too dangerous. But you... I'm sure you can handle these beasts. Help the guys, and they'll escort you to my son. You'll see what's with the grave, how he is... And then come back."
"Alright," I agreed. "I understand it's a long way, right? Can the hunters hold out until tomorrow? I wouldn't want to arrive there in the evening..."
"They'll hold out, they have a little water and food. They could have fought them off themselves, but they used most of their ammo on the hunt, and tarks are very nasty creatures..." The Hunter stopped and looked at me with gratitude. "Thank you. I'll write to them right away."
"I'll go rest then," I got up from my seat and before heading to my room, said, "We'll discuss everything in the evening."
After receiving a nod from the mentor, I disappeared into my small room, where absolutely nothing had changed. Despite my long absence, there wasn't a speck of dust here. I'll have to thank the Hunter later for cleaning it while I was running around the Dump.
I leaned my backpack against the wall, and put my weapon on the table. I hung my removed suit on the back of the chair, on which I then sat down. I took a folded piece of paper from my chest pocket and lit a small kerosene lamp to see the text better. I unfolded the sheet, smoothed it a little with my fingers, and, bringing the lamp closer, began to read.
"Guide to Art-Modification (or Artifact Transmutation)
1. If you take three artifacts of the same anomalous type and power level, you can get one - stronger. Throw them into an anomaly of the same type. Wait for three to six hours, depending on the power of the resulting artifact.
Note: two is too little, and adding a fourth didn't change anything. I considered further field experiments too expensive.
2. Some combinations of artifacts of different anomalous types and power levels can create artifacts with unique properties, but the chances of discovering such a combination are extremely low.
2.1 If you throw a Jellyfish, a Drop, Stone Blood, and a Thorn into a cold stew, after six hours you will get a completely new artifact. I named it Symbiote because of the coexistence of such different artifacts. Properties are unknown, I took it to scientists for study. They paid VERY well.
Note: the only recipe I managed to find by happy accident. I couldn't repeat it again, always lacking one artifact or another.
3. An artifact can also be "marinated" in an anomaly of the same type. The result will be a slight change in appearance and concentration of all (I emphasize - all, even negative) properties. Note: does not work on artifacts that remove radiation.
4. The chance of success for all the above art-modifications is low. I couldn't calculate the average value - too few experiments. In case of failure, ALL artifacts will be irretrievably turned to dust.
P.s. Good luck. I hope this knowledge will serve you better than it served me."
Mmm, so if I find any artifact, I can simply put it into an anomaly, wait a couple of hours, and get an improved version? All this sounded too fantastic until my eyes reached the fourth point. But now it became clear why this topic was not so widespread among stalkers. Many preferred to simply sell the found artifact rather than take a greater risk and lose it.
Well, if I find something, why not try? Only I'll have to figure out how to properly wear artifacts on myself. But that can wait. For now, I need to get some sleep, a long raid awaits me tomorrow morning.
Hunter's house, evening.
Rubbing my eyes and stretching, I got up from my mattress and went to the kitchen, where the mentor was already busy. He, standing with his back to me, took some spice packet and sprinkled it on the contents of a small cauldron, then covered it with a lid and put it in the stove. Then he wiped his hands with a clean towel and turned to me.
"You're awake already? Sit down, I'll pour some tea and we'll chat," he said, looking at me with a warm smile.
"What did your guys say?" I asked in return, sitting down and rubbing my still sleepy eyes.
"They wrote that tomorrow is the last day, after that they'll either shoot themselves or go out to the mutants like that," the Hunter replied with a slight delay, pouring hot water into two glasses and adding tea leaves. "They also asked you to grab some food and water for three people. But they'll understand if you refuse, as long as you help them get free."
"Understood," I nodded. "I'll get food from Wolf, he probably hasn't eaten through that purchase yet, heh. And water..."
"I'll prepare the water myself," the Hunter replied. "I'll boil it, filter it, and pour it into bottles. How much will you take?"
"I think three bottles will be just right," I said and started to calculate how much I would have to carry. "Grab a few more cans of stew, three packs of crackers, ammo for them, a couple of first-aid kits... I'll be packed
to the brim, it seems. How far do I have to carry them, by the way?"
"I'll show you now," the mentor said, leaving the kitchen and returning a minute later with his PDA turned on. "Look here. From the tunnel, go straight along the road, to the old gas station, and from there..."
Tunnel in the Gut, next morning.
I emerged from the tunnel, pulled off my gas mask, and froze for a moment, looking at the valley spread out before me, bathed in the rays of the Sun rising from beyond the horizon. It was framed by high cliffs on the sides, and the valley itself was full of blooming grasses and trees. A very beautiful place, with which I have not the most pleasant memories. Damn that Witcher, ha.
After standing there for a short while and catching the gentle breezes on my face, I put away my gas mask and moved on. I walked relaxed along the roadside, admiring the colorful surroundings. Bright greenery and the intoxicating aroma of fragrant herbs, refreshing notes of mint, the bitterness and astringency of wormwood, and honeyed sweetness from other flowers wafted in the air. And somewhere off to the side, the loud singing of birds could be heard, interspersed with the buzzing of working bees. Summer was in full swing.
I was thoroughly enjoying nature, despite the fact that the backpack was unpleasantly pressing on my shoulders with its straps. After all, no matter how well-prepared you are, it's not that easy to carry so much weight. And the path ahead will still be so long...
Farmstead beyond the collapsed railway bridge, a few hours later.
Three grim and exhausted men sat on the floor of a small room in one of the abandoned houses. Peeling walls, dilapidated furniture, and the only window facing the street was boarded up. For a week, like prisoners, they had languished in this place, unable to leave.
"Damn creatures," Finn's cracked and dry lips whispered. "What do they even want from us..."
"Don't whine, brother, *cough, cough*," Ryk coughed, his parched throat filling with waves of sharp, maddening pain. The worst thing that could have happened to him after the skirmish with the tarkovs was catching some kind of sickness. "Hey, Chizh. Any news from the Hunter?"
"Only that his apprentice left Cordon a few hours ago," the youngest and scrawniest of the hunters replied reluctantly, leaning against the wall and trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep to somehow alleviate his suffering.
The house was filled with the smell of sweat, sickness, and filth, which the stalkers, though they regularly poured it out the window, still pursued them even in their dreams. And somewhere out there, beyond these walls, cunning tarkovs lurked, waiting for the prey to come out to them on its own. Fortunately, the door, like the house itself, had been reinforced by one of the locals who had survived the blowout in '06. Otherwise... it was terrifying to even think what those mad horses would have done to them.
They had the misfortune to go to the far territory, to hunt deer, how... Not a shred of flesh remained of those deer, but instead, there was a whole pack of fast, black beasts that immediately attacked them. Ugor tried to shoot them, but to what end? He took down one creature, wounded another, and the rest simply trampled him and ran after the others. They were lucky they hadn't gone far from the farmstead, managing to get into the house and lock the door behind them with thick iron bolts. Filin, whose body the creatures had torn apart days ago, was unlucky enough to stumble almost at the threshold.
"Do you hear? Tarkovs neighing," Finn suddenly said, listening to what was happening outside the house.
And indeed. The disfigured horses were clearly agitated by something. Could it be the Hunter's apprentice who got caught? Gunshots were heard. The Zone...
South of the farmstead, fifteen minutes earlier.
Reaching the forced shelter of these hunters was simple, but it took a very long time. When the farmstead loomed from behind the trees, I immediately dropped my backpack to the ground and covered it with broken branches from the nearest bush. Then I grabbed my rifle tightly and, on bent legs, headed towards the closest house.
I myself wasn't sure of my intentions regarding the tarkovs, so I decided to play it safe. On the one hand, I wanted to get to the hunters without problems and deal with the horses together with them, but on the other hand, I didn't know how they would react to me; after all, I was a threat to their lives. So no, it's better to deal with them right away than for one of them to suddenly bite me.
I approached the crooked fence, shifted to a small opening between its sections, and squeezed between the boards, finding myself in someone's former yard. I leaned against the wall of the house and continued along it, as slowly and quietly as I could. And I listened to everything that was happening around.
As soon as I reached the corner of the house, I cautiously peeked around it and, my God, how terrible these tarkovs are. Several horses lay on the grass in front of the fence of the neighboring house, three more stood a little further away, a dozen meters away, as if watching someone. Black skin with gray spots, thick muscles bulging beneath it, a gray mane, and a completely absent tail. The hind legs looked somewhat dried out compared to the powerful front ones. One kick from a hoof and I would die instantly.
Then one tarkov from those lying on the grass raised its terrible and disfigured muzzle with absent cheeks and protruding crooked but sharp teeth, and, as if sniffing the air, began to neigh loudly, attracting the attention of the other horses. They began to slowly rise as the neighing spread to all the others. The creatures sensed me, but didn't know where I was. I didn't think horses had such a keen sense of smell.
I have to act first. I have a chance while they don't know where I am. Hiding somewhere here would be problematic; most of the houses are destroyed and unsuitable – they would find and devour me. Climbing somewhere might also be problematic. And running away from horses is not even worth trying; even if I weaved between the buildings and abandoned cars, I would quickly run out of breath. There is only one way out.
I raised my rifle, aimed, held my breath, and fired a short burst at the head of one of the tarkovs, aiming for the eyes. The creature fell to the ground as if struck down. The others, with wild neighing, rushed towards me. The main thing is not to get scared and start running; as soon as I show them my back, they will trample me!
I continued to shoot at them, aiming for the head; the creatures fell one after another, plowing wide furrows in the soft soil with their bodies. When only one tarkov remained alive, the magazine ran out of ammunition. I threw the rifle aside, dodged the rapidly approaching creature at the last moment, passing literally under its hooves, and pulled out my Colt. Its caliber would be much better now.
I took a few steps to the side, watching as the wild creature, with a disgusting sound, something between a squeal and a neigh, turned towards me. In its gray, sunken eyes, only unbridled rage could be read, no fear. The tarkov tensed its muscles to rush at me, but no. I sharply extended my hand with the pistol in it and shot the mutant directly in the eye. It, as if not understanding that its end had come, took a few small, slow, pained steps towards me until, finally, it fell.
"Now I can go see the hunters," I involuntarily voiced my thoughts aloud. "I'll just go back for my backpack... Damn, I should have thrown it closer."
Hunter's Shelter, same time.
The stalkers listened intently to what was happening outside. The agitated horse neighing was replaced by gunshots, which soon ended, and silence reigned outside. Each of them tightly gripped their weapons, intending to go to the rescue, but, as they all thought, it was too late. If it was quiet, it meant they were already tearing the poor fellow's body apart with their powerful jaws.
"Damn, sons of bitches!" Ryk exclaimed, getting up and immediately breaking into a strong cough. "Kha-kha! They ate another stalker, the creatures! And if it was the Hunter's apprentice? And our supplies are lying there?! Kha!"
"Don't worry so much," Finn sighed deeply. "There's no point, save your strength. If it was really our savior, then... Let's catch our breath and take at least some of these mutants with us."
"Again, *cough*, your Viking tricks..." the sick stalker laughed hoarsely, wiping yellow-green snot from his beard.
"How many times do I have to repeat myself," his fair-haired, clean-shaven interlocutor rolled his eyes. "I'm from Finland, it's not the same..."
Then there were several loud knocks on the locked door. The hunters, startled, all jumped up from their seats at once, grabbing their rifles, and aimed at the doorway in the corridor. The knocking repeated once more, but then a male and energetic voice followed.
"Hey, open up!" he said loudly. "I'm from the Hunter, I brought you something to eat!"
"Damn, there are tarkovs there!" Chizh exclaimed, slinging his rifle over his back and quickly heading for the entrance door. Approaching it, he immediately unbolted it and opened it. "Get in quickly, didn't you hear the shooting?"
"It was me who shot," the young man said cheerfully, his green eyes flashing, and he smiled broadly. Then he entered the house, wrinkled his face at the prevailing smells, but said nothing, and dropped his backpack. "And the tarkovs won't bother you anymore. Okay, I'll get everything out now. Here's water... Three bottles, canned meat, crackers, and a first-aid kit. Does anyone need medical help?"
"What do you mean 'won't bother'?" asked the hunter who had frantically closed the door.
"I took down all seven," the Hunter's apprentice replied, closing his backpack and getting
to his feet. "Over there, around the corner of the house with the red Zhiguli, are the bodies. They're quite gruesome."
"But how!? They're fast..."
"What's so difficult?" he shrugged. "My Kalashnikov, heh, was faster. Just stand still and shoot. Nervous, yes, but not difficult at all. By the way, are you going to take the food, or did I bring it for nothing?"