Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

I listen carefully. I find I’m beginning to trust my ears more and more. People aren’t so easy to spot, especially if they don’t want to be seen. Hearing them, on the other hand… What did they write in that clever book? “There’s no such thing as a silent ambush.” That’s the Strugatsky brothers… True, nobody’s scratching or belching the way they do in the book, but there are other sounds to listen for. Maybe nobody here is rattling chains, but they do shift from foot to foot every now and then.

That’s what I hear now – somebody gets impatient and starts moving around. Roughly twenty meters from me. I’m lying on a balcony on the third floor. To get there, I had to come down from the roof. Thankfully, the house is old and the balconies aren’t covered. On the other side, there is a fire escape that goes up to the attic, and from there it’s simple. So, stomp around for now. Meanwhile, I take out my axe and carefully prise open the balcony door. I’ve no desire to smash the glass here, it’s a nice place. I’d like to keep it for myself. The view is pretty good.

Clearly, I’m no great housebreaker, but then again this isn’t Fort Knox. The door squeaked as it was opening, which got a response from the guy stomping round downstairs. He ran up from somewhere, and for an instant I caught a glimpse of him.

Definitely not one of Makar’s crew. His clothes are just too shitty. And it doesn’t look like he has a gun, either, although that doesn’t really mean anything. You can easily hide a pistol in a pocket. And what exactly is he waiting for down there? Doesn’t look like he’s seriously thinking of robbing or killing somebody. Then again, that’s not the sort of intention you go around advertising.

I take a quick look round the flat for anything useful. Jam, stale bread, matches, and three packs of cigarettes which go straight in my bag. I don’t smoke, but I can try to trade them for something. And where do I plan to do that? Why, in the shop downstairs, of course! I decide to leave everything else where it is. I could do with the food myself, and I still don’t know what the trader downstairs might want.

I hear a scraping sound from down below. I climb up on the windowsill, but nothing’s changed down there. I guess the man’s given up on waiting. Looks like he’s on his way. I’ll just give him a minute or two.

A clanging sound as the door of the shop is opened, and out onto the stage comes a new character. One look at him tells you he’s the reason the other guy’s done a runner. Dressed in full camouflage gear (clearly expensive and imported), with a bullet-proof vest and all sorts of other kit I don’t recognize, he’s a big, strong guy. The rifle in his hands looks like something out of a sci-fi film, it’s got so many accessories bolted on. Well, I’m certainly not going to take that on with my axe. You’d need a machine gun just to get that guy’s attention. A big man, and full of self-confidence.

I hear the scrape of the door again, and another similar-looking figure appears, also armed. Have they got an arsenal in there? I move away from the window – they could shoot me from there. But no, I hear their footsteps withdrawing. I perform the same old trick with lock and door, and carefully creep downstairs.

Woah! My feet freeze. There’s a thin wire drawn tight across the staircase. A hundred different swear words come into my head as I think of tripwires, mines, and all the related horrors. If it’s a tripwire, then it’s bound to be connected to something, right? But if I don’t touch anything and don’t pull on it, then in theory it shouldn’t go off. As it turns out on inspection, there’s nothing actually to go off – the wire’s attached to an ordinary tin can which has been carelessly stuffed with a bunch of kitchen spoons and forks. Touch the wire and it’ll rattle, nothing more. In other words, all we’ve got here is a jerry-rigged early warning system. Which means?

It means that if someone put it there, they should be near enough to hear it. And maybe they’re sitting there now, listening. Perhaps they even live on this very staircase. So let’s move carefully. And one more thing…

Seeing as this shop’s populated by armed tough guys like the two I’ve just seen, it doesn’t make much sense to go in there showing off my axe. At the very best, all I’ll do is make them laugh, and comedy is not the effect I’m going for. As I walk through the archway of the building, therefore, I hide my axe in a pile of rubbish. It may not be much good as a weapon, but it’s great for opening doors and windows. That’s what I value it as – a tool not a weapon.

I snake between the concrete blocks and stop in front of the door. It wasn’t just for decoration before, and now it looks like the front of a safe. The same impression of weight and thickness. I don’t see a bell anywhere, and there’s no electricity anyway, so I knock and the door resounds thickly under my fist. There’s a scrape, and a peephole opens in the door. So that’s the sound that guy was running from.

“What do you want?”

“I’d like to trade.”

“Is that right?” says the invisible voice with surprise. “Well, go ahead and trade. We won’t stop you.”

And the peephole scrapes shut.

“Hey, maybe I want to buy something from you!”

“Yeah?” Once again the peephole scrapes open, and this time I’m examined more intently. “Step back from the door!”

Apparently I passed the examination, as I hear the bolts being drawn on the other side of the door.

“Come on in.”

Inside, the shop has also been transformed. Now there are grilles on my right and on my left, right up to the ceiling. Behind one of them, there’s a guy slumped in a chair with an assault rifle in his hands. Opposite me stands another guy, unarmed as far as I can tell.

“Spread ’em!” I’m frisked professionally. “What, no weapons whatsoever?”

“What for?”

The guy sniffs and steps to one side, gesturing me forward.

There’s only a small length left of the counter, and even that is all shut off behind thick metal bars. Everything else has been walled over. It’s recent work, I can still catch the smell of fresh plaster.

Behind the counter is a face that I can’t quite place. I know I’ve seen him somewhere before. He’s wearing a wool hat, a warm sweater, and a scarf wrapped round his neck.

“Well?” he says, eying me doubtfully, “what have you got?”

He took a look at my cigarettes and pushed them carelessly to one side – I’d brought six sealed packs with me and one that was half full. The condoms, on the other hand, caused great amusement.

“Now that’s what we’re really after! Selling like hotcakes. What the fuck do you expect me to do with them?”

He slides the pack back across the counter towards me.

“You can keep ’em. Never know when you might need them, eh? What else have you got?”

“What else do you need?”

The shopkeeper laughs.

“We need everything. What exactly do you have?”

“All sorts of clothes.”

A cynical laugh tells me all I need to know.

“Electronics”

The same reaction.

“Look,” he says, nodding at the cigarettes, “I’ll take these. I can give you food and ammo, but not much.”

“I need tinned meat.”

“Two tins! And a pack of hardtack on top.”

I’m in no position to haggle, so I agree to the deal.

“You can bring the same goods again. Water, beer, fizzy drinks – those I’ll take, too. Spirits are always welcome. Can’t imagine what else you’ll find. You’re going through flats, I guess?”

“That, too.”

“Then we’re agreed. Don’t bother with any other junk, and wait till you’ve got a decent weight together. Don’t even think of bringing two or three packs.”