Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

A few packages of field dressing, which I manage to identify from the labels on them. A plastic bottle of chlorhexidine, which is also useful, particularly in the present situation. I’ll have to have a go at Ivan’s leg with this stuff. I’ve seen how it’s done in the past, so I can probably make a fair attempt at dressing his wound. In all probability, it’s something he himself knows how to do, for that matter.

Pulling on a chain, I draw from the bag a whole string of memory-stick keys. Well, well, well. That interrogator was a bit of a dark horse. How many people did he manage to rip off? Or did he, like me, take them from the dead? No, I’m not going to share these with anyone, either. Particularly not now I have Mishka’s laptop, and thus the chance to try checking what’s on the memory sticks. Of course, there was nothing to stop the former owners using them to store their porn collections, and my work may well all be a waste of time. Still, that’s no reason not to have a go.

Left in the bag was a good, powerful torch and a plastic case with spare batteries, plus some exercise books and notepads – what the hell were they for? Still they could come in useful. I might light a bonfire with them.

Having finished my appraisal of the loot, I make a separate pile for my companion’s share, and go over to wake him up.

He wasn’t sleeping peacefully. I only had to tap him on the shoulder for him to twitch and reach for his pistol.

“Whoah! It’s OK, it’s OK! It’s me, Denis.”

He turns looks me over groggily. Then apparently the pieces fall together in the right place in his head, and he drops the hand that’s holding the gun.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”

“That’s alright, come and eat.”

Once he’s sat down at the table, I push the pile of loot over to him.

“That’s yours.”

The former policeman isn’t at all bothered by this attitude to property. He keeps on chewing while shoving his share of the stuff into his pockets. Come to think of it, it’s amazing how much people are affected by their situation. It’s only a few hours since we broke out of our underground prison, but Ivan’s already a different man. True, his unshaven mug looks no prettier, but he’s standing taller, believe it or not. His voice sounds more confident and has lost its notes of desperation. And the former traffic cop’s movements are sharp and collected. He even wears the ripped canvas jacket I found him in as if it had a major’s chevrons on the sleeves at the very least. As for the guns… When he’s holding a gun, it’s like he’s speaking louder.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. We got out of there together. Once you’re done eating, change the dressing on your leg. There’s antiseptic to clean the wound, and bandages. Should make a big difference.”

The policeman nods.

“Again, thank you.”

“What are you planning to do next?”

“I’ll try to make it as far as headquarters. The lads had a reason to go there, which means they must have had a plan.”

Well, it’s an idea that’s no worse than any other. I haven’t had much luck finding the shopkeeper’s rival so far, and going to see Mishka again is tantamount to suicide, so I might as well go with Ivan. It’s easier to get around when there’s two of you, and he’s a far better shot than I am.

Still, we didn’t go anywhere that day. About fifty metres from our hideout, a gunfight broke out. Who was fighting who and what they were fighting for remained a mystery, but we decided not to go outside and look. We crawled further into the building and found a staircase down into the basement. By the light of the torch, we took a look at my companion’s leg. I’m far from being a specialist, and I can’t say how bad it is, but Ivan came back to life a little after we’d redressed it. We ate again before going to sleep, and he was even quite chatty. Remembering the inventive bandit, I searched around on the ground floor, found the canteen, and borrowed from there a fair quantity of noisy objects – forks, spoons, and other such junk. Elsewhere, I found thread in a cupboard, and I spent quite some time wandering round the building, fixing up all sorts of early-warning alarms with the kit I’d found. If anyone came into the building from any direction, they were bound to set off one or two of my tripwires, and the resultant noise would wake the dead. That’s because it won’t just fall onto the floor, but into a carefully place bowl or saucepan.

Examining my work, the policeman chuckles.

“And you say you were a system administrator?”

“That’s right.”

“I’d like to see what sort of systems you were looking after.”

Whether it was my inventions or dumb luck I don’t know, but we slept well. Nobody broke into our hideout and the wild gunfire didn’t interrupt our dreams.

“Where did they go?”

“I don’t know, Brother Fyodor. We covered all the escape routes, but they never appeared. Our brothers are still out on the streets, but they haven’t found any outsiders. We’ve swept the whole area, but found nothing.”

“How do you stay so calm when you tell me this? What did the programmer say?”

“He’s terrified. It’s hard to understand what he’s on about.”

“Still, what did he say?”

“He said something about some Predator or other. Someone who comes at night and kills in the dark.”

“Is he high?”

“It doesn’t look like it. Maybe he’s confused, or it’s some flashbacks from his past life. He does hallucinate sometimes. He’s been on drugs for a very long time.”

“I don’t have time for his hallucinations or his health. Leave him be, he’s of no use to us now. How is it possible that someone got into the tunnel, killed Brother Mikhail and his guard, and took everything they had in the room? How did they manage to go on inside, kill another of our comrades, and take the two prisoners? Why did nobody see them? Why was there no guard at the entrance?”

“They were changing shifts, so there was nobody on duty for a few minutes.”

“And that was enough time for whoever to do everything that I just said? Did they fly through the air? No? Nobody can move that fast!”

“We’re searching every building in the neighbourhood.”

“What’s the point? They’re gone. Do you really not understand? Coincidences like that just don’t happen. Somebody turns up at the programmer’s, lets himself be captured and led into the tunnel. Then the men who are following him use their heads, stay hidden, and follow the whole group to the entrance. They wait for the guard to change, go inside, do their black business, come back out, and take the equipment form the programmer. Then they kill three more of our brothers and vanish without trace. How many people does all that take? And who on earth are they?”

“I have no answer, Brother Fyodor.”

“That’s a great shame. Our whole operation is at risk. Nobody can know when the next blue flame will come!”

Crouching at the corner of the building, Ivan examines the street carefully. Having left the kindergarten behind, we’ve already covered about one and a half kilometres. We could have taken a shorter route, but we sensibly decided to avoid open spaces, so we were moving from cover to cover. That’s why, instead of a forty-minute walk, it’s taken us about four hours. However, now we’re sitting at the corner of some kind of warehouse while my companion takes a look at the headquarters of the Tarkov General Administration for Traffic Safety.

“Who the hell knows? It seems to be quiet.”

“So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

“It’s the quiet that’s bothering me. By my estimate, there should be thirty to forty people in there, and several cars. So why the hell are they sitting in silence? It doesn’t make sense.” Ivan shakes his head.