Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

“Maybe your guys have come back?”

“No, the uniform’s not ours. By which I mean not Russian. Nor the guns, either.”

Without going near the window, I try to make out what’s going on. All I see is a gleam in a window on the top floor.

“Who’s that climbing around upstairs?”

“Where?”

“There, in the corner window on the right.” I stretch out my hand to show him.

Something suddenly slams into the floor and with a nasty whistle flies off into the corner. I don’t even have time to feel afraid. Swearing loudly, Ivan raises his assault rifle and fires several short bursts. I meanwhile stand like an idiot in the middle of the room. What was that?

“Prat! Someone just shot at you!” comments the voice in my head with its customary snark. Only then do I dash for the corner. Just in time.

This time some kind of ribbon of fire flies off the floor and slams into the wall. It doesn’t stop there either. It ricochets again and flies out of the window.

“The door! Hold the door!”

Why do I need to hold it?

“They’re coming from the street!”

Is someone coming to see us? Judging by what’s flying through the window, these guys aren’t popping in for tea. I bring up my shotgun and move towards the door. I’ve only taken a few steps before it becomes covered in some kind of bubbles and splinters fly out of it. Shit, those are bullets! They’re shooting at it! If I’d run any closer, that would have been it for me.

Well, if our unseen guests are quite happy to pound the absolutely innocent door with their assault rifles, there’s nothing to stop me from having a go at it, too. Just to let them know there’s no need to rush in, it might be dangerous. I don’t have much choice of weapon – my assault rifle’s on my back, and my pistol’s in its pocket. My shotgun, however, is right here in my hands. I bring it up, point it right at the centre of the door, and squeeze the trigger. Right at that moment the door opens and a dark shadow appears in the doorway. My finger continues to pull the trigger. Turns out the sound of a large-calibre gun is a lot louder than the rattle of an assault rifle, especially in an enclosed space. Your ears can really feel the difference.

As always, my first two rounds are buckshot. Actually, at this range it doesn’t make much difference. The doorway suddenly becomes empty, but only for a moment. The next second a new shadow appears there. My shotgun is semi-automatic, so I don’t need to pull the forestock to chamber a new round. The next portion of lead goes flying towards the door with exactly the same result – the unfortunate visitor is sent flying back outside. Then there’s a bang, and clouds of white smoke start to drift around the room.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Fine with me, it’s about time we were leaving.

How we managed to escape the patrol, I have no idea. I’ve probably got my companion to thank for that. It was like he was a different man during the fighting. He even forgot about his wounded leg. He pushed me, pulled me, kicked me to get me running. I was shooting, too, mostly from my shotgun. When the shells finished there was no time to reload it, so I fired off a few bursts from my assault rifle. I wasn’t expecting it to wriggle and jump so much in my hands. I doubt very much that I hit anyone, but I might at least have given them a fright.

Now we’re sitting in a basement somewhere. Ivan is exhausted. He’s flopped down straight on the floor by the wall, and switched off completely. Choosing a spot opposite the entrance, I slide down onto the cold concrete. I rummage in my pockets, pull out shells, and begin mechanically reloading my shotgun. I too am very tired. If enemy boots come tramping through that doorway right now, I doubt very much I’ll have the strength to get back on my feet. Very well, I’ll just shoot straight at the door.

“What do you mean that you don’t know who you were fighting? Couldn’t you see who they were? Their uniforms? Their weapons? The number of them, even?”

“A small group, sir. No more than three or four men. Kramer spotted one of them in his sights and then fired on them, apparently. They returned automatic fire, injuring him and damaging his rifle. At the same time, the patrol approached the building, broke down the door, and attempted to enter the premises. They were met by an ambush. Judging by the weapons used, they were Scavs. They were firing shotguns at close range, almost point-blank. One of our boys was killed on the spot, and another seriously injured. We deployed smoke grenades, and used their cover to enter the building, but it was already empty. The enemy withdrew, continuing to return fire, and disappeared somewhere inside a residential building. It’s like a maze in there, sir!”

“Are you telling me that the patrol had no results at all?”

“Unless you count our two casualties. They had one extremely skilled marksman with an automatic weapon. Our light armour’s no match for 7.62 mm rounds. I formed the impression that we were drawn into the ambush on purpose. There was firing from all sides – birdshot, buckshot, and assault rifle. I judged it possible that the enemy was only pretending to retreat in order to draw us further into an unknown area. In the circumstances, I was not able to continue our pursuit.”

“That’s sad, Jimmy. Very sad. We’re suffering utterly unjustified losses.”

I guess I fell asleep. Or lost consciousness. I don’t remember. Ivan brought me to my senses. He knelt down next to me and poked me in the ribs.

“You’re not worried about catching radiculitis, then?”

“What?”

“It’s a type of disease that makes your back hurt. They say you catch it from leaning against cold stones.”

I give a bitter laugh.

“I’ll be happy if I live that long.”

“You’re right there. You’ve always got a chance of dying young and healthy.”

“You, too.”

My companion unexpectedly smiles.

“Not fucking likely! First of all, I’m not exactly young anymore, and I’m certainly not healthy.” He nods at his leg.

“How’s your leg, by the way?”

“Believe it or not, while we were running around yesterday I forgot all about it. But today the bastard’s stinging to try the patience of a saint.”

“Well, let’s redress it. I’ve still got another dressing and the chlorhexidine.”

“You should have got the first-aid kit out of the car. It’s always right there in the boot.”

“What’s the problem? You go and fetch it.”

Our laughter in the dark basement had a surreal sound to it. I redressed his wound, but neither of us had any desire to head outside. Rummaging around in my bags, I pull out the sausage. The same one I found in the interrogator’s haversack. At the sight of this treat, my companion chuckles in astonishment.

“Fuck me, now that’s a delicacy! Where did you dig that up?”

“From your old friend, the one you lovingly battered with your rifle.”

The policeman shakes his head.

“The arsehole did love to eat! Anyway, slice it up. No point in letting it go to waste.”

When the simple knife with the wooden handle appears in my hand, however, Ivan suddenly falls silent. He looks at me with a strange expression on his face.

“That thing… Are you going to cut sausage with it?”

“Actually, I was planning to pick my nose, but I can cut the sausage while I’m at it.”

“Put it away. It’s better just to break the sausage up.”

“What’s the matter? It’s just a knife.”

“That son of a bitch used that very knife to draw human blood. I didn’t see it back there, or I’d have put it to proper use. Throw the fucking thing away!”