Amaury Dreher - Opalescence - The Secret of Pripyat

—What happened to him?

—Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. He’s dead, nothing more. It’s simple, the closer you get to the reactor core, the higher the radiation exposure gets. It’s exponential and he knew it. He was aware of the risks, it’s all his fault. His body was never returned to his family. It is forbidden to stay more than a few minutes in the reactor room, the consequences are fatal and irreversible. Who would want to take such a risk? His body was therefore never extracted or formally identified.

—Any other people went back there afterwards?

—Apart from a handful of workers and scientists, I doubt anyone has been there. I heard that a photographer claimed his desire to get in. I don’t know what happened to him. People will do anything to make themselves known. With the new sarcophagus it is even more complicated to enter. The complex is also much better monitored. If you ask me, there’s no treasure inside. Not even probably any treasure at all. It is a myth of Stalker, a fable to make the Zone even more captivating than it already is.

We walked along the railway that was heading north. The rail network seemed outdated, but had been renovated in the 1990s. It was now electrified and less abandoned than it seemed. Andrei explained to me that when he spent the night in the Zone he used to sleep on an old abandoned train near Yanov. “I’ll show you, you’ll like it. ‘He pointed out to me with a big smile on his face.

Together, we followed the steel rails, occasionally crossing different carcasses: skips, tanks and other vans. All rusty, all forgotten. Faded signalling equipment was still covering parts of the track. However, the railway appeared to be in working order. It had been maintained to a minimum.

After about twenty minutes, we finally arrived at a small train that seemed more or less preserved. Andrei always had a wide smile on his face.

—This is my hotel! he exclaimed proudly.

—Do you really sleep here? Is there any particular danger?

—It’s pretty safe. Animals do not enter and it protects against rain.

The train had been abandoned for about 30 years. The locomotive looked grey, half-gutted and looked like a pile of decaying scrap metal. The rest of the train was in better condition. Some pantographs were still intact, as were parts of the catenary. Andrei had his fetish car, at the back of the pack with its sky blue walls and red seats. The interior was designed as in the European trains of the 1950s. The patterns were outdated and the colours dull.

Although Pripyat had become too mainstream for explorers, this train was still not very popular. The Stalkers prefer to walk around there without spending too much time. Andrei confided to me anyway that one morning he had woken up without his things. Someone or something had stolen her bag during the night. He hadn’t heard anything. With little trouble, he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m still alive, that’s what matters to me.”

The railway continued and doubled in favour of a second section in much better condition. It crossed the Dneiper River and continued eastward to Slavutych, Pripyat’s younger sister, where many people had been displaced after the disaster. The city had been built in a hurry and on a similar model to Pripyat to accommodate refugees. Many workers were working daily from neighbouring cities to Chernobyl. During the 1990s, the network had been electrified and modernised to provide transport for workers. Rail had played a crucial role in the clean-up operations by transporting men and equipment. In addition, the railway network facilitated the management of nuclear waste buried in the surrounding area. Like visitors to the Zone, workers on the train were subject to daily checks to assess their exposure to radiation.

When we arrived at a switch, we saw a small technical room overhung by a faded sign. It bordered the tracks that separated in several directions, probably towards Belarus. A huge padlock adorned the door, but the glass had been broken. Slowly, I was passing my head through the frame. A smell of urine and dust was coming out, discouraging me from entering.

Andrei asked me: “There’s nothing in there, I’ve already checked. Let’s get out of here.”

We resumed our walk. As we moved forward, Andrei told me all kinds of anecdotes about the Zone and answered my questions. He explained to me in particular how some Stalkers were planning to organise a concert in the Zone. While small clandestine gatherings had already taken place in the forests around Pripyat, the organisation of an event with a real sound system was not feasible. The authorities would be alerted too quickly by the volume of decibels. Andrei’s dream was therefore to achieve a secret rally in a city building, or even a basement in order to remain discreet. He and his friends wanted to abandon themselves in an exceptional place. They wanted to achieve a transcendence that only the Zone could offer. Andrei had already prospected some contacts of his own. The preparation had to be flawless. For the time being, few elements had been formally decided, but the idea was on its way. No alcohol would be distributed. The most difficult thing was to find a suitable place. As almost all the windows have been broken, the music could be heard quite easily. It was also necessary to set up a surveillance system, people posted on the rooftops of Pripyat would stand guard and take turns. Military personnel will be corrupted. Only a small number of participants would be invited. I had trouble determining if he was serious or if he was just trying to impress me with his insane plans.

A lightning bolt zapped the sky in a petrifying roar. The atmosphere was becoming gloomy. A torrential rain was falling. Contrary to popular belief, storms also raged in winter and the Zone was not spared.

Andrei took me to a makeshift shelter that was nearby. Consisting only of a cover and a tarpaulin spread out between two trees, our refuge was dilapidated. I was confident that he would protect us from the flood. Squatting on the ground, we enjoyed a few cigarettes while watching the ballet of droplets smash here and there.

Smoking in the area is officially prohibited, due to the threat of fire and the dispersion of radioactivity. The Zone was equipped with many sensors and warning systems to prevent such incidents. In winter the risk was almost nil and Andrei told me that most of the detection tools were out of order. With a cheerful smile, he placed a tiny lantern at his disposal, supposed to enlighten us a little. Above us, the tarpaulin seemed to struggle not to give in to the pressure of the water. It was strewn with cracks and I was not too optimistic about its longevity. The recurrence of lapping and the runoff of drops were still soothing.

Placing a cup as an ashtray guide, Andrei began the conversation:

—So you want to go to the Red Forest?

—Yes, I will probably go there.

—Are you afraid?’ he asked.

—No,” I replied laconically.

Andrei winked at me.

—Fine. Don’t get lost! No one will pick you up there.

—Do you ever get scared?

—Not really. The guys did a good job on the new structure, the Zone is less exposed now. It seems that the old sarcophagus contained more than 150 square metres of cracks. They had to build it in a hurry with robots and helicopters. Can you believe it? It was a total panic. The guys hadn’t planned anything like that, it was all improvised. It must have been quite a mess.

—Yes, I imagine that the population around here has suffered a lot from these failures.

—Of course. But you know, the Ukrainians are not the most to pity. The wind dispersed much of the radiation to the North. It is estimated that 20% of Belarusians now live in contaminated areas. Almost a quarter of the territory is infected for all eternity. I mean, it doesn’t interest the western media.