Balázs Pataki - S.T.A.L.K.E.R. - Northern Passage

If he was fully mutant, he could just exist on; hunting, feeding, maybe even finding a way to breed. He grins at the thought of a naïve female Stalker trying her luck in the New Zone and what he would do to her. Still half human, he has the ability to hope, even though he curses hope; he would find it so much better to live the stupid, single-minded life of a mutant and let go of thinking of his future. Because thinking of this leads to despair — alone, having even discharged his now-useless rifle and clad in rags, he has nothing left to hope for.

Such gloomy thoughts keep occupying Skinner’s mind when he navigates his way to the Panjir valley. He has no particular destination there; he will lead no more greedy Stalkers into the depths of the secret facility to turn them into smiters, and never again will he have at least a pack of mutants to help him fulfill any plan he still might have. For the time being, though, it is dusk and with temperatures soon falling below zero, he’d better seeks a shelter for the night.

He sees a ruined farmstead on a hill not far and makes his way towards it with exhausted, slow steps. The wind becomes stronger as he approaches and he pulls his gas mask on to protect his face from the biting cold.

“Stoi!”

Obeying the command barked by an unseen sentry, Skinner stops and holds his hands up.

“Stalker coming through!” he shouts. “Don’t shoot, brother!”

“Stay where you are!”

Two armed men appear out of nowhere. Skinner notices with surprise that they are neither Stalkers nor Bandits but well-equipped Spetsnaz commandos. The only thing more surprising than their appearance is that they hadn't already shot him.

“He’s unarmed,” a Spetsnaz reports.

“Bring him up, Vlasov,” the sentry responds.

Skinner can see him now. He appears to be an officer, armed with — yet another surprise — a US-made sniper rifle.

He is led to the nearest ruin. A campfire burns inside and several commandos are warming themselves at it. They appear tired and beaten.

“You come from Bagram?” the marksman asks. He takes off his helmet and sits down at the fire. A black eye patch covers his left eye.

“I’ve been everywhere,” Skinner replies. He forces himself to be calm. Talking is not easy with the barrel of an AKM assault rifle pointed against his ribs.

“You know this area?”

For a moment, Skinner thinks about just unleashing his wrath on them. He doesn’t need their weapons and ammunition, but there is a smell around the men that makes his stomach rumble.

The Spetsnaz behind him bashes Skinner in the back.

“Answer Captain Maksimenko’s question, Stalker!”

“It’s all right, Sergeant,” the half-eyed Spetsnaz replies. “Come, sit down. You look like you could use food, Stalker. Answer us a few questions and we’ll give you some. Be stubborn, and we kill you.”

“Why don’t we kill him right now?” another commando asks. “Look at how big he is. He’ll eat for two!”

“Shut up, Bronsky,” Captain Maksimenko replies without looking at his soldier. “We could use an extra rifle and this fellow looks like one who’s been around here for a while. Right, Stalker?”

“One could say that,” Skinner says.

“Do you know the way to Panjir valley?”

“Depends,” Skinner cautiously replies. “It’s a big place. Dangerous, too. Full of wolves this time of year.”

“Fuck those wolves,” a Spetsnaz groans. Both of his arms are covered with bloody bandages. “Thought they were like blind dogs, and then one just tears the AK from my hands and another bites the head off the guy next to me!”

“I wish I was still be dismantling irradiated submarines,” another soldier moans. “This job is worse than strafbat.”

“Stop whining, maggots,” Sergeant Vlasov grumbles indifferently. “You’re fucking Spetsnaz. Act like it, for God’s sake.”

The captain shows Skinner his PDA. “We are looking for an electric substation, about two day’s march from Bagram. Supposed to be in this long valley, here. You ever been there?”

Skinner is glad his gas mask hides the grin that is now coming to his face. Could it be that his bad luck is just about to turn? His heart starts pounding faster. He feels an urge to take his Orthodox cross and kiss it — right at this time of dire luck, fate is about to give him a chance to gather new followers. All he has to do is to guide these unsuspecting soldier boys into the depths and let the abandoned facility do the rest.

“Yes, I know it,” he says.

“Firsthand or just heard about the place from a drunk Stalker?” Maksimenko inquires.

“Been there myself, yes.”

“Can you guide us there? We’ll give you food rations in exchange and if you don’t do anything stupid, a rifle as well.”

“That sounds great,” Skinner says with his eyes shining. “Believe me, I know that place very well… like the back of my hand!”

Maksimenko and Vlasov share a frown. Neither of them know why he is in such a good mood all of a sudden, and even less so why his chuckle has something uncanny about it that gives them the creeps.

Food or smiters? That’s what I call a choice!

Skinner’s chuckle grows into bellowing laughter.

Welcome to the New Zone, boys!

It is late at night.

In one of the many tents erected to accommodate the Tribe’s women and children who lost their homes in the siege, Nooria and the Beghum are warming themselves at a small fire.

There is a timeless feeling over their scene: the fire casting their shadow on the canvas; the daughter resting her head on her mother’s shoulder; their dark eyes reflecting the orange flames; the soft wind stirring the tent flaps.

“Madar, man besyar khoshhal hatsam ke be khane bargashti!” The words flowing from Nooria’s lips, spoken in her native Hazaragi language, are eloquent and powerful. “I had hoped that giving my word to a robber and bandit would be like writing on water. But no matter what a scoundrel Sultan is, he did keep his promise. He lured me in a trap like a hunter would a deer, and now the harder I try to get out the tighter it keeps me. Honor binds and requires me to kill the man I love. Madar, please, tell me there is a way out of this, for my heart is bleeding and my soul is torn between love and honor!”

“How is she?”

“Very good.” Gently, Nooria puts her mother’s hands to her belly and smiles. “I can feel she is sleeping now.”

“I am glad to see that my judgment was right,” the Beghum says. “He got you with child and proved strong enough to protect you. Protect us, even. Nevertheless, the role of your man is limited, just like that of my man. What they provide are all but small steps on our long way—protection, care, seed. Ultimately, dokhtra, we won’t be needing them.”

“Maybe Leighley knows and that’s why he is no longer with you, madar.”

“What could a lonely man in the desert do when he sees the storm rising, knowing there is no way to escape?”

“Run or try to ride the storm.”

“How futile! But he still thinks he can ride it. Even if all this was just a breeze heralding the impending storm.”

“Madar, I met a wise man during my passage through the northern lands which Mikhailo calls the Zone. He believes that everything happens there by the will of that Zone. Are the Spirit and the Zone the same? Mikhailo and some Stalkers believe they are.”

“This fire lights up our tent but just a few steps away, darkness prevails. So is human wisdom — it cannot see beyond the next day. Only we have the power to see beyond. Mark my words — she will be the connection , born from parents marked by both lands. She will break the evil that has appeared here and to the north. The world will tremble when she challenges evil, and all human concerns will be like sand in the storm.” The Beghum takes a pinch of sand from the ground and blows it off her palm. “Until those days come, we are bound by honor, for honor is our compass through these dark times. It always was.”