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

“Glad I could impress you. So?”

“It wasn’t you but her, Marked One.”

Guide bows his head to Nooria. Although she doesn’t understand a word from their conversation, she returns the Stalker’s gesture with a smile. Guide turns back to Strelok and rubs his gloved hands together.

“I do know a way to get you there quickly. Not short, but safe. It’s the road used by grozovikami smerti.”

Strelok’s face turns suddenly pale. “Grozovikami smerti?”

Nooria frowns upon seeing the shadow of fear over the hardened Stalker’s face.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Death Trucks,” Strelok translates, swallowing hard. “Monolith used them to transport dead and brainwashed Stalkers.”

“Brings back fond memories, huh?” Guide smiles. “Don’t worry, we won’t need to ride one. I’m talking about the road they used.“

“A road for Death Trucks?” Strelok asks taken aback.

“That’s correct. Mostly a dirt track in good overall condition. The Monolithians marked all anomalies and regularly cleared off the mutants roaming along it. Now that they’re cornered to the north, the road is no longer maintained and we might run into a few obstacles.”

“What obstacles?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. It’s still much safer than any other way to southern Cordon and a safer way means quicker process.”

“Incredible,” Strelok murmurs.

“Why? If you were Monolith, would you drive those trucks first through Freedom, then Duty and Army territory? They aren’t that stupid, you should know that very well!”

Guide takes two PDAs from the crate and holds them over to Strelok.

“Monolith PDAs. See? You think I’m here to shoot zombies? Come on, bratan! Their stashes and PDAs are a treasure trove for learning more about the Zone. For example, did you know that there is a Space anomaly in the CNPP that can teleport you right next to Sidorovich’s bunker?”

“I do. Have been through it, too.”

“Oh, stop bragging about your big raid at last!”

“A secret Monolithian path…” Strelok frowns, wagering their chances. “You sure about this?”

“You’re funny. First you beg me to show you a fast way to Cordon, then don’t believe me when I tell you!”

“Sorry. It was just… never mind. Uhodim!”

“Yes, let’s go. Wait for me downstairs until I lock up my place.”

While Guide closes the trapdoor with several number-coded, unbreakable padlocks, Strelok explains Guide’s plan to Nooria.

“But why not to Swamps?” she asks.

“We better go directly to Cordon Base. There’s no time to waste. If they take him to Kiev he’ll be out of anyone’s reach.”

“Ready?” Guide asks heading down the ladder. His Dragunov is slung over his shoulder.

“How is your ankle?” Nooria asks Strelok.

“Hurts, but I’ll survive,” he replies with a grimace. “It’s okay with the bandage and the last two painkillers I had.”

“What happened to you?” Guide asks.

“Uhm… fell out of a tree,” Strelok says looking elsewhere.

“Welcome to the man-made hell,” Guide replies, grinning. “Move! Keep up with me or become bloodsucker food!”

Tarasov curses himself.

He lets his encounter with Shumenko go through his mind for the hundredth time, but still can’t find anything he could blame for his capture apart from bad luck.

Had they taken a different path.

Why would we?

Had they run away while they still could.

No chance.

Had he just shot Shumenko and escaped into the wilderness.

One hunting rifle against a squad of Spetsnaz and Duty? Suicide.

It was bad luck and betrayal that resulted in a situation from which he could have never fought his way out; not with the hunting rifle he had.

All he can think about is Nooria. If he could break out of his confinement at the price of a broken skull, he would gladly ram the metal wall with his head. Setting his teeth to suppress the desire to scream and curse, he sits on the floor, banging the walls with the back of his head. The unceasing rapping of the heavy rain on the top of the metal cell even adds to his mental pain.

What would I shout, anyway? Calling on my former soldiers to take on the Spetsnaz guards and free me? It was one of my most trusted soldiers who betrayed me for a handful of money. What could I expect from the rest?

He curses Maksimenko for the subtle way to torture him — kept prisoner in his own former base, in a holding facility he himself had ordered to be transformed from a mobile command station and, like the vigilant officer he had been, personally made sure that it offered no way to escape.

I had so many good men under my command. Viktor Zlenko. Ilchenko, that bastard. Damn… I don’t even know his given name. Squirrel… Freedom hates the military. Gospodi, I’ll find myself hoping for the anarchists to come and raid Cordon… no way, they are way too weak for that. All gone… at least I’m still alive, unlike them. God save their souls.

The only one he could put his remaining hopes on is the Top. But no matter how strong and capable the old warrior is, Tarasov knows that he would have no chance coming to his rescue.

Damn… damn. He doesn’t even know where I am. And those bastards took Nooria to Kiev. Damn! What now? Will the Tribe declare war on Ukraine?

He smiles bitterly over the nonsense of his thoughts.

Those goddamned renegades… if they’d come for me, it would be only to kick my ass for putting Nooria in danger. Yes… that would be quite a show. The Top, Driscoll and all those fanatic Lieutenants storming the Zone. Renegade Marines against Spetsnaz. Hell of a showdown. Wish they were here, blasting this whole place with me inside, I don’t care!

His capture by the Tribe flashes through his mind. They kept him in the place they called the Brig, where he wished for the Zone unleash its power on the Tribe who he loathed then.

There I wished for the Zone to come… here for the New Zone’s warriors. Where do I belong now?

Thinking of this, the controversy appears to him so ridiculous that he has to laugh. One of the Spetsnaz guarding the holding cell immediately bangs on the door.

“Shut up, prisoner!”

“Why?” Tarasov shouts back, loud enough to make himself heard through the metal walls and the heavy rain outside. “Can’t I laugh about the fucked up situation I’m in?”

“You—”

Whatever the Spetsnaz wanted to tell him, it ended in a gurgle. Then all is quiet again, only the rain keeps drumming on the container’s metal roof.

After a moment, he hears someone tampering with the lock, and after another heartbeat the door slowly opens. Through rain and darkness, Tarasov cannot see the face of the figure wearing a Stalker suit, but the eyes dimly illuminated by the night vision goggles’ green light look familiar. He hears a whisper.

“Come, quickly!”

Tarasov heeds his call without thinking twice. The Stalker points to the ground where a dead Spetsnaz lies.

“Get his weapon and help me hide the body!”

Tarasov slings the commando’s AN104 rifle over his shoulder and grabs the body by the legs. Together, they quickly drag him behind the holding facility where the searchlight in the watchtower can’t detect it. The body of another Spetsnaz is already lying there.

The rain soaks him to his skin in seconds. Tarasov quickly takes two more magazines from the ammunition vest of the second body.

“Follow me,” the Stalker whispers.

Ducking, the two men cautiously proceed to a bush opposite the base gate.