Captain Bone’s quarters, 22:02:14 AFT
Tarasov is under the assumption that it was either their training or superior equipment that kept most of Captain Bone’s guards alive, because they are in far better shape than the Stalkers. The Captain himself, who is wearing his usual full armored suit and helmet, is unscathed, making Tarasov wonder if he and his men took part in the battle at all.
“While you were promenading around, we found some intel on one of the attackers,” Bone says. “We know where the rest of the mercs are hiding. They’re in the ruins of the City of Screams.”
“We expected that.”
“Well, now it’s confirmed. Why, would you have preferred to have tracked them down in dushman country? No? I thought not. Anyway, our goals are the same now. We’re going to smoke that place out. But first I’ll take my guards and see to it that the Outpost is reinforced. Those zombified freaks might strike again.”
“I presume they won’t be back anytime soon, knowing that they are also messing with the Tribe now.”
“You can afford to presume things, but I have the responsibility to keep this place safe. Take a few capable Stalkers and move to the west. I will meet you there in two days – at the City of Screams.”
“You will not return to Bagram first?”
“Why, for fuck’s sake, would I do that? To drink that junkie’s watered-down vodka in the Antonov? We have no time for that now.”
“You better make it there in time. We will need the firepower of your guards.”
“We will be there, don’t worry about that. Do you think those savages could give us a helping hand?”
“First, Captain Bone, they are anything but savages. Second, they won’t help us, but at least they will let us pass us through.”
“All the better. Maybe now we can show them that Stalkers can also fight.”
Tarasov finds Bone’s words strange. He can’t shake off a feeling that the foul-mouthed commander is actually relieved about the Tribe staying out of the operation, even if their help would shift the odds tremendously in their favor. He wishes he could look into Bone’s eyes.
“Good. We’re set then,” he finally confirms.
“Then why are you still standing here? Move!”
Road to the Tribe stronghold, 9 October 2014, 14:37:51 AFT
“I liked that song, Viktor,” Tarasov shouts, trying to make himself heard on the back of the truck taking them westwards, “and it was probably a good idea to omit the last part.”
“About being demobilized and going home?” the sergeant shouts back.
“Exactly.”
“Do Stalkers ever get demobilized?”
“That’s my point!”
“What?”
He shakes his head and waves to Zlenko, meaning: we’ll talk later. The truck is roaring along the bumpy road and the dust dredged up by the other truck in front of them covers them from toes to teeth. Not the best time to talk.
Passing by the intersection leading to the abandoned village, Tarasov wishes he could tell Zlenko more about the unit of framed US Marines who had turned into a tribe of proud and free men against all odds, but it will have to wait. For now, he can only watch the scenery pass by, but the sight of the wrecked Soviet tanks and trucks that still litter the roadside makes him sad.
Does this land never have enough of death? The sand absorbs blood like a dry sponge absorbs water.
The more he thinks about the Colonel’s philosophy of strength, the more he finds himself able to understand him.
Maybe, of all the conquerors that have passed along the very same road that we now drive upon, he was the first who truly understood this land. But where is all this evil coming from? Is the only way to be victorious over evil to become evil ourselves, no matter how respectable evil can be?
A quote comes to his mind: For what can war, but endless war still breed? though no matter how hard Tarasov tries to remember, the name of the writer who wrote it escapes him. Even so, the quote seems to fit perfectly with this barren and inhospitable land, where the rules of life had been those of war since time beyond memory, and where the appearance of the New Zone undermined even the laws of nature in an evil and deadly way.
For Tarasov, Nooria’s home was now the only place where he found true shelter for his life and comfort for his soul. Thinking about her, he realizes how fond he had grown of the girl: his feelings, which had been initially a mixture of gratitude, desire and maybe even a little pity, had turned into a deep affection that he, who had always been rough and skeptical towards his own feelings, did not dare to define yet.
The truck slows down, awakening him from his daydreams. They are approaching the entrance of a narrow canyon. Tribe warriors appear from out of nowhere. A Lieutenant raises his hand, signaling them to stop.
“We have the Colonel’s permission to pass through,” Tarasov shouts.
“So we heard,” the warrior replies. “Speed up! A storm is expected before nightfall.”
Tarasov returns his salute as they drive on. “We’re entering Tribe territory now,” he shouts to Zlenko. “We’ll stop before we arrive at their stronghold. I need to tell the Stalkers a few things, lest they get themselves in trouble.”
“It’s weird,” Zlenko shouts back. “The tribals saved our skin all right, but I have an uneasy feeling about spending the night in their lair!”
“I do not. Actually, I feel like I’m going home.”
Tribe stronghold, 16:53:06 AFT
The horizon has already sunk into a moody, purple haze when Tarasov walks up the path to the Bhegum’s house. On their way here, he had hoped to see Nooria waiting for him, looking down to the road leading into the hidden valley. He’d imagined her scarf blowing in the wind as her fragile shape appeared among the rocks and mud walls, but she was nowhere to be seen. Thoughts of jealousy interfered with his growing anxiety. No matter how tantalizingly close he was to Nooria, first he had to give a crash-course to the Stalkers on the customs of the Tribe.
Forget about vodka and grass. Do not stare at their women. And never ever try to impress them by saying things like ‘Semper Fi’ or calling yourself a ‘warrior’ – in their eyes, you are not worthy of that.
He had actually been relieved when the Stalkers had been excluded from the inside of the stronghold, being put up in a huge cavern that served as a garage for the Tribe’s vehicles instead. It offered shelter from the impending storm for the Stalkers, whilst simultaneously providing an easy way for the Tribe to keep a wary eye on their guests. The cavern also gave Tarasov a clue as to where and how the Marines and their Hazara followers could survive the nuclear blasts back in 2011.
He’d had to tell Zlenko the whole story too, though the sergeant, being a young man in his prime, had been more interested in Nooria’s looks than in his officer’s adventures, and Tarasov’s possessive heart secretly rejoiced when the warriors hadn’t let Zlenko enter the stronghold either, despite Tarasov’s half-hearted attempts to convince them otherwise.
But now, before he can finally turn his steps towards her, there is something else Tarasov has to take care of.
Here and there, warriors are still sitting around their hookah pipes, but they seem more relaxed than usual. Passing by a bonfire, the major overhears a conversation.
“…so I come home after the hunt, and… the Colonel knows my soul, I would never break the Code, but I was dying for something better than water and chair. And then my woman says, ‘try this’. And man, I tell you, it was… awesome.”
“Yeah, me too. I wish the witch could have discovered that recipe a little earlier.”
“I don’t care what she’d put into it. Maybe it was powdered rag-head dick, I don’t give a damn.”
“You disgusting pig. I’m drinking it right now!”
“You don’t get my point. No matter how she prepared this stuff, it makes life so much better.”
“There’s no argument about that. It almost tastes like the real thing… and talking about the real thing
, sometimes I think the Bhegum’s right. It’s all fuck the suck here. We should go home and start kicking ass!”
“Lower your voice! This is our home. Home is where the Tribe is.”
“Don’t be such a cheese dick. There’s no Lieutenant around who could hear us.”
“Shut up, you moron. Let’s drink to the Colonel!”
“Yeah, whatever.”
The conversation makes Tarasov frown. His escape from the Pit and the mission given by the Bhegum now appear in a wholly different light. However, he can’t ponder on what might happen to the Tribe in the future now.
He opens the door to Boxkicker’s bunker. When he steps inside, the armourer jumps up and recoils with fright. His face is still green and blue from the last beating he’d taken from Tarasov.
“Is that camouflage paint on your face?”
“Oh my God,” Boxkicker says in panic. “It’s you!”
“Indeed. But who am I?”
“I… I don’t care, just chill, okay? What do you need?”
“Ammunition. Lots of.”
“Take whatever you want… but it’s no longer free, you know?”
Tarasov looks at the pitcher on Boxkicker’s table. It is filled with the same brown, misty liquid that the warriors were having.
“Here’s the deal. Two boxes of 12-gauge double-0 buckshot, a C-mag for a P27, and… never mind, I have enough for my M4.”
“Double-0? One shell is equal to shooting someone a half dozen times with 9 millimeter rounds. What are you after, dinosaurs?”
“I don’t know yet. Anyway, give me all this and in exchange I will tell you what you are drinking.”
“It comes from the w– I mean, our wonderful healer, so it must be something made from an artifact or whatever…”
“No.” Tarasov can barely hold back his laughter. “So, do you want to know what it is?”
“Take the ammo. And now tell me!”
“Leave that Geiger counter alone. It’s safe to drink.” Tarasov takes a long gulp from Boxkicker’s pitcher. “Not bad… but could be colder.”
“Will you just tell me what the hell this is?”
“Kvas.”
“What’s kvas?”
“I get her kiss. You get her kvas. Bye!”
Nooria’s home, 17:50:22 AFT
All jealous thoughts vanish as he opens the door and sees Nooria sitting on the ground with pestle and mortar between her legs, grinding herbs. The hearth is lit, its fire casting a spell of coziness over the room. A thousand words come to his mind but his lips can only utter two.
“I’m back.”
She looks up with an impish smile that hides joy in the corner of her eyes. “That’s good.”
“Where’s the Bhegum?”
“She is with Colonel. Sometimes they talk. She will not be back soon.” Nooria fixes her eyes on him, still smiling. The pestle crushing the herbs in the mortar moves faster.
“Maybe we also talk?” Tarasov asks. He puts his heavy gear down on the table.
Whoever designed this damned exoskeleton didn’t have a way of quickly getting out of it in mind.
“No. Why?” The pestle moves even faster and deeper into the mortar. She licks her lips.
“Well… where I came from, I mean, normally, when a man comes home to his woman…”
“But now you are not where you come from,” Nooria whispers and licks the pestle, as if tasting the balm she is preparing. “You are where you arrive to.”
Tarasov sits down in front of her, watching her hands moving the pestle in the mortar, slowing down to gentle movements, then speeding up and crushing the herbs inside with a heady rhythm. The scent rising from the mortar between her legs cleans his mind, shifting the concerns from his soul, making way for the basic instincts erupting from his heart.
Yes. This is where I have arrived, and will arrive.
He grasps her hands and, putting the mortar aside, takes its place between her legs, eventually entering the safest refuge a man could find from the clasps of thunder and the raging storm outside.
10 October 2014, 03:14:39 AFT
“We need to talk.”
Nooria’s whisper awakes him from his half-sleep. One single candle is flickering in the darkness. The storm is still roaring outside.
“Not now,” he moans.
Nooria stands up and, covering her naked, sweaty body with her scarf, takes a little box from a shelf where all kinds of old and enigmatic things lie.
“Wake up and listen. I have something to tell you.”
Her words remind Tarasov of what the Colonel told him. Suddenly he is fully awake. Looking at Nooria’s face in the candlelight, the emotion he least expected grasps his heart: fear. She sits there, looking into the candle, with a face that seems to battle the most terrible demons in the darkness beyond the dim light. Her face appears ageless and, with the shadows hiding her scar, inhumanly beautiful.
“All was lost after they destroyed Samal and all was unleashed after he fell. It took over Colonel’s soul but he crushed darkness with its own weapons. But he was not victorious. He is now part of darkness. As we are all who live under his protection. Power of darkness shed its light on him. His strength reflected it like ancient stone shining on Samal’s head, but he was not Samal. Darkness stained him. You will go into darkness to find its power. But Samal is no longer there to protect you. And you have not strength of our leader.”
What the hell are you talking about, Tarasov wants to ask, but a look into Nooria’s eyes stops his tongue. She looks into the candle with her eyes wide open, but he can only see their whites. Nooria seems to be lost in a space where he could never follow her.
“I hold a bridge between old time when Samal was our sentinel and today. What I hold is here.” She closes her eyes. When she opens them, he can see her pupils again. Nooria looks down at a small, red stone in her right hand. “Sit up.”
Obeying her words, Tarasov raises from the mat. A knife flashes in Nooria’s left hand, cutting deep into the flesh above his heart. The cut fills him with burning pain as she pushes the stone deep into the wound and holds her palm over it. The pain eases a little but blood is still pouring from the wound, flowing through her fingers and down her arm.
“Why did you hurt me?” he groans.
“I would never hurt you.”
Even through his pain, he can only think about her lightning-quick cut as he realizes that this fragile woman, who now takes her hand off his chest and licks the blood from her fingers, must be as good at killing as she is at healing.
“Now you are bearing last stone that once adorned Samal’s crown. And I bear your blood and your life inside me. That is what I took in exchange for protecting you.”
“For protecting me?”
“One part protects you. Two parts bond the darkness.”
Tarasov opens his mouth to say something but Nooria puts her finger on his lips.
“Do you want to see me again and live with me?”
“I do, Nooria.”
“Forever?”
“Is there such a thing?”
Nooria caresses his head. It is domination, not tenderness – but powerless domination, because while her hands are soothing his pain, her eyes seem to be begging with him.
“Remember your own words when you find shadow of darkness. You will shed blood and last drop will be yours. If you want me to live, you will have to make a sacrifice.”
“I am still in pain and not understanding anything.”
“You will. Lie down.”
Nooria kneels over him, her left hand on Tarasov’s wound, the right on his forehead. He feels the pain finally fading away from his chest, just like the fear from his mind. Closing his eyes, he hears Nooria whispering words that melt into a long incantation. His heart is beating under her warm hand, as if it were pumping his blood into her veins.
“It is done. Samal will be with you from now on,” she says. “You will carry him to his last battle. Now I must cause you p
ain. Just a little.”
Tarasov struggles for breath when he feels the sharp sting of the needle, but Nooria’s soothing touch seems to suck all pain out of his body. Her swift fingers quickly finish sewing up his wound. She bites off the yarn protruding from the wound.
“Your mind can rest now,” she whispers, letting herself glide down to his groin. “But I will keep your body awake. I must quench thirst of my flesh now, because it will parch until you return.”
“Will there be such a day?”
“I know what past has brought, but not what future will bring.” Nooria caresses his face. Tarasov feels his eyes closing. The words she whispers into his ear sound like an ancient melody.
“When your star is unseen, and all is dark, your despair itself becomes a star… Sleep now, my strong warrior. Sleep…”
Encrypted voice transmission between the New Zone and Kiev, 10 September 2014, 08:41:07 AFT
#Kilo One, this is Renegade calling. Do you copy?#
#Kilo One to Renegade. Copy you loud and clear.#
#Eagle Eye authorized me to tell you to confirm – your suspicion was correct. The squad has been located. All KIA.#
#Affirmative. Damn, that’s bad news.#
#It was a friendly element that discovered them. If he is who I suspect he is, so far your plan is working. #
# That’s classified, Renegade. Proceed with your mission and provide us the proof.#
#I think there will be an opportunity for that… Kilo One, is this man of yours doing all this to escape a court-martial or something? #
#Kilo One to Renegade. Transmission wasn’t clear, repeat. #
#Renegade to Kilo One. I asked you because he will surely make our objective show his hand, but no man deserves to be punished like that. I guess not even you know what is waiting for him. You must hate him if you send him there. #
#[static noise]#
#Kilo One to Renegade. That’s classified.#
# Renegade to Kilo One. Eagle Eye is bad enough but you are even worse. All right, team is relocating. Will contact you and Eagle Eye when proof is obtained.#
#Kilo One. Roger on the voice transfer, Renegade.#
# God damn you Kilo One, he was a fine man. Over and out.#
#[static noise]#