"So, who are these renegades?" Nick asked me, sitting on a mattress opposite me with his legs crossed.
The sun had
already set below the horizon, and the street was gradually sinking into darkness. And the stalker and I were busy setting up the attic for the night. We spread out the mattresses, sleeping bags, and even started eating. Unfortunately, we couldn't make a fire here, so we had to settle for cold stewed meat and a pack of crackers. While eating, Nick started talking.
"I haven't encountered them myself, well, it's understandable," I began to answer. "Wolf said that these guys might be found here. Scum from all the factions who couldn't settle anywhere. They've banded together into one faction and terrorize loners. However, no one has seen them for a long time, and some said they went here, to the Swamps. You can recognize them by the painted scorpion. If we see any of them, we should open fire immediately."
"Better not to meet them," Nick said quietly. "I don't want to shoot people."
"That's true, of course," I nodded, picking up a piece of meat with a fork and placing it on a cracker. "But you always need to be ready. Better them than us."
Then we ate in silence. I put the empty can aside, stuffing the empty cracker pack into it. I stood up and walked towards the exit, looking at the twilight sky. A light breeze was blowing, and the clouds were calmly drifting across the sky. Somewhere in the distance, dogs howled, and the cawing of crows echoed them. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to Nick, who had come closer to the exit with an empty container in his hands, intending to throw it away.
"No need, leave it here," I stopped him. "Leftover food can attract dogs. And people, if they come here, might get alarmed."
"But there are a lot of empty stewed meat cans here. And why do you think someone might come here? It's a dead place, you don't have to be so careful."
"They are almost all in the houses," I began to explain. "And those that are lying outside have been there for more than a week. And here, suddenly, a freshly opened can of stewed meat. As for people, think about it yourself. There are good houses here, a place to sleep. It's unlikely to be a permanent camp, otherwise, we wouldn't have gotten in here so easily, but the fact that people come here regularly is a fact. And they might notice unexpected trash. Let them think that no one is here but them, and never was."
"What can they do?" Nick grumbled quietly, moving back to his spot and throwing the can into a corner. "We'll shoot them from above if they come at us."
"Yeah," I nodded in confirmation. "You say that until the first grenade is thrown here. Just in case."
He fell silent and crawled into his sleeping bag. We had already agreed that I would guard first, and then I would wake him up after a couple of hours. And so on until morning. Even though we are sleeping in a relatively safe place, caution is not out of place. Brutes are unlikely to climb up, but some stalker might. I sat down more comfortably on the mattress, turned off the flashlight that had been illuminating the attic, and turned on the PDA, it was time to see what Tishka had.
I noticed that the PDA had little charge left, only twenty percent, and I would have to change the battery soon. By the way, it turned out that Sidorovich is responsible for charging equipment on the Cordon. You can buy batteries there in a large assortment, and simply leave your battery to charge. No one dared to leave their communicators with the trader.
I sorted the files by date added and realized that not much had been transferred from Tishka. On the maps, there were only a few markings on the Cordon, and they were at the level of "don't go here," no particularly valuable information was obtained. There were no notes at all. The stalker network doesn't catch here; I've read everything that could be read, so I turned off the PDA to avoid wasting battery power and put it in my backpack.
"Executioner?" Nick called me quietly.
"What?"
"Can we talk?" he continued in the same low voice. "I can't sleep, it feels uncomfortable."
"Only if you don't fall asleep on watch later," I agreed, why not talk, the night is long, and there's absolutely nothing to do here.
"Why did you come to the Zone?"
"Probably like everyone else here," I answered after a little thought. Should I tell him I stumbled into it by accident? "For money."
"You don't look like a money-seeker," he replies, shifting uncomfortably. "Usually, those who come here for money are very impatient and take risks. But you weigh everything before you do something. And you deal with other stalkers; you could have rushed to the Dump for the diggers long ago."
"Is there something to rush for?"
"Well, yes," Nick says. "Recently, they dug up some equipment that the government buried as highly radioactive. Nowadays, no one is surprised by such radiation levels, so the diggers drag out parts or devices. They say it's very profitable. And more stable than artifact hunting."
"Then why didn't you go to them yourself, Nick?" I ask him in return.
"I'm scared," the stalker says quietly after a pause. "I came to the Zone myself to overcome my fear. A friend talked me into it; we stalked here quietly with him. Artifacts, shooting dogs, we even completed a couple of tasks for Sidorovich."
"Tishka?"
"No, no, we became friends here," he replies. "But Andrey abandoned me here. We ran into bandits during one of our excursions. He ran away, and I stayed. Those scumbags beat me up and robbed me. By the time I got back to the camp, my friend was gone. That's when Tishka really helped me out. He shared his gear, food... And I just left him in trouble..."
"The main thing is that you realize your mistake and are trying to correct it," I reassure the guy. "You did badly, but you found the strength to start over. I don't think a coward would have come here with me."
"Thank you," Nick replies quietly, turning away from me. "Good night."
"Good night."
The rest of the night passed peacefully, only somewhere in the darkness, dogs sometimes howled, or perhaps mutated wolves, if any still roamed here. A couple of times, it even seemed like they were very close to the farmstead, but no matter how much I peered into the darkness, I couldn't make out anything. And every two hours, Nick and I took turns on watch. By morning, I was completely exhausted; I wasn't used to such a sleep schedule. And I really didn't want to get up when my partner started shaking my shoulder.
"Time to get up," he whispers. "I got some food, let's have breakfast."
"Yeah, yeah, in a moment," I reply. "A couple of minutes, and I'll get up."
But as we started to eat breakfast, several shots were heard from outside, very close to the farmstead. We immediately lost our appetite. Grabbing our weapons, we took positions on either side of the door leading outside. Nothing happened for a few minutes; I had even started to think that someone was shooting mutants when several stalkers entered the farmstead's territory, dragging a man in a blue jumpsuit. I noticed a large brown stain spreading across his right thigh.
"Drop him, guys," one of them, the oldest-looking one, says in a hoarse, smoky voice and turns his back to us.
Renegades. I have to watch very carefully so they don't notice, and the stealth skill helps a lot with that.
"Now, tell me, where is your base? We're tired of searching for you all over the swamps."
"I won't tell you anything, you freaks," the Clear Sky man exclaims loudly. "You won't get it! And I've already called for reinfo... Ah-a-a!"
"Well, well," the lead renegade says, pressing his thumb into the stalker's wounded leg. "We know. And we're really waiting for them to come to us. Your signal is coming from here; they won't go into the church, and that's a shame, a real shame. But all this could be avoided if you tell us where you rats are hiding."
I shift my gaze to a nervous Nick. I see how tightly his hand grips an old PM, and he bites his lower lip, not daring to peek outside. He looks at me questioningly, and I disengage the safety on my pistol, exhale, peek out sharply from the opening, raise my weapon, and fire three shots. The renegades, who hadn't managed to do anything, fall to the ground, and I fire three more times. Control shots.
I hide behind the wall and replace the half-empty magazine with a full one, just in case. Nick decides to peek outside; he sees the wounded man and is about to jump down, but I manage to grab him by the sleeve of his jacket.
"Don't," I whisper to him. "We'll wait. We'll go down now and lose our advantage if there's anyone else there."
"But there's a wounded man..." he tries to persuade me.
"We wait," he returns to his previous position with slight reluctance.
"Hey!" the Clear Sky man who noticed us calls out. "There's no one else there; you can come out..."
"Are you sure?" I ask him, peeking out a little. He nods. Then I turn to Nick.
"Stay here; cover me if anything goes wrong."
"Maybe I should go? You shoot better..."
"And can you provide first aid? No? Then stay here," I say, picking up my backpack and descending from the attic.
I approach the wounded stalker. A man in his thirties, with light stubble and a stern look in his blue eyes. His blue jumpsuit with white spots was dirty and even torn in places. The bloody stain on his right pant leg had grown larger. I quickly look around and check the condition of the bodies lying nearby. Dead. I can provide assistance. I sit down next to the Clear Sky man, drop my backpack on the ground, and take out a first-aid kit. I rip open the pant leg with a knife and wash the area around the wound with water, treating the wound itself with hydrogen peroxide. I lift the injured man's leg, and despite his groans, I see that the wound is not a through-and-through one, and I begin to bandage it.
"Thank you, man," the stalker thanks me, exhaling loudly. "My name is Proton."
"Executioner,"
I introduce myself, then nod towards the attic. "And that's my partner, Nick."
"Executioner, I understand you're unlikely to agree," Proton says. "But you heard it yourself; an ambush is being planned for my guys there. Help me, huh? And I won't be in your debt. I saw how you took them down. Did you serve in reconnaissance?"
"I'll help, but you'll help me with information too," I reply. "I need Shaman; do you know him?"
"Shaman? I know him; we've crossed paths a couple of times. Help the guys, and I'll tell you everything. Just warn them. Don't get yourself into trouble; you can go around the church through the cemetery. The tower is within reach from there, and our guys are guarding it."
"Is that church far?"
"No, about ten minutes' walk from here."
"Nick, come down," I call my partner. "Help me drag Proton into the house."
I take a step towards one of the renegades, pick up the pistol from his hands, and hand it to the wounded stalker. He nods gratefully, and then Nick and I drag him into the house, where we slept in the attic. We set Proton up on a stool in the corner of one of the rooms. Then I hand my backpack to my partner, transferring an incomplete pack of pistol ammunition into my jacket pocket.
"Are you sure?" Nick asks me, looking into my eyes.
"Yes," I answer him confidently. "I should be able to slip through alone, and this is our chance to find out exactly where Shaman lives. I can sneak past a few criminals." While I'm gone, search the bodies and don't forget to grab the PDA.
I don't know when I became so confident in my abilities, but I'm sure the system and skills will help me slip past the renegades. And if I'm lucky, I'll kill them myself; the loot won't hurt. I leave the farmstead's territory and cautiously move towards the crudely built bridge, scanning the surroundings. Trees with green leaves, grass peeking through in places, reeds, cattails, and a few bushes. The anomaly detector beeped a couple of times.
After walking a dozen or so meters past the bridge creaking under my weight, I saw the church from behind a tree. It wasn't much different from the one presented in the game. A long-abandoned, dilapidated wooden church.
Bending down, I approach the low brick fence separating the church grounds. I lift my head over it, surveying the area. No one is around, but I hear a few voices coming from the building. I carefully climb over the fence, trying not to make noise. I miscalculate slightly, and my rifle hits the bricks. Fortunately, the sound wasn't too loud, and the renegades didn't hear anything. I step cautiously towards the church, press myself against the wooden wall, and slowly peek through the window.
Inside, there are five renegades. Three of them are sitting by a extinguished campfire, one is standing next to them, and the remaining renegade with a double-barreled shotgun is on the second level, with his back to me. The one standing by the fire is armed with a pistol; the weapons of the others are not visible from here.
"When are they coming? I'm tired of standing here and looking out for them," complains the renegade with the pistol. "And what if there are more of them than us..."
"Don't worry, buddy," one of the seated men replies in a smoky voice, taking a swig from his flask. "The boss said he'd come to us after he dealt with that pigeon. You heard the shots, right? They really roughed up that guy, heh-heh. We'll handle them with eight barrels. So go on, don't miss our suckers."
"Why do we need them at all?" asks another, as the standing renegade turns around. "We can't get any money or gear from them."
"Hush," the leader stops him. "They said we need to, so we need to."
I decide to take a risk and cautiously lean out of the window frame, raising my weapon. I fire a few shots, taking down all three by the campfire and the guard with the pistol before he moves too far away. But before I can aim my pistol at the renegade with the double-barreled shotgun, he turns towards me and fires two consecutive shots. I fall forward, hitting the stone porch hard, and the buckshot pierces the old wood above my head. I jump up and find myself in the doorway as the opponent reloads his weapon. Two shots, and he falls from the second level. With the corner of my eye, I notice that the half-dead renegade by the campfire is trying to aim at me, but I cut short his attempt with another round, this time hitting him right in the head. Done.