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From the Zone with love	By : deepsearuin Category: +S through Z > S.T.A.L.K.E.R: Shadows of Chernobyl Views: 943 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own S.T.A.L.K.E.R., nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Finally it's here, the promised story about Strelok's life post CoP. This one could also be called "Strelok is miserable: The Story".
At first glance it was difficult to believe this was the famous Strelok, the stalker who disabled the Brain Scorcher and then went into Pripyat by himself to defy the Monolith. Degtaryev had been expecting a man though as nails, probably carrying an exosuit, not a skinny, mousy man who looked about to collapse in exhaustion. Degtyarev would lie if he said he hadn't been slightly disappointed.
Upon further reflection though, the man had been surviving on his own in this Monolith infested city for God knows how long. Yeah, he could totally believe that was the same man he'd heard so much about. And he even had the gall to come strolling into the military base, after driving them nuts with the signal they kept detecting, and paint the higher ups as total incompetents with just a couple of phrases. Degtyarev immediately liked him. He was itching to talk with him and give him back the content of the stashes he found. But Degtyarev had no idea of how to approach him without looking like a creep; because, let's face it, what kind of person collects pieces of another person's life? So he decided first to strike up a conversation with him regarding other things.
After a some of questions about the CNPP and the Monolith –he was curious, ok?– Degtyarev finally confessed finding the caches of Strelok's group. To say Strelok was surprised was an understatement.
"Wonder how you could find them..." Yeah, they had been well hidden, but Degtyarev was damn good at finding clues and hidden things. "There should have been some records left. Found any of them?"
The barely disguised hope in the stalker's voice caught him off guard. Degtyarev had supposed he would be grateful to have back the notes from his comrades, yet he never imagined Strelok was going to react like those messages were life's greatest treasure. Strelok looked like he was going to hug him, but in the end he settled for a heartfelt "Thank you", and a promise to not forget what Degtyarev had done.
#
The evacuation was a nightmare. Just after stepping out of the Laundromat, a horde of zombified stalkers was waiting for them. They kept coming, wave after wave, until Degtyarev almost thought he was in the Night of the living dead.
Then, when they were done with the zombies, it was the turn for the endless hordes of mutants coming for them. If this kept up they would run out of ammo before arriving to the evacuation point. It was Strelok who solved their problem when he started running in an effort to leave the mutants behind. No shame in running away when you were about to be overrun, it was a sound strategy. Although this panicked sprinting through the streets of Pripyat could hardly be called a strategic fall back. But dignity comes a distant second to survival.
Nevertheless, herding mutants against them wasn't the only trick at the disposal of the Zone. A massive psy emission hit them on their way to the evacuation point, though thankfully it wasn't a full blown blowout. Several soldiers stumbled like drunk at the sudden emission, and Rogovets went down babbling like a madman. Degtyarev helped him up and tried to calm him, yet he ended shaking the stunned man to bring him out of his trance. It worked, sort of. However Rogovets was in no fit state to continue right now, he could barely stand up. Kovalsky materialized by their side and ordered Degtyarev to press on to the evacuation point with Strelok and Tarasov. The rest would follow in a moment, once Rogovets could keep himself upright.
Once they arrived to the extraction point the chopper wasn't waiting for them as it should. The evacuation team had been surprised by a Monolith squad and now they couldn't land. This mission had been a shitstorm since setting foot on this godforsaken city and it looked like it wasn't going to change now. Degtyarev was sure he'd cleansed the Prometheus Theatre just yesterday, as well as their base on the River Port. Where the hell were these bastards coming from?
Kovalsky and the rest arrived just in time to help. Degtyarev had already taken out the preacher, but more and more Monolith fighters kept appearing at an alarming pace.
The small square was swept in chaos. Bullets flew from one side to the other while more snipers targeted them and the helicopter from the roof of the River Port. One of them landed a crippling shot on Sokolov and another one killed Valentyr. Wounded as he was, Sokolov died shortly after in the brutal firefight against the Monolithians. Kovalsky ordered them all to fall back to the centre of the square and let the chopper blast the snipers off the roof. Still, that did not get rid of the Monolith fighters already surrounding them. It was a brutal fight that had no end in sight, as the Monolithians seemed to have never ending reinforcements. No matter how many enemies Degtyarev killed, more would come. In comparison to the military and Monolith, Strelok was underequipped with his modified AK and the recently returned SIG. And yet he was killing as many Monolith fighters as the soldiers, if not more. He truly was a legend of the Zone.
When they reached a lull in their fighting and the helicopter finally landed, Strelok was one of the first to get in, but only because Tarasov dragged him inside. He looked awfully indignant at that and Degtyarev understood his outrage. Getting the stalker out from here alive was one of their priorities, true, but maybe that hadn't been the most elegant way to ensure he boarded the chopper in one piece.
The helicopter took to the air and Degtyarev watched as the buildings of Pripyat became smaller and smaller in the distance. They had done it! This was it, his mission was over. Degtyarev didn't know how he felt about that. On one hand, good riddance to Pripyat, with its mutants and crazed Monolithians. On the other hand, judging by the introspective silence that had taken over the chopper, he wasn't the only one having conflicting feelings about their departure.
#
The Scientific Institute for Research of the Chernobyl Anomalous Area –or you know, just the Institute– was a monstrously huge building in the heart of Kyiv. Very new and modern, especially when compared with the cheap apartment where Strelok now lived, and utterly alien to him after living in the Zone for so long.
The government had given him a job there. Officially, he was a consultant, an expert of the Zone here to share his knowledge. What a fancy name to say the labcoats would grill him with their questions in an effort to understand a place they had never seen in person. But they were paying him more than he expected, so it wasn't that bad. He even had small breaks every hour, like fancy office jobs did. And he spent every single of those breaks outside, smoking by the Institute's entrance. It was a habit he picked up recently, or so Strelok thought. He truly had no idea if he had ever smoked before, although given how he quickly turned it into an essential part of his days, he would say he'd at least been a casual smoker.
Observing Kyiv's busy life going on around him always put him a bit on edge. There were so many people, all of them blissfully unaware of what he'd seen. Of the horrors that lurked not so far away from here. He wanted to spare them that, and if it meant enduring hours of questions day after day, it was a small price to pay to save humanity from the expanding Zone.
"Hey man, I hadn't expected to find you here!"
Turning around to the source of the voice he found himself face to face with Major Degtyarev.
"I could say the same," he was pleasantly surprised to see the Major here. Up until now he hadn't realized how much he missed having anything or anyone remotely familiar around. Ever since coming back Strelok's life had been new and disconcerting. "Are you going to be the new military liaison?"
"Nah, I'm here for a medical exam," Degtyarev sighed dramatically. "They want to see if being exposed to all that weird shit left some permanent sequels."
"If it's any consolation, I also had to go through it." Strelok chuckled darkly. They still wanted to run more tests on him, but he had refused multiple times, and so they eventually gave up.
He took one last drag of the cigarette before throwing it to the ground and followed Degtyarev inside. A group of scientist dressed in their crisp, white coats where talking in one of the corners of the main hall, but it was otherwise empty.
"Nice," Degtyarev whistled in admiration. "Although everything's a bit too white and shiny for my taste."
One of the scientists, a short and plump woman, had left the group and was coming to the front door. She walked in a way that reminded Strelok of a boar about to charge.
"Eh, I suppose it's not bad." Strelok shrugged. He truly didn't give a damn about the building. "I heard the military was going to promote you."
"Mr. Konstantinovich?" The woman politely asked. Strelok moved slightly to the side, not wanting to block her way.
"Oh, that." Degtyarev also moved aside, following Strelok's lead. "Yeah, they want to make me Colonel. I'll accept it, of course, but they're mistaken if they think I'll take a desk job."
"Mr. Konstantinovich," the woman insisted. And still no answer.
"I think that might be you dude," Degtyarev said to him, then graced the woman with a respectful nod.
Strelok whipped around to check if there was somebody behind him, because that was surely a mistake. Then he grimaced when he remember that no, Degtyarev was right, it was him she was waiting for. Apparently his family's name was Konstantinovich, even if he could never remember it for more than five seconds.
"Sorry miss, I don't remember your name." He finally faced her with a sheepish expression.
"It's doctor Nina Yovenko," she corrected him with a glacial voice. "We're ready whenever you are, Mr. Konstantinovich."
"Right, sure." Fuck, he wasn't looking forward to explain his findings on the C-Consciousness project to the top researchers of the Institute. Again.
"Listen, we're both short on time right now," Degtyarev said as he checked his watch. "But I'll be free in about an hour and half. Catch you later, ok? I know a place not very far from here."
He was gone before Strelok had time to say yes, leaving him with the irritated scientist. She didn't say anything else, yet Strelok could almost feel the impatience radiating from her.
"After you, doctor Yovenko." He gestured at her to lead the way, hoping she would take it as a courteous gesture of deference. Truth was Strelok had no idea where he was supposed to go.
#
The bar was the textbook definition of a seedy dive. Cramped and not very clean, badly illuminated and, of course, it boasted an impressive collection of cheap booze on the shelves behind the counter. A dusty TV hung up on the wall, but it was tuned on some random news channel with the sound turned off. The barman was tinkering with an old radio, trying to repair it. This place was so reminiscent of The 100 Rads that Strelok felt like he was back in Rostok. It was only missing the stalkers drinking to forget their days. And some music instead of the incessant crackling of static.
"To Colonel Degtyarev," Strelok raised his beer up and the liquid sloshed wildly inside the bottle. "And all the paperwork and red tape that comes with his new position!"
Degtyarev laughed and raised his beer as well. "And to your newfound name, Mr. Konstantinovich."
"Oh no," he said after taking a generous swig of the beer. "I can tolerate it from the eggheads, but you calling me anything else but Strelok would feel wrong."
"I thought you would be happy to reclaim your identity."
It was a fair point, and also one with a difficult answer. How to explain that this identity didn't feel real, not like the name of Strelok felt real? Hell, he even felt more comfortable being Marked One than when they addressed him as Pavel Konstantinovich. Who was this guy? Not him, that was for sure.
"A name doesn't mean much to me anymore," Strelok downed the rest of his beer. "After the amnesia and everything I just stuck with Strelok because it's shorter than Marked One." That felt weird to acknowledge, so far only Doc had known that Marked One and Strelok were the same person.
Degtyarev admitted he preferred Strelok too, he said it suited him better than Marked One. They fell into a companionable silence while Degtyarev finished his beer.
"Have you remembered anything from your life before the Zone?"
"No." Strelok tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but his success was limited and Degtyarev was looking at him with something too similar to pity. "Nobody's told me anything either. Just that I have no family waiting for me."
He felt uncomfortable venting his frustrations like that. Deep down Strelok was afraid of complaining too much. He didn't want to sound ungrateful, after all it was thanks to the military he was where he was now. And Degtyarev might be friendly with him, but he worked for the government. As far as he knew, Degtyarev's loyalties lay largely with the USS.
"Shit, that's rough dude." Well, at least his sympathy felt genuine. That was enough for Strelok.
#
Meeting up with Degtyarev twice a week for a couple of beers became part of his routine.
Every morning Strelok would wake up after a handful of hours of restless sleep, take a quick shower and change into whatever clothes he found that weren't too rumpled, making a conscious effort to not grab the SEVA suit lying at the bottom of his wardrobe.
Taking the metro to the central district was a tedious journey, and the only thing fuelling him to carry on with another pointless day was the extra strong coffee he swallowed before leaving the apartment.
Once he arrived at the Institute he knew his days could only go two ways: he would either spend hours being questioned about the Zone and then ignored while the scientists talked over him; or he would be up for another battery of tests and a review of how the prescribed meds were working. And when he invariably told them the meds weren't doing shit to help with his memory, they would change his medication again in hopes of getting it right this time.
Afterwards Strelok usually went straight to home, or to the bar with Degtyarev and then back home. The metro ride from Kyiv's centre to downtown was long and mightily uncomfortable. So much people crammed in so little space; and the noise, oh God, the noise. Thousands of people going up and down, chatting, laughing, making noise with their phones... it was almost unbearable. Strelok was used to empty spaces and silence. Even the most populated parts of the Zone were almost empty when compared with Kyiv's metro at rush hours. The uneasiness always persisted until he got to his apartment and closed the door behind him, isolating himself from the world.
His evenings at home were a sad affair. He would eat some of the canned food he compulsively stored and call it a day. Or if Strelok felt like indulging himself he would have some kefir and bread with condensed milk. On a memorable occasion his neighbour had given him a tray of homemade potato salad and he'd wolfed it down in one go. Nonetheless, he tried to avoid Mrs. Kravchenko, who got one look at Strelok and decided to treat him like he was one of her sons. Now, don't get him wrong, she was very nice and affable, but it was so awkward to be mothered by a woman who was almost surely younger than him.
The nights were long and boring. Television was rubbish most of the time, but regular sleeping patterns were something Strelok never got right. Therefore, he spent his nights sprawled on the couch, watching reruns of old series and history documentals until he eventually fell asleep.
Almost four months had passed since he started working at the Institute and nothing had changed. All his days were carbon copies of the previous ones, and they had all blurred together in Strelok's mind. He looked at himself in the mirror as every morning, barely noticing the bags under his eyes anymore, and repeated to himself this was better than staying in the Zone. It had to be.
He was washing his face when he felt his muscles go rigid and his legs gave in. What the fuck was happening? The floor rushed up to him and pain bloomed brightly in his forehead. The last thing he noticed before fainting was the red stain of blood smeared over the sink's edge.
#
The file in front of him had been bothering him since he read it. And now, sitting in the bar while he waited for Strelok to arrive, Degtyarev wasn't so sure he did the right thing.
Look at him, recently promoted to Colonel and what was the first thing he did? He used his newfound influence to acquire a copy of Strelok's restricted file, that's what he did. Degtyarev might work for the government, but he thought Strelok deserved to know what his life had been like, secrecy be damned. He knew the ex-stalker's memories hadn't come back, and they probably never would, so reading about it was the second best option. Of course Degtyarev hadn't even tried to resist the temptation and read the file first.
Real name was Pavel Konstantinovich, as they already knew. His parents died in a car crash when he was nine. Strelok was sent to an orphanage and stayed in the system until he came of age, and then he joined the military. By all accounts he spent eighteen miserable months there since following orders was not his strong suit, or so it was suggested by his rather large disciplinary record. After his military stint he went to Karkhiv and lived there for five months, and then he moved to Donestk for a year. Afterwards he disappeared for another three months, until he was spotted crossing the border to Belarus under the name of Anton Chernov. And that was the end of the personal section. So Strelok had always been a paranoid and slippery bastard, good to know. Then there were the results of the psychological evaluations and medical tests he had since coming back. In Degtyarev's opinion, that part was even more depressing.
He had retrieved the file in the hopes it would motivate Strelok to find an old friend, or a way to reconnect with his old life and stop looking so dead inside. But after reading it he wasn't so sure it would work. The last thing he wanted was to exacerbate his current apathy towards the world. Should he give it to him, or should he keep quiet?
"I see you have begun without me."
Speaking of the devil, here he was. The ex-stalker sat in front of him and signalled the barman to bring him a beer. Even in the poor lightning of the bar, when he turned his head to the side, the fresh cut on his forehead was rather noticeable.
"Shit, what happened to you?"
"I felt like adding some symmetry," Strelok ran his fingers over the old scar on the other side of his head, but that one was barely visible under his hair.
"Did you get in a brawl with one of the scientists? Was it because they asked you to explain blowouts again?" Degtyarev's joke got a small chuckle out of Strelok, but it soon turned into a bitter grimace.
"If only. Epilepsy attack, hit the sink pretty hard on my way down to the floor."
The barman set the beer in the table and they drank in gloomy silence. Eventually Strelok noticed the manila envelope on the side of the table. He did not ask, but he kept looking at it like he was expecting it to burst open on its own. Making up his mind, Degtyarev pushed the envelope in front of him.
"I acquired a copy of your file, thought you might want to have a look."
The look on his face was a painful mix of amazement and surprise, and Degtyarev felt guilty for his earlier thoughts of hiding the file from him.
"Thank you." Strelok touched the envelope reverently. "Won't you get in trouble for that?"
"For this? I don't think so," Degtyarev waved his concerns away.
Appeased by that, Strelok tucked the envelope inside his jacket and relaxed for the first time since he arrived. "Good, good. So, how have you been? Wasn't your brother coming to visit you this week?"
"No. My brother in law," Degytarev was offended at the thought of having that man as his brother. Strelok didn't bother to hide his amusement at Degtyarev's unusual display of disdain. "The moron wanted money to settle a gambling debt."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I might have threatened to dump him in Chernobyl if he didn't solve this mess soon or if he hurt my sister in any way." Degtyarev admitted without regrets. Strelok laughed so hard he snorted beer.
They spent the rest of the evening getting drunk and coming up with scenarios in which to dump Degtyarev's brother in law if he didn't get his act together. Strelok offered to smuggle the moron into the Zone if Degtyarev ever decided to go with it, and he wasn't sure if he was joking or not. Never mind, it was good to know he could count with Strelok's help.
#
He hadn't showered in days. It wasn't that bad, he'd gone far longer without washing while in the Zone. Also, his apartment was starting to look like it had been hit by a hurricane, yet Strelok did not care at all.
He hadn't gone to work in a week and didn't care about that either. His days were spent going from the bed to the couch, eating his dwindling stores of canned food and avoiding answering the phone.
The beginning of Strelok's spiral downwards had been months ago, the day he had the first epilepsy attack. But that was only the start. Then he started losing time. He would be getting dressed and next thing he knew he was in the kitchen putting water to boil. Or he was going to the metro, and then he realised it was half an hour later and he was sitting on a bench in a park with no memories of getting there.
Of course, that was simply fascinating to the scientists, and Strelok had to endure more brain scans and blood tests and questioning, only to be told they had no idea why he was having those lapses. There was no reason for his epilepsy either. So he ended up with no explanation and yet more medication to take daily. Fucking great.
His medical situation also fucked him over in other ways. Strelok had been looking forward to guiding an expedition of the military into the Zone. He wasn't thrilled to be acting as a nanny, but hey, at least he was going to get some time back in the field. He was sick of being cooped up in the Institute. However, after the time lapses and the random epilepsy attacks, he was deemed unfit for the mission. No matter how much he argued, the decision was final. He wasn't going to see the Zone again anytime soon, except maybe in his nightmares.
As if that wasn't enough, weeks later the hallucinations started. One morning he arrived at the Institute, harried and stressed after days of barely sleeping, and saw a bloodsucker emerging from behind the receptionist's counter. Strelok may have reacted violently, throwing a nearby stapler to the ghostly figure and actually hitting an unlucky lab assistant, but in Strelok's opinion having the security guards tackle him to the ground was a bit of an over-reaction. Explaining why he had thrown the damned stapler turned out to be a mistake.
After that incident Strelok's position on the Institute changed from specialist consultant to glorified lab rat. They did not treat him badly, but he was so tired of being a curiosity to study. Apparently that was all he was good for. All his previous help served for nothing, they weren't remotely closer to understanding the Zone, much less to know how to neutralize it. His life since coming back had been just a massive waste of time.
When Strelok was in the Zone he'd thought he wanted to purge it from the world and spare its horrors to everyone else. Now that he was back in the Big Land he missed it more than he ever imagined. Life was funny like that.
The Zone had a certain allure, a simple honesty about its brutality. He missed it. He literally couldn't remember anything else about his life except being a stalker. The file Degtyarev brought him offered no consolation either. He had nothing and no one to tie him here, apparently Strelok had always been a loner.
On his worst moment Strelok had taken out his old Makarov from the bottom of his backpack and contemplated putting an end to it all. He left it on the coffee table for hours, looking at it and thinking about what it would be like to eat a bullet. But he couldn't do it. It felt too cowardly. No, he had a better idea, one that had been hounding him for weeks, no, months. It would require some planning, tough.
The ghostly snork crawling from beneath the table made him remember he hadn't taken his meds in days. It was fine, he wouldn't be taking his pills where he was going either.
#
Just arrived from his last mission the top brass swiftly informed Degtyarev that nobody had seen Strelok for weeks. They hoped ColonelDegtyarev would be able to persuade their wayward consultant to come back to the Institute. Particularly, he couldn't care less about making Strelok come back to the fold, but this total shutdown from Strelok's part worried him. Twenty six attempted calls, and Strelok hadn't bothered to answer any of them. He went on a mission for a few weeks and when he came back he was slapped in the face with yet more problems. Fuck, couldn't he catch a break? He just needed a day off, it wasn't that much to ask for.
However, there was no rest for Degtyarev. So here he was now, in front of one of downtown's typical highrise buildings. The entrance door was wide open and one of the neighbours was mopping the floor. Ignoring the old woman's disapproving glare Degtyarev went up to the fifth floor.
Now if he remembered correctly, Strelok's was the third door. He knocked. No answer. He knocked again, harder and for longer than before. Eventually Strelok showed up to open the door. He looked like he'd been sleeping just before Degtyarev arrived.
"Alexander," He seemed stunned to see him. "What are you doing here?"
"May I come in?" The ex-stalker didn't look worse than any other time, but Degtyarev wasn't appeased just with that.
"Yeah, sure." After an uncomfortably long silence Strelok finally agreed and led him inside, apologising for the mess.
For once that statement was spot on. In the ten months Strelok had been living here it had never been in such a state of disarray. A pile of clothes and blankets threatened to drown the couch, there was a chair on the floor, a mountain of empty cans surrounded a pile of papers on the table, and a sea of empty cigarette packs covered the coffee table. Surprisingly enough there was also a plate with pelmeni, looking freshly made and delicious.
"Didn't know you cooked," Degtyarev grabbed one of the dumplings. Oh yes. They tasted as good as they looked.
"Those are from Mrs. Kravchenko. My cooking is not that good." Strelok admitted, hovering awkwardly near the table. "So did you have a reason for coming, apart from eating my food?"
"What about being worried because you have secluded like an animal in its lair?" Degtyarev asked him, sitting on the couch. "Is that reason enough?"
A certain object on the coffee table caught his attention. Even half buried by trash as it was, he could recognize a Makarov at first glance. Fuck, this was not a good sign.
"Are you here on the Institute's behalf?" Strelok's suspicions were spot on, and also so very wrong.
"Hang the Institute, I'm here because my friend has apparently been missing for days!"
"Oh." Strelok's surprise was almost comical. He picked up the fallen chair and sat down. "I'm fine, really. I just needed some time off."
Degtyarev picked the Makarov with a scowl. "Really?"
Of course Strelok rushed to assure him this wasn't what he thought. Though his nervousness did not put Degtyarev at ease. He'd been planning to do something stupid, Degtyarev was sure. If it wasn't suicide, thank God, then what was he planning?
In a moment of inspiration Degtyarev realised the answer. The weapon, the heavy suit draped over the couch and half hidden under a blanket, the notes and papers scattered around, and even a map over the table; it all became clear.
"You insane idiot, you're going back." It wasn't even a question, no need to ask what was more than evident.
"Alexander, Sasha... You have to understand, I'm going crazy here. The only thing left for me is the Zone."
It was the plea of a desperate and broken man. The Zone was a dangerous place and sooner or later it would eventually succeed in killing you, no matter how careful you were. Degtyarev knew it, Strelok knew it, and all stalkers who survived their first mission out of the rookie camp knew it. And yet Degtyarev understood why Strelok felt like he did. The pull of the Zone was strong, calling you like a siren, always in the back of your mind.
Strelok raised his head and met his eyes. Everything in him spoke of stubborn determination. "I'm not changing my mind. You can try to stop me but–"
"Wasn't thinking to," Degtyarev sighed while leaning back on the couch. And even if he wanted to, he wasn't sure anyone could keep Strelok out of the Zone. Frayed memory or not he knew more about the secrets of the Zone than anyone else. "You know, they're sending me back to the Zone soon."
There was a pregnant pause where Strelok said nothing but looked questioningly at him, no doubt trying to work out why he was telling him that.
"What I mean," Degtyarev continued, "is that once I arrive to Cordon's outpost, they'll all be very busy greeting the newly arrived Colonel. Perhaps busy enough to leave the perimeter unguarded for a few minutes."
"I don't need help, I have my ways of getting in!" Strelok scoffed.
Just as Degtyarev thought he would, nonetheless he felt the need to point out something. "Once someone realizes you've escaped back to the Zone, they'll probably send someone after you."
"Only if they know where to search." Strelok said like it was no big deal.
He didn't seem worried at all, but the name of Strelok was well known in the Zone and tracking a PDA was child's play. However, he supposed Strelok knew what he was doing. After all it wouldn't be the first time someone was after him. Degtyarev wasn't sure what he would do if he was the one assigned to track Strelok down. But that was a worry for the future.
"In that case," Degtyarev got up from the couch, "I say we should get properly hammered, as a send-off."
The stalker smiled relieved and agreed with him. Degtyarev hoped they would see each other again one day.
#
The barbed fence was about twenty meters ahead. It wasn't what Strelok was looking for. Somewhere here, hidden under the tall grass and massive shrubs, there should be the entrance of a tunnel. That was his ticket to freedom.
He'd arrived here with the golden light of dawn, after a night of hitch-hiking rides to get away from Kyiv. It was that or robbing a vehicle, but he didn't know how to drive, so that would prove pointless. Neither of that mattered now. He was finally a few steps away from the Zone and he felt better than he'd felt in months.
The tunnel entrance was behind a curtain of hanging vines and plant's roots. The inside was damp and pitch black, so Strelok turned on the flashlight. You may never know what lay in the dark, waiting for an unsuspecting soul. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but that didn't mean the way was clear. Strelok threw a bolt and the metallic sound echoed in the tunnel. He listened intently. Apart from the dripping of water nothing else could be heard. Good. It was rare to find mutants or anomalies this close to the border, but not unheard of.
The ground was slippery with mud and moss and the weak light of his flashlight barely breached the inky darkness that surrounded him. The passage got narrower until Strelok had to crawl on his hands and knees, sliding over jagged rocks where the wall had crumbled down. A distant spot of shining daylight acted like a beacon, and Strelok crawled as fast as he could towards it.
When he got out he lay down on a patch of grass and let the sun bathe him. Yes, this was exactly where he was supposed to be. Now it was time to put an end to Strelok's story.
#
A scant week later a Duty patrol came to Yanov bringing Strelok's broken PDA, saying they found it near a whirligig and the vaporised remains of an unlucky stalker. The news spread like wildfire, reaching even the military. The legendary stalker had finally been claimed by the Zone. May he rest in peace.
Coincidentally, that very same day an unknown loner arrived to Yanov Station searching for a technician to fix his PDA. It took Nitro most part of the day to fix it, the PDA had taken some serious damage and most of its pieces had to be replaced. The owner waited patiently at the station, though he preferred to keep to himself like most loners did. No one paid much attention to him, he was a pretty unremarkable traveller who left as soon as his PDA was repaired.
That same evening two stalkers, one with the military and one living in the Great Swamp, received the same message.
20:49 – Marked One, Loner.
I'm back! : )
Author's note: I got two possibilities for Strelok's real name from the wiki, and since I didn't know which one to choose, I used both XD
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From the Zone with love