Chapter XLI: Auspicious Morning, Ominous Evening

Garbage, the first hurdle for many a rookie leaving the relative safety of Cordon is a inhospitable place for many. Between the radiation, anomalies and mutants, the area is also a staging point for bandits. While today some stability has been achieved in the form of the Flea Market and Train Depot, these small havens are still just as often guarded by bandits as they are by loners.

Yet for Boris Unforgiven and his crew, Garbage was just another step on the road to home. They were exhausted, their armour shattered and full of holes, their weapons grimy and worn out. The last few weeks had been a constant battle forward, from the deadly streets of Pripyat to the sinister hallways of the Sarcophagus. Even the way home had been full of dangers, from lunatics to zealots to even horribly mutated quirks of the Zone. Finally, it was time for the home stretch. It did not matter that the area was a irradiated, junk-filled wasteland. Meadow was almost in sight!

The squad stopped off at Butcher's place as the night was settling in, and while darkness covered the depot like a blanket, they sat around the campfire of the old bandit base and just enjoyed the moment of peace. Even the old trader joined them, closing down shop for the day. Boris shared with him the story of the new mutants he had ran into, and Butcher nodded, saying that there had been similar sightings all around the Zone. Something odd was going on inside the Exclusion Zone, it was as if the whole Zone was now evolving.

• But enough of that. The night is far too dark and gloomy to think such depressing scenarios. How about we share a few stories?, Butcher said and threw another log into the campfire. The slow crackling of the wood brought back memories of childhood in Boris that he quickly shoved aside. It was not the right place for nostalgia.

• I am afraid I'm far too tired for that, Boris said apologetically. This was the truth, it had been too long since he had a good break. He lay down next to the fire and fell asleep in seconds while Dima started telling some tall tale about a guy named German Sheep Herder, the unintetionally funniest guy in the Zone.

When Boris woke up, all that was left of the fire was still somewhat warm embers Dima was snoring, leaned against the wall. Hip was talking to Butcher in the other room about mutants and shotguns. Boris checked the healing process of his numerous wounds, which seemed okay for the time being. He quickly downed a bottle of purified water and placed a few sausages and bread on the campfire. Just for a few minutes he enjoyed the peace and quiet. These moments were rare in the Zone but they did happen.

As the sausages started to become more and more brownish in appearance, and their skin popped from the heat, Dima woke up.

• Wow, a breakfast in bed. Boris you shouldn't have!

• You can have one of those if you give me that bottle of beer you've been hiding, Boris responded with a grin, and Dima surrendered a battered bottle of Ukrainian beer to Boris. With a satisfying pop, the bottle opened and for the first time in ages, Boris could taste something that wasn't stale rations and water. Once they had finished their royal breakfast, they got up and fetched Hip, starting the final few kilometres to Meadow.

But the Zone had other ideas. A pack of dogs and pseudodogs descended from the trash hills, barking, growling and howling as they went. Their expressions rabid and voices bloodthirsty, Boris knew that they sought to overwhelm them with numbers. There was roughly ten of them, and they had caught them in the worst possible position. To their left was a chemical anomaly field, which would burn off their armour far too quickly. Boris decided that attack was the best defence, relying on his beaten armour to save him once more.

• I'll draw them to me, hit them while they're distracted, Boris yelled at the top of his lungs. He didn't hear their responses over the mutant roaring. He stormed the dogs, taking them by surprise. Their charge was broken as they tried to get out of the roughly 150 kilograms of armour, muscle and bone. Boris fired his Remington shotgun until it clicked empty, then switched to the ever reliable kukri of his and swept aside two dogs with its mighty blows. Dima's KS-23 boomed behind him like a particularly loud harbinger of death.

The dogs had clearly overestimated their chances, and it didn't take long for Boris to slice the last pseudodog apart. He did not enjoy killing dogs, but these ones had left him no choice. He glanced back at his companions and saw that they were still in one piece. Dima was reloading his smoking shotgun while Hip inspected a dog carcass. She raised her head to Boris and asked:

• Have you ever seen them this fierce? They usually run away the second you charge them, yet these ones just kept coming.

• I haven't. I have no idea what this was about, I was practically hacking them apart and they still tried to take a bite of me, Boris responded, puzzled.

They tried to look at the corpses for some sort of irregularity, something to explain the hyper-aggressive nature of the usually cowardly and docile creatures, but found nothing out of ordinary. Finally, Boris shrugged and gave up. The mystery would be one of the many in the Zone to never be solved most likely. They set off to the Meadow, but along the way they kept running into completely shredded bodies of stalkers, torn from limb to limb, some even reduced to bones. The group grew increasingly nervous, something was not right.

They left Garbage behind and stepped into Cordon, the closest thing to a peaceful valley in the Zone, so peaceful in fact that even the rookie loners could have a roughly good chance of survival here. But this time the otherwise serene area was rather ominous, a thick mist covering it to almost grass level. They entered Cordon in the evening, sun being too weak to penetrate the fog at this time, and arrived to the northern outpost. Only thing lighting up the area in the heavy mist was a roaring campfire. Distant howling could be heard. Boris recognized a figure ahead and aimed his weapon while closing into it.

It could've been a bandit or a military soldier and thus Boris did not want to take any chances. But the figure turned around and Boris let out a slight gasp, hearing Dima do the same. It was Vityukha, bloodied and battered, standing there like a ghost. His rifle was full of scratches and his armour full of holes. Above his left eye was a massive bandage covering a wound, and his arms had also suffered. He smiled faintly at the sight of Boris, but grew serious and said:

• I do not know what the hell you did in the power plant, but whatever it was, it angered the Zone like never before.

As Vityukha said this, his eyes rolled up and only the whites showing, and he collapsed to the ground. The howling was no longer distant.