A newcomer
-Oi, Marcus, where the hell is my beer?
-If I knew that, I wouldn't been sitting in front of a damn TV!
-Stop mocking and gimme!
-Sorry, bro, nothing left to give.
-I swear to God, I'm gonna burn you someday…
-Ha-ha, I'm too cool for that, Benny.
Our usual morning. As always, I'm lucky to drink the last bottle of beer in the fridge, as always Benny swears to God to atomize me in a bloody and horrible way and as always, we work that out:
-Every time…every motherfucking time the same! How many times I've begged you to leave one, just one bottle for me! Do I have to leave a pair of pitbulls to guard the fridge or weld it!?
-Won't help anyway. And who's fault it is, that you sleep till midday? Learn to get up earlier and you'll get your beer. As a prize.
-Just dare once more to touch my drink, or…
-Or you swear to God that you'll send me to hell? Been there.
-Useless…
-Fine, OK, I got it. Now, let's get down to business. I've received an interesting offer. Wanna look?
I believe, he calmed down a bit. Something that looked like a smile appeared on his face. He sighed:
-All in a day's work. Gimme.
I think that's his favorite word. Maybe, I should describe him more detailed.
He's tall. Not that tall, but still. Short black hair, blue eyes, square face and a ton of muscules. Had a perfect chance to become a watchdog, standing behind some pubs' door. I saved him from that fate, lucky me. Well, I don't regret it: four years in british SAS, strike team captain and demo expert. Couldn't wish for a better teammate. And now this pile of meat is my best friend and my worst nightmare.
Our job? Well, after my buddys' description you can guess. We're assassins. No, not "those" assassins. Mercs, killers, sifters, if you know, what I mean…get the contract, get the kill, get the money. Got it now? Good.
So, I've received a new offer. An interesting one, too interesting, I'd say. Don't know about Benny, but I was happy about the location of our…err…assignment.
-W…wh…what!? – he shouted.
-Calm down, Benny, take it easy…
-EASY? Do you have any idea, where this son-of-a-bitch is sending us?
-Course I do. Territory of northern Ukraine, known as Chernobyl Exclusion Zone or "The Zone".
-And you're OK with that?
-Why not? After all, think of our last missions.
-That is NOT the same.
-Well, almost the same, but…
-That is NOT AT ALL the same. Do you know, what's in there?
-I…
-Radiation all over this land, invisible deadly traps placed everywhere…
-Benny…
-…Some other supernatural shit, that burns you to atoms or drives you mas and turns you into a friggin' zombie…
-Benny!..
-…And last, but not least- mutants! Can you imagine this? Motherfuckin' mutants, who can suck you dry in a matter of seconds. And that's not…
-Benny!
He stopped talking and looked at me desperately.
-Please, shut up and let me say something.
Of course I knew, that most horrors of The Zone are being kept away form the Big Land, but this level of knowledge? Figurous and typical for the modern society.
-First of all, to save your ass from the radiation you'll need a handful of antirads, a full-protection suit and a bottle of local vodka. The traps you were talking about are called "anomalies" and can be triggered by anything beside a human being. With a nut or a screw, for example.
He was silent. Listened carefully to every my word.
-Second. "Some other shit" that you've mentioned is called "an emission". Happens only once or twice a week and is always forecasted. What gives you enough time to find a reliable shelter.
A suspicious look drilled through me.
-And last. Yes. In The Zone is a variety of mutated creatures like the "bloodsucker" you were talking about. All of them are more or less dangerous, but pretty killable.
Benny was concentrated. When I shut my mouth, he stared at me for a couple of seconds and asked:
-How the hell do you know that?
I should've told him about this earlier.
-Do you know, who are the stalkers?
-And?.. – Benny sceptically pulled up his eyebrow.
-I…was a "lockpick" for a half a year in there.
-A what?
-Newbies, who have no experience in The Zone and make their first steps in there are called "lockpicks". Actually, they're being used in a similar way by a stalker.
-You mean as a mine trigger?
-Yep.
He was a little shocked. With his level of knowledge about The Zone, I'm not surprised.
-I've seen enough of this shit around the world. That is just barbaric…that isn't right…
-This is a different case. Noobs are volunteers, nobody forces them. They agreed to the terms by themselves and they knew the risks perfectly. If they don't – means that they were too stupid, too greedy and too shortsighted. Thought that they were "real" stalkers already. Stupid pups…
Can I blame them? No. Can I judge them? Either. It wasn't I, who told them that The Zone is a fast way to make a fortune. It wasn't I, who assured them that for survival in there a medkit, canned food, a "makarov" and an old sawn-off with a handful of shells are more than enough. Their truth about this place is only some romantic and heroic bullshit fairytale, where stalkers kill the very dangerous mutants with a finger and bring with 'em bags, filled with the rarest artifacts. Greed, hunger for money and adrenaline – all that drives people mad and forces them to get into The Zone at all costs, to see Her in "blood and flesh", to survive the first night, to find the first artifact, to get the first kill…and to meet the first death. And not always last, by the way.
-…dude, c'mon, what's the matter? Everything is as always: get the kill – get the cash…
-You won't convince me.
-Don't be like that. I've been there for a half a year and I'm standing before you right here! No third arm or eye, no horns and no tail. Absolutely normal and healthy!
-You won't convince me.
-God damn it, Benny! Are you that afraid that you're ready to leave me hanging out there?
-You. Won't. Convince. Me.
-Вот бл…(Ah fu…)
He pulled up his eyebrow. Damn, I've lost my nerves. In the Zone sounds mostly Russian and, sometimes, Ukranian. I had to learn at least one of them. I chose Russian. And after my "lockpicking" in the Zone, when I'm especially tensed, I start to swear in Russian. I like how it sounds, but I tried to avoid it, when I'm with my partner. Well…
I ran out of arguments. I didn't knew what else to say to convince him to follow me. I wanted back so badly. I wanted to return with my friend. And I didn't understood WHY I was ready to do anything to return to The Zone. So I kept pushing. But if I knew into what our mission will turn out, I would've sent our "contractor" "deep, far and for long" as people say in Russia.
-Do you know me, Benny? – I asked him.
-What?
-Do you know me?
-Yes
-Do you trust me?
-Why do you ask?
-Answer.
-Yes, Marcus, I trust you.
-Then trust me now. I won't let anything happen to you if you will listen to what I say. I won't leave you behind
-Marcus…
-No, let me say. For three years we've been a team. For three years we've covered each others' backs. We've been through the hottest spots of war conflicts. Shared last drops of water and carried each other to cover. We are a team, and only a team can handle this mission. I'm not a stalker, Benny, I'm not experienced enough to carry on alone. I need your help…friend. Don't let me down.
He stared at the floor. His face became dark. I felt dangerous tension inside of his head. For a minute he desperately struggled to find an answer, but…gave up. And I was grateful. He sighed.
-Fine. I'll go. I do trust you. But if some mutant bitch eats me there – you're a dead man.
I tried to improvise a smile on my face. Luckily, there was no mirror to see the result.
-No worries, buddy. Your kind and pretty face will scare 'em away.
-Oh, you…
-Yeah, yeah, I know already…
He started to laugh. The volume grew with every second and soon it became unpleasant. I had no right to stop him. Unfortunately, his laugh was contagious, so, in one minute, I was infected.
-Da-a-amn you, sick ba-a-astard… - Benny couldn't stop laughing, so he spoke with difficulties - …draggin' me down to the depths of hell and assuring me, that I won't be ha-a-armed…
After two hours and two sixpacks of beer, we were best friends again. Laughing, joking, mocking each other, we completely forgot about the damn mission. I got up, thinking about possible weaponry and equipment combinations in the meantime. I looked on my pal with a challenge in my eyes:
-Time to check our pocket artillery. Arsenal?
Benny got up and looked directly in my eyes. I swear, that I've read in them: "Mate, shut the fuck up and move it". But he said only:
-Gimme.
It was three days ago. And now, 29 July, 2013, two men have crossed The Zones' perimeter: a "lockpick", known as Marker, and a nameless newbie. A newcomer.