THE ZONE

Part 1: STRANGER

Chapter 2 (Wish)

As nice as the view was, I was exposed. I hurried into the open, taking cover in a clump of trees to the immediate right. The valley sloped steeply away from the tunnel mouth; getting down wouldn't be too hard, but if I ever had to climb back up here, it'd take some work. I dropped from a crouch to my elbows, and crawled forward through some shrubbery for a better view.

To the north lay a sprawling complex I didn't recognize. I'd tried to do my research before coming here, but there isn't as much accurate information out there as you'd think. Probably because so few people ever manage to leave. There was some kind of roadway leading from the installation, and it crossed a small body of water before being lost in the trees. I didn't see any people. In fact, nothing was really moving, except what the wind blew.

I had a good view from here; I hadn't spent very much time talking to that stalker in there – if the bandits that had blindsided me had come out here, I should have been able to see them. That mean they hadn't, and were still somewhere in the maze of tunnels behind me. I couldn't go in after them; I wouldn't stand a chance of finding anything without a light, and besides, it was their home territory. Without a gun, I'd have to approach quietly, and knee-high water isn't terribly conducive to that.

But they'd have to come out sometime. I could see the tunnel mouth clearly from where I was, and I could stay concealed. Before I'd come here, I'd this place wouldn't be all about clean linen and room service. Now I had to make good on it. I crawled to a position that offered better concealment, and waited.

Night fell. In the distance I could see what might have been light in a couple places. A small, flickering point in the direction of the installation to the North might have been a sliver of a campfire through a window. Lucky for me, the night was clear, with more stars than you'd ever see where I came from. It wasn't quite like having a flashlight, but it was better than being in the tunnel without a light.

According to my wristwatch, it was nearly two hours before they came out. First, I saw their lights playing on the curving wall of the tunnel, then they emerged. I knew it was them, because they were wearing the long coats that I'd glimpsed through the waving light when they jumped me. Long, black coats, almost like cowls, complete with hoods. There were two of them, and they paused at the tunnel mouth, probably to be sure the coast was clear. I kept still. A moment later, they stepped onto the mountainside, and started down.

Maybe they were going back to wherever they spent their nights; nobody would be buying their way in, or out, in the middle of the night. I decided that when I left, I would do so by a different route. This one was obviously compromised.

For a moment I watched the two figures amble down the mountainside, then got to my hands and knees. I'd be able to track them by their flashlights from a long way off, and I didn't want to follow too closely anyway. I let them get a little farther before I broke cover and started after them, keeping low. I hadn't gotten a very good look, but only one of them had been wearing a pack. I hoped it was mine.

It was colder out there than I'd anticipated; I was wearing black cargoes, a black compression shirt, and a thick thermal sweater over that – even if I still had my Kevlar, I'd have been chilly. Chilly wouldn't kill me, but if I didn't have shelter, or better clothes, any kind of rain probably would. But tonight was clear. I had more important things to do.

The bandits were making for the road. In the distance, I heard the faint pop of a shot from a handgun. The bandits didn't even twitch. I'd have to get used to gunshots if I was going to last long here.

They were on the road, now. I kept after them, moving from cover to cover. We seemed to be going south – toward the forest. I was pretty sure they were talking, but I was too far back even to hear snatches of the conversation. I was considering following a little closer, but a piercing howl went up from the tree line. Both bandits froze, and a couple of tense seconds passed.

A stream of bodies poured out of the trees, and the air filled with fierce barks – but they weren't normal barks. I couldn't tell what was off about them, but it was creepy. The bandits were shouting, and I heard the report of a small caliber handgun – then the other one fired both barrels of a shotgun. And then the flashlight went out. I threw myself down and kept rigid, trying to cover my ears. It hadn't even taken five seconds.

So I waited. If they came in this direction, I'd go down even faster than the bandits had. Oddly enough, getting beaten up hadn't really awakened the seriousness of my situation to me. There's knowing, then there's knowing – if I wasn't careful, and probably even if I was, this place would kill me. As a police officer I'd been a part of a system; rules could be bent and broken, but here there weren't any, and I'd have to adapt. I'd never pointed a weapon at a living creature before. It didn't look like I'd be leaving here with that record intact.

Eventually, the sounds from the road died down. After what I'd judged was an adequate safety period, I raised my head enough to look. The mass of furry bodies – whatever they'd been, some kind of dog, I guess – was gone. Back into the forest, most likely. I stayed flat, listening intently. Nothing. I slowly looked around; I couldn't see far, but nothing seemed to be moving. Keeping my motions deliberate, I drew the combat knife, and began to crawl forward. It took some time, but with my nerves as frayed as they were, I wasn't in a hurry.

It was a mess. I'd seen a handful of crime scenes, but never anything like this. It took a moment to fight down my nausea. A blood-slick Makarov lay on the pavement a meter away. I crawled to it and picked it up; a casing protruded dangerously from the breech. I jerked back on the slippery slide to clear it, and the whole thing came away in my hand. The thing must've been held together with screw-shaped filaments of rust. It was just as well; a pistol exploding in your hand probably isn't that much better than being unarmed.

The lumpier of the two carcasses was probably the one with my pack; I made my way to it, and turned it over gingerly. Getting the backpack off was messy, but not difficult. I can't even tell you how relieved I was when it turned out to actually be mine. That relief lasted about a five seconds. I was about to open it and check the contents, but a low hum reached my ears. An embarrassing moment passed before I realized it was the sound of an engine; a point of light appeared to the north.

Swearing silently, I lowered my face to the ground, and went still, one hand loosely gripping the strap of my pack. You laugh, but the movement it would have taken for me to get off the road and into the tall grass would've been plainly visible to the driver, whoever it was, and who knew what was watching from the forest? At the time I figured that playing dead would make me just one more roadside corpse, something that it was my understanding was not particularly rare in these parts. But still, just one more minute, and I'd have been out of there. It wasn't fair.