A Little Too Excessive
The hunters at Zaton prepare to put down a wounded beast. One of their number is armed with something a little too excessive.
Gonta glanced at his wristwatch. The sun had yet to rise in three hours but he was already well-fed, wide awake, and fully equipped for the swift execution they had been planning for weeks. He looked to Garmata who silently nodded.
"Good. He should be coming around right about now."
The two hunters sipped at their morning coffee, listening for the sound of footsteps against the grated steel of the ship's decks amid the music from the radio at the bar. Out of the staircase emerged their companion, also dressed appropriately with a patched-up armored vest, the necessary padding sewn on the connecting joints, the salvaged Ecologist screen helmet, and—
"I'm ready to go. Let's clean the Zone out," Sacha boasted, straddling over to their table.
Garmata pursed his lips, seeing Gonta a little wide-eyed at the firepower bulging from behind the third addition to their party. Sacha stared back, the excitement left hanging in the air.
"Chto? I'm all set. Are we going or what?"
"Um, isn't that a little too excessive?" Gonta remarked, craning his head at the cones of (one, two, three, four...) OG-7V rockets plopping out of the top of his field pack.
"What do you mean?" the stalker asked.
The lead hunter pointed at the (fifth) warhead sitting in its place inside the tube of an RPG-7 which was firmly slung over his shoulder, much to the discomfort of his companion. "I know we're going to hunt a wounded chimera but...well...with that kind of ordnance, I'm not sure we'd be able to get anything off it if we kill it."
Garmata nudged his elbow. "Uh, Gonta," he whispered, "he's the guy they were talking about who went into the Jupiter Plant. You know...when it was still teeming with mutants...ones bigger and shittier than the ones we got here?"
"No shit?"
"Haven't you even heard?"
Sacha seemed to grow slightly agitated at the brief monologue. "Chyort. Are we going to do this? Come on, man. I'm all packed, I tell you." He threw his arms in the air dismissively. "Pfft... 'Too excessive'? Nothing's a little too excessive in the Zone."
Gonta cleared his throat. "Seriously, man. Don't you have your shotgun with you or something?"
"I do." The stalker motioned to the sawn-off TOZ double-barrel custom holstered to his hip. "In anticipation of your next question, I have my trusty jackknife with me."
The hunters gawked. Realizing that it was already close to three in the morning, Gonta shook off the logic that confounded him and nodded towards the door. He had experienced much peculiar things like this before, he assured himself. "Alright, let's go then. The lair isn't far and if everything goes to plan, we'll be back before sunrise."
"About fucking time," Sacha muttered.
It was particularly cloudy outside, shrouding the moon and entrenching everything in near absolute darkness. Still, their eyes had adjusted enough to discern the outline of the sleeping beast that lay on the derelict stage of the abandoned village up the hill southeast of the Skadovsk.
Garmata placed himself closest to the dark mass, aiming tensely down the sights of his Franchi shotgun, waiting for the others to get into position. Across the yard, Gonta caught up, slowly straightening his legs as he brought up his rifle to bear. A wry smile formed across his face as the iron sights of the Enfield centered on the back of the chimera.
He turned his head and nodded. Garmata acknowledged. "Alright," he coarsely whispered, "we're in position. Safeties off..." He looked at the space in front of the rim of the stage which was supposed to be occupied by now. "Chto ta…? Where the hell is—"
"Crab says hello, upizdysh!" Sacha hollered as he depressed the trigger.
Gonta's eyes went wide long enough to catch the warhead scream from its port, closing the twenty-five foot gap between its shooter and target. No sooner had a second passed when the stage lit up in a quick flash. There was barely enough time for either hunter to properly duck when the cone connected with the chimera's backside.
From where he stood, at a reasonably safe distance, Sacha had the joy of seeing Newton's third law of physics in action.
Crab stirred, grimacing at the pain that shot up from his ribcage. On the bright side, he told himself, he was nearing full recovery and within a couple of days, he would be back to hunting mutants with the team. The joy of the thought was quashed as soon as he saw the team leader lying on the gurney, nodding off with rolled-up earmuffs.
"What the..." The patient sat up, peeking dumfounded above his bunk and glimpsing Garmata's hand hanging lackadaisically off the rail.
"You're awake," Sacha remarked from the doorway.
"What is...? What...?"
"We killed the chimera. The one that nearly capped you," the stalker went on, running his hand across the ornate engraving on the wooden stock of the TOZ-34. "Nice shooter though. Fancy and all that..."
"That's Gonta's!" Crab said.
"Was. Gave it to me when we got back."
Gonta moaned, slowly readjusting himself on the gurney. There was a small hole in the hem of his pants that he was sure wasn't there the last time they came to visit. "How'd you..."
"Simple, really." Sacha reached into the hallway and placed the unloaded RPG upright inside the medical station, leaning it against the doorframe. He then angled the TOZ to floor, squinting through the groove that ran from the edge of the stock to the bulge at the end of the barrel. "Man, haven't held these in quite a while..."
Crab gulped, lifting Garmata's hand upwards and grimacing as the man winced when he felt the covers of the upper mattress again. "If you ask me, that thing there was a little too—"
"—excessive, I know." The stalker sighed, his eyes still on the fancily decorated weapon. "I get that a lot. But it was well worth it, mind you."
LAST EDITED: December 24, 2017