Freedom
Chapter 5
That first night in the Zone wasn't very restful. I wasn't exactly afraid the Biker or the Blonde would knife me in my sleep, but I still didn't understand them, and it's hard to trust what you don't understand. It wasn't as bad as I expected – the Zone tires you out, and sleep comes easy when you're exhausted. We were out of the rain, and the fire was warm. The blonde disappeared to sleep in another room. Maybe she came from somewhere cold.
In the Zone, the day starts as soon as it's light enough to see. Nobody sleeps in, not even stupid Americans. By the time I woke, the Biker and his bike were gone, and the blonde didn't seem to be around. Just as well; they both made me uncomfortable in their own ways. Apparently nobody had thought to tell the Americans that their fate had been decided, so I had to explain to them what was happening. They accepted the plan without protest; they'd been planning to strike out for Rostov anyway.
It occurred to me that it was awfully conscientious of the Biker and the blonde to make arrangements for the Americans at their own expense – though I suppose they weren't really paying me to move them. They were paying me for the job I was going to do after. We hadn't discussed terms, but something told me these two would pay fairly. I didn't know what that meant in the Zone, what the going rate for being a gopher was – but whatever it was, I had to take it, because I'd come into the Zone without a single dollar, euro, or ruble to my name.
The weather had cleared up nicely, though the sky was still ominously gray. Far to the east it was totally black. I guess that made it pretty easy to orient yourself; you always knew where Chernobyl NPP was.
While the Americans got ready to depart, I headed outside and briefly checked my gear. Today I might actually have to use it. One night in the Zone survived and counting. Hey – some guys don't even last that long. I was off to a good start. To my surprise, my PDA connected immediately to the network. I checked to see if there was an update available for my map, but there wasn't. That meant it had been at least 48 hours since the last emission. I tuned in to the open frequency and put on my earpiece. There was nothing to pick up out here, but there might be something on the way in.
Slayer emerged into the light, still looking bleary.
"Sharpen up," I snapped. He looked sheepish, and gamely tried to shake himself awake.
I checked our route. It was pretty straightforward. The roads got twisty and convoluted down around the compounds north of Rostov, but navigation wouldn't be hard. Even without the PDA, once I was down there I'd always know that Chernobyl NPP was directly north, so all I'd have to do would be to walk away from the darkness on the horizon. Eventually I'd hit Rostov.
Dixon finally came out, and we got going. I checked off the list of people I had to watch out for. Duty was still hurting from everything that had happened during the Military's spectacularly failed Operation Railgun. The Military had pulled back to the cordons, and it was believed that it would be quite a while before they ventured into the Zone again. Duty patrols were thin, but they'd be on edge.
Bandits would be out in force. Duty was weakened, and Freedom was out of the picture entirely. Organized groups like the Alliance and Duty would be relying heavily on mercs, and if my research was to be believed, mercs were notorious for their opportunism. I'd have to watch out for them. Predatory loners and ignorant rookies were on my threat list, too. Worst of all, I feared the people who came to the Zone simply because it was the only place on Earth where they could indulge their fantasies without any formal law to come down on them. All kinds of characters fell into this category, from cultists to people shooting snuff films. I could live a happy life without knowing anything about – much less encountering – those people.
It was these sorts of thoughts that occupied my mind as we walked southeast through the prairies. As if all the people out to get me weren't enough, the Zone was swarming with mutants of all kinds, most of which seemed to have people pretty high on their list of favorite foods.
"Want to load that weapon?"
"Huh?" Dixon looked down at the Beowulf rifle under his arm. "Oh." I watched him take out a magazine and slap it in. At least he appeared to know more or less what he was doing. I'd had him pegged as the less likely of the two Americans to win a Darwin award, but this wasn't very reassuring.
A series of quiet clicks came through my earpiece, and I stopped, throwing up a fist. The Americans kept walking. "Stop!" They did. I groaned in disgust. Where were their Geiger counters? "Back up."
"What is it?"
I looked down at the ground. The soil was pretty mushy after the night's rain. I put my weight down, moving my boot to push some mud aside. Nothing. I squinted at the ground ahead. There – a few pieces of twisted metal protruded among the reeds. "There's something down there." I took out my PDA and checked it. "The levels aren't dangerous."
"Radiation, huh?" Slayer grimaced.
"You're on ice, right?" I said, still looking at my readings.
"What? What are you talking about?"
I looked up at them for several seconds. The first thing you did when preparing to go to the Zone – after getting your head checked – was to have a couple reputable companies freeze a sperm sample. Everybody knows that.
"Nothing," I said finally. It was better if these two didn't reproduce. "Shoutouts to doing favors for the gene pool," I said.
They looked at me like I was insane. My PDA was telling me that the radiation levels here, while detectable, were not even close to being an issue. The sharp, twisted metal sticking up out of the ground was markedly more dangerous.
"Watch your step," I told them before starting forward. We didn't get far.
"Oh, man." Slayer paused beside me, tapping his fingers on the stock of his Benelli. We all stared at the carcass. There are a lot of mutants in the Zone. Few of them have been around long enough, and been well enough documented that rookies like me can know about them before coming in. This had once been a dog, but it wasn't the blind variety. I didn't know what had gone wrong with it, but it struck me as hard to believe that there was only radiation at work here. This thing wrote the proverbial book on hideous.
"I'd hit it," Dixon said. "With a nuke from orbit."
Slayer snorted. "It's the only way to be sure."
"Party on, Slayer."
"Party on, Dixon."
"Excellent."
"Excellent."
They high-fived. I resisted the urge to shoot them both. I had no love for Duty, but I felt bad for them. I wouldn't wish these guys on my worst enemies. There was a flash as Slayer took a picture of the carcass with his PDA. He turned it over and started to type with both thumbs.
"What are you doing?"
"Writing our first blog post."
Wordlessly, I turned on my heel and started walking. Maybe I'd get lucky and he'd trip and skewer himself on some rebar. It was getting brighter, and I let myself relax a little. The air still prickled, but I was starting to get used to it. The sounds of the Zone, earlier intimidating, had actually begun to soothe me. The whistling breeze, and a distant, ethereal moan from the direction of the Chernobyl NPP.
A couple more kilometers and we'd reach the bluffs. Following them would be easy. The ground we were walking on had gone from mushy to borderline-swamp. I reminded the Americans to be careful. Even through the fabric of my mask, I could tell the stagnant water underfoot was truly foul; like hell was I going to be pulling people out of it.
Some ground up ahead looked pretty suspect, so I angled around it and leapt atop the half-sunken chassis of an ancient car, intending to cross. My Geiger counter immediately heated up, and I quickly jumped down and moved away. Of course – I'd read about that. Metal objects in the open weren't good. There wasn't much danger, but even so – no sense looking for trouble. I pulled down my mask long enough to swallow a precautionary anti-rad and a quick drink of water.
"Hey, man." Slayer drew alongside me as I pulled my mask back into place. "What's the with the shinobi thing?" He gestured at my mask.
"I come from a long line of ninjas," I lied.
He backed off and we walked on. Or we tried, but a bullet zinged off the hood of the car.