Freedom

Chapter 7

The sun was high overhead, and the bluffs were far behind us. Green hills rolled away in every direction, all bathed in warm sunlight. The Zone was putting on its best face for us, but it would have to do a lot better to change my mood after what had happened.

This was the deadliest place on earth; I needed to be clear and focused. Instead I was moody and distracted. If I couldn't find a way to get things straight, I was going to get into trouble.

"Do we need to be worried about that?" Slayer said, looking over his shoulder. Occasionally we could hear dogs barking back there.

"We're downwind," I said darkly.

"What does that mean?" Slayer asked.

"It means they can't smell us," Dixon told him.

"Hey, man – you know your stuff. You got a name?"

Maybe he'd forgotten that I'd dodged that question less than a day ago. I didn't answer him. This was no good. It wasn't working.

I told the Americans to hold up, and left them in the shade of a nearby grove and went to the top of a sunny knoll. I sat down and evened out my breathing, ignoring their eyes on my back.

I was surprised at how quickly serenity and insight came to me, considering the circumstances. But I'd felt different ever since setting foot in the Zone. This place wasn't like the outside world. It was easy for anyone to understand why people came here. Fortune, adventure. The prospect of seeing things no one else ever would. What outsiders – myself included – had difficulty understanding, was why they stayed. Now I was starting to see.

Dixon touched my shoulder, and I looked up. You know your meditation is a success when you aren't angry that somebody's interrupted it.

"Look."

I did. "What is that?"

Dixon offered me his binoculars. I had my own, but I took his anyway and got to my feet. The vague grayness he'd indicated came into sharp focus. I'd initially thought it must be some kind of anomaly. It wasn't. Well, it was – but not that kind. I turned to Dixon, one eyebrow raised. He shrugged. I handed his binoculars back.

There was a murder – no, a swarm – of crows ahead. They circled high above, looking like nothing I'd ever seen before. We've all seen crows circle, but not in numbers like this.

I rubbed my chin through the fabric of my mask. "Whatever they're interested in, it's right in our path."

"Check it out?"

"Yeah." I picked up my carbine and motioned to Slayer, who joined us. As we got closer the distant cawing became audible. It must have been deafening, because we were still the better part of a kilometer away. I checked my PDA, finding that there was a shallow valley ahead. I told the Americans to slow down. We mounted the hill cautiously, peering over the crest with some trepidation.

The valley below contained a lot of stagnant water and tall grass. Old wooden planks were laid across the water, forming makeshift bridges between mounds of earth. At first it wasn't clear what we were supposed to see. There was no battlefield below, no bountiful food source for the hundreds of crows overhead. Nothing to inspire the frenzied cawing.

"There." Dixon pointed. I took out my own binoculars and followed his gaze.

Far below, a lone figure was making its way through the valley. The man must have been very tall, but also very thin. He wore a long, faded gray coat. It was tattered and frayed, as though it had seen a lot of action. He didn't have a weapon that I could see – well, no rifle or shotgun at any rate. That struck me as odd; we weren't on the frontier anymore. This was the Zone. He probably had a pistol under the coat somewhere, but a pistol isn't enough. That's something everybody agrees on. I watched, fascinated.

He stepped onto one of the rotting bridges, and I could see his figure reflected in the water below as he crossed.

But he wasn't the only thing to see. Not far ahead of him, something blue and ethereal was dancing in the air. An artifact or anomaly, I couldn't be sure which. I'd never actually seen either, except in pictures.

"The hell is that?" Slayer murmured.

"I don't know." Dixon sounded like I felt. I said nothing. The man in the coat was making for the anomaly. I didn't know if it was him, or his prize, but the scene made my blood run cold. The crows weren't letting up.

I returned my gaze to the stalker below in time to notice the air behind him wavering. He reached out almost absently, and I saw he was holding what must have been a small knife.

The air resolved itself into a vaguely human form, a brown and twisted thing that I recognized from descriptions on the internet. The thing crumpled to the ground, clutching at its throat. It rolled into the water, which turned immediately red.

Several more of the creatures appeared from thin air, all around the stalker. He ignored them as they moved past him, splashing into the shallows to feed on the dying one. I shuddered, but couldn't take my eyes off the scene.

"My God," Dixon said.

"I know, right?" Slayer replied.

"No, look – look at the crows."

I did. It took a moment for me to see what Dixon meant, but I did. They were following him – the man with the coat, like an enormous black, cacophonous halo.

He had reached the artifact. I held my breath. The creatures in the water continued to feed, oblivious to what was going on above. The tall stalker seemed to think for just a moment, then reached out. I winced. It just didn't seem like the type of thing you want to touch with your bare hand. I zoomed in with my binoculars. It looked like he had on a pair of fingerless gloves, but that wasn't my idea of protection.

His fingers closed around the object, and he lifted it for closer inspection. It trailed a few wisps of something blue and unidentifiable. The stalker's grip tightened on the thing. His fist began to shake.

The shockwave flew through the valley, sweeping up the sides before anyone could react. It passed us with a crackle of supercharged air. As the blast echoed around the canyon, the crows fell silent. A haze of black bodies and feathers began to fall soundlessly to earth. I'd flinched, but now I struggled back into position and raised my binoculars again. The tall stalker had not moved. He opened his fingers, revealing an empty hand. He gave it a little shake, then was lost to sight as the rain of crows and feathers hid him.

The Americans were still recovering. I turned and slid down the hill, hauling Slayer to his feet and giving Dixon a sharp kick. "We have to go." They didn't ask questions. It seemed like the shockwave had affected them more than it had me. As long as they could run, it didn't matter. I was pretty sure that just before the smokescreen of feathers covered him, the tall stalker had turned and looked directly at us.

It didn't matter who we were, how prepared, what sort of weapons we had – if that stalker caught up with us, we were as good as dead. I don't think the Americans appreciated that. They think you can solve anything if you've got big enough guns. It was a good thing I was there.

They huffed and puffed along behind me. "This is the wrong way!" Slayer shouted.

"It's not," I called over my shoulder, then stopped and planted my feet, letting them pass me. "Keep going." I took up my AK and scanned the rolling hills behind us. No sign of him. I turned and started to run again. That stalker had shattered my inner serenity just as easily as he'd crushed that artifact with his bare hand. I was closer to panic now than I had been when threatened by the bandits, or when cornered behind that irradiated car. I like to think I have good instincts, and they were telling me this situation was orders of magnitude more dire.

There were no more crows in there air; they had all been struck down by the shockwave, so there was nothing to indicate where the thin stalker might be – if indeed he was coming after us.

I didn't have to look at my PDA to know this detour would cost us, but anything beat certain death. Travel smart, the Biker had said. Easier said than done.