Dirge Danorum

Chapter 2

The north. Rarely traveled. Negligibly documented. Well-cordoned. That's all I know. Ask more seasoned people, and you'll get the same thing. It wasn't just how far north we were – but how far east. We were on the wrong side of the Channel.

Velvet didn't look thrilled. She was reaching all the same conclusions. Grigor didn't seem troubled, but that was because he was looking around with interest. How long had he been in the Valley? How long since he had seen the outside? I wouldn't ask. The pleasure he got out of seeing what was around him was indication enough.

"Signal's dodgy out here." Velvet shook her PDA. "We have to get closer before I can contact the Biker."

"Forget that – how are we going to get across the Channel?"

"Let's get there first." I had a something to say to that, but I resisted the urge. She didn't need this any more than I did.

The buildings looked farther away than they were, and we reached them by midday. Huge, industrial complexes. Towering apartment blocks. Empty, forgotten streets. I kept an eye on my Geiger counter, but I had a feeling radiation wasn't what we had to fear. My right hand had begun to tingle as soon as we stepped onto pavement. I now had a good grasp of its function as an indicator of danger – but I didn't need to say anything. Velvet didn't have her finger on the trigger, but her MPL was at the ready. What I needed an anomalous hand for, her instincts could do on their own. She'd been here for almost ten years.

"You should stop her," the Morton Stalker said.

"From what?" I didn't say it aloud.

"From running."

"I know what she's running from. And I don't blame her."

My hand was at my side. Sometimes my gloved fingers would brush the handle of Lunch Box. My hand wanted to pull it out. The tingling grew stronger. I gave Grigor a warning look, and he returned it. He was subtly scanning the enormous buildings all around us.

"She can't run forever. Look what she's done to herself."

"Anyone would do the same."

"No, anyone would just eat a bullet. She came here. Why did she come here? Why didn't she just check out?"

"Too proud, maybe." I slipped my left hand into my vest, feeling the letter there. "Or maybe she just wants what every other stalker wants."

"According to who? To Grigor? Or to you?"

"Either one."

"You better pay attention."

He was right. I pulled Lunch Box out, but kept it at my side. "Should we go indoors?" We all felt it. We weren't alone. The empty streets made for some eerie acoustics, and the only sound was our footfalls – but they weren't kidding anybody. They were out there.

"Drinkers?" Grigor looked serious, but not fearful. He still had his Nagant slung, but there was a TT-33 in his belt, and his hand was sort of resting on it.

"Maybe," Velvet said. "If so, we should be safe as long as it's light." She was trying to sound confident.

"Cultists?" I smiled.

"God," she sighed. "I hope not."

"We are being observed." Now there was a hint of worry in Grigor's voice.

"Where?"

"There." He indicated the rooftop with his eyes.

"Inside it is," Velvet said, motioning.

The apartment block no longer had a door, so getting in wasn't a problem – but there was very little ambient light. We all got out flashlights, but they seemed pale and insignificant in the dark.

"Hall's blocked," I reported. My hand was throbbing now. That either meant the enemy outside was closing in, or that coming in here hadn't been such a hot idea. I'd find out which it was soon enough. Lunch Box in hand, I cast about with the light. The walls were covered in ugly graffiti. There were elevators, but those weren't an option.

"Stairs," Grigor called, and I homed in on his voice. The stairwell was filthy, but clear of debris. There were no windows, which meant no light – but after my brush with the caverns deep beneath the Channel, I just wasn't intimidated by the dark the way I'd once been.

We made our way through the building prudently, but not fearfully. I remembered how I felt when Sagaris and I had been in a similar situation. I'd been less jaded then, I supposed, because I'd been scared to death. But here and now, with two experienced stalkers at my side, things were different. It was only day eight, but already I was thinking that I could handle anything this place could throw at me.

That was a dangerous attitude to take, but I felt like it was only partly coming from me.

Regardless, someone was stalking us, and even if my foolish instinct was to laugh it off, I knew perfectly well that I needed to take this seriously. It was too quiet here. If there were drinkers around, we'd hear them even if we didn't see them.

If it was far-flung bandits, why hadn't they fired earlier? We'd been easy targets in the street.

Mercs who weren't in the mood for trouble might watch us closely, but let us pass – but mercs need work, and there wasn't any work on this side of the Channel, so they wouldn't be here in the first place. The same went for loners – they'd watch without firing, but what would they be doing here?

Gradually, I thinned down the list of possibilities as I followed Grigor and Velvet through the building. The place was filthy and broken down. There was dust everywhere. Radiators had rusted and fallen away from the walls to trip us, and great metal staircases groaned as we passed. But there wasn't much in the way of anomalous material around. Some glowing fungus that didn't look too threatening, and some plant-like material stretched across a few doorways, but that was it.

This was a building on the outskirts of the Zone, but it was not a hotspot. There was nothing here for stalkers to find; and that meant there were no stalkers here for the mutants to eat, so they wouldn't be around either.

"Whoever it is out there," I said. "It's not the usual suspects."

"I think you're right."

"Are there any remnants left?"

"Not this far in," Grigor replied.

"Who would be this close – and yet this far?" Velvet mused. "Cut off from the outside, but not far enough in to do anything."

"You say that from a fixed perspective," Grigor said mildly. "Even if there is nothing out here for you to do, how can you speak for others?"

"True enough."

"This is it." We entered a room with several large windows looking out into the street. We could climb out easily. Warily, we considered the stillness outside. "They have the high ground," I warned.

Grigor checked the sacking covering his rifle. "We could move up as well."

"No – if they're up there, and they realize we're coming up, that might look confrontational. We might start an unnecessary fight. If these people wanted to shoot us, they had their chance."

"What do you want to do?"

She considered it. "We walk out."

She'd weighed the risks – but she'd done so more kindly than I would have. Her determination to give other people the benefit of the doubt to avoid conflict was going to be the death of us. Of course, if this wasn't who she was, I wouldn't have cared if she got herself killed.

"What if we run?" I didn't get an answer, because there was movement in the street. I pushed Velvet out of sight and melted into the shadows, squinting out.

A figure had emerged from the building across the street. He was looking left and right, unsure of where we were. He wore blue jeans and a red flannel shirt, underneath a very civilian-looking parka. He was a little older than I was, and a little overweight. It was clear from the outset that he wasn't a stalker. He looked apprehensive.

"I'm going to talk to him," I said quietly, watching the man. He was waiting in the middle of the street, hands raised.

"I'll talk to him," Velvet corrected, pushing past me. I grabbed her by the back of her vest and yanked her back.

"The hell you are."

"Hey," she said, looking indignant, "Who's in charge here?"

I pushed her at Grigor. "Watch her." I slipped out the window and started forward. "You lost?" I asked, loudly enough to get him to turn around. I was closing in fast, and he looked intimidated. And I know exactly what I looked like – all in black, pale, big dark circles under my eyes, not wearing a very friendly expression, ridiculously large pistol in hand – but the reaction was too strong. He should've been taken aback at the sight of me, but not openly terrified. Something was wrong. I felt something strike my vest. I pulled it out. A little needle, its tip bent. So that was his game.

Another one hit me in the neck, but I wasn't paying attention. That was the plan – lure us out with the white flag, hit us from behind. And they'd already gotten me. But not for free. I could feel the stuff acting fast, but not fast enough. I leveled Lunch Box at him.

"Hey man," he said, shaking his head. He sounded American. I blew a hole in his chest and blacked out.