Time
Three hours, three hours Michael mused, his wrist watch had broken in his fall, the glass cracked, the hands bent. It had not been three hours, had it been five he„d been inside the zone, a rough estimate, a bad estimate. Rough estimates could kill stuck out in this radiation filled wasteland. He had heard stories from fellow stalkers, stalkers who had lost track of time and died from over exposure to the harsh unforgiving environment and the „things“, even the little ones wouldn„t have much trouble killing a sick man.
These thoughts were bad, they nauseated him. The feeling of being eaten alive, and dying out here alone caused him to break out in cold sweat, his clothes sticking to his clammy skin.
He hadn„t noticed the low growls had diminished, the loud scratching of claws on a metal door had ceased. Maybe it was a good idea to get moving and out of this mess. Pushing himself to his feet he surveyed the room, he guessed ten foot by seven, a carpeted floor, corrugated roof, thin metal walls and a window. The door, behind him he had held closed with a table on its side. Apart from the table the room was virtually empty; a single exposed bulb was the only light fixture. He hadn„t turned it on. He had been in too much of a hurry. There probably wasn„t any power to this building anyway. Natural light crept in through the small window to his right, a few bottles resting on the window sill, their shape silhouetted on the dusty carpet. There was enough light from the window to see the entire span of the room, there really wasn„t much to see, the emptiness made him feel better, none of those things in here he told himself. The air was humid a whiff of damp, the wooden beams looked to be the origin, covered in moss. He found his gaze wondering back to the silhouetted bottles on the floor. Startled, the realisation, the day was getting on, and he„d be losing light soon. He had to do something.
Walking slowly towards the window he peered out, a few of the glass panes were thick with dirt and grime, he moved his gloved hand to rub it away, no luck, the crap was on the outside of the window, he felt stupid for not thinking. The scene he saw was a pleasant one. A light wind blew the trees and the long grass. To the left was the small grove of trees that he„d had originally come through. From what he could see the building was situated in a clearing. Following a low metal fence his gaze fell upon several items of equipment he had dropped during the short episode outside. He felt his heart in his mouth, his gun, he had left it outside. Amidst his confusion he had failed to retrieve his weapon from where it lay. Not just his weapon, he had left his first aid kit out there too, and his Geiger counter.
His Geiger counter, he had remembered the heavy clicking upon reaching this spot, not enough time to act before the creature had attacked, he had to take refuge here but the fear was building up within him, if the radiation had been so high maybe he was already dead, his train of thought racing. A deep rumble of thunder broke him free from the rising fear. Suppressing his panic he again looked out of the window, the room had darkened ever so slightly, he hadn„t noticed, looking out at the sky he could see thick dark, menacing grey cloud rolling in across the horizon, blocking the sun. The wind had strengthened as well. The tall grass rippling, undulating like a vast green ocean.
The room around him shook as the wind blasted around it, the wooden beams creaked. He knew he was in trouble. The storm would seriously hinder his escape. Yes, escape, he had scrubbed his assignment, to many things had gone wrong. Make out alive, live to see another day. This storm may aid him to he thought. He didn„t think the creature would be interested in him enough to wait out in this storm.
The first thing to do would be to retrieve his weapon, med kit and the Geiger counter the plan trailed off from that point, obviously he would return to the building, there was no where else to go, no place to run. He had to go now, the rain within the zone could be deadly, and acid rain was known to be a frequent occurrence, much stronger than the mild showers that reeked havoc with sandstone buildings. A light plinking sound, another, and another, it was raining, he cursed under his breath. Checking his ceramic composite suit and drawing his combat knife from its sheath on his belt he walked towards the door. Carefully leaning over the toppled table he rested a hand on the doors frame; slowly he moved his ear to rest against the door. The metal was cold, the surface coarse but it didn„t bother him, listening hard for the creatures presence on the other side of the door, nothing but the loud gusting wind and the intensifying „plink“, „plink' of the rain on the buildings outer walls. Now or never he decided, bending down he lifted the table and flipped it to one side carefully without making the slightest sound, if the creature was still outside he didn„t want to alarm it, the element of surprise might help. Slowly he walked to the door; carefully he placed his glove hand on the door handle. Taking a deep breath he slowly turned the handle, with a deftly silent creak he pushed the door open just enough to peer out. His gun was resting ten or so meters just beyond the door, he could make out the butt resting on the ground, and the monster was nowhere to be seen, yet he told himself. Slowly he edged out of the building, out in the blustering wind, it was strong, the door slipped from his grasp banging heavily on the thin metal wall cursing again his panicky eyes darting in all directions, spending milliseconds on each possible hiding spot of the dreadful creature, it could pounce him any second, it didn„t. There was no creature nearby.
Hurriedly moving towards his equipment he could easily make out the erratic frenzied chatter from the Geiger counter, it was loud and he was still a few meters from where it lay. Quickly he brought it to eyes, the radiation levels were high, very high, he was probably already dead, three hours in this radiation, five he thought again, and enough he thought. Quickly he clipped the Geiger counter onto his belt, next he lifted his M16, dusting it off and placing the strap over his head, resting it on his shoulder, using the tip of his boot he flicked the small med kit into the air catching it with his free hand. A trick, even now probably not a hope in the world of surviving the night Michael still thought a swift party trick was worth it. The med kit he had placed on the opposite side of his belt to the Geiger counter, the sound wouldn„t die down it was almost deafening. With military precision he reloaded his weapon, he carried plenty of ammunition, and one needed to in this line of work, or was it expertise he„d never decided. Without a second thought he ran back to the shelter, it required a fair amount of strength to pull the door close; the wind had died down slightly but not that much. Once back inside he slid the deadbolt across. He didn„t think the weak metal would hold off a direct blow to the door but he found it reassuring, again he slid the table up against the door. The room was quiet, the wind was loud, blowing hard on the thin walls and corrugated roof, the constant plink, plinking noise was deafening in the small space, the Geiger counter to wasn„t helping the frenzied clicking wasn„t helping with his mental state, he turned it off, it was still noisy. Lifting the M16 from his shoulder he rested it carefully against one of the wooden beams, tiredly he slumped beside it, back against the wall, the fear was gone, he was too tired to fear, exhaustion set in, his eyelids slowly closing and soon he was slipping into a deep, deep sleep.
Dreams
Faces, faces gasping, crying, the wails of the dead, long faces, grey lifeless. Cold hand reached for his feet, Michael found him self standing on a cliff, below thousands of people reaching, reaching for him. The skies filled with smoke, lighting arched through the sky. The ground, dried mud riddled with cracks littered with skulls their appearance distant in his memory, he had been here before. The ground quaked, his footing slipped, in an instant he was falling, hurtling down towards the wild flailing arms, this was the end, he knew.
Memories
A shock of pain ran from his forehead, clasping his head with his hands Michael slowly opened his eyes; he„d caught his head with the sharp corner of one of the wooden beams. The pain was excruciating, blood dripped to the floor the dust immediately soaking it up, he must have cut him self. How long had he been asleep he wondered looking at his watch, a shock of deja vu, he had done this before, it was still broken, it didn„t work it read the same time since he last checked, he didn„t know when that was. He felt awful, the taste of his own salty blood lined his gums, his head was throbbing, and with every movement it felt like a cacophony of explosions echoing through his head. He wanted to remember why he was here, the surroundings felt familiar, not homely just familiar.
He was sweating, he could feel the tiny beads rolling down his face, arms shaking, slowly lifting his hand he removed his glove. It was slow process and it felt painful, carefully he pulled his hand from within the thick glove. Something wasn„t right. His hand was bruised and swollen, covered in deep purple and blue blotches. Dropping his hand to his side he used his gloved hand to wipe away the sweat and rub his eyes.
His vision was blurry, trying to focus. He could make out shapes, the contrasts of the natural light streaming in through the window catching specks of dust swimming in the air. It seemed almost magical to him. Holding back the pain in his back he tried to sit straight up against the wall, it was very hard. Moving as slowly and gently as he could he straightened, a stabbing pain in his lower back, reaching behind himself he withdrew an object, his Geiger counter… His Geiger counter, the thought hit him like a brick wall and it hurt like one, feverishly he flicked the little red thumb sized switch to on.
The clicks were loud and piercing, hurriedly he altered the volume control, and as he did it came flooding back to him. Here he lay, sickened by the intense radiation his M16 resting beside him a full clip, set it to semi-automatic now have it be over with. No, not like this, he didn„t wan to die here. Remembering his father„s death seeing him laying there, in the hospital bed. Cancer… his father had died of cancer and so would his son, me. Michael had other ideas, reaching haphazardly to his belt he pulled out his field medical kit, and opened it. A pair of tweezers, a small pair of scissors, a couple feet of bandages and his radiation sickness tablets, he doubted they„d have any effect but he wanted them to, maybe if he wanted it enough they would help. Removing the cap he placed two tablets on his palm, knocking them back dry and swallowed, it hurt to swallow he almost through up but held it back, just. Placing the kit on the floor he removed a roll of bandages. With speed and efficiency he thought he had forgotten he bandaged his swollen hand, trying to place the glove back on it was futile; it hurt too much so he gave up.
The thought of getting up had occurred to him, methodically he repacked his medical equipment and placed it back on his belt, then with a new found strength he grasped the beam to his right with his gloved hand and pulled himself to his knees, the momentum almost toppled him but he held. A low crouch his arms outstretch as if he were a trapeze artist balancing high in the air above a cheering crowd. Slowly using all his strength he could muster he pushed himself up using only his legs, it hurt like hell he wanted to collapse back to the soft carpeted floor but something drove him. The image in his mind of his father lying on that bed drove him to stand upright. It was very uncomfortable standing, he must have been lying awkwardly on the floor for a long time, and his feet felt numb, pins and needles in his legs. Carefully shifting his weight uneasily, from one foot to another, he desperately hoped to get the blood flowing again, he wanted to feel his feet and get out of here, if that was at all possible. It felt like eons but eventually he could feel the insides of his boots once more.
The head ache waning, the head movements still caused his view to swim a little and make the walls crawl but the stabbing pains had lessened. He hadn„t thought why, the radiation should have made it worse, he hadn„t taken anything except for the radiation sickness tablets and they were said to cause head aches rather than alleviate them. With some reluctance he thought his legs moved, he walked out to the window, momentarily blinded by the strong light as he looked at the sky, blue skies, pure blue apart from a few wispy clouds off in the horizon, the sun high in the sky for first time, in a long time Michael had some idea of the time. It looked like two in the afternoon. The shadows were virtually non existent. The green leaves that filled the trees didn„t move, no wind, a nice day, maybe. He was feeling much better standing, he felt too good, maybe he was dreaming, maybe he was already dead, this could be the afterlife he told him self jokingly.
He had to move, quickly he gathered his things, his rifle hung from his right shoulder by its strap, it was uncomfortable resting the strap on his shoulder, he feared it was bruised as badly as his hand, he didn„t dare look, the pain was enough. He would have to bend down to pick up his Geiger counter and that was something he wasn„t looking forward to, if he fell he was worried he would not have the strength to pull himself up again. Gently, cautiously he lowered himself to the floor, bending his knees to take the weight. He knew how to bend down without hurting himself, picking up the Geiger counter from where it lay he brought himself back to a full standing position. The weight of the counter in his hand felt good, light enough to carry yet heavy enough to feel you weren„t going to break it if you need to get a little rough with it. It was an old model, some stalkers had the budget for trackers and motion scanners, not Michael, he had to make do with this, but that was just fine with him. Looking back on this whole incident he should have turned back when the Geiger counter had picked up the radiation in the clearing, it was too high, deadly even. The problem had been the run in with the mutated dog creature he had escaped from, escaped from out there into here.
Placing the Geiger counter on his belt he began to walk stiffly to the door, his muscles ached with exhaustion the sleep he had, had been a troubled sleep, nightmares had haunted him, the nightmares had been a harsher, stranger variant of the one he had been having for several months now. Upon reaching the turned over table he pushed the images from his mind. He didn„t like those dreams.
Lacking in the upper body strength to fully lift the table from its where it laid he half lifted, half dragged it out of the way, he was getting tired of this motion. Releasing the deadbolt displayed how useless it would have been, it fell apart in his hand, swirling rust cascading down to the floor. Straightening, resting his hand on the door handle, and carefully turning it to the forty five degree position. Pushing the door wide open he gazed into the bright wilderness, not the entire zone was crumbled buildings and relics of the past, much of the zone were flowing grassy plains, many fantastic views at a cost. The cost for many was death, probably his fate but he forced such things from his conscious, he wanted…, needed to get back home.
Moving
The air was cool on his face, the storm he remembered had long since gone droplets of water spackled on the tips of each blade of grass, eyes following the edge of the grove to his left. The old green leaved trees swept towards the horizon, which had been the way he came. And that would be the way he would return, it was not long a walk. It was difficult to walk. The added weight of his M16 strung across his shoulder kept swinging against his side. It was impossible to steady the weapon with his bandaged hand and he didn„t bother to steady it. He had to get home, to the safe zone, the journey would be difficult in his wounded state, and if he encountered anything he„d have to fight. He was hoping that he wouldn„t run into anything but some how the very notion of not running into something that wanted to kill you seemed remote.
Michael had been a stalker for two years now, at first it was for the adventure, being able to tell some one you worked in the zone felt great for the ego. But when his father had fallen ill just six months ago he had tried harder for bigger, better paid assignments, he wanted so badly to help his father, and the money would be used for his chemotherapy. His family wasn„t poor exactly, a working class family. Still the cost of such care was too much for his mother and eldest brother. His brother worked in networking. He„d gone to college and worked for a respectable company. His brother„s wage was good but he didn„t live in Russia anymore, he had his own life and had his own money troubles. His mother on the other hand couldn„t seem to get a job, she just lacked the qualities employers were looking for, and instead she stayed home to look after his father. His father had died less than a month ago, his mother had asked for him to stop taking the risks of entering the zone. She would tell him how she didn„t want to lose him as well as his father to cancer, it was true stalkers life expectancies were known to be shortened. He had promised he would, right after this assignment, Michael was positive after this job he would quit stalking, get another, safer job and look after his mother. The thought of his mother shed a tear in his eye, he wanted his mother.
The forest was dense, the foliage thick and heavy, the trek through it was slow going, if the reward had not been so high he may had turned back before all this mess. He wishes he had, wishing would not help now, and he plodded onwards. It was easy to make out his previous tracks through the trees; the grass had been flattened by his heavy boots. He was retracing the route he had first taken, back the way he came. The sights he saw seemed like distant muddled memories. He recognized the trees and the mutated fauna that choked the branches of the natural vegetation and blocked the strong gaze of the bright sun. The plants that hugged the ground were few, and the grass was brown and withered, very few flowers in the dark. The heavens high above utterly quiet, not a bird song could be heard, it was creepy but he had gotten used to it. Birds were not a common site in the woods and forests of the zone, there were some but rarely could you see a nest, a mother feeding its young.
It felt like a lifetime before he could see the sky through the trees, in the distance he could make out a cluster of buildings, a tallish twenty storey building and a shorter ten storey one surrounded by a cluster of smaller buildings. He„d passed through here before, it had been a quick jog but he doubted he could do that now, he felt his legs could collapse any second. His back filled with shooting pains, he„d have to rest.
Steadily he made his way to the shorter of the two tall buildings. The road wasn„t warn, a car had not driven across it in many years, the tarmac cracked, dust heaped along the curbs. It had been a small industrial estate, the two buildings had belonged to a manufacturing firm, and the small buildings around the outside had been workshops. Slowly, painfully Michael ambled along the sidewalk. He had to be careful not to trip over the broken, weed infested tiles. If he were to fall he might not be able to get himself back to his feet, so he moved cautiously. The ten storey concrete building held high with strong metal columns, modern art Michael figured, people didn„t build buildings just to function they had to look good too. The columns were sturdy but rusted, the metal had seen better days and so had the rest of the building, the windows smashed, the walls weathered, cracked.
He wanted to rest, but not here, inside. Movement, from behind him he sensed it, as he turn he could smell the stench in the air, the foul breath lined his nostrils, he swallowed. Turning, he found himself twenty or so feet face to face with something he couldn„t have imagined in his worst nightmares, a two legged beast. Its hoofed feet worn, two thin boney legs supported a medium built body, four arms twisting viciously. It„s back strewn with spines the length of Michaels arm glinted in the sun. Two of its arms, the lower set converged into sharp hooked scythe like blades, the top set hands, six fingers on each extending and retracting slowly without a sound. It didn„t really have a face, more of a helm of bone stood on a
He lay still, trapped, his arm still locked tight between the creatures jaws, it was dead he could tell. His arm felt like it was on fire, it burned with pain, it was excruciating, moving his legs as best he could he tried to flip the creature from on top of him. With every minute movement the pain grew, he felt sick to his stomach, the thought of his blood draining from his body. Again he tried to flip the creature from atop of him pushing with his legs he forced its lower body off of his.
Panting trying to open the jaws clamped around his arm using his bandaged hand, the surface was slip, difficult get a grip. Eventually he slipped his finger carefully between its teeth, bringing his arm down so that he could place the toe of his left boot on its lower jaw. Pulling with all his might on the top he tried to free his arm. His bruised hand felt numb with the physical exertion required to loosen the grip. Carefully, slowly he eased the jaws apart, in the dark depth of the creature„s mouth he could make out a dark long shape, his arm, cut and sliced. Strips of his long sleeve torn from his arm hung, caught on the teeth. It was difficult to tell but he believed some of the carnage was his mangled forearm, the thought almost made him vomit. With his arm freed from the jaws he withdrew it, eyes closed, expecting the worse even though he probably couldn„t imagine it. Half opening his eyes he pushed the rest of the creature from on top of him to ground beside him, his legs dropped, relaxed.
Pulling his arm to eye level he looked. His arm was dark red, his coverall sleeve torn from elbow down. His arm was riddled with cuts, strips of flesh hung from the visible bone, rivulets of blood dripped from the cuts onto the floor, drying in an instant on the warm concrete. He dared to try to move his hand, he did try. He could see his arm muscles spasm as they tried to accomplish their goal. He felt nothing but burning, searing pain. His hand still grasped the combat knife tightly, the knuckles white, the skin was bruised, bloody. His breathing rasping, haggard, he coughed, looking around there was nothing to aid him in climbing up from the floor. But that wasn„t the first of his worries, he had lost a lot of blood in the brutal attack, he was severely injured. Feeling weary he rested flat on the floor. He didn„t want to see what would happen if he rest his ruined arm on the ground so he rested it on his chest. It felt uncomfortable, like an itch you daren„t scratch. So many thoughts were whizzing around his mind he didn„t know what to think about first, the best he had slain, his radiation sickness, being stuck on the floor. His head ache was back and in full force. At least it was a nice day, he stared into the light blue sky, the sun right above him. Shielding his eyes with his bandaged hand he took a deep breath.
Taking Stock
It took him about half an hour at a guess to bandage his arm, he„d used all of his remaining rolls, and he„d better not be attacked again he didn„t have the medical equipment to deal with anything more. He„d taken another two radiation pills, the bottle said two every four hours but he felt desperate, he„d also taken a couple pain killers for the arm, neither had seemed to have taken effect. The best that he had achieved so far was sitting up, he felt stupid lying in the middle of the road just sitting there. He wouldn„t have a chance if he were to be attacked again. For some reason he couldn„t describe he didn„t feel to be in any danger at all, the attack had been unprovoked and swift, he„d also never in his two years of service within the zone seen such a thing. Tales had been told by stalkers who had fought fierce mutated beasts but never would he have thought, wanted to meet one. He was trying to piece together the events in the fight; he had ducked and dodged several blows before stabbing the creature once and then he felt himself flying and hitting the ground. People had said there were creatures with a physic powers before, but this was telekinesis, new and deadly. Its eyes would haunt his dreams for a long time to come he knew, every time he closed his eyes he could see that ghastly gruesome face.
It was at the same point that he landed here he„d lost his M16, he wanted his rifle, it would make him feel better, scanning he horizon he looked down the road to the building he had first been walking towards, nothing. Turning his head back to look up the street he had to twist his body round to get a better look, he saw no sign of his rifle. He had his knife, he„d had pried it from his fingers, they had locked around its grip, it felt silly having to physically move ones fingers with the other hand, the whole experience had made him feel queasy. The fingers had been cold; they contained no life, no pulse. He„d placed the knife back in its sheath on his belt. So there he sat, thinking about everything that had happened in that last twenty-four hours or so.
Missing
Rick Merinov had been sat on the bonnet of an old moskvich playing with his knife when he„d heard the piercing screech, crouched, poised for combat. The noise had sounded distant, the creature could not have been nearby but he didn„t want to take any chances. He„d hidden beside the car for ten or so minutes before regaining his search.
Out on assignment again, his clan, „The foragers“ had given him the job. He was new to the clan and he didn„t think his fellow members trusted him, they thought he a rookie. He„d been sent alone. Apparently a fellow member had been sent on the original assignment and hadn„t returned, all he had to do was bring the guy back and attain the folders if need be, a piece of cake, except it wasn„t. The guy he was looking for could be anywhere, he„d hoped maybe the goal had been achieved and he wanted have to find the folders himself. He come to the destination he was told, an old town, he„d been looking for a business park, some kind of public building. He„d not encountered the other stalker on the way, maybe he„d find that when he„d returned the other guy would already be back and this was all for nothing.
The road stretched on ahead, littered with abandoned cars, Lorries and even a car transport, empty. The buildings were tall and blocked the sun, the day was getting on, the shadows shifting, lengthening. Cautiously he moved amongst the vehicles, AK rested on his shoulder at all times, ready to fire if anything dared to creep up on him. Heading deeper into the ghost town, not a soul in site, nothing moved, there was no wind, not a sound. He„d been here before on an expedition with the military, he knew how the buildings were set out; he knew the best places to be.
Before joining the foragers he„d worked for the Russians armed forces, he„d led a team of troops, his friends to their deaths here, he blamed himself of course. It had been a straight forward patrol, they„d been attacked by a horde of rat dog creatures, and his men had been inexperienced with such animals. They had fought gallantly but to no avail, he barely escaped with his life, stripped of his rank he was cast out of the armed forces, now he thought of those men, his men. He recognized the steps where he had held his second in commands hand as he watched him die. He„d had no time to retrieve his corpse, a tear in his eye. He let it roll down hi face and drip from his nose. He wasn„t ashamed of showing his grief.
Turing back to the matter at hand he rounded a corner, lowering his weapon he pulled a map from a pouch and his compass. The map was small it showed the town, using the compass he figured out exactly where he was, three blocks from the street he needed to be at, carefully replacing the compass and map he moved on. Quickly he jogged across the street, along the sidewalk, pass a bank and stopping just at the edge of the building. Taking a second to peer around the corner he saw nothing but a few vehicles and continued across the road. The government building lay just around the next left corner two buildings down. Moving hastily Merinov rounded the next corner and took a breather.
He could easily see the building, no sign above the door. He noticed a plaque on the wall besides the revolving double doors. Cautiously he jogged around a van in front of him and up the stairs to the plaque on the wall. Using his free gloved hand he wiped away the dust, the metal was still in good condition, this was the building he had been told to visit, a planning building, and probably contained plans to many of the buildings in the area. Moving soundlessly to the revolving double doors he peered through the glass. He couldn„t make out much inside the building a desk in the distance a couple of leather sofas beside the walls, to the right he could make out a pair of elevators and past them a flight of stairs.
The doors were locked, and odd thing to find locked doors, most would have been left unlocked in the confusion of clearing the area, no problem he thought. Moving to the side he silently brought the butt of his AK to his chest and swung it against the glass of the door. The smashing glass was loud and echoed through the empty street, there may have been an easier way in but he wasn„t in the mood for searching down the dark alleyways for another entrance. In less than a second he stood in the foyer, a large room, high ceiling horrible decoration. Stucco walls painted a pale cream colour. The floor was marble dusty, it didn„t look like anyone had been here, that meant his friend probably hadn„t got this far.
Weapon raised he moved silently toward the front desk, his eyes darting along the walls and to and from every dark nook and cranny, he didn„t want to miss a thing. The air was stale, dry, it made him thirsty. Rick took a seat on top of the desk and pulled out his water flask, he took a sip to wet his mouth and swallowed, the cool water, refreshing. Swapping the flask for his flash light he moved on down the flight of stairs, it was dark down here, he moved carefully a broken pipe had made the stairs slippery under foot. His flash light held in one hand his AK in the other, dust swirled in front of him as he moved, reflecting in the strong torch light. He was heading too the archives in the basement, he had been briefed on their location, a filing cabinet he had been told, the room and filing cabinet would be locked. Three flights of stairs later he found himself at the bottom floor, the basement, it was very dark down here, the only light cast by his hand held torch. Slowly he moved the beam from wall to wall, back and forward inform of him. Up ahead he had spotted a door on the left. The sign read „archive room“ in Russian. Bingo he spoke aloud, for a moment he felt movement, a chill ran down his spine, had he spoken too soon.
Back down the passage he had came he heard the noise of loose chippings crunching, struck with fear he didn„t want to use his torch, he couldn„t bare to see what was coming for him in the dark, the corridor felt claustrophobic around him, the darkness hugging his body. The noise kept coming, louder now, what ever it was would soon be upon him; hurriedly he pointed the torch down the corridor, his body tensed. Nothing, his eyes squinted to get a better look, he had heard something he was positive but there was nothing down that way. Whirling
Moving — Part 2
Michael had spent a long while sat on the ground, the day was getting on, and he hoped that some one would come for him. Maybe his clan had got worried that he hadn„t returned they might have sent some one, probably a rookie he thought. He had not sat doing nothing, countless times he had tried to stand, but he had to place a lot of weight on his swollen hand, his legs were tired, he had to keep trying. Using what little strength he could muster he bent his left leg back ready to push, moving his bandaged hand above his head he placed it palm down, resting his elbow on the warm tarmac. Silently he counted, one, two, and three. Pushing with all of his strength, he stood crouched, his hand raw, numb, his elbow dimpled where the road had been forced against his skin. Slowly, gently he rose to a standing position.
Slowly he trudged back to where he had first encountered the monster over an hour ago; puddles of congealed blood covered the floor. A couple of meters right of the buildings entrance he spotted his M16. The paint scratched along the under side but it had not been damaged in the fall, looking down across his equipment he spotted his Geiger counter; he„d not turned it on. A few of the metal canisters that hung from his suit had been bent. Looking at the can to his far left, it was his rations. Food he had not eaten for hours, his stomach gurgled and groaned with hunger. He ate for a couple of minutes, not too much he had told himself or he may not have enough for the rest of the journey. Promptly he wobbled onward, out of the small estate. Looking to the horizon he could see the bright lights of the outer fence, the army patrolled the fences, killing creatures that came too close and keeping poachers at bay, that is where he head.
Procurement
Merinov stood still, the corridor had remained quiet for some time now, the noises had stopped eventually but nothing had materialized from the darkness. Cautiously wiping sweat from his brow he moved to the archive room door, a quick check to his left and right revealed nothing. The door was locked, unwillingly he would have to break it down, it was wood and wouldn„t make too much noise but the experience a few minutes ago had spooked him. Steadying himself with one hand on the door frame and one rested on the opposite wall he thrust the heel of his boot into the lock. A definite audible crack as the wood splintered and the locking mechanism knocked out.
Slowly he entered the archive room, no lights, not surprising. Systematically Merinov swung the torch casting the thin powerful beam from wall to wall. The room was large its exact size difficult to calculate in the dark. The room, lined with filing cabinets in rows, at the end of each row stood solid concrete columns with black letters painted on them. Rows A to I were clearly visible. The column at the end of the „J“ row had crumbled bring down the ceiling above. This was going to be difficult he had to find the seventh filing cabinet along under „P“.
Cobwebs hung from the columns and dragged between the filing cabinets, undisturbed dust covered the floors, and the room felt cold, he could see his breath. Quickly he moved through the room, he was hoping that the ceiling had not been brought down across the room, he would have to give up on the mission if there were no way to reach the cabinet. He did not intend to fail his first mission for the foragers. To his frustration the ceiling had blocked the entire section from J onward, annoyed he went to take a better look.
The slab of ceiling was lodged vertical against the wall, it ran from one side of the room to the other, slowly he patrolled the seemingly impenetrable wall of concrete hoping to see a gap, a crawl space to the other side. Eventually the beam of light projected from his torch fell on an opening, it would be a tight squeeze, and he„d have to remove his belt to have any chance of getting through.
It had been a difficult squeeze; he„d torn some of his suit fabric on a piece of protruding metal. His belt left draped over a hunk of rubble on the seemingly impenetrable wall. The room was a total mess, many of the columns pointing out the rows of filing cabinets had crumbled or fallen over bring down even more sections of the ceiling. Shining the torch upward he could see the supports bent, broken. The structure didn„t look sound, Rick had the thought it could collapse any time soon, and one wrong move could bring the ceiling down on him. Edging slowly along the wall past rubble and toppled, smashed filing cabinets he moved, speaking out the Rows letters as he passed them. K, L, M. He had to move over to the other side of the room to carry on the search for the P section, N, O. Finally he came on the P row, the column had the black letter P painted on it, and a vertical crack ran from the top of its body to the floor. The crack continued across the floor and vertically up the opposite wall before it spread into many smaller cracks. Oh so carefully he tip toed down the row of cabinets, coloured folders with their contents strewn across the floor. Finally reaching the seventh, coated in dust, untouched for twenty years. The cabinet locked. Bringing the stock of his AK down hard on the cabinets lock with a muffled *thunk*. The top draw flung open hitting him in the wrist. Dropping his AK and torch he clutched his wrist and letting out a loud «fuck». He stood in the dark, his wrist grazed. The beam from the torch was not visible. The batteries must have come loose when it had hit the floor. Hurriedly he rolled back his sleeve, his watch had a light that he could use to find the torch, pushing the pin the immediate area glowed in a dim light green, noticing the time, he„d been out for just under three hour. It had taken him a long while to get onto this, the far side of the room. He must have been standing in the outer corridor for a long time, the sun would be setting soon and it would be getting dark, the creatures were more active when it were dark.
Passage
Michael ambled slowly across the fields, the search lights of the Zones inner boundary could be seen easily in the dimming light, he„d spotted a pack of blind dogs in the distance a while back, he had taken a long detour to stay out of view, and he wasn„t up to a confrontation. He wouldn„t go through the boundary check point, that„s a fool„s path. They„d shoot him on sight. He was illegally trespassing just like anyone else. There was a grate, a sewage pipe that lay beneath the fence, only his clan used it as it lead straight to their meeting area. The foragers met twice a month in a disused sewer system. Originally the government had welded the tunnels opening shut to stop contamination. The foragers had removed the metal welded on its end and fashioned a sturdy metal door. The pipes mouth lay about two hundred meters south of the checkpoint, all he need to do was follow the fence south, at a distance of course. He hadn„t come all this way to be killed by the military «just doing their job».
He felt dreadful, he must have been exposed to high radiation levels for many hours, and he needed medical attention he had lost a lot of blood and had probably caught infection. The deep wound stung so badly he had difficulty holding back tears. Every step was a heavy undertaking, his feet rubbing the sides of his boots; they too must be swollen like his hand. His entire body felt sore, his skin burned below his clothing. The head ache pulsated, amplifying the slightest sound, his heart pounding with the strain.
Turning he headed south, following the line of the fence whilst staying several hundred meters from its lit edge. Slowly he moved through the tall shadows.
Eventually the round, rusted metal opening could be seen in the distance, a pool of grayish sludge around the pipes mouth, its depths dark. The sky a light blue fading to a beautifully striking orange as the sun had begun to set in the heavens far above.