By Jon Holland

He’d read about it in magazines many times in the past. The thrill of adventure had always appealed to him. What greater thrill could be had from such an intriguing place that was Chernobyl?

Price of equipment or expedition was of no concern to him, growing up in a wealthy family. His father worked for the government, which made it all the easier to find the appropriate military official to bribe for entry into “the zone,” as he remembered it once being called. He had arranged to meet a BTR-70 crew just outside one of the military compounds. They were just about to head into the zone, and would drop him off at the spot most convenient and out of sight.

After sitting in the dark APC for what seemed like a long lapse of time, he finally reached his destination. Waiting, the door slowly opened, and light poured in, causing him to squint while waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. Leaving the vehicle, he caught the glances of some of the crew members, staring at him like someone who was on his last walk to an execution. An uneasy feeling grew inside him, and he wondered if he should go through with his plans, or call it off and head home. He stepped out of the vehicle, and gazing at the odd and foreign environment, began marching into the thick brush.

When he heard the metal clang of the BTR-70 door behind him, he realized there was no turning back. The further in he marched, the heavier and thicker the brush became, and everything seemed so dark. Before he knew it, night was upon him. Strange sounds could be heard up ahead of him, and not knowing what to do, he simply slumped back against a tree, clenched his m16 close to him, and waited. As the brush started to sway back and forth off to the side, he slowly lowered his rifle so the barrel pointed directly at the location of movement. Slowly, a murky shadow came into sight. He’d seen blurry images of controllers before, but none were close up and showed the disgusting reality of the horribly deformed beings. He prayed that it not look in his direction, as he wasn’t used to confrontation. Despite his best efforts to remain motionless, it must’ve seen him, as it lowered down on all fours, and pounced out of sight into the bushes.

He knew controllers had psi abilities, and feared what might come out of the bushes next. Controllers preferred to have the creatures under their control do the dirty work. As he started to move, he heard noises from all directions. He had wasted too much time thinking of how to handle the situation. There was no way out without a fight now. Kneeling, with his rifle raised, sweat began to trickle down his forehead. This was it, the moment he’d traveled here for. A twig crunched not far off. Crunch…. crunch…. crunch…. something was coming closer, but what seemed at only a slow pace. It stepped into sight, and looked like a man, but something was wrong…. it looked like a corpse. The creature’s face was discolored to a pale blue, and it seemed bloated. Like a body that had died in water and been left undiscovered for weeks.

Somewhat hesitant, the stalker inched the trigger back, and hit the zombie directly in the chest. The bullet knocked the creature back off its feet, as it hit the ground with a thud, but to the stalker’s amazement, it slowly got back up and continued its path towards him. Taking aim once again, he placed another round into the forehead of the beast. This, it seemed, had a much better effect, as the creature hit the ground for a second time and began to seizure.

Thinking it best to leave, he turned around to head back the direction he came, when he felt a force from behind knock him to the ground. Something was on top of him, something cold that smelt of decomposing flesh. In a frantic panic, he began to squirm and reach for his pistol, as his m16 was pinned to the ground by his weight. Something dug deep into his shoulder, and he then realized he was being bitten by whatever was on top of him. He let out a painful scream and at that moment a surge of anger and annoyance flowed through him. With his pistol in his hand, he reached over his should, placed the barrel in where he predicted the eye of the creature to be, and set of 3 rounds. Blood spattered and covered his face. Whatever bit him, wasn’t going to again, as it lay lifeless upon him.

Struggling to get the fleshy mass off of him, he looked to his side, where he noticed two feet. As he looked up, he realized the controller had come to finish him off. In a desperate final attempt, the stalker tried aiming his pistol at it, but it was too fast. It kicked the pistol out of his hands, and set it flying into the brush. The stalker was just another nameless person to fall victim to Chernobyl.