Obsidian Series: Day 2

By: Grisly Silence

The next day dawned bright and cold. The sun rose above the horizon like some burning sentinel of doom, searing the land with intense white light. And yet, it was still cold. Breath clouded, skin prickled, liquids froze. Bleak thunderheads gathered on the opposite horizon, as if driven away by the light of the sun. But appearances are not everything, and as the sun rose, they came closer and closer, shadowing the land, concealing it from the sun’s harsh light.

Mihail and Svyatoslav moved out immediately, having collected the pieces of Mihail’s gun and transferring to a different building. They passed the restaurant where they had fought the monstrosity. Great splashes of blood were frozen on the walls and floor, but the body was gone. Scavengers had eaten it during the night.

They didn’t speak as they walked out of the nameless city; yet another crushed achievement of humankind in a long line of such crushed achievements. They were all the same to Mihail. They all blurred together. He couldn’t care less what the name was. They kept a sharp eye out for any sign of anomalies. Often these were more dangerous than the creatures that lived within the Zone.

They moved slowly at first, Mihail favoring his stomach for a good while. The thing’s fist had been like an iron bar slammed into his midsection. He began to feel better, though, and they were able to pick up the pace. They caught sight of a host of rats near the northern outskirts. They scurried around as if mad, swarming over bulky objects in the middle of a broad square. One or two larger ones seemed to be watching for something, standing up on their haunches occasionally and looking suspiciously around with beady black eyes. Mihail and Svyatoslav watched this from across the square, beyond the poor vision of the rats. Normally Mihail might be inclined to devise a way to draw the rats off or kill them so he could get a look at what they were gathered around, but he had more interesting prospects farther off, and it was entirely possible the rats were merely feeding on the bodies of someone hapless enough to get trapped in the square. Besides, Mihail could taste a peculiar tang in the air, similar to the coppery taste of blood. It was the sign of Fog. The rats would be dead soon enough anyway.

Mihail noticed Svyatoslav pull an antique pocket watch from one of his pockets and open the face, studying the movement. Mihail looked at him curiously. Svyatoslav smiled grimly.

“A mechanical watch will stop in a high magnetic field.” He said simply.

Mihail nodded. That was very interesting. He would have to see about obtaining one from the Dealer. High magnetic fields were very dangerous.

After that they skirted the square, still heading north through the buildings. They didn’t see anything alive. The wind had died, but the clouds had made it overhead, lending everything a dull, leaden cast.

Then they stepped from the cover of the last of the buildings and saw the bodies. This was what they were looking for. Bright red splashes of blood glistened on the broken concrete. Viscera were strewn from long gashes in the bellies of bodies. Eyes stared in horror at whatever they had last seen. Faces were locked in terrible grimaces of pain. Flies gathered around the eviscerated bodies, swarming around the mouths, eyes, and the extensive wounds. The smell of rotting meat hung in the air like a hideous funeral pall. One never got used to that smell.

Svyatoslav wandered through the carnage a few feet ahead of Mihail. Six Stalkers brutally killed, all ripped open, the trademark of Dwarves. But didn’t Dwarves usually stay underground? And some even had bullet wounds. It must have happened within the last few hours, not long before dawn, or they would already have been eaten by scavengers by now. Mihail checked the line of trees some hundred yards distant for movement. They would have to leave soon.

He bent to one of the bodies, searching for anything useful. The pockets were empty but for some crumbs of food in his pack and bullets in a mag pouch at his belt. He kept the bullets but left the food. It was too easily poisoned. He stopped by another body. Nothing. He looked up and scanned the horizon again. He didn’t like lingering in one place if he didn’t have to. Especially with the attractive smell of all this dead drawing predators. He glanced at the overall scene. Where were all the guns?

His companion continued walking to a small outcropping of buildings just past the site. Mihail searched another corpse. Something caught his eyes as he rummaged through the body’s pockets. The man had burns on his hands and face. Bad burns. Mihail recognized those burns. He’d seen them before. He swore under his breath and conducted a thorough search of all the bodies, then the area around them. He swore again when he found nothing.

There was a yell. He looked to see Svyatoslav waving him over. His eyes passed over the bodies one more time. He couldn’t help swearing again.

Mihail trotted over to where Svyatoslav stood. The man pointed to the wall before them. It was riddled with bullet holes. Svyatoslav nodded wordlessly at the ground. Mihail followed the line of his gaze. Another body, red, burned and deformed, leaking blood and other fluids through a multitude of sores and bullet holes. It wasn’t human. Not any more. But it wasn’t a Dwarf, either. It looked a lot like a zombie. That might explain some things. Controllers were more intelligent than most everything else in the zone. More human. It might have noticed something about the artifact and taken it.

He squatted, analyzing the ground, letting his fingers brush the grass. There were tracks leading away from the area, farther north. He considered. The Stalkers must have come upon an artifact, probably the one Svyatoslav had found out about, and fought over it. Some of them were killed. Maybe they stumbled onto the Controller and its minions, or the Controller stumbled on them, and killed the remaining Stalkers, except for the one that managed to escape.

He wasn’t afraid of much. He had a lot of respect for many of the Zone’s inhabitants. But Controllers were another matter. He was afraid of them. Another time, another place, he might have had a hard time admitting it. But if he deluded himself in the Zone, he’d end up dead. A Controller could do things to a man nothing else could. It was nauseating. But what worried him even more were the burns on the one man’s face.

Radiation burns.

“We go north.” He said simply. Svyatoslav nodded. If he was going to die, then that was his fate.

They left the outskirts of the city ruins, walking through the forest for several hours. They kept a sharp eye for anything trailing them or telltales of an ambush. Svyatoslav checked his watch often. The trail was easy to follow; their quarry wasn’t making an effort to conceal the signs of their passing. The terrain grew rougher and more difficult to traverse. The day wore on until the sun was directly over their heads, though they could only see it as a vague brightening of the clouds above them. They ate a quick lunch of MRE’s, which preserved well, didn’t take up much space, and tasted vaguely of cardboard and salt.

It was about an hour after noon, according to Svyatoslav’s watch, that they came upon an anomaly.

The trees stopped. There was no reason for it. They were there, and then the two suddenly stepped onto hard earth. There were no trees, no scrub brush, no grass struggling to reach the light of the sun from under a rock. Nothing. Nothing but an expanse of dirt and gravel. It went on and on until the far edge of the clearing was but a vague blur. A slight wind shifted dust here and there along the length and breadth of the area.

“I don't like it.” Mihail said to himself.

Svyatoslav seemed to have heard. “At least nothing will sneak up on us. We will be able to see for miles all around.”

That was true, Mihail thought. But anyone coming would also see them for miles. Being out in the open like that was as bad as being in a tight, enclosed space. It was easy to get trapped. But that wasn’t the reason he was uneasy. There was something about this unnatural wasteland that unnerved him. It was too perfectly scoured of life. In the Zone, there were very few places where there was no life, or sign of it of some kind.

Dust swirled up by the wind blew all around, obscuring the wasteland. The grains of sand got in their eyes and mouths. Coughing, they turned their backs on the empty place, retreating into the cover of the trees, rubbing their eyes. Svyatoslav checked his watch. Mihail donned his gas mask, making sure the filters were tight and in place. He looked back at the area through the round lenses. The tracks stopped at the edge of the trees, leading straight in. The dust had blown over the rest. He looked over at Svyatoslav, putting on his own gas mask. The man checked his watch again, then nodded. They would have to travel with their guns inside their coats. Even the trusty Kalashnikovs were susceptible to grit. They would have to be careful when using them; if they jammed, they would be in trouble until they could get them cleaned out. Checking behind for a moment, Mihail considered the effort required to get the artifact. He noted the radiation burns and possible presence of a Controller and zombies. He also noted the Stalkers fighting and killing each other over it, and the fact that it had disappeared, possibly taken by that very Controller. There was something very desirable about it. At this point, it was still worth it.

The instant they stepped into the desolation, dust whirled up around them, encasing them in a gritty shell. It seemed that they would be able to see no one, no matter how close they got. Even the fact that anything would also not see them failed to make him feel any better. He looked around the dust as the wind tugged at his clothes. He was rapidly being coated in the stuff, turning his black outfit tan. Despite the roaring outside his mask, his own breath was loud in his ears. He started walking.

The walking seemed endless. At times the wind dissipated a little and the dust would settle to the ground, leaving in its place a thick haze in the air, still preventing them from seeing very far. But even these thin spells lasted for no longer than a moment. For all they knew, whoever, or whatever had that artifact could have died somewhere in the vast expanse and they could pass within feet of it without noticing. In this mess, they would have to trip over whatever they were looking for. He just hoped the artifact made it to the edge where they could look for it. Everything would have been a waste of time if a sorry chance of fate hid it under an inch of silt.

But there was nothing they could possibly do about that, so they kept walking, not speaking for that was not possible over the thundering of the wind. The incessant droning eventually faded into a distant buzzing in his ears as they trudged through the rocks and dust. Mihail had lost all track of time. The dust was the same in every direction, just a wall of whirling tan particles. He supposed he could have asked Svyatoslav to check his watch, but felt no particular need to know. Just as long as they got to the end, that was good enough for him. But he still didn’t like the place. He could feel…eyes on him at all times. Watching.
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He remembered a similar time, years before, when he had felt eyes on him. It was just before the second blowout. He felt as if something had been looking on him from some hidden vantage point. There was a bright light that lit all the clouds in every direction orange. Night was made day. The shockwave knocked him down. He was unconscious for hours. When he awoke, the sky was still bright orange, but everything around him was still standing. The trees hadn’t even dropped any leaves. Why had the wave only hit him? His gaze turned to the power plant.

Then he was running through the forest back to his home. The dark specter of the plant’s towers loomed starkly against the sky. He ran toward them. Fear gripped him. He had only been out to gather some firewood. His wife had been baking bread at the house. It was too close. He ran harder, ripping through the forest. They were all right. They were all right.

He was too late. He flew into the clearing where their house sat. It was too quiet. He didn’t hear the clatter of pans or the crackling of the baking fire or the crying of the baby. But he wouldn’t let himself believe it. He tore open the door and stumbled over her body. His heart stopped. Blood ran from a gaping wound in her throat. Her hand clutched a knife coated in blood. He crawled over to her and cried, tenderly stroking her face. He didn’t even ask what had happened. It was too horrible for him to bear thinking of.

Finally, he rose weakly, staring at his beloved wife. Then he looked away. He couldn’t bear to look any more. Stumbling through the hall, he made his unsteady way to the bedroom. His knees were weak. He was afraid to look in. Steeling himself, he stepped into the doorway, bracing himself against the frame. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Falling to his knees, he vomited, pressing his fists against his stomach. Tears dripped endlessly from his eyes. Crawling away from the room, choking on fear and agony, he wept.

He didn’t even register the sounds for almost an hour. He just lay on the floor gasping for breath. His life was over. His only two reasons for living were gone. Finally he had no more tears left, no strength left for crying. As he went quiet, he heard rustling sounds outside. Someone was outside. Shock flooded through him. He couldn’t fit his mind around what was happening. Images of his wife paraded themselves in front of him. He couldn’t stop them. Who else would be in his home? Who had done this? Answers wouldn’t come.

Something strange came over him. He found himself able to stand. A single word flared to life. MURDER. Making his way into the kitchen, he kept his eyes on the walls, not daring to look down. The knife rack stared at him. He stared back. He found himself taking a knife. He wasn’t entirely sure why. He felt as if he had lost his mind, like someone else was pulling his strings, like a puppet.

Shuffling through the door, he found himself outside. It was still night, but the light had faded from the clouds. He went around the back of the house. Someone was crouching by the side of his house, scratching at the dirt. He came closer. The person was naked, covered in white skin that looked like it had been through a furnace and left horribly scarred. Blood was spattered on its back. His mind started working again. He made the connection. The knife rose. He wasn’t even seeing anything around him. The deep, bloody slash in his wife’s throat refused to leave his vision. The knife plunged into the bumpy white skin.

He buried his wife and what was left of his child. It was only much later that he learned that it had been a controller. Oleesya had killed herself when she felt what was happening. The child had not been so lucky. The controller had been hungry.
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After what felt like days of weary walking but was more likely a few hours, Svyatoslav shouted. Mihail had hung his head, staring at the ground, watching his legs disappear into the sand storm, almost dead asleep as he walked. He would have to take off his mask to wipe away the tears, so he let them dry against his skin. He felt dead. Even Svyatoslav’s yell sounded like a lover’s whisper to him. But it was enough to rouse him from his stupor. He looked up. The dust abated suddenly, clearing away and dropping flat to the ground. Nothing moved again. It was like the blowing sand had never been. Here and there some wind moved loose dust a few meters, but nothing like what they had experienced a mere meter behind. Without knowing how, or why, Mihail knew that if he stepped back in, the sand would rush up all about him, but did nothing to test his theory. He was too tired for that. And he could see the edge of the forest, the evening sun falling slowly behind the crests of the far gray mountains, preparing to disappear under the onslaught of nightfall. The tracks in the sand they were following started up not a few meters to their left, headed directly for the trees.