Obsidian Series Part 4

By: Grisly Silence

 

Silence. He awoke to silence. No trees creaked against the pull of the wind. The grass was still. No sounds came from afar. A hush had settled over everything, as if nothing dared to break the silence. He listened intently. Still nothing. He settled back. It was almost peaceful. It was as if everything had signed a peace treaty. A cease fire.

Mihail frowned. He didn’t like it.

Svyatoslav had the morning watch. Mihail should hear him breathing, or moving. Worry overrode his initial pleasure at the silence, the absence of wind. He lay still, staring up at the clear blue sky. Sometime during the night the clouds had cleared off. Keeping his breathing as low as possible, he checked around himself as much as he could while only moving his eyes. The barren tips of trees loomed upward to his left, and a rocky formation split the ground to his right. More rocks hovered above him, part of the crag they had decided to camp in. He didn’t see anything move. But that didn’t necessarily matter.

He felt the heavy weight of a funeral pall settle over him.

What had happened to Svyatoslav?

This was not good. He grimaced. If something had come upon Svyatoslav during the night, it would have woken him…wouldn’t it? But if he had wandered off…No. Svyatoslav wouldn’t just “wander off.” Either something had happened to him, or he had disappeared on purpose. He imagined all sorts of scenarios. He saw dwarfs somehow ripping him apart without a sound, controllers taking him while his back was turned, perhaps not noticing Mihail because he was asleep, and on and on, seeing things he had never seen nor heard of.

Or maybe Svyatoslav had noticed some danger and had left to get out of its way, “forgetting” to tell Mihail. Or not forgetting. What were they in this for after all? Profit. They were together only until they got the artifact. And Mihail wasn’t sure their truce would even last that long. He had been suspicious of the man when he had first met him. He knew nothing of him or his character, except for his skill at fighting. His mind turned to the sinister. What if Svyatoslav had decided the artifact was no longer worth the journey? What if he had decided he still needed to get something out of this wasted time? What if he had decided to get rid of his traveling companion?

Somewhere nearby a twig snapped. The silence shattered. It was like a cannon going off in his ear. He flinched. His heart jumped to his throat. His clothes rustled as his back scraped against the ground. Swearing, he jumped to his feet, knowing that anything nearby couldn’t have failed to notice the sound. His Stechkin was out of its holster before he landed. A large dark form leaned casually against the rocks.

It was Svyatoslav.

He almost shot him. The adrenaline searing through his veins pulsed in time with his heart. Chest heaving, Mihail glared at him. His gun wasn’t out. He let the Stechkin down a little. Unlike before, Svyatoslav didn’t back down at his look. Sometime during the night, he had grown a spine. Back in the house where the goliath attacked them, Mihail’s glare had stopped him in his tracks. From what Mihail knew, that didn’t change spontaneously without good reason.

“Where were you?” He ground out. His ire grew at the way Svyatoslav leaned oh-so-casually against the rock.

Svyatoslav shrugged. “I thought I heard a noise. I went to check it out.”

Mihail almost shot him. Again. Keeping his wrath under control was becoming more and more difficult. “Really.” He spit out.

Svyatoslav didn’t seem to notice his anger. “Really.” He said matter-of-factly. A smirk stretched across his face. “You going to shoot me?”

Mihail looked down at the gun. He realized his gun was out. Svyatoslav's wasn’t. He rammed it into his holster. His gaze came back up, and caught on Svyatoslav’s back as he was turning. He had his pack on. He hadn’t had it on when he began his watch. Suspicion flared in his mind. Mihail’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

Keeping his eyes on Svyatoslav, he slowly settled down to a sitting position, pulling an MRE from his own pack. There was plenty left for the long walk back to his dealer. He glanced at Svyatoslav, tearing the plastic off his own meal. He felt like a tightly wound spring about to explode. His whole body was tense, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. He forced the tasteless food into his mouth, pangs of hunger reminding him of survival. He spoke around a mouthful of tepid beans.

“What was it?”

Svyatoslav’s eyes came up with a confused look. His plastic fork hovered over the food. “What?”

Mihail’s gaze grew piercing. “The noise.”

Svyatoslav stared at him. “I am still alive aren’t I? I would not be if it was important.”

It was a perfectly reasonable response. Mihail grunted noncommittally and returned to his food. His thoughts remained his own.

After they packed everything up—or rather, after Mihail packed his stuff up, since Svyatoslav seemed already prepared for a journey—Mihail wondered if he was being irrational. Putting it bluntly, there were easier ways to kill him. If Svyatoslav really wanted to be rid of him, he could have just put a bullet in his head while he slept. Even a coward would see the value in that. But Svyatoslav was no coward. He seemed more confident than the night before, after the attack. Something had changed during the night.

Mihail’s side ached in sympathy with his thoughts. Wrapping it in bandages, he had stopped the bleeding, if not the pain. The rest of the wounds were not worth bothering over, except for a nasty cut on his arm that he hadn’t felt until afterwards, which was also bandaged. Svyatoslav had fared no better.

They began passing through more rocky formations. The trees thinned and the ground became less fertile. The air seemed colder, not as a result of the strange weather conditions, but as a general climate change in the area.

His thoughts returned to Svyatoslav. He couldn’t condemn a man simply by his smirk. His newfound confidence could merely be realization that he had triumphed when he should have fallen. While it was stupid to go off alone to check a noise out without waking Mihail, it also was not enough to damn him. It was probably just an innocent mistake. But he still didn’t like it. It was something he couldn’t put his finger on, but it was there, teasing him with its presence.

Paranoia. He was succumbing to paranoia. They couldn’t be very far behind the artifact. Even if Svyatoslav was the type to stab him in the back, this was not the time that he would do it. It just didn’t make any sense. He was making blind conclusions from ephemeral evidence. And he was beginning to believe it.

He tried to put it from his mind, but it hung on tenaciously. He found himself analyzing Svyatoslav’s movements for anything that might be suspicious. Meanwhile, the trail led steadily onward, growing fresher and fresher. They couldn’t be more than a few hours behind the artifact and its captors.

The sun began to grow hotter as midday approached. The relative coolness of the higher elevation began to dissipate. The trees actually had small green leaves on them. The strange weather changes were less frequent the farther from ground zero it was. The place was almost pleasant. He expected he should hear birds singing in the trees, but of course, he did not. But Mihail kept his eyes constantly scanning around him. This place was too good to be true. There was always a catch.

When he glanced down at the trail out of habit, he found it.

Clearly defined in the soft dirt was the outline of a boot heel.

The print was laid over the trail he was following.

Someone was ahead of them.

Mihail instantly checked the area. Nothing moved. He looked at Svyatoslav, thinking to tell him. But he didn’t. At first, he didn’t know why. But realization swept over him. He had awoken to find Svyatoslav missing, gone with the excuse of checking out a noise, with his pack already on. And now, a bootprint on the trail they were following. If someone had gotten ahead of them to leave the bootprint, they would either have had to detour around Mihail and Svyatoslav, meaning they knew that they were there, or they had followed the trail straight through. Mihail surely hadn’t seen anything on his watch. But what about Svyatoslav? Where had he gone? And, he wondered darkly, where did he find his new spine? He was afraid he wouldn’t like the answer.

He watched how Svyatoslav stayed in the lead. In the front he would be less suspicious. Mihail wouldn’t have to worry about being shot in the back. He checked behind him, but he saw nothing. This was all too convenient.

The trail rose to the crest of a hill. Dense trees stood to either side, shielding his view. He reached the apex and stopped. The trail left the trees and descended into a large bowl-shaped clearing. Svyatoslav immediately stepped out of the cover of the trees. Mihails suspicion flared anew. It was an easy place for an ambush. And Svyatoslav stepped out into it like he was walking in the park. This wasn’t right.

Mihail looked around him. He still couldn’t see anything. Svyatoslav turned when he realized Mihail had stopped. He smiled at him.

“What’s wrong Mihail, afraid?”

Mihail just looked at him. “Where is your friend?”

Svyatoslav looked surprised. “What?”

“He’s clumsy. Left a footprint.”

Svyatoslav shrugged. “Well that could just have—“

Mihail cut him off. “No. It could not. He would not have been able to get ahead of us unless you let him.”

Svyatoslav grimaced. “This artifact is not worth the trouble. I almost died yesterday, and two days ago as well. I don't fucking care about the damn artifact any more. But I’m not going back without something.” He pointed at Mihail. “That means you.”

Mihail darted to the left, slipping between the trees at the side of the trail. He heard Svyatoslav curse behind him. Tearing through the brush, the sharp retort of Svyatoslav’s rifle followed him. Bullets ripped past, drilling into the trunks of trees. He ducked, weaving in and out of the trees and bushes. He had lived in the woods all his life.

Crashing sounds behind him signaled Svyatoslav’s pursuit. Staccato bursts of machine gun fire accompanied it. He was wasting bullets as Mihail steadily gained the lead. Adrenaline spurred him on, making him ignore the burning in his legs and lungs. His heart beat faster than his legs. But he didn’t want to stop yet. He was searching for something in particular.

He kept running, knowing that he might stumble on Svyatoslav’s friend. He just had to hope that his friend was on the other side of the clearing. Looking left and right, he scanned the forest for movement and a place to hide.

His stamina draining, he stumbled over a log and slammed into the dirt. Leaping to his feet, he glanced around wildly for signs of someone else’s presence. A low wind rustled the small leaves in the trees around him. Svyatoslav had slowed down his pursuit somewhat, probably hoping to drive him into his friend while conserving his own energy. But Mihail could still hear him breaking branches and brushing past bushes. He looked down at the offending obstacle.

The log lay over a small hollow filled with dead leaves. He wouldn’t even have seen it if he hadn’t tripped over the log.

Perfect.



Svyatoslav stopped when he reached the log. He crouched down behind it, lifting his AKS to his should and looking down the barrel as he sighted in a 360 degree circle. Nothing moved.

“Shit.” He whispered to himself. This was where he had last heard Mihail. He looked around again. No telling where he had gone off to. He swore again. He hadn’t thought the stalker had been able to move that fast. One second he was there, and the next he was gone.

Shaking his head, he started back to the clearing to find his friend. The whole journey had gone to hell.

When he was out of sight a dark form rose up from under the log, dead leaves cascading from it like dead flesh. Mihail’s eyes burned as he stalked his traitorous companion.



Svyatoslav walked into the center of the clearing and held up his hands, waving them in a big circle around him. He waited.

Movement at the edge of the dark forest heralded the coming of his friend.

Mihail crouched down, laying his Ak-74 down before him. His eyes were riveted on the dark form emerging from the forest as he slid the pack off his shoulder. He felt around in it, not wanting to take his eyes off the scene below. Finally, his hands found what he was looking for. He pulled the tripod out and spread its legs, setting it in front of him. He slid his weapon into the locking mechanism. It closed with a distinct click. The two Stalkers below were too far away to notice it.

Laying flat out, he braced the AK against his shoulder as he peered down the barrel through the sight. He planted it on target. Gauging the distance, he raised the point a little. The wind wasn’t very strong, but he made a minute adjustment anyway. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Svyatoslav’s friend was waving his arms around madly, apparently getting angry. Svyatoslav retaliated with his own gestures. From this distance, Mihail could only just hear their raised voices; the wind carried away the words and their meanings.

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself. His gaze intensified. He pulled the trigger.

Harsh light exploded from the barrel. The sound of the bullet exceeding the speed of sound shrieked in his ears.

The hand of god reached out and touched its disciple.

Svyatoslav’s friend fell backward with a sharp cry even Mihail could hear. He writhed on the ground in agony, his hands clutching his stomach. His hoarse screams were chilling.

Mihail quickly adjusted his sight to find Svyatoslav. But the Stalker ducked and dove into the tall grass before he could fire. Mihail couldn’t see him in the ocean of yellow. Rather than wasting more bullets, he quickly unlatched the gun and stuffed the tripod back in his pack. Slinging the pack around his shoulders he leaped through the cover of the trees into the clearing.

Rolling into a clump of the tall yellow grass, he sprang forward, crawling on his hands and knees into the large field of grass. Keeping low to the ground, he crawled slowly, deliberately, careful not to make any noise.

Svyatoslav’s friend screamed on.

When Mihail was about halfway to the middle, he stopped, setting his pack on the ground. He lay on his stomach and waited for Svyatoslav. He would eventually have to move.

Then he would kill him. He would kill that son of a bitch. The only reason he wasn’t dead already was because his friend was an unknown factor. Mihail couldn’t predict what he would do, and didn’t know what sort of weapons he had. He had to die first. Svyatoslav, on the other hand, was the weak link. Mihail knew what weapons he had, and could make an educated guess as to what he would do.

They had probably planned on getting Mihail into the clearing, where the friend would take him out from afar. Cowards. It was worse than shooting him in the back. Gritting his teeth, he tried to keep his anger from growing. He was unsuccessful. It grew into towering rage.

With rage came impatience. He began crawling forward toward the center of the clearing. He was tired of waiting. Svyatoslav would lie cold and dead on the ground before long, food for the creatures that undoubtedly lived in the surrounding forest. The cloying scent of blood and death and rotting meat would bring them down like a cloud of flies.

Every few meters he stopped and listened for any sign of Svyatoslav. The grass moved in waves as the slight wind wafted over it, brushing the thin stalks against Mihail’s face. He ignored it and continued forward.

Finally, he heard what he was looking for. A cautious scraping sound, hesitant and broken by frequent pauses. Svyatoslav was trying to creep through the field, probably to try to get to the edge of the forest before Mihail could shoot him. He wasn’t going to get that far. He heard the man’s heavy breathing. He was nervous. He had a right to be.

Mihail waited. The sounds drew nearer. He waited until they were only feet from him and he could tell which direction they were coming from. Then he abruptly stood. He could see Svyatoslav flat on his belly inching forward. He raised the gun to his shoulder and shot him. The bullet slammed into the Stalker’s arm. Svyatoslav grunted and gasped, then turned on his back, raising his gun in his good hand. Mihail kicked it away. Svyatoslav kicked his feet, pushing himself away from the grim figure before him, desperately trying to get away. Mihail stomped on his chest. Something gave way with an audible crack. Svyatoslav cried out pitiably, sobbing.

Mihail strode to his side. He looked down at the man who tried to murder him. He felt no pity. “How long were you planning this?” He whispered.

Svyatoslav struggled for a breath. Tears ran down his face as he clutched his chest, gasping. Blood ran freely from his arm. “Please don't kill me! Please…” He coughed, blood flecking his lips.

Mihail kneeled down and leaned his face close to Svyatoslav’s. “How long!” He shouted.

Svyatoslav shuddered. “From the beginning! I was going to kill you after we got the artifact!” He hacked violently. Bright red blood spilled from his lips. “But…but I almost died twice already. I decided the artifact wasn’t worth it! I saw the radiation burns! So last night I had Iashka camp ahead in the clearing with his Dragunov. I was going to step out first so he would know you were behind me.”

Mihail shook him. “Why didn’t you kill me in my sleep?”

“I was too…afraid. I thought you might hear me. This way was safest.” Svyatoslav choked. Blood frothed at his mouth. Each breath was a painful wheeze. “Please…shoot me. I don't want to die like this.”

Mihail stood and looked down at the Stalker. He wouldn’t last long. Mihail shook his head. “Changed your mind already? You are not worth the cost of a single bullet. Die like a dog.” He strode away, ignoring Svyatoslav’s pleas.

When he found Iashka, he was still laying on the ground, moaning painfully. He probably couldn’t scream any more. His Dragunov SVD was lying on the ground next to him, dropped in his fall. Mihail crouched down and picked it up. It was in good condition. He glanced at the Stalker next to him.

“Any more bullets for this?”

Iashka nodded. He gasped as the pain wracked his body. “In my…my ammo pouch.” The man collapsed, exhausted. Gut wounds were a painful way to die.

Mihail reached for the ammo pouch at the man’s waist. Iashka’s hand grabbed his, surprisingly strong. His eyes burned into Mihail’s. “Kill me. I didn’t know you. Kill me.”

He looked into the man’s eyes, measuring him. He nodded. He was just the gunman. Iashka sighed with relief and fell back. Mihail walked back to Svyatoslav. His eyes were glazed over, in the last throes of death. He turned him to the side and grabbed his Nagant pistol.

He walked back to Iashka. The man looked into his eyes. Mihail raised the gun to his head.

“Thank you.” Iashka managed.

Mihail nodded and shot him.