"Bugger'all mum! That hurts!"

"It's what you get. Staying outside in the sun all day. Your gonna get skin cancer if you aren't careful. Now hold still!"

"Stop it mum, I can do it myself!"

"Can you now?" the elder woman said mockingly.

"Yes!" the young boy replied fiercely. He grabbed the lotion from his mother, the tube spurting a long line across the patio.

Decklan's mother gave him a stern look, putting her hands on her hips while her eyes followed the green slime across the floor. "Since you have all this extra energy, you'll be cleaning that up as well." It wasn't a question.

Decklan sat there quietly staring his mother down defiantly, the cold slimy aloe running down his back . Several moments went by. He was pushing his mothers calm to the very edge, as always.

"Decklan! So help me..."

"Alright mum. Don't get yourself in such a toss," Decklan said. He knew his mother would explode in the next few seconds. He had his acquiescence timed perfectly. Decklan reached over and picked up a towel and began wiping the splattered aloe vera off the concrete floor, a wry grin on his face. His mother gave him a suspicious look before turning on her heel back into the house.

Decklan mumbled unintelligible curses under his breath while he halfheartedly wiped the floor with his beach towel. His sunburned back hurt with every motion and he decided he needed more of the green soupy gel cooling his skin. He didn't give a crap if more of it landed on the patio.

The lotion felt wonderful as he squeezed the bottle onto his skin, letting it run down his back. However, after a few seconds, he felt the sunburn fighting his ministrations. The more he put on the worse it became. It built slowly but progressively. Layers of pain slowly building until he was drenching his back in the lotion, trying desperately to make the stinging fire go away. But it wouldn't.

Suddenly his mother was over him, grinning and then laughing.

Decklan fought back tears, the pain in his back almost impossible to bear. It felt like a blowtorch on his skin. The flames licking at his ravaged flesh, tasting it, consuming it. He screamed.

"Mum help..." He managed weakly.

His mother gave him a smile, but it had no feeling behind it. And in horror he watched as she mutated into a sickly, maggot infested mass. As she spoke carrion feeder worms fell out like string spaghetti, muffling her speech into a gurgle.

"Shouldn't stay out in the sun too long baby! It'll burn you up, yes it will! Flays the skin right off your hide!" The creature that was his mother licked its decaying lips.

Decklan screamed again.

********

A burst of fire erupted from his rifle as Decklan instinctively rolled over and let loose a barrage of orange flame into the darkness. The report was deafening, as was the orange fireball from the muzzle of his gun. All he saw was glowing after-effects imprinted on his eyes in the darkness. He couldn't hear anything, the ringing in his ears drowning out all other sounds. His heart raced as he tried to make sense of things. His breath was fast and ragged. He was on his back now, clutching his rifle tightly as sweat rolled down his face. His back was on fire, like a thousand daggers stabbing him all at once. He tried to focus. Ignore the pain, it was in his mind.

"Control it or it will control you!" His Air Service instructors words hammered in his thoughts.

Slowly he sat up, still gripping his rifle through sweaty hands. His back screamed in protest. Decklan grunted as pain shot up his spine and threatened to hurl him into unconsciousness. Where was he? It certainly wasn't back home in Perth. And he was sure his back wasn't sunburned, but probably something worse. As he groped backward in the darkness, he abutted against a cold dirt wall, sending new waves of fresh pain rippling through his back. He swallowed hard trying to calm himself.

Slowly, the pain retreated, but it was still there just beyond the surface, ready to pounce on his nerves should he do anything inappropriate. He still couldn't see, but the remains of the fireball were gradually ebbing. His right ankle hurt and his left fingers ached.

His memories began to return in a trickle: the mission beyond the failsafe line, the good Doctor, and the group of houses and his objective. Still, it all seemed farther away than the image of his mother decomposing before his eyes in his boyhood home near the ocean in western Australia.

Why that particular image had decided to enter his subconscious, he had no idea. He only knew that he didn't like it one bit. Too vivid, too real. And the pain in his back kept reminding him of the nightmare. What he needed now was light, both to find out where he was and to dispel the demons that fed on his imagination in the darkness.

Feeling by touch alone, he used his left hand to gingerly search his pack for a flare, his right still firmly gripped on his rifle. Decklan wrapped his fingers around a flare, and pulling it from his pack, slammed it butt first into the dirt igniting it in a shower of white flame. It was as bright as the sun on midday, and he had to shield his eyes until he got accustomed to the sudden illumination. Smoke billowed from the flare and clung in sheets of grey mist to the deteriorated roof. Where was he? Somewhere underground he was certain. The heavy, acrid smell of exposed earth laden with moisture told him it was relatively deep. A shelter or cellar? Maybe. Why was he here? He remembered fleeing something. Something dangerous and deadly.

A blowout. That was it. There was a blowout at the house and nowhere to run. He had to get underground or he was dead. It was next to the house that he had seen the old fallout shelter sign. He'd made his way through the overgrown shrubbery, hacking, clawing, and tearing his way to the faded yellow and black sign affixed to the corrugated aluminum that was barely visible underneath.

Decklan gritted his teeth as he remembered the air charged with ions, shimmering and sparking, ready to unleash a fury. He had fumbled with a rusted lock, finally shooting it off. Yes. He remembered. He had flung himself down into the welcoming darkness, hoping it was deep enough to escape the hell that was unleashed outside. He recalled falling for quite some time. The air rushing past his face cool and moist. The air at his back hot and deadly, ripping through his clothes and tasting his flesh. Yes. He remembered now. He had lived through a Blowout at its epicenter. Not many could say that.

A small fallout shelter deep in the ground greeted him beneath the glow of the flare. Any foodstuffs or survival gear had long since been pillaged. Even the wooden floor had rotted into a mass of decayed wood blended with earth. Yet it was the best sight he could see, and most assuredly saved his life. Decklan shifted slightly and his back protested. He might be alive but he was in no condition to do anything but tend his wounds. For the second time.

*************

"Well?... Anything?" Dr. Anya Millapovich asked sternly, obviously displeased at being made to wait. Her fingers tapped the table impatiently.

A young captain in the Ukrainian Army sat at a console, his eyes scanning a LCD screen, and occasionally glancing up at the Doctor who hovered over him. He didn't like her there one bit.

"Like I indicated earlier Doctor, no contact. I told you I would inform you, if and when your Stalker reaches this outpost. You don't need to come down here."

Anya's frown deepened. 'Snotnosed little officer prick. Who does he think he is?' She thought. There had been no word from that Aussie Stalker for several days. He should have been out by now. Now she would have to go back and try to get another military team. Which wasn't going to be easy, not by a long shot. Two teams, and a Stalker already gone.

'Damnit!'

She knew there must be something there. Knew it better than anyone else. It was out in that rusted shack. Out just beyond her reach, waiting to be discovered. It was so damned frustrating to be so close to getting what she wanted, and have it be just beyond her abilities to acquire.

"Now you listen to me... Captain?"

"Roshenko."

"Roshenko. Fine. What you fail to understand is the magnitude of this operation. This isn't some fucking quest for little trinkets out in the hot zone. I have a level 1 priority from your government on this. You do understand what that entails?"

Roshenko lifted his face from the glow of the screen and looked Anya straight in eye. "Yes Doctor I get it. Priority 1. I would like nothing better than to give you what you want. Believe me. But as I said we haven't had any activity in this sector for 3 days. And if and when I do, you'll be the first to know." He stood up and leaned in closer to her. "Now if you don't mind I have my OWN damn job to do!"

Anya snarled and wheeled around, cursing off into the night. Roshenko lit up a cigarette and watched her go. He flipped open a SatCom receiver box and pulled out a headset, affixing it to his ear. A red bank of lights flared to life, accompanied by the clicking of its internal hard drive. After several encryption algorithms were processed and verified, another voice came though on the line, deep and scratchy.

"Yes?"

"The doctor just left my position. She's getting impatient. Recommendations?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"Maintain a hold status Captain. And report any further contact. Will advise." With that the line went dead.

Roshenko leaned back and exhaled into the brisk Ukrainian night. His eyes watched the blipping red dot on the LCD screen. Decklan's radio transponder hadn't moved for some time.

************

"God damnit! It's bad enough that I'm so close, but to have to deal with getting the 'runaround'! Don't they know what's at stake?" Anya fumed, swiping her hand across her desk sending papers and half filled coffee careening against the wall. Gennady flinched.

"What do they think I am, an idiot!" She pointed at him for emphasis. "There's something going on here Gennady. I don't know what, but I'm damned sure going to find out. I didn't get this far to have someone take it away from me!"

Gennady straightened his tie. "Ma'am, I'm not sure I understand. Why would someone want to impede your research? Don't you have a level 1 priority? Don't they HAVE to do what you ask?"

Anya plopped down in her chair and put her hands to her head. "That's what I thought. But there are just too many failures for a simple recovery operation. Think about it. Two military missions failed with all hands lost. Ok maybe. So I send out a Stalker, and from what I have gathered about the man a damned good one, and I get no information. Nothing. No SAT surveillance scans, no sector reports, no updates of any kind when I ask for them. And when I do enquire about it, they either say 'technical difficulties due to anomalies' or no contact. It just doesn't fly."

"He is just a privateer Stalker ma'am. Those breed don't follow standard military procedure for communication. And for all intents and purposes, you know there's no comms in the Zone."

"Damnit Gennady I know that." Anya fished around her papers and produced a half inch thick binder. "You see this. It's filled with so much red tape I can barely read it. And THIS was the last time we used a Stalker through a military financed operation. And I didn't even request this!" She tossed the binder at Gennady. "I've requested progress reports for four days, and all I've gotten are two shitty e-mails saying no contact!" She slammed her fist against the desk again.

"I see your point."

Anya leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, her mind working. Gennady absently rifled through the binder. He could barely make sense of it. Still, it was better than sitting there doing nothing. Doing nothing in Anya's presence made him nervous.

She leaned forward. He could tell something was on the tip of her tongue. He wasn't sure he would like it.

"Gennady, your cousins in the Military isn't he?"

He definitely didn't like this. "Yes. But...Oh no, I'm not getting him into this, especially if there's trouble."

"Oh come on, don't be such a romantic. I have level 1 remember. It's not like I'd be asking him to snoop around for nuclear launch codes or anything."

"Yes ma'am I know that. But we'll get him and us in serious trouble going outside channels. Besides he's just a lowly communications sergeant. He won't be able to find anything." He hoped she bought it. She didn't.

"Then there's no harm in poking around on my request is there? Especially since it's my operation."

"Doctor, I really don't think this-"

She cut him off. "Gennady, you like working here right? Extra hazard pay and all that."

"Yes ma'am," he said defeated.

"I'm glad we understand one another."

****************

Decklan awoke from the longest sleep he remembered having in as many months. Sedatives will do that, and as an added bonus they deprived him of dreams. That was almost worth it in and of itself. His back had a mix of mostly first degree burns that hurt like hell, but were under control. The pain was manageable, but he was starting to run low on pain-blockers. What really bothered him was that the burns kept reminding him of that dream when he was back in Perth as a little kid, and that image of his mother. He tried not to think about it. There were more important things to worry about right now. His ankle was still splinted and in better shape than he thought. It was only cracked, not broken. Which was good news since he was sure he would have been totally buggered if it was.

On the bright side, he did have almost a full load of ammo and a moderate supply of food. Water was his most immediate problem. He was running dangerously low. And his sweating from the pain and physical exertion didn't help his dwindling supply. He had emergency water purification tablets, but that wouldn't help with the ubiquitous radiation. Most standing pools were so hot with rads that one could boil an egg, figuratively speaking. He had to find an uncontaminated supply. Unlikely.

Yet, he was alive and could move out in the next few hours, given his relatively mobile condition. One curious bit of luck was that his anomaly detector was miraculously undamaged. Unusual, since it had to be the most finicky piece of equipment he carried. Someone would make a nice sum around here if they could make one that worked even 90 percent of the time. Hell, given this little buggers Timex-like pension for surviving, he'd almost try it on a chopper. If one could get in here, which it couldn't.

It was all mute theorizing, since he didn't even have a radio or a Satcom. Just the radio transponder to prove he made it. If there was one thing that was totally unreliable it was communication in and out of the zone. Half the time transmission signals didn't get through, or were received weeks later. Such was the nature of the Zone. Regardless, he knew the risks. There was no point in wishing for something he knew was impossible. He had to make do with what he had, same as always.

Before moving out, Decklan wanted to do a little recon of his surroundings. The Blowout was gone, but he needed to move around a bit without the weight of his pack to get the stiffness out of his muscles. So, Decklan measured his dosimeter, strapped on his NV goggles, pressed checked his .45 and went out for a stroll. The night air greeted him in its cool embrace.

***********

"We have transponder confirmation. Subject is still viable." A cold voice said through the intercom.

Major General Yuri Podenkin straightened his uniform and took a quick mouthful of the American bourbon he had poured into the leaded crystal glass his mother had given him when he was commissioned in the Soviet Air Force. It was a lifetime ago. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a hefty gulp. The bourbon burned all the way down. Podenkin pushed a series of key codes on the terminal in front of him and opened a secure line.

"Arclight is go."

***********

Visually, the blowout didn't cause too much damage to the small semi-circle arrangement of houses. But the air had the strong scent of ozone. It was like fried circuits given too much power. Unfortunately, that wasn't the oddest thing Decklan found. All the bodies were gone. Every one of them. And to make matters stranger, the grass where they lay was untouched. He had just about had enough of not knowing what was going on in this damn place.

"What the bloody hell is going on here!" He shouted into the desolate night air. It was a stupid act, but it made him feel better. He half expected this place to respond to him like some ethereal spirit. It wouldn't surprise him one bit. Not after all he had seen in his two years here. This hole in the earth was mother natures' psychotic sister, her dark cousin coming out of the shadows to show all the boys and girls that there are indeed stranger things in heaven and earth that are written in mens imagination.

Decklan checked his dosimeter again. Still in the green. The stiffness in his limbs was subsiding and he was starting to feel a bit better. But he needed a little more rest before morning, and he resigned himself to one final sweep before retreating to the shelter. His military mind just wouldn't let him go without a quick look into the darkness beyond. It was somewhat like when a person checks the lock on their house before they go to sleep. Once, twice, three times just to be sure. Decklan was the same with perimeter reconnaissance. Fortunately, he didn't find anything.

That niggling little feeling in the back of his head started to subside. Good. At least now he could get a little rest again. Walking back to the shelter, he absently flicked the NV goggles over to thermal imaging. Obsessive habit. He almost dropped them when he saw a thin, white, razor like beam shooting out of the darkness hundreds of yards away. It lit up clear as day under the thermal image. A focused beam of invisible energy was directed onto the roof of the house where he had pitched the grenade at the Controller. It took his mind a moment to process what he was seeing, it was so out of place. Like logic in an insane asylum. A laser designator painting a target. That was definitely something he understood.

There was no time to consider the implications of what it meant. He bolted for the shelter, his body resisting the exertion. Decklan had to get his gear. He was pretty confident that the shelter wouldn't survive the explosion over-pressure, but if he didn't get his stuff, and just ran for cover far off into the trees, then neither would he, with only 10 rounds of .45 and his NV goggles. No way in hell. Interestingly, he also didn't want the tapes destroyed. Even if they didn't have anything on them, he had risked his life and felt like he'd spent some time in a South American prison to get them. He wasn't giving them up that easily.

The one certainty was that this was a covert operation using relatively low end warfare targeting elements. If it was top level operation, then it would be GPS guided This was early 90's technology requiring a man on the ground painting the target for the incoming warhead. GPS target designation packages were just now coming into widespread use within the Ukrainian military, and their deployment would be tracked at the highest levels with a vast paper trail. Someone would use old laser guidance technology if they wanted to keep it quiet. However, that was also what gave him a chance. If SAT guidance was used, he wouldn't know anything until his body came apart when the warhead impacted on its designated coordinates. He wasn't sure how much time he had, but he knew it was a matter of minutes or worse, seconds. The aircraft was probably already on its way out of the area. He had to be quick.

**********

Lt. Oleg Chernyenko flipped the arming switch inside the cockpit of his MIG 29. He was flying at 50,000 feet, just outside the edge of the no-fly zone around Chernobyl when the go-code routed through his warplanes digital uplink, blinking on his heads-up display. He was sweating beneath the whine of the cooling fans of his suit. He'd never had a mission were he was ordered to drop live ordnance anywhere except a training range. In fact, he still thought this was an exercise until the green go-codes had flashed. It wasn't his business to question why, just do what he was ordered. Oleg checked the code sequence to be sure and then released the arming switch. He banked northward as the laser guided bomb released from under his left wing pylon.

**********

Decklan heard the distant rumbling of aircraft engines and dove into the shelter, throwing up a cloud of dust. He scrambled with his gear, the pain in his body a distant ebb as adrenaline dumped into his system and his heart hammered in his chest. It took him only moments before he was running full tilt off into the darkness. The stiffness in his muscles returning.

He was about 400 yards away when he the heard a distant, light whistle. Like standing next to an arrow as it was released from a drawstring. The 500 pound bomb was whipping through the night air. Small servos actuated the control surfaces on the bombs fins, adjusting to impact exactly where the remote laser designated. The microprocessor nestled deep within the weapon did a last run of final calculations, adjusting for air speed and crosswinds. Final telemetry was confirmed. A second later, it found the mark and triggered the explosive contents located within its metal body.

Even at this distance, the blast wave knocked Decklan through the air some twenty feet. His ears rang, and a trickle of blood from a ruptured eardrum ran down the side of his neck. Behind him the small ramshackle arrangement of houses was reduced to searing flame and supersonic splinters of wood. The fireball lit up the countryside for miles around. The air was hot, and his breathing shallow. The resulting fire consuming most of the oxygen. Decklan looked back. There was no sign that any houses had ever existed there. Just an expanding fireball, enveloping and consuming everything.

He was about 300 yards from where someone had lazed the target. But he was in no condition to do anything about it, having spent what energy he had recovered getting away from the inferno.

Decklan did his best to find a hidden spot, thick with the overgrowth of trees and vines. There would be time enough to track whoever was out there tomorrow. They weren't getting far in the Zone at night.

He knew better than to sleep on the ground, exposed and unprotected, so he found the nearest tree and climbed up as far as his weight would support him. It wasn't the best place for cover, but there were too many things that could ambush him on the ground. At least here in the trees he would get some warning. After checking his dosimeter and giving the area a once over with his goggles, he covered himself with his green thermal blanket. It would mask his IR signature if there was someone out there, searching. Thoughts about why this was done, swirled around his head. There were too many questions, too many unknowns. None of it made any sense. He went over it again and again. But before his thoughts could congeal, he was in a dreamless sleep once again.

***********

"Yes?" Podenkin said as he held the secure phone up to his ear.

"Mission successful," a voice said on the other end, then broke contact.

Podenkin put the receiver down in its cradle and swallowed. Things were getting way too out of hand. That damned doctor finding the weather station.

"How could we have missed it," he mumbled between his clenched teeth.

They had so carefully and painfully compartmentalized all the information relating to the event. Yet after all this time, something so mundane as analog recordings could unravel it all. Still, there was in all probability, nothing of any significance on whatever recording device that might have been out there. And now that variable was taken care of, as well as the stalker. But there was another matter.

What choice did he have now? The explosion could be attributed to any number of things in the zone, so he didn't really fixate on an explanation of that event. What he really had to worry about was the doctor asking a lot of questions, more so than she already was. And once she found out about what had happened, he was sure that things were going to erupt exponentially. There was too much at stake to have some out-of-the-loop scientist screw them up now.

Yuri took a deep breath. Maybe he could make the good doctors perseverance work to his advantage? He didn't relish the idea, but he was too far in to have everything exposed now. Yes, now that he thought about it, it seemed the only viable option that wouldn't raise too many questions. So he made the call.

************

"Come in," Anya said, massaging the flesh between her eyes in frustration.

She was being shut out at some level, and she knew it. It all started once she got approval for those military teams. If she had started with a Stalker, secretly, quietly, she doubted she would be in this mess. But the man hadn't returned. At this point it was all academic.

"Doctor. I um...well I..." Gennady fumbled, tripping over his words as he stood in the doorway to Anya's office, clearly disturbed.

"Jesus Gennady come in and sit down. Have a drink." Anya leaned back and opened a drawer, pulling out a bottle of Glenfiddich along with two glasses. She eyed him carefully as she popped the top and began pouring.

"Ma'am I contacted my cousin like you asked."

"And?"

She handed Gennady the small glass which he up-ended quickly. That surprised her. He wasn't the drinking type.

Gennady cleared his throat from the fumes of alcohol. "Well he was kinda pissed that I would ask him. But I kept telling him that we had clearance, etcetera... etcetera. He finally gave me one bit of info that he could find that wasn't totally encrypted, and then basically told me never to contact him again on this. He was pretty upset with me."

"Listen I appreciate it. And I wont ask you to do that again. So, what did he say?"

"Millapovich. Protocol 2091. That's it."

Anya raised her eyebrows and gave him a quizzical look before downing her own drink. "And what does that mean?"

"He didn't know and neither do I. It's not listed, anywhere. He pretty much cursed me out and disconnected the line after he told me."

"Great. What the hell am I supposed to do with that."

Gennady hunched his shoulders. "I don't know. Thing is, no else I've talked to has ever heard of it either. Major Simorov and I play poker sometimes and I casually mentioned it to him, and he's never heard of it either."

Anya cringed.

"He didn't?" That was odd. Simorov was the local regiment commander for this sector around the zone. All her clearances, work orders, and zone passes went through him. If it was military related he would know. Of course, he could very well be lying. And with Gennady poking around, they would be onto her. Gennady was a good research assistant, but obviously inept at covert intelligence gathering. She regretted getting him involved, but there was no point in chiding him about it now. It would only upset him further.

"Okay. Well it's obvious something is going on. Gennady, don't bring this up with anyone else, you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, taking another swig from the glass.

"You'd better get back to work. Some new artifacts came in. I'd like you to begin processing them. Sasha's already in the receiving area. She's new, so get her up to speed, ok?"

Gennady nodded, running his hands through his thinning red hair.

"Relax Gennady. I'll take it from here."

He got up to leave.

"And Gennady." He turned to face her. "Thanks."

"I didn't have much choice... Did I ma'am?"

With that he shut the door to her office quietly.

Anya cringed again.

**********

It was early next morning when she got the call to report to Major Simorov's office on the other side of the perimeter. It wasn't entirely unexpected. Gennady's ill-conceived intelligence gathering had probably done more harm than good. Still, he had done what she'd asked and she couldn't fault the man. She had basically blackmailed him anyway. She didn't feel good about that at all. But there were larger considerations than one mans job or ego. If they didn't find out what was going on here, and soon, the whole world could be in for some serious problems. She hated giving in to such melodrama. End of the world and all that shit. The stuff of cheap movies. But it was a possibility, and one that nobody could ignore.

She arrived in Major Simorov's office dressed in her usual lab coat white, albeit lightly stained from use. A guard was stationed out in front of his office and opened the door for her once he saw her approaching. He didn't make eye contact. Simorov was leaned over a bank of monitors near his desk. He barely regarded her presence.

"Have a seat Doctor," he said, seemingly annoyed at her intrusion.

Anya sat down in the faded imitation leather chair and waited. She knew what was coming, and she knew she wasn't going to like it.

"We've been aware of your countless requests for information on your Stalker and that particular grid reference." His tone was even and fixed.

Here it comes. Grant seizure possibly, expulsion from the science staff most likely. She didn't know for sure, but prepared herself anyway.

His response was entirely opposite of what she expected, and it showed.

"We only just got some reliable SAT images in. Would you care to see them?" Simorov said, motioning for her to join him near the monitors.

Her eyes widened briefly before she regained her composure. "Yes. Thank you." It was all she could think to say as she made her way around the desk. Simorov studied her the whole way.

"Not pretty I'm afraid. Some kind of Blowout. It triggered some explosive damage of some sort. Not much left except foundations. See." He traced the foundations on the captured screen image with a pen for emphasis. "Must have been a big one."

Anya stomach felt like it dropped about three feet.

She fought with all her might not to scream into the Majors face asking what the hell had happened there. She had been so close! And now on the monitor, all she saw was blackened scarred stonework and heaps of burnt wood, scattered like so many toothpicks. She managed to say two words.

"The Stalker?"

Simorov raised his eyebrows. "No contact. He did have a radio beacon. But that's been offline for days. We're assuming he was there when it happened and is KIA. The transponders last active location was at these grid coordinates, so it follows. I'm sorry."

"And why may I ask was I not informed of this earlier!" She was fuming now.

"As I said we only just got SAT imaging back. And its sporadic in there, you of all people know that. I just received this myself, Doctor." He didn't appreciate her tone.

Anya stared at the image on the screen. Her mind whirling like a tempest. What was she going to do now? And more importantly, what had happened out there? She was almost sure it wasn't a Blowout. They rarely caused this type of damage. This looked... Conventional. But the image was too distorted and grainy to be one hundred percent sure. Her train of thought was interrupted as Simorov's secure line rang.

"If you'll excuse me Doctor."

Anya returned her attention to the image. Okay, it could be a Blowout. Unlikely, but possible. It was just too difficult to tell from the image. But what did it really matter? Any hope for the Stalker or what she had sent him to find was gone. Anya lowered her head in frustration.

Well even if the conjectured tapes were destroyed, she was still going to find out what was going on. Someone had manipulated her situation, and that burned her. Who knows how much of her research over the last year had been compromised. And this explosion at the exact site where she had concentrated her attentions just brought everything to a head. She WAS going to find out what happened. The only question was how.

"Doctor?" Simorov was looking at her again, holding the receiver to his chest.

She turned from the monitor to look at him, his face unreadable.

"We have an aerial recon chopper going out to investigate. More a formality than anything. It will be well outside the exclusion zone, and away from any anomalies. High zoom digital cameras. You interested? We don't usually approve of Egghe- Scientists," -he corrected himself- "going in the zone. But this is relatively safe so I thought you might be interested?"

She stared at him long and hard, trying to read any expression that might alert her. Then she spoke.

"Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes," she said wryly.

Simorov was a stone. "Well Doctor, you want to go or not."

Anya thought about it a moment. She was quite apprehensive about venturing into the zone. She and those like her knew the true risks, and didn't piss testosterone like the Stalkers and Military types, but a quick look at a safe distance intrigued her. At the very least she could get some good resolution images that may help her. It was dangerous, but she was tired of being out of the loop. She was, most probably, being manipulated and given lip service and the recon tour to shut her up. But at this point she didn't care. She wanted answers anyway she could get them, and this seemed her best shot.

"Fine. When do I leave?" She said mustering her resolve.

"Helipad four. One hour. The flight officer will brief you when you arrive. Get any gear you need now."

"Very well. Thank you Major," she said tersely before leaving the tent.

The voice on the other end of the secure line squawked, "Major Simorov?"

"Yes sir. Thanks for getting her out of my hair. A handful that one."

There was a pause. "Major do you know what she said to you?"

"No sir."

"It was Latin. Beware Greeks bearing gifts."

"Like I indicated sir, a handful."

**************

The roar of turbines was deafening as the Mi24/HIND-G2 streaked over the treetops under the afternoon sun. This version of the Mi24 was for recon, but it still bristled with weapons: two wing mounted AT-6C SPIRAL ATGM rocket pods, and several large YaKB12.7 mm cannons that were mounted on either side of the aircraft. Recon didn't seem the appropriate word.

The nights chill hadn't yet evaporated and Anya felt it's sting beneath the thick parka she was wearing.

"You doing alright Doc?" A young door gunner shouted to her. But it came through scratchy and broken on her headset. She gave him the thumbs up. Isn't that what she was supposed to do? He nodded back to her and returned to his weapon.

"Doctor. We're inside the zone now. We'll be on station in a minute or so," the pilot squawked to her over the headset.

"Thank you lieutenant. Exactly how far in are we going?" She asked apprehensively as she looked out at the treetops rushing by.

"Don't worry we'll be well inside the safe line. Check your monitor for GPS coordinates. Once on station you'll have control of the EYE. Get what pictures you can. Then we'll log the site and be done."

Anya flipped on the monitor, and powered up the EYE. She saw the red line that signified the failsafe line. A green blip represented the aircraft in realtime GPS. They were well behind it. The target was some ten miles beyond that. But they EYE had phenomenal resolution at that range, and would be able to give them images as good as if they were there in person. They wouldn't need to get any closer.

Anya wondered if she would see some ghastly image of what was left of Decklan, twisted and burned beyond recognition. She hoped not. It was more probable that the blast had totally disintegrated him. That didn't make her feel any better.

The co-pilots voice broke the silence.

"Something's weird Lieutenant. We've got good telemetry, but terrain guidance is all wrong. I've had to re-calibrate twice already."

"Check it again. And gimme a reading on the anomaly detector."

"Problems Lieutenant?" Anya asked.

"No ma'am just a glitch in terrain guidance. We should be there in a few minutes. You can try the EYE, you might be able to get some visuals, even at this distance."

"Nothing on the scope sir," the co-pilot interrupted.

Anya grabbed the EYE controls and punched in the grid coordinates for the set of houses. Curiously, a clear sharp picture showed up on the camera. "Wow. This is good. I didn't think you guys had anything this sensitive," she said, studying the image.

"Say again?" The pilot replied.

"I said this EYE has great resolution from even this distance. I can see the foundations. There is some smoke still. Leftover residuals... Not much else." Anya spirits slowly deflated a bit.

"Doctor were still a good five miles from our on-station point. You have the right coordinates?"

"I think so," anya said, rechecking.

Something didn't sit right with the pilot. "Nikolai, give me transponder marker positions, by the numbers. Bypass GPS." It was an unusual order. Flying by transponder markers was outdated and relatively imprecise compared to GPS. Pilots rarely used it anymore, except to qualify. But it was still a good backup. That is, if all your GPS's multiple redundancies went to shit.

"Roger that. Okay... It's coming up... Calculating... JESUS! Hold position! Hold Position!"

The pilot leaned on the collective and began to slow the gun ship. "Damnit, Nikolai!"

"Sir, I'm getting totally conflicting coordinates. The nav markers say we're a good five miles inside the failsafe line! What the hell?"

The pilot reared the aircraft into a left bank trying to get back the way they came. If they truly were five miles in the zone, then they had been flying in an aerial minefield for at least three minutes. There was no danger outside the zone where they should have been. But if they strayed in somehow, this sector was thick with anomalies and extremely hazardous. And he would have been blindly flying right through them.

"Oh my god," the pilot said under his breath, training his eyes on the anomaly detector.

It was too little too late.

A small anomaly shimmered in front of the cockpit and tore through it, shredding the metal and glass housing like a cannon shell through an egg. The pilot and his navigator were turned inside out in a microsecond, spewing chunks of gore and metal in all directions. Anya screamed as she saw the pilots innards splattered across pieces of cockpit which exploded in several directions before shearing off entirely from the front of the ship. The anomaly was small but it still wreaked horrific damage, sucking all the matter it came across into one point a few atoms wide. The aircrafts' structural integrity was no match, and it crumpled, sending the wounded, smoking ship, spiraling down into the forest.

The HIND hit the with the force of four G's, breaking three of Anya's ribs and two bones in her arm. The door gunner was more fortunate, having been trained in crash procedure. He cracked one vertebra, and broke his right wrist which was tethered to his gun. They should have died, and would have if the HIND hadn't crashed into a mud flat. The soupy mud absorbed the majority of the impact. That, and the fact that by sheer luck the residual rotor blade energy had auto-rotated them down just enough so that they didn't explode on impact. The last thing Anya saw before blackness took her was the sparking of arcing wires, and fire licking the aluminum the cabin.

**************

"Doctor... Doctor? Can you hear me? Follow my finger. Doctor Millapovich?"

Anya felt lightheaded and her was vision was fuzzy. She could taste blood in her mouth, coppery and pungent. Where was she? This didn't seem like her office. And why was it hard to breathe? God it hurt to breathe!

Anya was jolted back to reality by smelling salts shoved under her nose. She looked up to see a young man in a flight suit and helmet splattered in blood that wasn't his, holding his finger up and asking her to follow it. She nodded, her eyes following the slow progression of his gloved hand, back and forth. It was quite a surreal sight.

"FIRE!...In the cabin... The pilot...!" Anya panicked as she thrashed around, the horrific images coming back to her now. The pain in her ribs stole her breath and quieted her immediately.

"Yes ma'am. Calm down. We went down but you are alright. Now listen. You broke several ribs and two bones in your left arm. I splinted it, but be careful. You passed out twice while I was setting the bone."

"I....I... Don't remem-"

"You were barely conscious."

"The lieutenant... Co-Pilot?" She asked, still dazed.

The sergeant lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Anomaly. We weren't supposed to be anywhere near something like that," he said, growing angry. He pulled a canteen from a stowed bag and lifted it to Anya's lips.

"Where...are we?"

"Don't know. Somewhere in the zone I think. Instruments were all fouled up. Emergency transponder isn't working. There's no cockpit... At all. That thing tore it right off." He swallowed in disgust. "Might be a while before a rescue. We're kinda in an odd place."

Anya motioned for the sergeant to help her sit up. He propped her against the aft section of the cabin. She hurt like hell.

A rescue. She doubted that. This whole situation was a lot more serious than she expected.

"What's your name?" She asked him as he fumbled with supplies.

"Sergeant Andrei Leonov."

"Are you hurt?" she asked, noticing that he was cradling one arm.

"Not bad. Cracked a bone. And my neck hurts like a bitch, but I'll live. We're lucky considering."

Anya nodded. "Okay. Andrei listen to me. I don't have time to explain it, but we have to get out of here. There are things going on that you don't know about." She winced in pain. "I think someone sabotaged this aircraft."

He balked. "Ma'am that's crazy! What in god's name for?"

"To get me out of the way, without questions. I wasn't sure before. Hell, I didn't even think it anywhere near this bad. But I'm pretty much certain now."

Andrei didn't know what to say to that. The Doctor was probably delusional from the shock. It happened sometimes. He knew their best bet was to wait for a rescue. Especially if they were in the zone. He wasn't going out in that. No way in hell.

"Just calm yourself, ma'am. You're in shock. I'll get you some blankets for the night. It's gonna be cold. They won't send a rescue at night, we'll have to wait til morning."

Anya shook her head. Great. She was deep in the zone and injured. Plus it was almost night. And to make matters worse this kid had no idea what was going on. If someone wanted her dead, they sure as shit weren't going rescue them and bring them back safe and sound, either of them. And she could think of no way to convince the young Sergeant. Still, she did have all night to persuade him. She almost pitied his ignorance. She alone knew the truth of their situation. He was just a man trying to do his job and keep her safe.

"Well if we're gonna wait, Andrei... You got anything to drink besides water on this bucket?"

**************

'Around seven hours ahead of me and gaining...Light on his feet and in good shape,' Decklan thought as he examined the barely perceptible footprints in the forest. Whoever it was that lazed the house, he was good in the zone and knew where and how to go. Decklan was now sure he couldn't get close to the man given his condition. He still hurt like hell, his ankle most of all. Not to mention that he didn't have a NBC suit. He'd have to hobble around deadly terrain where this asshole could run right through. That realization pretty much clinched it. He wasn't going after this guy anymore. It was better to just get back, heal up and then start asking a few surreptitious questions. He had come to the conclusion that he was just too tired to piss around with anything besides exfiltrating himself out of the zone.

He started to check his dosimeter and water supply when he heard the distant whine of aircraft turbines. But there was something wrong. It had too much variation in pitch and frequency. Whoever it was, they were fighting to keep the bird in the air, and it didn't sound like they were winning either. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt a small, barely detectable thump under his boots. Decklan winced.

He'd gone down in a chopper before and spent a few weeks in traction. Not one of his best memories. Someone went down, and not too far from his position. Maybe four miles or so. He thought at first that it might be his quarries transport, come to extract him. But it was to close and in the wrong direction. Too bad, that bastard deserved a little of good ole Murphy's luck.

He knew he was in no position to offer any kind of rescue to whoever it was. He was the one who needed rescuing after all. Why the military kept coming in here when aircraft dropped like flies in the Zone, he had no idea.

No, -strike that-, he did know.

Too many questions unanswered, and most importantly the pencil pushers giving the orders were safe behind a desk, not out here flying stick and rudder with the men they gave those orders to.

"Same old shit... R.H.I.P."

He remembered what it was like to lay in a mangled heap of wreckage, bleeding and waiting for help. Well, he wasn't going to let some brothers-in-arms die if he could help it. And if a rescue mission came in after them, he might be fortunate enough to catch a lift out. That would be a nice change of pace.

**************

"Doctor, you want something to eat?" Andrei asked.

It was getting dark now, with the sun just dipping beneath the western sky. It actually looked quite tranquil. The sky was a mix of stars and fading brush strokes of blue. There was a chill breeze feathering the tall weeds and canopy of trees around the aircraft in a calming, rhythmic motion. It was an image of serenity. But Anya knew it was only illusion.

"Doctor?" He asked again.

"What?" She said absently, still staring out the cabin at the distant horizon.

"You want something to eat?"

Anya pulled her eyes away and looked at Andrei. He had a small Sterno fire going and was cooking some gelatinous mass from an MRE. It looked like vomit, and smelled like some perverted beef concoction. She wrinkled her nose at it.

"Well it may not look like much, but it isn't bad. You get a taste for it after a while. Believe me," Andrei said while stirring the pot with a knife.

"Maybe later," she said, shifting her weight around. She let out a quick yelp as her ribs flared in warning.

"You shouldn't move too much. You're lucky you only cracked 'em and didn't puncture a lung. Could've been a lot worse."

"Well it doesn't feel very lucky sergeant." Anya winced and closed her eyes.

"Don't worry Doc, we'll be out of here tomorrow morning. Shouldn't take recovery too long to find us."

"Oh I don't doubt they'll find us." Her tone was ominous. Andrei rolled his eyes.

"That again? Come on Doc. Give it a rest. I've been patient with you up to this point. But I lost two friends of mine today. And I don't want to hear anymore BS about how our own guys did this!"

"Fine..Just don't shout at me." Anya said sternly, putting her hand up reflexively to block the sound. She was tired of arguing and was obviously not getting through. There was a possibility he was right, but Anya wasn't counting on it. There were just too many coincidences.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Sergeant is your weapon still functional?"

"Yeah but I don't-"

"Get it. Now. And give me your sidearm."

"What! What for?"

"You do remember where we are right? You may be in the air all the time, but I know you've heard the reports. Now give your pistol."

"Alright here," he said pulling the weapon from his holster and handing it to her, butt first. "It's got a round in the cham-"

"Nice. A CZ75. I like these." Anya took the weapon and pulled the slide back half an inch with her good arm to verify there was a round in the chamber. She then released the magazine to check that it was full. Satisfied, she inserted the magazine again and flipped the safety.

Andrei raised his eyebrows as he reached over and opened up the top-cover on his UMG machine gun, checking the ammo feed tray. She noticed his response.

"My ex was shooter. Taught me how."

"Ahh. Well you want to tell me what spooked you?"

"Well, it sounded like an animal or something," she said looking out through the starboard cabin. Fortunately the aircraft hadn't broken open too badly, relatively speaking. It was crumpled and shredded, but there were only two places someone could get in: the remains of the cockpit and starboard side cabin door.

"Just keep a watch out."

"Roger that. By the way, what kind of Doctor are you exactly? Not medical I gather."

"Theoretical physics. Specializing in string theory," she said blandly.

"Okay. What does that mean exactly?"

"It's complicated."

"Try me. It's better than sitting here in silence."

Anya looked over at him. "Okay. Well, basically it's a theory-of-everything that tries to unify quantum theory with relativity and create a unified field theory. It says the entire universe is made of strings that vibrate at different speeds and tensions.. Think of it like guitar strings, with the universe being made up of these loops of vibrating strings, and depending on how they vibrate or are plucked, like on a guitar, we can account for all the forces and particles in the universe."

"Oh.. So you're saying everything is nano-sized little strings that vibrate?"

"Well not nano-sized. Planck length, 10 to the -33 centimeters. But yeah something like that. It makes general relativity work at the sub-atomic level."

"Uh-huh... So that's why all you guys are here? This whole mess has something to do with strings?"

Anyas head started to hurt. "Maybe, but that's not-"

Anya was cut off as several pairs of gnashing teeth tried to push their way into the cabin. Dogs. Mutated wild dogs with no eyes. Nasty and mean. They hadn't heard a thing until they were on them. And within the span of a few seconds, they were almost inside the cabin, their jaws snapping and dripping with saliva.

Both the occupants let a yelp and pushed up against the opposite side of the cabin, their injuries totally forgotten.

"Shoot them!" Anya shouted as she took aim with her pistol, but she didn't get a shot off. Her ears erupted in pain as Andrei's UMG opened up next to her. The enclosed compartment amplified the sound and concussion as the machine gun spewed flame and spent shell casings. The heads of the dogs came apart as the 6mm slugs ripped through them. Andrei kept firing until they were nothing more than pulp. When he stopped neither of them could hear anything but a high pitched ringing. They both sat there in shock for some time after that.

They didn't talk at all the rest of the night. Anya was finally able to get some slept a little while later, after the acrid smell of gunpowder had dissipated. Andrei however, didn't sleep a wink.

**************

It was early the next morning when Andrei gave her a gentle shove to wake up. Anya was groggy and hurt but nodded to him that she was awake.

"Chopper's coming in," he said with a smile.

Anya pushed herself up to get a better view. What was left of the wild dogs almost made her gag. She couldn't see the ship, but she could hear the rotor blades slowly churning through the air.

"They're taking their time that's for sure. Maybe 30 knots I'd say."

"Well they know where they are and don't want a repeat of what happened to us."

"I'm gonna pop some smoke. Stay still Doc. I'll be right back."

Anya nodded as she watched Andrei exit the downed aircraft, sweeping back and forth with his machine gun checking for threats. Satisfied, he pulled a smoke grenade off his thigh belt and tossed it in front of him. He then got into a kneeling position to give cover. A loud hiss escaped the canister, followed by an expanding cloud of green smoke.

Well, she would know soon enough. And she still had the CZ, so that gave her a little comfort. She hoped that she was just paranoid, and as the chopper came into view she couldn't help but feel a rush of hope.

Andrei gave some hand signals as the craft made its way over the top of the treetops until it was about fifty meters from them before it descended, churning and whipping the marking smoke into agitated green spirals. It was smaller and less imposing than the helicopter she was on, and it had no armament. That in itself made her feel a whole lot better.

The engines of the helicopter began to wind down as the rotor blades slowed. Several men spilled out. Some were armed and took up positions around their helicopter. Some were carrying packs with a large red cross on them. Medics. Anya relaxed a bit as they approached. They were all in NBC suits, and the closest medic held a Geiger counter which he was waving around as he went. There were some words exchanged with Andrei who was nodding and pointing back towards her. Soon the two medics and Andrei were coming back to her position. The medic who wasn't wielding the geiger counter started preparing an IV solution as he went. Anya exhaled, relieved.

Andrei bent over and looked in, along with the medic carrying the IV. She couldn't see his face beneath the suit. "Doctor Millapovich?"

She cleared her throat. "Yes."

"Doctor, the Sergeant says you have some broken ribs. I don't want to move you quite yet. We have a stretcher on the aircraft, but I'd like to get you some fluids first. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Sit tight for one second."

The medic stood up and held a hand to his ear. He was obviously communicating on a headset within the suit. Andrei was smiling at her. A few moments later she heard a plop as the IV dropped to the mud. Without pause, the medic pulled a silenced pistol from his bag, and in the space of a second he had put two rounds in Andrei's back. Andrei's eyes widened as his smile disappeared. He looked right at Anya as his mouth hung open in shock. He seemed to say 'I'm sorry' before he went face first into the mud.

Anya barely registered the grim scene, it happened so fast. As the medic leaned in, she pulled the CZ she had concealed from under her blanket and started firing. A round caught the medic in the leg and he fell back in pain, returning her fire through the metal skin of the HIND. Now the other men were running up to her position, their rifles at the ready. Anya kept firing as the two assassins retreated backward trying to find cover, obviously surprised that she could shoot. In some corner of her mind, Anya knew she was just about out of ammo, and after that it was all over. But she didn't care. She knew she stumbled onto something epic, and that was almost enough. Almost.

It was then that something curious happened.

As the slide on her pistol locked back, signifying her end, she saw the soldiers rushing towards her start to fall. First one, then another, and another. The remaining ones started firing wildly off into the trees as they tried to retreat back to their helicopter, which was now powering back up. They didn't make it. Anya crawled for a better view just in time to see the two 'medics' drop like puppets with their strings cut. The helicopter that had just a second ago given her hope rose off into the sky and retreated the way it had come. Which presented a new problem, she was totally alone now with whatever was out there. Anya crawled across the remains of the dogs and pulled Andrei's machine gun back into the cabin with her good arm. She didn't look at him. She couldn't bare to look at his face, buried in the muck and gore. She did make a quick glance off to where the now dead men had been firing, and saw a man rise out of the bushes with twigs and grass tied to his body. He had a rifle. A silenced rifle. So that was it.

Anya grunted as she dragged the heavy machine gun into the cabin. Her ribs and arm burned with pain, but she fought through it and pulled the weapon into her lap. And while it was coated in mud and congealed dog blood, that didn't bother her one bit right now. The ammo box was transparent so she could see that there were plenty of rounds left. Good. She had no idea how to work the thing, but she assumed it was already ready to fire. She just had to steady her breathing and shoulder the thing. Aim and squeeze, just like a pistol. Whoever it was, they were in for a rude awakening.

"Doctor Millapovich.?" A voice came from outside.

'Here we go again,' she thought, and then let loose a burst through the hull of the aircraft. She didn't expect the weapon to rise so much, and before she knew it, the thing was shooting into the roof by the time she let off the trigger.

"Jesus doc! What the hell are you trying to do? That's how you thank me for saving your ass? Damn! You almost shot me woman!"

Then it struck her. English. He was speaking English. And it didn't even register at first..

"Decklan?"

"Yeah, Decklan! Can I come around or do you want to keep practicing your shooting skills?" He said in his thick Aussie accent.

Anya dropped the machine gun and laid her head back against the hull of the ship. "Yeah, come around." Her voice was full of bewilderment.