The Exclusion Zone. Formed by a massive nuclear disaster at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, it is a 30 kilometer diameter area around the site of the NPP, and has generated awe and fear from people around the world for it's reputation of being the most dangerous place to live. But also, the most profitable.
I rolled my head in a circle in an attempt to loosen my shoulders- an action made futile by my motorcycle helmet. My arms were stiff from grasping the handlebars for so many hours. My bike was far from legal- but it was the best way to traverse the open countryside of Ukraine, far from all of the patrols designed to keep people like me from my goal- the Exclusion Zone.
Then, in the distance, I could see the air was shimmering. A gleam of metal caught my eye, and I noticed a rusted, faded Radiation warning sign, laying down in the grass. It was warped, apparently from heat, and as I slowed for a better look, it appeared to have been hit from behind by a blast of great heat. This must have been the result of the great 2006 blowout. But I was still a good ten kilometers from the Zone! Four years in the future, and this sign has remained here, rusting on the ground. I passed it and turned my eyes forward. Towards the distant shimmering, and my fortune.
The air grew heavier, and I could smell a faint burning smell. I located a column of smoke. I nudged myself in that direction, my curiosity growing. As I approached, I noticed several human shapes around the pile of burning objects. Rather far out to have a tire fire. This wasn't burning rubber smell, though. This was burning flesh. The shapes spotted me, I could tell. Not only from the fact that they were facing me, but because bullets were whizzing past me, their whine drowned out from the cackle of automatic rifle fire. Must be military, bent on keeping us curios out. I tried to turn, but my handle bars were locked tight. The motor on my bike revved up, and the needle touched the far end. I had no control over my vehicle as I sped toward the military.
Nothing touched me as I zipped past. I could hear their angry Russian curses. My motorcycle just continued to accelerate, and I couldn't even bail off. It wouldn't be long-
The sound of shrieking metal ripped through my ears as I saw my front wheel finally give out. It bent and snapped off, and I went flying forward. I subconsciously maneuvered so that I landed on my back, and felt water. From the scenery going past at such high speeds, I assumed I was in a swamp. Or at least a lake. As I skidded over water at a surplus of 100 kilometers an hour, I figured that now would be as good a time as any to think up a new name for myself. I vowed that if I survived this event, I'd call myself Skip.
I slowed down enough to catch the water, and I sank rather quickly, now losing my control of direction. I span around in the water, until I struck the bottom of this lake, my lower half sunk up to the knees in the riverbed mud. My head stopped spinning enough that I could see the situation I was in. Bits of my motorcycle floated down past me. I was still terribly dizzy, and fumbled weakly with my legs, trying to pry them out of the mud. I remembered that I was wearing a rain suit that came off at the top. I fumbled with the catch and opened it. My lungs began to burn as I clawed my way out of it, and I inadvertently let out a gasp of air as I slid upward. I madly swam for the surface, my eyes closed tight because of all of the silt in the water. Looking back, I'm damn glad that I was swimming upwards, and not sideways.
I broke the surface, gasping for air. That wasn't the only noise, it was the surprised exclamations from behind me. I recognized the language as Ukrainian. What else would it be? "There he is! Get out of there, buddy! That lake's making the geiger counter go insane!"
I recognized the words, and, with my eyes still closed, pointed myself in that direction and began to swim with as much urgency as I could muster. I suppose I got near to the edge, because I could hear footsteps sloshing through the water, and feel them hauling me out of the water. They helped me to my feet, and assisted me in walking to their camp. I collapsed next to their fire, shivering, as night was approaching. One of the men offered me a pill and a syringe.
"Take the pill and inject that into your arm, and let's hope that you didn't get too badly hit by radiation."
I did as he said, feeling the stuff spread through me. Comfortably warm, but didn't feel nearly as relaxing as the shot of vodka I got afterwards. Priceless Ukrainian hospitality. "Tell us your story in the morning, comrade Skip."
As I opened my eyes after a good bit of rest, my vision was blurry. Fuzzy, and as I sat up, some brisk rubbing cleared them. I saw the sleeping shapes of my rescuers laying next to a puttering fire. There were a two sentries, sitting on the damp ground, watching out for anybody approaching. They had sawed-off shotguns in their laps, and I could see their armor was the common trench coat favored by rookies and bandits. I scooted closer to the fire, and the sentries turned their heads to me, nodded, and turned back to the landscape.
I poked the coals back to life, and lay some damp wood to the side of it to dry. I took a look at where I was, and saw a grassland, pocketed by several lakes smaller than the one I landed in. I turned to the direction of some footsteps behind me, and saw a can of "Tourist's Breakfast" put in front of my face. I take it gratefully, cracking the top and scooping out the contents. The one who handed it to me was also the man who gave me the antirads.
"Feeling better, Skip?" He said, in fluent Ukrainian. I figured that Russian, as close as it is, might sound rude. I slipped into the native mindset. "Yeah, much better. I might be puking up my guts if you hadn't given me the antirads. Timely rescue, my friend."
"We saw your bike fly apart. Your stuff's all been carried off by mutants, and we can't support a new man. Comrade Skip, I hope you can understand where this was going."
I sure did. They were kicking me out, but being as generous as possible about it. "Yeah, I understand. You kept me alive, that's all I can ask for. I'll figure out the Zone on my own." My friend's face clouded for a moment. Then, he handed me his PDA. "Listen, brother. I'll give you my PDA- I can get a new one from Sidrovich. I've marked the location of the rookie camp. You head straight there. We'll give you a shooter so the mutants don't get you. There's hardly anything all the way out here, just a couple of boars and dogs. Bandits don't bother with the rookies out here, neither do the military. Just head straight there, keep your wits about you, and you'll reach the camp intact. Rest up, and we'll have to ask you to go at noon. Good luck, comrade, and I'm sure we'll meet again."
He didn't give much room for conversation. As soon as he was done talking, he made some hand gestures to a sentry, who got me a slightly dirty shotgun, and some shells. "It'll take some cleaning, but it'll work. You're about a two hours' march from the rookie camp. We're going to be heading there after we finish our business out here."
I turned to the sentry, and asked, "Can I ask who you guys are?" He smiled. "Sure can. You won't get an answer you'll like, though." I shrugged. He chuckled. "We're a group of scientists. We might look like normal stalkers, but that's just to keep the mercs and such from looting us." I nodded. "Good idea. Well, clear skies to you brother, I think I'll be headed off now."
As I walked away, I could hear the sentry mutter, "Clear Sky.. Now that's a name."
Better to get there by noon, I figured. I heard it could get very hot in the Zone, from all of the stuff in the atmosphere. The shotgun hung on my belt, and I cinched it tighter to my waist. With my water suit removed, I had only skintight black clothes now, which I knew wouldn't protect me from anything. From what the scientists had told me, a boar could ram straight through me with one of it's tusks. Not an appealing thought.
I wasn't really watching the ground closely, rather scanning the distance, looking for movement. My foot went right into a puddle of water, my boot disappearing into the hole. I stumbled forward, but caught myself quickly enough to avoid a broken ankle. I kind of hopped my way back upright, and drew my foot from the ankle-breaker. I could feel my foot getting wet, the water trickling through my boot. I swore, and checked my PDA. Still going the right direction.
As I began to walk again, the squelch of my boot drew my attention to another sound. Something was trying to match my footsteps, but it was just slightly off sync. I tried to locate the direction it was coming from. Behind me. I sped up my footsteps, and so did my stalker.
My hand snapped up to my shotgun, hand on the hilt, and spun around to face the brush that the sound was coming from. I pointed my gun directly at it. "Come out and let me see you." I said to it. I could hear breathing from the bush. Heavy breathing. Then it snorted. Not in a human way.
The brush rustled, and a boar came dashing out, full charge. Two kilos of rage, all focused on me. I pulled both triggers, emptying two shells almost point-blank into it's forhead. It let out a dying scream, it's eyes rolling back, blood and spittle flying from it's gaping mouth. I leapt out of the way before it's dead mass crushed me. I didn't wait to see if it was traveling in a group. I used my PDA to point me in the right direction and I broke out in a distance run.
I got about a kilometer before I began breathing haggardly, and had to slow to a trot. It was when I slowed and began to check myself that I let out a groan- I had dropped my gun after I had fired it. The kick was more than I had expected, and I was holding the gun with one hand. My wrist was sore, and I could feel it now.
I slowed further, to a walk. The PDA put me at five kilometers from the rookie camp, but there was something making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I stopped, not knowing what it was. I located a stick, a hefty, about the length of my forearm. I gave it a good throw in front of me, and about two meters ahead of me, it was lifted up, and spun in circles about two meters off the ground. Then, a loud CRACK made the stick shatter. The PDA had it recorded as a "Whirligig" anomaly.
Now that I looked closer, I could see it. The air swirled around it, and the ground beneath it was bare. I could see that it made a line, a seemingly unbroken chain of anomalies. Between me and the camp. The first thing that came to mind was not "How can I get around them?" but rather, "Good thing they gave me an anomaly detector."
I whipped out my Bear detector, and sure enough, it pointed me to at least a dozen artifacts within this kilometer. I'd say that this is a good start to my career.
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