“I will tell him to stay away from those men.”
“Excellent. Of course, all this was said presuming that they gonna pass Friar’s little test. If they don’t, you’ll need to part ways.”
“What’s that test?”
“Told you already. Each of them has to prove to have what it takes to be a friend of ours.”
63
“A sinner is born every minute, and ye’re just on time!”
The apparently insane Bandit’s voice echoes in the dark, all but empty room he occupies in the warehouse. His thick Russian accent adds to the oddness about him. The only features around are a mattress in one of the corners and a makeshift altar, made up from a crate on which two burning church candles stand with a skull in a gasmask in between. Two Kalashnikovs lie crossed under the skull like a pirate flag. The moldering walls bear graffiti quotes, barely readable in the darkness.
“I am Friar, knower of yer deepest thoughts! I, and only I will decide if ye’re worthy to join us! On yer knees, all of ya!”
Tarasov sees Hartman’s face blush with anger. He can only imagine how humiliating this bizarre ritual must be for Sergeant Major Hartman of the Tribe. Hoping that his companion has enough self-discipline to manage his anger, he too kneels down on the dirty stone floor in front of the skinny Bandit whose restless eyes and exaggerated antics tell of madness, or at least that’s how Friar appears to him.
“And now—I wanna hear yer confession, sinners!” Friar continues. “Let’s start with ya, kid! What can ya tell me dat would make me accept ya to da most glorious faction of da Zone?”
“Uhm… what am I supposed to say?”
“Imagine, I am God and know all your sins but will forgive only one! What would that be?”
“Huh… I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Don’t test my patience, sinner!”
“Well… a little shoplifting, did a car or two—”
Friar grins. “Not bad enough, kiddo! I did all dat when I was still in kindergarten!”
Pete sighs. “My real sin?”
Friar emits a hysterical laugh. “Only tellin’ me your deadliest sin can save yer life. If ye fail to confess, da Zone will claim your life!”
“So—one thing I will burn in hell for is Nelly, my girlfriend. I—I wasn’t myself at that time. I gave her an overdose of heroin and spent the next days with her corpse, convincing myself that I helped her into a better world. Yes, for this the Devil will take my soul, no matter what I do!”
Friar takes a step back and nods, appearing satisfied. “Despicable enough.”
“I know,” Pete whispers.
“Ye’re next,” Friar tells Tarasov. “Confess!”
Kneeling like his two companions, Tarasov stares at the altar, the quotes on the wall, Friar’s insane eyes. To his own surprise, he feels calm inside—almost relieved. The Bandit ritual might be mocking everything a decent man would hold holy but even so, it is as good an opportunity as any other to ease his mental burden.
“I am a killer,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t know how many men I’ve killed. I quit counting at forty-three. All men who trusted and relied on me.”
“Dat sounds exciting!” Friar hisses.
“Must be over a hundred now. Men I was leading and supposed to keep alive. They died by the claws of mutants, hostile fire, anomalies. But some by my own bullets. Some by my own recklessness. I was an army officer, bound by my duty to keep those men alive. Every death is my failure as a leader. I consider it that and nothing can me convince otherwise. No excuses like fate, bad luck, the Zone’s will. No. Their shadows keep following me. My biggest fear is to turn around one day and face them. I was told once, if you put together all the men I have killed, they’d make up an army. If I think of them it’s true. And probably more will come. That’s my sin, and I am punished for it by being alive.”
“Disgraceful enough.”
“It is,” Tarasov says bowing his head.
The crazy Bandit now turns to Hartman. “Whatta ‘bout ya?”
“I am a deserter too, like the man next to me,” Hartman slowly replies.
“Boooorin’!”
“And I’m kind of a drug addict as well, like the kid was.”
“Me temper is bad enough without ye borin’ me like dat!”
“I am addicted to the drug called blood. I love spilling my enemies blood and piss on their bodies.”
“Dat’s whad everyone wearing a uniform is bragging about.”
Hartman takes a deep breath. “I am a well-trained soldier and struggled with fighting a war with one of my hands chained to my back. Then came the day when we went deep below the New Zone where lots of our bravest fell. The price waiting for those who made it through was freedom. We chosen few were touched by the power of the New Zone. It liberated us from the shackles of loyalty to a corrupt country that no longer deserved our sacrifice. We became the rabid stray dogs of war. We became victorious at the price of countless deaths on our hands. Yet it was still treason and desertion. I am a traitor and deserter to my country and I try to deny it by being loyal to my Tribe and my leader till I die and beyond. But I am still a traitor and deserter. I spill our enemies’ blood to wash that shame away, yet it will always tarnish my soul. Lawyers can acquit me but I will never be able to. The great Spirit has touched me and the part of my sanity it has left keeps calling me a traitor. This is the sin I would ask God to forgive but He has fallen silent on me long ago. If you lousy lowlife dare open your filthy mouth to insult me by telling that all this makes me fit to join your scum—I swear I will tear your head off, so bless me God. Because if we are talking sin, I’m not merely fitting in but should be your goddamned general.”
Hartman’s slow-spoken words seem to have made an impression on Friar.
“We already have a general,” the Bandit quietly says. “His name’s Sultan. Though I didn’t vote for him… should we ever elect our leader by votin’, ya can count on me.”
He unslings the Obokan assault rifle from his shoulder and fires a burst into the ceiling. “Ye are hereby absolved from yer sins by me welcomin’ ye into our ranks, for here we are all brothers in crime. Wadever ye’ve been judged and cast out for by da ignorant world outside will be yer source of pride with us. Rise and be proud, brothers, for yer sins make you worthy of becoming Bandits!”
“That’s it, then?” Tarasov asks standing.
“What did ya expect? Prickin’ yer trigger finger and drippin’ blood over a damned religious icon? Ya better make a Loner bleed until he tells ya where he hides his stash, haha!”
Tarasov, Hartman and Pete leave the bizarre room, shunning each other’s eyes.
64
Daylight fades and a chilly dusk descends over the Zone. Without anything else to do but wait, the four travelers kill time at a campfire, not in much of a mood to chat. Nooria appears to be lost in her thoughts and the three men still feel embarrassed over their confessions, as if they were forced to strip their very souls naked in front of each other and are now fighting with the subsequent embarrassment.