“Zef found a map… it must have been torn from the wall.”
Tarasov studies the sketchy blueprint. It is torn and heavy boots have trampled over it, but the layout of the bunker is still visible.
“Excellent… this long part is the entrance shaft… yes, then we crossed the guard’s room and now we are in the former mess room… look, that tunnel leads to a chamber labeled excavators’ storage room, whoever they are… the one in the middle leads to the laboratories.”
“I love laboratories,” Skinner cries out with inquisitive eyes. “That must be where they keep all the artifacts for testing and stuff like that!”
“And from there?” Zef asks, ignoring the other Stalker’s excitement.
“It says excavation area but the map ends there. There’s only an arrow, directed downwards.”
“To the labs, then?”
“No… first we check out the storage room. Maybe they have ammo there or first aid supplies… unless they used them all up when hell broke loose.”
A growl comes from the darkness as if in response to the major’s last words. But this time it is followed by a howl, with a third mutant joining the jarring chorus.
“Weapons at ready! Watch that tunnel to the left!”
For a moment, the major hopes that the light of their headlamps would blind the three jackals that leap out from the darkness, but the beasts don’t hesitate to attack Zef, who stands closest to them. One jackal sinks his fangs into his arm, not leaving him a chance to shoot and, to Tarasov’s horror, Ilchenko suffers the same fate. Perception or agility offer the soldier a better chance. He lets his machine gun fall with the two jackals still clinging to it with their teeth, and uses the moment gained to pull out his pistol. Tarasov, Skinner and Zlenko are firing like mad into the bundles of flesh, muscles and fangs while Zef, gathering all his enormous strength together, smashes the third mutant against the wall and pins it there while Skinner pumps three shells from his shotgun into its flesh. Even then, the mutant keeps growling as it falls to the ground and starts crawling towards them, oozing blood and gore. Ilchenko finally grabs his machine gun and fires a lengthy burst into the mutant, his voice roaring over the rattle.
“What the hell does it take to kill that fucking bastard?”
The mutant growls no more as the last casing falls to the ground from Ilchenko’s weapon.
“What the fok!” Zef’s eyes are wide enough to expose a ring of white around his corneas as he studies his arms. The mutant’s fangs have bent his exoskeleton’s reinforced metal frame like soft wire. “Those beasts just tore my shotty out of my hands and tried to bite them off…”
“Jackals are not nice. You need a bandage?” Tarasov inquires.
The black Stalker shakes his head. A strange look appears in his eyes.
“They were after my… baby! But she is only mine!”
Tarasov scowls, but before he could ask Zef about what he meant, Skinner butts in.
“Had you worn anything other than an exo, you’d now have nothing to beat your dick with,” the ex-Dutier sardonically retorts, reloading his shotgun. “It’s your lucky day, brother.”
“Let’s move on, everyone… and keep your eyes peeled.”
“There’d better be some loot in the storage room. I don’t want to leave empty-handed, you know?”
“You should be happy if you get out of here alive, and for that, luck is all you need hoping for.”
“Major, are you soldiers not interested in loot at all? If the army pays so well, I’ll sign up myself.”
“We don’t need money, Skinner. We grunts live on vodka and stale bread… at least that’s what some generals seem to think.”
The corridor is narrow and the sickly smell of decaying bodies lingers in the damp air. The smell drives saliva into Tarasov’s mouth. He swallows it. Skinner behind him spits.
“It stinks here!”
“Stop.” Ilchenko signals a halt. “Can you hear that?”
A faint noise grows from the darkness, like someone rubbing their hard-skinned palms together. Beyond the light circle of Ilchenko’s lamp, the darkness seems to move on the ground. Tiny, dim green spots evolve and move towards them.
“Back! Fall back!” Tarasov screams. He sees two amber-colored lights appear high above him. “Holy shit! A snake!”
This time the major is not alone. The bullets riddle the mutant’s erect body as it is about to strike. Obliterated by shotgun shells and rifle rounds, it collapses with a long, vanishing hiss. Tarasov gasps for breath.
Damn this place… and this is only the first level.
Beyond the steel door of the storage room they locate the origin of the smell. A pile of bodies lie on the ground, some of them missing limbs. Half digested chunks of flesh coat the concrete. Tarasov quickly puts on his gas mask, but the sickening smell is still in his nose. He quickly looks around the small room with uneven shelves on the wall.
“At least this was not for nothing,” he grumbles. Fighting back his nausea, he picks up four heavy bundles from a crushed crate.
“What’s in there?” Skinner asks curiously as they walk back into the large room, weapons ready to fire.
“Explosives.”
“Uh-oh. We’re getting angry?”
“Not yet.”
Back in the lobby’s relative security, Tarasov orders a short rest. “Check weapons. Have something to eat. In ten minutes, we move into the laboratories. Ilchenko, you keep an eye on those corridors. Sergeant… come over here for a minute.” He sits down on the ground and pulls out the notebook from his pocket. “Let’s see what we have here.”
His headlamp illuminates neat, old-fashioned handwriting. A name is written on the cover’s inner page but the ink is smeared, leaving only Sakharov legible.
“Hello, hello, Professor,” the major mumbles, thumbing the pages. He reads the writing from the first legible page aloud so that Zlenko also knows what they are about to discover.
“According to researchers, the two statues were built by an ancient tribe called the Lokottaravadan. Ancient Sogdian manuscripts, discovered by Sir Aurel Stein’s expedition and obtained by us from the British Library, tell that the female priests of this tribe possessed almost magical healing powers. However, this is dismissed by most historians as merely the stuff of legend. Anthropologists also agree that the Lokottaravadan are long extinct but Stein insisted that a few of them might still be found, scattered among the local Hazara tribes. We also learned from the manuscripts that the famous statues at Bamyan, called Samal and Shamama, did not only serve spirituality. The Lokottaravadan sculpted them to watch over a site where, according to their faith, a demon or object of destructive power was buried. In later centuries, long after this mysterious people were annihilated, the same site became known as the City of Screams, after Genghis Khan massacred every inhabitant of the city standing there in 1222.”
“Don’t tell me this was all about some stupid anthropologists getting a hard-on from superstition and legends… what is the meaning of all this?”
Tarasov struggles to find the right words. “Well… What concerns us now is that there’s something very bad and evil down below… that is what the scientists were after… I should have guessed. Anyhow, it goes on: From samples taken from the debris of the statues, we could establish a striking similarity between the molecular structure of local stone fragments and certain artifacts, found and known in the Exclusion Zone for their health-restoring effects, like the Soul or Mica variety. However, the local samples don’t emit any radiation, except at very low values which might be due to the nuclear fallout after the recent events. Another intriguing feature is that occasionally the fragments start to glow but without emitting heat of their own. Understanding the nature of these fragments would be a major scientific breakthrough.”