A Shephard- ZoC Main Story Vol 1 Chapter 5

Part 5 - A STALKERs’ Stalker

It had been a couple of days, and you were already back at the village. Leaving the swamps proving to be far easier than going into them. It didn’t hurt that you have something in a bigger caliber than your makarov you could actually use, having secured ammo for the SVD and knowing where to find more.

You felt like a hero, returning from war, when you walked back into the village. Some of the surprised stares from other stalkers made you fitl more into the roll.

Finding Wolf in his usual spot by the campfire, you call out to him as you take off the gasmask.

“You made it? Let me- Good god, what happened to you Blank?”

Oh, all the mud, dried cuts, and generally shabby appearance probably startled him.

“The swamps are not easy to navigate, especially not with that blowout. I know I look worse for wear, put I promise you, I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I meant, I mean look at your-”

Before you can finish, Cheesy runs up to you can gives you a slap on the back.

“Holy shit buddy, you look like you had a wrestling match with a bloodsucker!”

You reply, “A vampire? You’re kidding me, those don’t exist, not even here, right?”

Their nervous glances make you pause.

“Well, not in the traditional “Agh! Garlic!” and aversion to christianity, but-”

Wolf cuts him off. “No need to scare the rookie. He wouldn’t survive running into one anyways, so best just leave it at that. Anyways, I’d put that mask back on before you get shot.”

Confused, but going along with his joke, you don it once more.

Continuing, you explain “I found the scope and some ammunition actually. It was just abandoned there in the rafters of a brick building. Got some shots off with the rifle on my way back, feeling pretty good. It hit every time, too. I’m just need a new scope mount and replacement handguard.”

You unsling the rifle, holding it as you talk.

“I’m really proud of it now, and once it’s complete I feel like I can head north.”

Cheesy gives you a laugh and walks away, while Wolf says a few more words

“Careful, overconfidence is what makes a stalker walk right into an anomaly, or get stuck outside during an emission. Wouldn’t want that to happen to you?”

You laugh nervously, not sure if you should explain the irony of that second part.

“Anyways, Sidorovich is back in his bunker. Has a lot of new stock he hasn’t sent deeper into The Zone yet. Go see him. He might have some parts you can trade for. Plus he’d give you something for those boar hooves I see you’ve collected.”

You wanted to ask him about the mutant tentacles, but you guess Sidorovich is a good as any to ask. Maybe he’d give you a small amount of money for it.

You find the bunker latch at the end of the village, with a singular man guarding it.

“Just keep your weapon holstered, okay buddy?” says the supposed strongman. You comply, shouldering the rifle and walking down the stairs. Faint music could be heard, becoming louder as you approach the counter.

In the small dingy room, separated by a metal grate with a hole, sits a rather large man. Judging by his appearance, he has done well, especially in a place where everyone and everything is trying to kill you. His fading hair a testament to his worries, but his heavy frame a testament to his success.

Before you can exchange pleasantries, he opens his big mouth

“Ah, you must be the new rookie Wolf was praising, Blank. Man says he has contempt for his position, but he really does enjoy looking after the newbies. And since you’ve made it back from your idiotic idea to head into the swamps, I can agree with his praise. Not many go to, or even come back from there. For one reason or another.”

You want to open up and explain why you went, but he continues. You can already tell he isn’t the type of man to seek permission or follow formalities.

“I am Sidorovich. If it’s any sort of thing that needs to be brought into, or leave the zone, chances are it’s passed through me. I would give you the usual spew about The Zone, but I see you’re someone who can look after yourself, and aren’t as green around the ears as, well, Mr. Green is. “

You wince, the cruel joke not sitting well as the man had helped you understand a lot about the rifle you now carry.
“Now, it is good you have come to see me first. You can trade with any hackey out there, but I am the one who knows his shit. You trade with a regular Mr. Stalker in The Zone, but the grenade he sold you might be a dud, the rusty gun he said would shoot explode in your hand, and the medical kit be ten years out of date. My stuff is all quality, and will all work. You have a problem with the prices I used to guarantee quality? You talk to Borislav out there and his PKM. You want to backstab me and fish around for better prices? I know the traders out there because they all buy from me first. And will never sell to you again. You are not small babushka who comes in here and haggles the costs. You buy what I sell at my prices, and you accept my offers for what junk you want to sell, if I even want to take it at all. “

You once again don the signature look.

“Do you understand?” he spits, as he leans forward on his desk.

“Yes Mr. Sidorovich.”

He slaps the desk and leans back, bellowing a hearty laugh

“Ahaha, a Stalker with some manners! Yes, this one will go far. I like you already! Now, what can I do you for today?” he says, with a much lighter tone than the threatening speech you sat through seconds earlier.
“I’m looking for a rail mount and handguard for this rifle,” you say, setting it down on the desk in front of him.

“What have we here? My, don’t see many of these lately. Most of the men who used them disappeared up north after the last great push. Not as useful without the scope, though.”

You mention to him you have the scope, that’s what you found in the swamps.

“You went to the swamps for THAT? Ohho man, what a character. I could have sold you the thing if you had waited!
Still the rail will not be a problem, as I have a few that I’m sending north anyways. The handguard I would have to place a special order for. Seeing as I just came back, it wouldn’t be here for another couple of weeks.”

That’s fine, deciding that you would spend the time more in the area, getting better prepared for the trip up north and hunting for mutant parts to sell. You’d become pretty good at that between what Wolf taught you and what you hunted on your way back from the swamps. And speaking of mutant parts

“I have some from the swamps, could I pay the initial amount in these, and the difference from what I have left?”

“Sure,” he says, smiling mischievously, “but as these rails were for another customer, and the handguard a special order, it will be quite expensive. I doubt you’ll have enough to front the initial cost.”

You’re not sure why you were so committed on the handguard, but something told you that you really wanted to see this rifle back in it’s original condition, or at least configuration.
“Problem, kid, problem? Let me describe the usual process for hunting a bloodsucker, since you don’t quite understand what you just did. Usually you get three guys, no make that five. So you and four other stalkers, all of whom are armed to the teeth, will cordon off the area you suspect the bloodsucker is hiding. You leave two stalkers to watch the exit together, as you never want to be alone when one of those things is after you. Then, you sweep. The three forward stalkers moving as slow as possible, in order to take it by surprise. If it notices before they can catch it unawares, the three pull out instantly and have the last two cover them as they all run as fast and far away as possible. They’re done for the day, if they can somehow escape. As once it starts hunting you, you can’t physically see it coming till it has its tendrils on your neck and you’re blacking out from blood loss. Bloodsuckers have some sort of natural camouflage, are light, fast, and overall agile hunters. Pretty intelligent to boot. No one these days sets out to hunt them, as they usually end up the prey themselves. And what you’re telling me-”

He says excitedly, pointing down at the small bits of bloodsucker you’ve apparently brought him,


“-that you took one on, Alone. Lost. In the swamps, where visibility is already shit?”

“Bullshit, you are lying” he declares.
All you can do is just stare back. Bullshit or not, you have them right here in front of him.

“But that doesn’t matter,” he continues. “However you got these, means you’re a bit more capable than the usual grunts around here. And I could use a man like that.”

“So does that mean-”

“Yes yes,” he says as he waves, “with this , you’re parts are already paid off for. The science team in the north have been looking for more samples for a while; ran out of idiots to send to hunt from them. I’ll get a nice commission off of these,” he declares, as he greedily takes them over and puts them in an icebox.

“Now, I said I could use a man like that. I have a couple of small tasks I need done. I won’t fuck with you, I could have them done by some of the newer guys around here. But you can carry yourself well, and I expect results from what I’ll pay you. You do some favors for me, and I’ll make it even. Sound good?”

Before you can even agree, the big man turns around again, opening a smaller crate in the back of his room. He pulls out a small cardboard box, and cuts it open.

“Trodnick will be pissed, he was looking for one of these for forever. But I’ll get him another one, don’t worry” he says, to no one in particular.

He hands you the scope mount, and a few final words. “I don’t know why you’ve come to The Zone,, but I can tell you’ll do fine here. Just hang around for a while so I can dig up some work for you. I’ll send Borislav to find you when I need you. Now go, I need to organize some things.”

And next thing you’re walking out the bunker, your head in a daze. It felt like that whole conversation just went right on through you, with little input on your part. Trying to process it all, you ultimately settle on being happy that you can restore the ranged functionality to the rifle. Almost running now, you pass by Mr. Green who stares, following you with that solemn expression he left you with before the swamps. You bound down into the basement and onto a spare cot. Taking out a small toolkit you commandeered with the ammo, you finally mount the scope rail onto the rifle. A clean, black metal finish contrasts sharply with the small dings and scratches on the stamped body, and the well worn look of the stock.

“You’re beautiful, “ you mumble as you put the scope on, mostly completing the rifle. Just that pesky handguard and you’ll be on your way.


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The next few weeks saw you running those errands for Sidorovich. You would run supplies a little ways north, no farther than the northern abandoned checkpoint of the cordon, where another group would take the handoff and finish the journey themselves. You kept detailed reports of locations of wildlife, mutants, and the occasional military patrol. You even helped run a group through the border, the temptation of leaving hitting your mind. But you were close, you felt, to really getting into The Zone, and to find your brother. You kept your mask on more and more these days, not comfortable with some of the stares you received with it off. You figure the scar on your neck received from the fight with the Bloodsucker a bit offputting, so you don’t mind. The money you earned not bad, but you know there was more to make further in The Zone.


Everything was fine during this period, except for one thing.


You had a stalker. The irony of a STALKER having a stalker was once again not lost on you.

At first you thought it was just you. Sometimes your rifle wouldn’t be where you left it. For someone so dedicated to keeping track of their supplies, it baffled you how you would misplace your rifle at night, only to wake up the next morning and it be somewhere else. Sometimes across from you, sometimes with your blanket pulled off of you and draped over it, and once in bed with you. But then one day, as you were walking back from relieving yourself, you saw them again. That tall stalker in the faded military fatigues and armband, from the abandoned clear sky base. Being noticed, they ran back around the corner, you in pursuit. All that was there rounding the corner yourself was the SVD, thief nowhere in sight.

And ever since, you had noticed the rifle would constantly be moved when you were distracted for periods of time, or sleeping. You didn’t understand, why didn’t they just take it? There were numerous times when they could have walked away with it. Did they want you instead?
They wouldn’t mess with the rifle when you were in the company of other stalkers, and from the one time you did see them, they weren’t holding onto anything, let alone your prized possession. But asking around the camp, no one else had seen what you had seen. Thought you might be a bit crazy. I mean, you’d have to be if you took on that bloodsucker and lived. You stopped hearing those voices, though. That was good. Maybe it was just the shock from the blowout, but you weren’t THAT crazy anymore. Or were you, for running to this terrible place on a whim to save your brother?

This cyclical line of thought WAS driving you crazy, and were glad for any distraction from it. When Sid didn’t have you out some days, you hunted more wildlife. The reciprocating action of the SVD feeling particularly nice as you gained more practice and tried farther shots. You couldn’t hit some of the farther targets you set up in the Garage, that abandoned mess of brick buildings just south of the railroad tracks. But when it came to mutants, pigfleshes and boars, you found yourself right on target every time.

After a hard scrubbing one day, an extra layer of dirt came off, uncovering a faint carving in the stock. It was in english, and one of the letters was illegible, but you could more or less read the rest.

“Luc_y,” you said aloud, as you continued to polish the scope. The rifle’s name was Lucy.

Laying down for the day, you grip the rifle as you try to fall asleep. Now if that stalker would just stop stalking you and your rifle, you could sleep a lot easier at night.