A Shephard- ZoC Main Story Vol 1 Chapter 4

Part 4 Vampire Weekend

It had been a couple of days, but you were gaining that confidence back again. It helped that you were finally headed in the right direction, you felt.

You had just run into another stalker. Although at first a tense meeting, things calmed down when he offered to share some lunch and shoot the shit. During this time, he told you a little about the area, it’s history, and generally what to look out for. He was surprised to find someone else out here, as there hadn’t been anything good to find except the occasional boar. When you mentioned the place you were looking for, he became a quiet for a bit.

“What you’re referring to is the Clear Sky base. Or was. I was one of ‘em.” he says somberly, pointing to his faded blue and white patch patch.

Your curiosity peaked, but his expression tells you it’s something not worth prodding.

“Good man, all of them were.” Another pause. “Anyways, you’re headed the right way. Once you get to the sunken church, vear a little right until you come across a small fishing hamlet with a sunken dock. Past the wall of tall trees and reeds, through the broken fence, you’ll find what’s left. “

He gets up, apparently tired of the conversation.

“My name is Vinya,” he says as he dons his pack once again.

“Blank” you respond in kind, moving to do the same.

“Listen, I haven’t been back to the base since, well, for a while. And I don’t plan on going back. Fact is, I usually avoid this area and keep north. Nothing good can be found here anymore. My advice is that you grab whatever the hell it is you’re looking for, and leave. With no one here to bother them anymore, the mutant population has exploded, and that emission a couple of days ago was one of the most intense I’ve seen this close to the zone border.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. “ you reply, waving as he departs north into the vastness of the swamps.


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It had been a couple of hours now, and you finally see the church. Part of the main steeple was crooked, but seemingly pointed you in the right way.

As you take a quick rest underneath it’s broken roof, you hear the distant growl of one of the swamps boars. A moment later, and it appears a little closer. You climb up a bit on some makeshift scaffolding you’ve found within the dilapidated house of prayer.

There’s a singular boar there, slowly walking towards the building. Around 400 yards out, but approaching at a decent speed.

You’ve taken on a few boars already, but mostly when the opportunity favored you. And with this elevation, and warning, this would be a good time as any. Plus the alternative of trying to sneak out wasn’t really viable, as he was unknowingly walking straight towards you.

As you are about to climb back down, deciding on trying to ambush it with your smaller firearm, your attention is drawn to the SVD. You still haven’t had any practice with it. And if Mr. Green’s advice and your maintenance were to be trusted, it was capable of firing. Despite not having a scope, there was a basic set of ironsights.
You want to be sure that, in a pinch, this will really do the job. And you’ve been itching to put this thing to use.

One bullet, you decide. If it malfunctions, better now when you’re up high and safe. If it misses, you’ll probably scare the thing off and be able to go on your way. And if you hit, maybe you’d make Uncle Peter proud.

You lower yourself back down into a prone position, and using your bag to stabilize the front of the rifle, you rest it’s 24 inch barrel on top.

The boar is about 150 yards away now, taking a pause to sniff the area. Maybe he’s onto something.

You reconfirm the ammunition present in the magazine, and slide in inwards.

Carefully racking the bolt. You doubt it could hear you this far, but just in case.

The boar is now continuing onwards, still towards you, but at a leisurely pace.

At about 100 yards you try your best to sight it in. Remembering the advice of your uncle, you slowly exhale. Trying to relieve any tension that would disturb the shot. The rifle moves itself up a bit, probably a result of your tight grip.

The boar, somehow sensing impending danger, bolts right.

The rifle shifts right as you press the trigger that extra travel.
The sharp crack echoes through the swamp. The tense silence around you, as you exhale.

There’s no way you got that shot, you think. You don’t remember shifting the rifle to try and track the target, but it was a dumb move you think. But somehow you went for it.

As you look closer, the boar is still there, slumped.

Excitement builds; a nostalgic echo of when you hit your first target with Uncle Peter.

You got it! You gleefully slung the rifle on your back, and hurdley make your way down.

A few hours later, and you’re roasting swamp boar in the dusk twilight as you rest the rifle in your lap.

“You shot beautifully.” you abistmedly voice your thoughts.

“Thank you.” a subtle voice on the wind carries to your ears.

Yep, your brain is still fried. But with a stomach full of fresh boar, a now proven rifle in your lap, and direction in your journey, you’re looking forward to tomorrow.

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The orange haze of the late afternoon sun dyed the surrounding trees in a brilliant mosaic of fall colors. You curse slightly as you continue to make your way through the rough thicket. No wonder you couldn’t find this place; you’re not even sure how people used to go to and from here if it was this difficult every time. You can start to see a few structures through the leaves, indicating you were almost there.

Scraping against the last bush, you emerge into a small clearing. The overgrown and dilapidated structures reminding you of most of the other buildings you’ve seen in The Zone, but these seem to have a bit more character.

A ramshod collection of overturned tables on some wood planking indicated some sort of outdoor eating area. A tall building with broken lights and bent antenna display what was once the command center of the most informed groups in the zone. And at the other end, by a tall fence, was a rather large entrance to a brick building. Rusted out cars filling the space in between.

As you walked on, looking around with your rifle at the ready, you note the long scattered ashes of fire pits. The scenery now illuminated by your flashlight.

It’s quiet here. Not even the usual echos of the swamp life at night could be heard. Curious, you hadn’t seen a bit of wildlife since you came through the thicket. Maybe it’s too hard even for the hearty wildlife that inhabit this corner of the zone.

You walk up to the abandoned dinning area, hoping to scrounge some non perishables.
Setting the rifle down on the outdoor counter, you hop over. Accidently scattering a few empty cans over, you curse slightly at the noise that was louder than usual. Taking a pause, you don’t notice anything odd as you continue to sort through cans. Behind a case of rusted out ammunition, you found a few extra cans of Tourist's Delight. Better than nothing, as you turn around and hop back over the counter.

And that’s when you see it. Only for a moment, but it was unmistakable. A tall, lanky figure, running right at you.

But it’s not there anymore. Your pistol is now raised as you hurriedly make your way to the rifle left on the counter.

Suddenly, intensinse panting could be heard. Not in front-

You’re tackled to the ground, hand still firmly on the pistol. What you see ontop of you now is absolutely terrifying.

Humanoid in shape, but wearing nothing but pale, leathery skin, it would almost be called human if not for it’s head. Completely devoid of any hair, it’s near featureless face stared at you with bright, almost glowing white eyes.
But lower than that, it had no chin. Just a swath of foot long mandibles that wiggled every which way, seemingly angry at your resistance.

A searing hot pain on your neck as one of the face appendages manages to slide against your neck, offering a trail of crimson in it’s wake. Noticing the blood, it increases in its frenzy; getting closer and overcoming the limited strength you use to keep it away.

Mistakenly, your grip tightens on the makarov and sends a round flying eternally into the night. Using its distracted state, you kick it off and roll out from under it.

Kneeling now, it’s disappeared once again. You are sure it hadn’t got away, and the now familiar breathing you hear confirms it. Knowing what’s coming next, you turn just in time to see it lunge at you.
Before it makes contact, however, another figure collides into it.

Wearing a faded military uniform, gasmask, and with a blue and white band tied around it’s arm, this other stalker had just tackled the creature, giving you a brief moment to ready your pistol. Not having time to look for the rifle, you run over to where the two are. The creature seemingly having no interest in this new stalker as it struggles to throw them off.

With the pistol at the ready, you run at the creature.

“Get off them!” you yell, eager to try to pay back the favor to your savior.

The other stalker relinquishes the creature, and before it has time to adjust itself you put a quick succession of bullets into it’s chest. However, it’s still writhing. Not sure if it was just wounded, or dying, you fish another magazine out and feed it shakily into your trust makarov. Another three rounds into it’s head, and it now lies limp.

The echos quickly disappearing into the surrounding darkness.
You turn around to thank the other stalker, but they are no longer there. They too were pulling the disappearing act.

“Ah fuck, I am tired of this bullshit” you mumble under your mask as you wearily step forward, deeper into the base.

“Hello?” you ask. This might be one of those Clear Sky members that is still hanging around. You wouldn’t want to piss them off by stealing their stuff; especially after they had saved your life.

But there is no response, the familiar quiet of the overgrown compound filling your senses.

There, at the other side. You see the figure once more, impossibly far away. You can’t make out many details from here, just the uniform, tied color band, and the familiar gasmask most stalker wore. You also note they are incredibly tall, using the rusted out car they were standing next to as a reference.They seemed to be pointing to their right, into the wide opening of the brick building. You glance to see what they’re pointing at, and looking back at them they are once again gone.

You glance back, wishing you could have found your rifle for this. You’re not sure whats going on here, but Vinya’s advice of not sticking around is first in foremost in your mind. You corner the entrance wide, flashlight and pistol cutting increasingly wider slices into the building.
Standing in the middle of the abandoned garage, to the side of the rusted out car, is that stalker again.

“Hey-” you call out. They once again respond by pointing, this time up.

You follow their finger, up into the rafters, trying your best to keep them in your peripheral.

The flashlight catches on some cloth, the same faded blue and white of the stalker’s armband. It seems to be wrapped around something up there.

Looking back down to ask, they are once again gone.

You sigh, and holster the makarov. You figure if they wanted to kill you and suck your blood like that creature sitting in the dirt outside, they would have done that already.

“Okay, I’ll check it out. I guess” you voice out loud, hoping the stalker-turned-houdini would hear it.

Outside, you find a rotting wooden ladder to use, and bring it inside. Some of it’s rungs are rotted away, but you’ll make do. It’s tall enough to get you within reaching distance.

Balancing it against the wall, you climb up into the crawl space above. There are quite a lot of crates up here, you note. Promising to look through the rest, you sit up in the rafters, legs dangling, as you remove the cloth around the first package.

A metal box. Curious, you shake it. A metal rattling is heard inside. You use your knife to wedge the rusted hinge open. A note is the first treasure you find inside.

You didn’t get much sleep, as you were awoken with the occasional wooden creaking; surprisingly loud with how quiet everything else was. In the morning, you sift through some of the other crates. Most of what was in here was severely waterdamanged, being stored this high in a roof that had seen better days. You did find a good haul of ammunition, however. More cases of 7.62×54mm R than you know what to do with, let alone carry.

You grab a few boxes and push the rest of the crate to the corner, laying an extra tarp ontop of it. You’re not sure if you’ll ever want to come back, but if you do you’ll know where to find more. You also find a small cache of paperwork. One of the stacks, sealed in a plastic envelope, seems of particular importance. Oh a whim you decide someone might want it, and take it as well. Finding a few extra rations and miscellaneous supplies, you feel pretty well stocked as you descend the ladder once again.

The rifle was sitting down at the base, once again waiting for you. You don’t remember knocking it down, though.

You’re losing it, you decide. The voices, and now you can’t even keep straight where you’ve been putting things.
But right next to it sits a crudely wrapped package of something. Opening it, you recoil instantly when you see the tentacle appendages of the monster from last night, roughly cut off and bundled together.
No you’re not crazy, this confirms. Or not as crazy as you think. The other stalker did this for you last night? It crudely reminded you of something your cat Misha did, laying dead birds, and sometimes rats, on your front porch in the morning. But why did they need the rifle? Are these valuable, somehow?

You gather up the rifle, rewrap the “present,” and set back out. You’ve found all you can here, and you really don’t want to overstay your welcome.

“Thank you!” you yell out, glancing one more time to see if they were watching you go. You disappear into the ticket once more, heading back to the rookie camp.

And he’s conquered the swamps. And something else, too.