S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Southern Comfort (55 page)
Read S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Southern Comfort Online
Authors: John Mason,Noah Stacey
“Only if it comes with enough duct tape to prevent it from falling apart.”
“You have a point, I give you that. All right… Ammo for this one?
Suppose you want to take some full metal jacket M855’s.”
“I don’t need it for pea shooting. Are those Match bullets over there?”
“Bingo. Two boxes is all you get.”
“I could use that Benelli M4 too with a few boxes of slugs.”
“You are a rat-fuck, you know that? Take this shotgun.”
“What about that one?” Tarasov points at an ochre-painted, heavy rifle.
“Uh-oh… you want to make my life really difficult, eh?”
“Is that so?”
“I don’t know what’s screwing me up more, giving you that Gepard M6 or ignoring the big man’s orders… how would an anti-material rifle help you, anyway?”
“By making a material difference between life and death, I suppose.”
“That’s a real ass for sure. But it only works with Russian
“I ask you very nicely: may I take the Gepard, please?”
“No way. You better keep your
dickbeater off that
.”
“Stop being so shit-hot, Boxkicker,” a warrior says quietly. “He’s Nooria’s mate. Unless you want her pissing into your wounds next time you need first aid, you better give him what he wants.”
“Oh, yes, Nooria.” The armourer smacks his lips. “I guess before eating her out, you’ve had to let her soak in hot water for an hour, scrubbed and disinfected her, and then put a bucket over her head to cover her face?”
Tarasov’s face reddens with anger.
“You don’t want any trouble for yourself,” another warrior tells Boxkicker. “Give him what he wants, big mouth.”
“I won’t give the Gepard to this rat-fuck. He can kiss my ass. But only if he washes his mouth after kissing that pus-faced little witch who –”
The armourer doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Quick as lightning, Tarasov’s fist darts out and slams into Boxkicker’s cardia and arm, followed by one more punch to the throat that sends him sprawling among the neatly arranged weapons. Knocked out, he stays on the ground with rifles, tools, grenades and ammunition magazines raining down onto his head from the ruined shelves.
“Fuck,” Boxkicker eventually groans, spitting out blood and teeth.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes, have anything you need’,” Tarasov says firmly, and piles the weapons and ammunition into his exoskeleton’s rucksack.
“Respect, Russkie,” a fighter laughs, “that’s what I call a ninja punch!”
“Wrong,
pindos
,” Tarasov grumbles back as he leaves the armory. “It’s called
Systema
.”
Nooria’s home, 7 October 2014, 21:57:13 AFT
“I’m back.”
Upon entering Nooria’s home and putting his new weapons down on the floor, the irony of his situation makes him smile.
It feels like returning to a perfectly normal home after a day’s shopping.
“Welcome, my warrior!” Nooria beams happily from the hearth, where she is boiling something spicy in a blackened pot. She looks different now, wearing a white gown with beautiful embroidery with her loose, freshly washed hair shining with the fire’s reflection. “You look happy. What did he say?”
“He is still thinking about it,” Tarasov shrugs while taking off his armored suit. “I couldn’t impress him enough.”
“I told you when you arrived from village. His heart is hard like…” Nooria knocks on the iron pot.
“I will have to leave you again tomorrow.”
Tarasov is concerned about her reaction. Nooria is a woman from the Tribe and he couldn’t blame her if she couldn’t understand why he wanted to go off helping the Stalkers, who her people considered to be nothing but worthless scavengers. Looking at the white dress that barely hides her dark-skinned, delicate figure, he almost regrets his words.
“Of course you will,” she casually replies taking the pot from the hearth and putting it on the table. As she moves close to him and waves her hair from her face, Tarasov smells her scent. He knows enough about women to know that her hair did not need to be fussed about. “And now eat. You look hungry.”
“What is this?”
“Stew. Devil pups hunted down a deer.”
After all the things he’s heard about Nooria, Tarasov is a little suspicious of the thick, spicy broth, but it tastes like a normal soup, even if it is spicier that what he is used to. He savors the first few spoonfuls. The last decent, warm meal he had was at his mother’s apartment, but the
Ukraine
, the Old Zone and
Kiev
now seem to be on another planet.
“You don’t like it?” Nooria asks with concern, studying his face. She sits down on the rug, watching Tarasov eating.
“I have some powders to make it more tasteful.”
“Oh no, thanks, it’s delicious,” Tarasov quickly replies. “But listen… could you please sit with me here, at the table?”
“No. Women always wait until men finish their meal.”
Tarasov puts down the spoon. “But I can’t eat like this.”
“Please do. I have something to do until you finish.” Tarasov opens his lips to swallow down another spoonful but his mouth stays open in surprise as Nooria grasps his rifle and, before he can say a word, starts disassembling it.
“What are you doing, Nooria?”
“Cleaning your weapon.”
Tarasov rolls his eyes. “Leave that M4 alone, woman. It’s loaded.”
“Of course it is. But this one is from a new shipment… I didn’t treat this yet. Wait.”
She disappears in the back room. When she returns, she brings a small pouch and a piece of cloth. Nooria skillfully disassembles the rifle and applies a greasy, gray substance on it that the gun’s metal immediately absorbs.
“I made it from your new swag,” she explains seeing Tarasov’s puzzled look. “It will keep your gun clean. Dust and dirt will not stick to it.”
“
What?
You made gun grease from my artifact?”
“But of course. Some are better used like this than carried around. From some I make refreshing ointment. From others, I make oil for wounds. I make powder, mix it with herbs, glowing stones… Things like that.”
She shrugs and gives Tarasov an innocent giggle.
“Where did you learn all this?”
Nooria’s giggle turns into a mysterious smile. “Ask me something else.”
“All right… Why do you call those kid soldiers devil pups?”
“The Colonel’s former tribe called themselves devil dogs. He loves tradition. That is why the children are called pups. They will become warriors one day, if they prove themselves.”
“Uh-hum… Did you give the Colonel and his Lieutenants some of these special powders of yours? Because all of them are so huge…”
“No… that was…” The smile vanishes from Nooria’s face. “They were with Colonel when they went into…”
“Where?”
“Depths of Shahr-i-Gholghola.”
Tarasov slowly begins to understand.
Whatever they found under the City of
Screams
turned them into human, living juggernauts. But how could this happen?
He wishes he could ask Nooria more questions about the village and the battle that had happened there, but she doesn’t look too eager to be pressed.
“I saw something weird in the village…” he says carefully. “It was a mutant, but instead of attacking me it made ghosts appear. Strange ghosts… they looked very real.”
“Was it difficult to kill?”
“No.”
“I know its kind… we call it djinn. It is very weak and hides in caves and ruins. It tries to scare its enemies away. If jackals come, it makes them see snake. If snake comes, it shows him bear. And to men, it shows dreadful things. You are brave.”
“Curious would be a better word… and now I feel miserable for killing a weak mutant that only wanted to scare me away.”
“You have good heart.”
“Now this is something no one has told me for a long, long time.”
A feeling of compassion comes over Tarasov as he looks down at the fragile girl, who returns his look with a smile on her scarred face. “About those ghosts… were they for real?”
“My village has seen many sad things,” Nooria replies, getting up from the ground and taking the empty plate from the table. “Let us not talk about such things tonight. We have something more important to do.”
All Tarasov wants to do is to relax after the hearty soup.
I wish I could have a beer now.
“Nooria, you are good with all kinds of powders and potions… do you know how to brew beer?”
“A bear? You did not like deer stew?” She asks, disappointedly, going back to cleaning the rifle. “Because a bear tastes very bad.”
“Never mind…” Suddenly, Tarasov’s eye falls on a large pot and a pile of stale, dark bread next to the hearth. “Is that made of rye?”
“Yes. But it is old bread.”
“All the better. Do you have… you know, that thing used for making bread…”
“Yeast? I think so.”
“Raisins and sugar?”
“Yes, but why?”
“All right… now it’s my turn to teach you a secret recipe. Cut and dry the bread. Boil water in that big pot. When boiling, take it from the fire and stir. Cover the pot and let it rest in a dark, cool place. After half a day, filter the liquid. Mix yeast with warm water and a pinch of sugar. Wait until the yeast gets foamy. Stir it into the filtered liquid with a little sugar… can you still follow?”
Nooria nods while removing the magazine from the carbine. She wraps the cloth around her finger and starts cleaning the breech. Her finger moves slowly and gently inside the rifle, as if caressing it. Tarasov stares at her eyes, still fixed on him, and suddenly finds it hard to concentrate on the recipe.
“Okay… anyway… after a day, filter it into a pitcher and add the raisins. Wait for a couple of days, then serve it cold. The warriors will love it.”
Nooria gives him a suspicious look. “Hm… is that
sarab
?”
“What? Oh no, it’s not alcoholic. My mother prepared it for me when I was a child… it’s a very good drink… but why don’t you drink alcohol, anyway?”
“Long time ago, Colonel found two drunk fighters during their watch. He killed them. Since then, no
sarab
for fighters.”
“
Gospodi
… But don’t worry, nobody will be shot for having my kind of drink.”
“He didn’t
shoot
them. And as you wish, I can give it a try…”
“Please do, but don’t add any stone powders, swags or artifacts to it, all right?”
“All right. But I will not prepare it now. Now I have something else in mind.”
“And, uhm, what do you have in mind?”
Nooria now moves the cleaning cloth up and down the rifle barrel, softly, gently and very slowly. She gives him a broad smile, flashing her white teeth.
